Who: Arlen Schumer
What: The Sixtieth Anniversary of The Twilight Zone: A Live Multimedia Presentation
Where: The Triad Theater, 158 West Seventy-Second St. between Amsterdam & Columbus Aves.
When: Wednesday, October 2, $15 (plus two-beverage minimum), 9:00
Why: Submitted for your approval: A Connecticut pop culture historian from New Jersey enters the Upper West Side of an area which we call Manhattan, to share his knowledge of a sixty-year-old black-and-white television program — before the boob tube was taken over by a little boy named Anthony, who wanted everyone to live a good life. The show was hosted by a cigarette-obsessed Syracuse native who eloquently wrote of the past, present, and future within a fifth dimension, beyond that which is known to man. Said figure, most definitely not an old man in a cave, is the magisterial Rod Serling, who for five years shot his arrows into the air with a prescient accuracy, particularly when it came to matters of the very nature of humanity, discovering that people just might be alike all over, from Uncle Simon to the Queen of the Nile, from Jess-Belle to Mr. Dingle, the Strong.
On October 2 at the Triad at 9:00 — do not fear the lateness of the hour — a male Earth resident identified as Arlen Schumer, author of such books as Visions from The Twilight Zone and The Silver Age of Comic Book Art (before reading material was declared obsolete) and no mere nervous man in a four-dollar room, will deliver the whole truth about The Twilight Zone, which arrived on this third planet from the sun on October 2, 1959. “The place is here. The time is now, and the journey into the shadows that we are about to watch could be our journey,” the Serling creature announced. Admission to the Triad, which is a nice place to visit and most likely walking distance for some, is $15, with a two-beverage minimum, but you might not have access to a short drink from a certain fountain. There is no dress code, although masks and black leather jackets are encouraged, but beauty, of course, is in the eyes of the beholder; just make sure you haven’t entered the other place by accident. And beware anyone named Mr. Death or Mr. Fate, the player piano, and that stray pair of fancy shoes.