Guest Column: Published 10/10/02

By Gary Carden

Carden: 'Steve's true love was acting'

When The Sylva Herald came out several days later, it contained an article that listed Steve's contributions to his community and to the region. Since he had been involved in extensive activities related to economic development, there were glowing tributes from a number of civic leaders who spoke of Steve's commitment and dedication - activities that were largely a direct result of his employment by the Region A Planning Commission.

Reading this eulogy, I was immediately aware of a significant omission. I had known another Steve Eller. I'm talking about his love of community theatre. Some 30 years ago when the Kudzu Players was created, Steve was among the stalwart few who took an active part in converting the old Sylva High School into a theatre.

In fact, his dedication was a bit daunting. He helped to convert Maxwell House coffee cans into stage lights, assisted Blaine Eldridge in converting racks of Piedmont Airline seats (each with the little plastic tray on the back) into theatre seating, strung wire, plastered, painted and built scenery. Of course, Steve's true love was acting.

For the next 15 years, he appeared in nearly every Kudzu Players production. Steve thundered up and down the stairs as Teddy Roosevelt in "Arsenic and Old Lace," affected a limp and gray hair in order to play the lonely protagonist in "Used Car for Sale," and donned a lab coat to play Dr. Chumley, the director of an insane asylum in "Harvey." (I can still hear him telling Elwood P. Dowd about his passionate desire to run away to Akron, Ohio.)

He was memorable in "Inherit the Wind," too, but undoubtedly one of his finest performances was the Texas "good-ole boy" in "Lone Star." And on and on the list goes.

Steve loved theatre. He was one of those rare individuals who would travel long distances, rehearse for unrealistic hours, build sets on weekends and cajole a dozen merchants into loaning the theatre furniture. He received no recompense for his efforts and accepted a host of inconveniences that affected his personal life. He never complained, and when the Kudzu Players fell on hard times, he was still thereŠ one of the dedicated members.

It troubles me that none of the tributes to Steve mentions the fact that he brought joy to thousands of theatre-goers for two decades. He trod the boards at Kudzu with an enthusiasm that was heartwarming to see, and he did it with joy in his heart.

It is difficult to gauge this contribution in conjunction with water lines, sewer systems and community park development, I guess.

I prefer to remember Steve as thousands of Kudzu theatre-goers recall him. There we sat in our airline seats, faces rapt, watching Steve chuckle, weep, dance and talk his way through an amazing series of parts. I can assure you that Steve's contributions under Kudzu's homemade lights is remembered by a lot of people.

I will always see him in his pith helmet, holding his sword above his head as he peers up the staircase at the Brewster house. There would come a pause and then, Steve, resplendent in khaki shorts, knee socks and pith helmet, would wiggle his eyebrows, wink at his sisters and thunder up San Juan Hill.

"Charge!" he bellows.

"Bravo!" shouts the audience.

And "Bravo!" say, IŠ and a host of friends who were there and remember.

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