From Depth of Tragedy Comes New Solo Comedy
August 08, 2006
Back Stage Magazine
By Wendy Parker

In the first monologue of The Neon Man and Me, his one-person show,
Richmonder Slash Coleman talks about the elephant in the room — what
everyone tiptoes around but won't speak about. He's talking about the
death of his best friend, Roanoke artist Mark Jamison, who was
electrocuted on a power line while installing a neon sign. For those who
knew Jamison, the subject of his death is enormous, the silence
surrounding it maybe even more so.
Slash Coleman,
on the Set. Photo:
Tania Barricklo.
But as the show continues, Coleman makes clear that he also won't
ignore the elephant any longer — that he'll sing, laugh, and discuss
Jamison's death as long as anyone will listen. Indeed, more than a year
since his friend's tragic death, Coleman's "spiritual rock 'n' roll comedy
about best friends" has brought him more than just personal catharsis.
The show has been covered on National Public Radio, won the
Groucho Award for Best One Man Comedy of 2005 (bestowed by
Comedy Sportz Improv Theater to Richmond playwrights and
comedians), and is, he says, soon to be a special on PBS. In the
meantime, Coleman is spending his summer performing the piece
around the country. His next stop is the San Francisco Fringe Festival
(Sept. 9-17).

Last fall, The Neon Man and Me premiered at Mill Mountain Theater in
Roanoke, Va., which is two blocks from where Jamison's neon sign
shop was located. To date, the show has raised more than $11,000
for Virginia nonprofit organizations as well as an educational fund
Coleman set up to help take care of his late friend's young son.
There are other ways in which Coleman is channeling his success. This fall, for example, he'll
take The Neon Man and Me, in which he plays some 30 characters, into Virginia classrooms,
where he hopes to make the subject of profound loss something students can talk about. A
former teacher and counselor, the classroom for Coleman is a natural venue — he originally
developed sections of the play in Virginia high schools, whittling the play down to 27 pages
from 340. The result: a quirky, high-energy 75-minute show not only punctuated by original
songs and a multitude of characters, but wacky wit and imaginative storytelling. Coleman's
writing not only deals with Jamison's tragic death, but it explores an unlikely 20-year friendship
between himself, a Southern Jew, and Jamison, who was Pentecostal. They became
inseparable pals in college, playing in a jazz band.

Coleman's discusses his workshop process freely and often, not to mention the fact that he
wasn't shy about seeking input from students. How did he gain access to high schools? "I made
calls and said, 'I'm a playwright and I have a new work and I'd like to share it with your students
— and I'm free,' " he says.
Slash Coleman,
on the Set. Photo:
Tania Barricklo
That kind of directness comes easily to Coleman, who says he has always been on a quest to live the life of an artist. It's in his blood: his
grandfather danced at the Moulin Rouge, his grandmother was a watercolorist, and his father is a sculptor and painter. At 38, Coleman's
résumé reads as if he's much older: he has worked as a standup comedian, painter, concert pianist, art therapist, massage therapist,
upholsterer, educator, and writer — his output includes songs, plays, fiction, nonfiction, magazine articles, and four novels. He holds a B.
A. in English from Radford University, a M.A. in education from Columbia College, has taught preschoolers in Montessori schools, students
in college, and trained teachers in early-childhood development. He has also taught writing, anatomy, kinesiology, massage techniques,
behavior modification, and sign language.

In a sense, he says, he began to prepare for writing The Neon Man and Me even before Jamison's death. It was five years ago, he says,
when out of frustration he threw his unpublished manuscripts into a recycling bin. "What was missing in every novel," Coleman recalls,
"was too much distance in what was truth." So he joined a writer's group and then, following Jamison's death, had a breakthrough. "The
form it took was a one-person show told in the first person [with] a beginning, middle, and end." As the various pieces of The Neon Man
and Me fell into place, the personal nature of the story propelled Coleman to perform it on stage.

Early on, Coleman simply set out to craft a care package for Jamison's son so he might someday know more about his father. But then,
after pouring his grief into words, The Neon Man and Me took on a life of its own. It has also, he says, kept Jamison's spirit alive —
perhaps no greater gift that a best friend could give.
© Slash Coleman 2006