WARREN M. “DOC” LEE
A TRIBUTE TO “DOC”
by Thom B. Hill, Glendora, California
Doc Lee
When Jennie May Donnell asked me if I would reflect on some BHP memories from 53 years ago, I was concerned because these days I must take a few moments just to remember what I had for breakfast. But when she narrowed the scope to Warren M. “Doc” Lee the task became much more doable because Doc stories are plentiful and indelible. For example:
Doc’s facial expression when he first saw my completed “stair repair” project on the then-Business/Box Office back door exit: Without saying a word, he let me know that I clearly possessed no knowledge of structural integrity, basic construction, or the simple use of a level. When he finally did speak it was with words that cannot be repeated here.
His reaction to my question as to why we had to track license plate numbers on cars as they arrived to park for BHP performances: I indicated that I thought it had to be 90-95 percent South Dakota folks, so who gives a damn whether they were from Pennington, Butte, or Meade Counties. His verbal response was crystal clear and also not repeatable here.
Doc’s “chilly” response to the fact that I missed a performance of The Legend of Devil’s Gulch because I had a severely negative reaction to the mandated “Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever” vaccination: It was a reaction, by the way, that necessitated a makeshift “Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride” to Custer with Walt Gislason as the “ambulance” driver and Nurse Marge Spicer providing the play-by-play of hairpin turns and impending doom. After treatment, Dr. Manning (another iconic Black Hills “Doc”) suggested that rest would aid my recovery. His recommendation did not, apparently, meet Doc Lee’s criteria for a permitted production absence. Subsequently, I learned that the only valid excuse for missing a performance of the Gulch was if you had actually died. And then the death had to be sudden, unexpected, and a minimum of three hours prior to curtain time so that an understudy could be properly rehearsed. In my case, it would have required the memorization of my one line, “Got me with his foot in the pit of the belly – gawd damn!”
Or one of my very first exchanges with Doc: Early on in that first summer at the BHP, Tom Blair (as memory serves) and I were tasked with mowing the grass/weeds in the vast area now occupied by Haberman Hall. Since the growth was so high and dense, Tom and I surmised that starting the engine of the dilapidated gas-powered rotary mower could only be accomplished by doing so on the dirt road in front of the dining hall. I pulled the “starter rope” once but the engine did not engage. I tried a second time without success. Before I could make the third attempt, this laconic voice said, “Not much grass there….” Recognizing Doc right away, I fumbled a response along the lines of, “I know, sir, but….” Once again, as if he hadn’t heard me, Doc muttered, “Not much grass there….” I tried starting the motor again (to no avail) and said, “Yes, sir, I know, but see, with the tall weeds and the….” Finally, in a sonorous voice that I would grow accustomed to during morning announcements, Doc said with his patented Cheshire-Cat smile and side-of-the-mouth delivery, “It was a JOKE, son!” It didn’t take long for one to learn that Doc’s sense of humor was as dry as BHP cook Marguerite’s pork chops.
This last remembrance is of a different vein, but helps I think to encapsulate that which was Doc Lee: At the end of that 1968 season, my snack bar bill exceeded my ability to pay off the balance. As I recall, it was something along the lines of $40 – which, with the inflation factor, comes to about 300 bucks today. I will not detail the items charged to my account because I don’t think the statute of limitations has yet been exhausted. But I can say that Doc’s son, Byron, was exceedingly kind to me with respect to the “building of my tab.” Doc and I met, and he reminded me that as much as he would like to help me out, debts are debts. I agreed and asked for dispensation until I could return to Vermillion for the fall semester at USD. I promised that I would pay down my obligation monthly. Doc agreed. After I had been working for KVRA Radio in Vermillion for a couple of months, I went to Doc with my first installment. Doc was pleased and said, in effect, “I was hoping you would show up. Owning up to this is important. Now that I see you have – let’s just forget about the rest. Just promise me two things: that you’ve learned your lesson and that you won’t tell anyone I waived the balance.” To this day I don’t know if he paid my debt personally or just used creative accounting to balance the books. What I do know is that I’ve honored Doc’s request about understanding accountability and that I’ve waited half a century to tell anyone about my clandestine arrangement.
On more than one occasion, people have described Doc Lee as a “diamond in the rough.” As an erstwhile speech teacher, I have heard many an informative speech titled, “The Four C’s of Diamonds: Color, Clarity, Cut, and Carat.” If I were writing a speech about Doc today, the title would be “The Four C’s of Warren M. Lee: Curmudgeonly, Cantankerous, Compassionate, and Caring.”
A diamond in the rough? You bet! But, for me, Doc was and will always be pure gold “in them ‘thar Hills!”
Thom B. Hill, Glendora, California
1968, 1969, 1976, 1979, 1980, 1981, 1982
The Secret Affairs of Mildred Wild, directed by Thom Hill,
Scenic Design Joe Forbes,
Lighting Design and Photo, Menno Kraai
A Case of Libel, Thom Hill Thom Hill at home in Glendora, CA