HALL OF FLAME
INDUCTION SPEECH

A lot of people ask me why it’s called Ruth Stage. Sometimes people initiate emails to me and say “Hi Ruth.” It makes me laugh but I guess I can see why they infer that. If we were called Debra Stage, I guess you’d automatically assume it’s run by a woman named Debra? Maybe?

Anyways, the story is this…

Bob Lamb was the best friend I’ve ever had. We met in 2005. I went on an audition for a production of The Mousetrap by Agatha Christie at the Center Playhouse in downtown Freehold, New Jersey. I’d never really acted before in my adult life, but it was always something I had wanted to do. The director of the play was also starring in the show and so he had asked Bob to be an assistant director - come to the auditions and rehearsals from time to time to watch.

Long story short, I was cast as the lead in my very first play. “Detective Sargeant Trotter.” The police officer investigating a murder at the Monkswell Manor during a snowstorm. I didn’t know it was the lead role until I got home and flipped through the pages of the script. I assumed the officer was a supporting role which was something I was a little more comfortable with. But then I saw “Trotter” was the lead. Ugh, the terror I felt. I didn’t think there was any way possible, in my first role, that I could memorize all these lines, much less carry the show. I remember being sick to my stomach the day of the first performance and wanting to run out of the building moments before I was due to enter the stage, about 45 minutes into the play. The ironic part is, the way I was positioned backstage behind the set – it was the only way I could actually get out of the building. To escape I literally had to enter through the stage. I had no choice. I had to go out there. 

If the set were constructed any other way and I had an actual escape route, I may have taken it and my life would look very different right now.

During that production though, Bob went from what was supposed to be a passive, drop in once in a while, assistant director to the captain of the ship. The production essentially became his and with me being the lead of the show, we worked very closely together. I could instinctively feel during the process that I needed to do more, I needed to be better, I needed to make the character more interesting. Bob and I spent a lot of time working on “Trotter.”

There was another element to all of this too. I remember during that production people asking me backstage and during rehearsals, “Have you ever seen Bob act?” They’d say things like “Bob is an incredible actor.” It kinda became a joke with me and one of the castmates that Bob was like Bowser in the video game Mario Brothers. The Final Boss we called him. We had heard the legend of him but obviously – having just met him – I had never seen what everyone was talking about.

He was a graduate of the American Academy of Dramatic Arts and lived as an actor in New York City in the 80’s, starring in off Broadway productions and even on a long gone soap opera opposite Kevin Bacon if my memory serves me correctly. 

Bob was big on creating character bios. A history of your character. He bestowed so much of his wisdom on me during this first production - teaching me about acting, making choices, being authentic and getting the audience to believe you. More importantly getting you to believe in yourself and your character. 

“These are real things happening to real people.” He would say during notes. If someone’s performance was registering an inauthentic Bob would quip “if you don’t believe it, they’re (the audience) not gonna fucking believe it!” Also, to whip up us into shape when a rehearsal wasn’t going well, “This isn’t Mickey and Judy in the barn people!” Basically saying, this isn’t a nice little cookie cutter, gingerbread man show. Take it serious or get the fuck out. Bob had an edge and right away I was thrust into a very professional environment with someone who took it seriously and demanded the same of his actors.

Whereas some people disliked him for his brash approach, I loved it. Bob would make you feel like you were part of something much bigger.

I did everything he said. I listened. I worked my ass off on the character. I wanted to be the best I could possibly be, especially in my first role. To me this was getting an opportunity to do something I had always wanted to do, ACT! I was not about to squander it. 

And now here was this man, this mentor – Bob was about 35 years older than me – teaching me all the things he had learned at the Academy, from his teachers, from his experiences. By the time the production had wrapped, Bob had made me feel like a real actor. Call it community theater, whatever – a production directed by Bob Lamb was a legitimate production. It was NOT what people might think of as community theatre. It was for rea. And that is why I was so lucky. Right from the jump, I was brought into a tense yet very rewarding environment and I had no idea at the time just how much that would pay off in the years ahead.

After The Mousetrap Bob cast me in his next production, The Glass Menagerie by Tennessee Williams. I played “Tom” and this was not only the start of my love affair with Tennessee Williams but still, to this day, one of the best productions I have ever been a part of. Certainly the greatest production that Bob had ever directed me in. 

In this show I worked even harder - my bios were more involved and I was determined to make Tom’s five monologues unique and different. I learned how to harness my emotions during our private work together which I then brought to performance, surprising myself sometimes at the places I was able to go. Bob and I worked together incessantly on this like we were mounting a Broadway show. This type of intensity was instilled in me from the start. 

I remember saying to him one time, “But wouldn’t you treat a lead on Broadway different than being a lead in Freehold?” And he would say, after a slight pause… “I guess I would have to say no. It doesn’t matter where it is. I treat the work the same.” 

When someone like that is your mentor, a brilliant actor and director and someone who runs his own theatre company – you get so much wisdom. He was like a Dean Smith for me. 

Bob had been running his own theatre company, The South Street Players, for nearly 25 years at this point, directing and starring in nearly 150 productions. How lucky was I to answer a casting call on NJTHEATER.COM in the summer of 2005? Being cast in The Mousetrap changed my life. Bob changed my life.

I can see it as I write this that I am him. Everything he taught me, everything he did, I am carrying it on without truly realizing that this theatre lineage he created has organically passed through to me.

Bob loved acting. More than anyone I knew. And I think he found in me over the years, not only a young protégé - but also a kindred spirit that he could connect to. We got close very fast and he would always refer to me as the son he never had. I would always say to people that I have three parents. My Dad, my Mom and Bob. When I tell you that there was nothing he would not do for me, I meant that. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for me.

He loved Daniel Day Lewis and James Dean and would say things to me like, “You could be at that level. You have the talent to do those things.” A lot of the times I’d find myself in chaotic relationships that pulled my focus away from the acting. “You can’t serve two mistresses Matthew.” He would say. One of his famous lines was, “Lawrence Olivier used to say, I have to act to live! I want that for you!” I think I heard that about 150 times.

About those chaotic relationships…

He always listened. No matter how many times I needed to repeat stories, feelings, sadness – no matter what it was – he listened. When all my other friends were sick and tired of hearing about the emotional turmoil I found myself periodically in, Bob would listen. Over a beer. At dinner. On his back porch. On the phone. He was always there for me in a way that most people aren’t. 

Bob was no stranger to relationships himself. In fact, he was in one for 9 years before we met. When it ended, he said it utterly destroyed him and I believe that was a big reason Bob never pursued acting to the levels that he could have. It was also why he remained single for all the days that I knew him. “I never want to go through that again.” He would say while adding, “Isn’t it weird? It’s like the person is dead. But you know they are not. They are out there living. Just not with you. It’s like they’re dead.”

I knew Bob for 14 years. He directed me in some great shows and helped develop my ability in ways that no one else would have ever been able to. He was my coach, my mentor, my director, my co-star, my best friend, my therapist and my third parent. He was everything you could want in a close relationship. He never charged me a dime for any of the countless hours he spent working with me on acting and teaching me how to run a company. Now this doesn’t mean that our friendship was without incident. There were plenty of arguments, mostly creatively. But they would never last. He would always come over, hug me and say “It’s not a close friendship if there isn’t conflict from time to time, Boyo.” That was his nickname for me, Boyo. I called him “Ranger” because he loved The Lone Ranger.

We reached a point where Bob was 70 years old and I was 35. It didn’t matter, he was always up for an adventure. I’d stop by his house after a night out with friends – it would be 2am.  He’d be up reading history books. “Hey Bob you wanna go get Burger King?” I didn’t have to ask twice. He threw on a hat and 20 minutes later we were eating Whoppers in his kitchen and laughing til 4am. We took fun road trips to Boston, saw plays in New York, hung out and watching baseball games, made trips to every Daniel Day Lewis movie that premiered and had dinners afterwards as we marveled at his performances. We usually went to the Metropolian Café in Freehold. That was our spot. At his house, we ordered pizza. “You call, I’ll pay” he’d say. “Order a pizza. Get whatever you want. Just nothing with anchovies. God, I hate anchovies.”

It was an unlikely friendship but make no mistake – he was my best friend and I know that I was his. It extended even beyond friendship. But was family. A soul mate. There will never be another Bob Lamb. People might live lifetimes and never meet someone like him. Again, how lucky am I?

He became such a huge part of my life that he and his mother came to Thanksgiving and Christmas Eve celebrations. My parents loved him. My sister, too. My grandma. He was family. It was without question a beautiful friendship and Bob was a beautiful man. 

Bob’s dad had died tragically when he was a young man and so for most of his life it was just him and his mother. He was taking care of her when we met. The two of them lived together in a tiny two bedroom home in a development called Silvermead. She was in her early 80’s when I met her in 2005 and her health gradually deteriorated until the day she passed in 2014.

Things changed a little after that between him and I. Between him and everyone I think.

Bob became very sad. He always seemed a little lonely but now he became a bit darker. He cried a lot and longed for a time when he was a kid and Sunday Irish dinners with his family. There were 9 of them sitting around the table he would tell me. Aunts, Uncles, cousins, etc. He wanted those days back. He even left the South Street Players and decided to start a new theatre group called NINE THEATRICALS, in honor of that time in his life. He did this shortly after his mother passed.

I lived in New York City from 2008-2013 and did some productions there. With other companies and directors. Whenever I did, my parents would come to see it and their feedback after the show was always – “Not like Bob’s shows. Stick with him.” I can’t stress enough how fortunate I was to have a mentor like him. I know I continue to drive this home but it is apparent that mostly everything I do with Ruth Stage – stems from the influence of Bob in some incarnation. 

I spoke earlier about the legend of Bob and his acting. Before it was all said and done I had the opportunity to work opposite him on the stage, three times. The first was shortly after I moved into New York City. We did a production of Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? by Edward Albee in the Freehold area. I was “Nick” and he was “George.” I remember seeing a production of it on Broadway a few years later when Tracey Letts played George. All due respect to Mr. Letts but Bob’s performance absolutely blew him away. And that’s not playing favorites. Those are facts. 

Bob’s preparation, his choices, how he was so alive in the moment. It truly was an experience. The man that had taught me everything he knew, The Final Boss, was now opposite me on the stage. I felt like I had reached that point in the video game where I got to confront him in his element and see what everyone was talking about. There was one specific performance with him and I’ll never forget it. I didn’t know what it was. The feeling. What had happened. I’ve now come to learn it is something called Flow State. Flow State is when you achieve a state, during the creative process, where you just are DOING. You are not thinking – it’s just happening. It’s like an out of body experience where you are fully immersed and performing at your peak. Everything feels effortless yet intense.

I felt it for the first time ever acting opposite Bob and I remember at intermission saying to him, “Did you feel that? It was so real!” 

I’m a very competitive person and a huge sports fan. I love theatre so much because it’s alive. It’s in the moment. There are no second takes. It’s like a live in game situation that makes film and TV quite boring for me by comparison. And I want to win. I want to be the best. At any cost. Whatever it takes. I’ll do it. But I can say that there was probably one time in my life that I truly believed there was someone better than me on the stage. One time that I’ll concede that. And that’s not meant to be a flex or to be arrogant. The truth is, I work insanely hard, believe in myself and I know the gifts that I have. But during Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? – Bob was king. And it wasn’t just the role of George. It was Bob. His essence. He was just better. Had he stuck with acting and didn’t let a relationship derail him – had he not gotten comfortable producing shows in Freehold – he could have been one of the greats. To me, he was. But if he pursued it, relentlessly, everyone else might have gotten to see it too.

That was one thing I didn’t want to happen to me. I didn’t want to get stuck in Freehold. Great place. But I wanted more. More than community theatre. And so, I started pressing Bob to start doing more shows with NINE THEATRICALS in New York City. This was around the time Bob started slowing down in 2014, shortly after his mother died. I could just tell his spirit wasn’t the same. His desire to be great, it was no longer there. It was odd, he seemed to look forward to death, the same way someone might look forward to a trip to Italy. 

Our friendship was different by this point. A little strained, maybe. I know he still loved me but that love came with more quietness. He’d snap a little more than usual. When his mother died, something in him went away too.

Being a nonprofit, there was a “board” for NINE THEATRICALS. I put the word board in quotation marks because you couldn’t even call it that with a straight face. What it was, was a bunch of old ladies sitting around eating pretzels once a month taking notes as Bob and I led NINE THEATRICALS and actually produced results. They had no business weighing in on anything and it frustrated the Hell out of me. Their votes meant nothing because they did not help. They were not adding any value, in any way, to the company. At this point, 2015/2016 Bob was in charge of the NJ shows and I was in charge of the NYC shows. I’d remember coming up with ideas for fundraising and mounting legitimate shows in Manhattan and I’d remember getting so frustrated at him when he would tell me “the board has to approve it” when I’d pitch a New York City production. “Approve it?! Why are we giving them any kind of authority? I do all these shows myself in New York and you do them all in New Jersey and they don’t help. We are basically using our own money to do this while they show up once a month to eat goldfish crackers and we need their approval?” 

“Because Matthew. There is a board and we have to follow the bylaws.” He’d say.

Bob played by the rules a little more than me. 

It didn’t matter to me what they had to say. I didn’t care about the bylaws. I was going to find a way to produce the shows. And I did. And for a few years I really started making a name for NINE THEATRICALS in New York City. We worked in some great venues. Some major off Broadway houses. NINE THEATRICALS was picking up some momentum. But then, one day, after having a falling out with literally every member of the board after writing them all a well-deserved scathing letter for their lack of effort, Bob decided to blow the whole thing up and disband NINE THEATRICALS.  

“I’m dissolving the company and creating a new one.” He said to me on his back porch while sipping a Budweiser. “Oh Jesus Christ Bob!” I said. “I’m making a name for NINE THEATRICALS in New York City. Look at what we have been doing. Now I have to start all over? No.”

“I want to create a company in the memory of my mother, Ruth. She took me to the theatre in New York City when I was a kid. My love for the theatre and acting is because of her. I want to call it The Ruth Players.”

I paused, knowing I couldn’t talk him out of this. All my work with NINE THEATRICALS was going to have fall away. This was his mother. 

I conceded. Quickly. 

“Ok. But not The Ruth Players. That sounds like a community theatre group. We want power Bob. Let’s call it Ruth Stage.”

And that’s how it happened. 

The original logo was a white rose because that was her favorite flower. 

Ruth Stage’s first official production was actually Wars of the Roses, not The Collector, as the website states. Wars of the Roses was my chance to work with the legendary Austin Pendleton in an adaptation of Richard III. Austin and I had known eachother for a few years at this point and had always talked about working together. We decided on this Shakespearean adaptation where we took the texts of King Henry VI Part III and Richard III and merged them together to create a “new play” by Shakespeare. This was going to be a very big things for me and my career, playing “Richard III” under Austin’s direction and also playing opposite him on the stage as “King Henry the VI.”

Bob knew this was a big opportunity for me too. There was only one problem. Ruth Stage had no money in the bank account being a brand new nonprofit and the theatre rental was going to cost $10,000 for the three week run. This was 2018.

When it seemed like it just wasn’t going to happen Bob came up to me one afternoon at his house and said to me, “I will pay for the theatre, Matthew” and he handed me a check for $10,000.

I assumed he had the money but after his death – I realized he didn’t. But he did this for me because he knew this was going to help my career and there was nothing he wanted more in his life than to see me succeed. That is rare.

How can you ever repay a person back who was this good to you? I’d always feel that no matter what I did, it could never measure up to the things Bob would do for me. I could never repay him. But those were my own insecurities because Bob would NEVER, EVER, EVER hold it over my head. “I do these things for you because I love you like a son, Matthew. It gives me great joy to do these things for you knowing that it’s helping you get closer to becoming the great actor I know you can be!” He would say it like it was his duty. Like he was put on this Earth to make sure he left no stone unturned in order to help me. How do you ever repay someone like that? I am not just speaking in monetary terms but in every way. Everything he did for me. There was no one like him and I know I will never find a friendship like that again. I don’t think many people will. 

I think at this point in my life the role that I am most associated with is “Brick” in the off Broadway premiere of Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. “Brick” talks to “Big Daddy” about his friendship with his best friend “Skipper” at one point in the play. He describes the friendship as a “rare” and “true thing.” That was the friendship that Bob and I shared. I felt it every night on the stage when I delivered those lines. I could feel him in the theatre during those performances long after he was gone.

Bob and I had a common friend in the theatre, Joe Battista, who used to run the now defunct 13th Street Repertory Theatre. Joe gave us a lot of free rehearsal space for Wars of the Roses and so Bob and I bought him a gift card to a local restaurant in Freehold as thank you. Joe lived in town and he came over one afternoon and got the gift card. When it was time for him to go, I walked him outside. He stopped me in the driveway.

“Matt. Bob has cancer.”

“What do you mean he has cancer?”

“My father just died of cancer and I was taking care of him. Bob looks the same. Hes got that same look. I’m telling you. Bob has cancer.”

This was September of 2018.

Bob had slowed down considerably and lost some weight, but he told us all that he had irritable bowel syndrome. I explained to Joe that that was what it was. Everyone in Bob’s family except for his father lived well into their 80’s and 90’s. Bob was only 73 at this time. I knew I had many more years with him.

But Thanksgiving came that year and Bob didn’t come to my parents as he always did. It was the first Thanksgiving he missed in over 10 years with my family. He didn’t make it for Christmas Eve either. I saw him the next night though and took him out to dinner for Christmas at an Indian restaurant in Freehold. Bob got lambchops. A few days later he took me out for my birthday. It was our last meal together. 

I didn’t see him for about 6 weeks after that when I got a call one day from a common friend. She said to me, knowing how close we were, “Matt have you seen Bob lately?” I said, “No. But I talk to him all the time.” She responded with, “Well, you might want to stop over there. He’s so thin. He was at rehearsal last night and he looks like the wind could blow him over.” Bob, a devout Catholic man, was directing an adaptation of The Passion Play at the local Church and this common friend was part of the cast.

I went to his house the next day o see what was going on and when I walked in I was mortified. His face was sunken in. He was so frail. He must’ve lost 30 pounds and was already a thin man to begin with. “Bob, what is going on?” I asked. “It’s this damn IBS, that’s all.” He said. 

“Let me take you to the Doctor.”

Bob basically lied his way thru the next couple of months. Telling me that he had made doctor appointments, that they had given him new prescriptions, that there was nothing that could be done for his IBS, he just had to have a cleaner diet. None of it made sense and he continued to get worse and worse. I wanted to take him to the hospital on several occasions. “No!” he would snap. “I don’t want to go to that place. They are gonna keep me there and I just want to stay here.”

“But Bob if there’s something that they can do to help your condition…”

“I don’t care. I’m not staying in that place!”

A few days later his condition somehow worsened. He told me he was falling a lot. I’d see the bruises on him. It was becoming very concerning. Bob lived alone and I was about an hour away. I came by a few days a week, spent time with him and got him food and Pedialyte and other things he asked for. There was one afternoon that I was with him. We were waiting for a nurse to come that his goddaughter and I had arranged to come check on him. She was to be by on this afternoon and then pay him visits several times a week thereafter.

We sat there waiting when he said, “Can you run to the store for me and get me some goldfish crackers?” 

I went. 

When I came back I asked, “Did the nurse come?” He said no. I called his goddaughter and told her that the nurse never came. That I waited with him all day.

The next day I got a call from his her. She said that the nurse did come but Bob wouldn’t let her in and told her to go away. “No, I was with him all day….” And then it dawned on me. He sent me out at the exact time he knew she was coming.

A few nights later we called an ambulance to take him in the middle of the night. He was falling more frequently and was having issues keeping his home sanitary. But he was so defiant. He refused the care, told the ambulance to go away and then called me the next day. 

“Did you call an ambulance to come and get me last night?”

“No.” 

“Don’t lie to me Matthew.”

“Ok, Bob. I did. Because you’re sick and something is not right.”

A few nights later I was at his house. At this point I knew there was nothing that could be done. He wanted to die and would not allow us to give him any help. I couldn’t MAKE HIM want to live. At this point all I could do was honor his wishes and spend whatever time with him that I had left.

I know that this wasn’t the last time that I saw him but it is my last memory of our friendship. 

It was very late at night. Perhaps after midnight. He was on his couch wrapped under a blanket with the TV on. He was sleeping on the couch now because he was too weak to walk into his bedroom. The only light in the room came from the TV and it was lighting up his face. I knew that I had to say the hard things now because there probably wouldn’t be many more chances left with him.

“Bob, do you have cancer?” I asked.

“Yes, I think I might.” He replied immediately. It felt more like an admittance. That he had known all along and was just now finally coming clean about it.

I kneeled behind the couch with my head and arms over him as he laid there. I began to cry.

“Bob. You’re the best friend I ever had. Thank you so much for everything you’ve ever done for me. I love you and I could never repay you for the things you’ve done.”

“Matthew. Just let me go.”

He died just a few days later. This was May 2019.

I officially took over Ruth Stage in December of 2019 even though there were two productions after his death. Lone Star in June and The Glass Menagerie, off Broadway, in October. Then of course, there was Covid. My reign as the chairman of Ruth Stage really only began in the summer of 2022 with our off Broadway production of Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. 

Every show I have ever done since his death, I have tried to honor him in some way. In Lone Star a few weeks after his death I spray painted his name on the set. In The Glass Menagerie that October, we used furniture from his home for “The Wingfield’s” apartment. We also used a giant picture of Bob on the set representing “The Wingfield’s” father. That was a special production for me too because if you remember, Bob and I worked on The Glass Menagerie together in 2006. 13 years later now, Ruth Stage, founded in honor of his mother, became only the second company in history to stage the production off Broadway.

I changed the logo when I took over the company. It’s now a skull – injecting a darker, edgier vibe that matches the tone of our productions. But one thing you’ll notice tis that here are white roses surrounding the skull. These are there to honor Ruth and more importantly, honoring Bob and his wishes.

In our landmark Cat on a Hot Tin Roof productions, I hung up one of his old sweaters in the dressing room and kissed it before all 76 performances. In our 2023 off Broadway production of Lone Star, we added a unique comic book element to the show. In the comic, we drew Bob as the priest marrying my character “Roy” to his wife “Elizabeth.” Most recently in productions of The Zoo Story and At Home at the Zoo in Asbury Park, I wore that  sweater, the same one that I kissed during Cat, on my back, inside out, as part of Jerry’s outfit. 

Every time, just before I’m about to go on stage in front of a live audience, I make the sign of the cross and I say “Bob. Be with me out there.” He is my Obi Won Kenobi. I have no doubt that know he is watching and seeing all of the great things that Ruth Stage is doing. And I know that he is so proud. I am continuing the legacy that he started when he founded his first theatre company back in 1982.

Again, I ask: how do you repay someone like this? Bob was a literal angel who helped me through some of the most difficult times of my life while simultaneously teaching me how to be the best actor and producer that I can possibly be. There has never been anyone that has ever believed in me the way that Bob did. Never been anyone who was so selfless towards me. 

Running the company…there are days when it all seems like too much. The fundraising, the events, the marketing, the PR, the acting, the producing, dealing with contracts, unions and all kinds of people. There are days I just wanna say fuck it and be normal. There are days when I tell myself that I need to stop putting myself through this all of this madness. 

But those feelings go away…

…I find my center. And then I remember that Bob and I started this whole thing together back in 2005 on a tiny stage in Freehold during a production of The Mousetrap. And Bob and I will finish it together. Even if he’s somewhere else while it happens. I know he’s here. I know he’s with me.

The Hall of Flame started off as a joke. But then I said, no, wait a minute. This is actually kind of cool. Why don’t we create a page on our site to honor the people who have helped Ruth Stage. 

With all of my love it is my honor to induct Bob Lamb as the first inductee to the Ruth Stage Hall of Flame. The dark side’s light, the best friend I have ever had and the reason this entire thing exists.

Rest in Peace, Ranger.