HIS IMAGINATION KNEW NO BOUNDSTo return to the John D. Perkins memorial page, click here
HIS IMAGINATION KNEW NO BOUNDS
A Tribute To John D. Perkins
March 3, 1947 - June 23, 1994
Edward Ditterline and John D. Perkins were partners
It was my inestimable pleasure to have spent almost two decades of my life
living with and loving John D. Perkins, both as his partner in life and in
business.
When John D. Perkins -- or Perk, as he preferred to be called -- died, I lost
my soul mate, absolutely. And while I wish I could say I have “moved on” as
he would have wanted, even now when I am with another man, I feel as though I
am cheating on the one person who understood me as no other ever has -- the
one person who loved me unfailingly, always, without demanding of me anything
in return. I cannot possibly explain in words how much I miss this man’s
presence in my life.
It is not uncommon in memorial tributes to hear that so-and-so was “a true
Renaissance man.” In the case of Perk, the accolade is not only true, it is
more than well deserved.
When I met him, he was in the process of renovating a co-op in Manhattan -- a
huge, rambling thing -- the largest apartment I have seen to this day. It was
located in one of the most prestigious landmark buildings on the upper east
side of the island. I think the multimillionaire old queen who had hired Perk
for the job, did so because Perk favored working in overalls with one strap
hooked and wearing nothing underneath. Perk’s professional portfolio was,
however, every bit as dazzling as his physical portfolio.
Perk had attended the University of California at Davis, studying interior
design and architecture, and while I knew nothing about taking something
grand and historic and giving it a new life while respecting its old one, I
loved what he was doing. From Perk I learned about crown moldings, tongue and
groove floors and a myriad of other architectural adornments. I learned
about the warp and weave of magnificent, handmade fabrics. And so many other
things.
Perhaps the thing which struck me most about all of Perk’s work, no matter
what it might have been, was the care and appreciation for detail he put into
everything he did. He never cut corners. He never sloughed through. He never
just made do. He was always a creative perfectionist in every sense of the
word. We shared that trait in common. And sometimes, we almost drove one
another nuts because of it. At the end of each project, however, we were
always glad we put everything we had into everything we did.
When Perk told me he wanted to design and build all the furniture for our
home in Key West, I was not amused. Coming from a poor white folk background
where do-it-yourself projects ended up looking like exactly what they were, I
cringed at the thought. But Perk persisted, as he always did and he won out.
As he always did. And the results were more spectacular than I could have
ever imagined.
Perk had a flair for the theatrical -- it’s just one of the many things we
shared in common. While my theatricality usually played itself out on the
stage and screen, Perk’s evidenced itself primarily in our homes and offices.
Our master bedroom in Key West was dominated by a gigantic, over-scaled
upholstered bed which looked like it belonged to a couple of 1940s movie star
lesbians -- Joan Crawford and Bette Davis -- several of our friends commented
loudly and snidely at the time. When I first saw the bed complete, I told
Perk there was no way I was going to sleep in the damn thing. While I
certainly appreciated the artistry of it all, it didn’t strike me as being
very butch...of which Perk was the personification of the word.
Something changed after he decided we should break in the bed. I was all
comfy and at home with it. And I missed sleeping in it terribly when our work
and travels took us elsewhere. At the very least, I felt like Cecil B.
Demille, if not Liberace, when I slept in that wonderful bed. I still laugh
out loud when I think of it.
For our living room in Key West, Perk created an overscaled series of
upholstered, channel-quilted modular seating units in hand-dyed forest green
raw silk, which could be ingeniously rearranged in many different ways. And
did he rearrange them! While I am the type of person who has the same layout
of furniture in the house for years at a time, it seemed every time I left
home and I returned, nothing looked the same as when I had left.
At first, Perk’s constant rearranging of the furniture almost gave me a
nervous breakdown, but after several years, I got accustomed to the different
looks when I came home. It was not all all unusual to return to the house
after a day out on my own to find walls repainted, new fabrics draped over
the windows or some enormous 12 foot tall, weird tropical plant plopped in
the middle of the living room, with a gurgling fountain where a tall teak
Indonesian statue of Vishnu riding Garuda had stood when I had left that
morning.
Everything was a stage to Perk and the people who inhabited his environments
were players on his stage. He designed some of the most spectacular clothing
I have ever seen for his family and friends. He designed and made virtually
all of my casual shirts, as well as all of the formal wear for his sister and
mother...much of which ended up being worn to the Academy Awards, the Tony
Awards, the International Film and Television Festival, Cannes, the New York
City Ballet and Opera, Studio 54 and many other fun and exciting places.
Without fail, his interiors, his clothing and his furniture designs would be
hailed by Architectural Digest, Interiors, W, Entertainment Tonight and many
other media outlets. And without fail, when they wanted to take a picture of
the creator of these visages, Perk would somehow manage to disappear. He
hated being in the limelight. I, of course, was more than happy to stand in
for him and sing his praises.
In many ways, John was a shy and modest man. I suppose that is much of what I
loved about him. We were polar opposites in almost every way. When we met,
neither of us were the other’s type. I was a tall, blond, lean, with little
body hair and I was attracted to people with my look. I had been married for
12 years to a statuesque blond beauty and that’s what I liked...at least in
women. So it was reasonable to assume I would look for a male version of what
I had previously.
When I met Perk, I had just started an entertainment company called, with
great originality, Edward Ditterline Entertainment. I had used my name
because when the company began, I was its only asset and people knew my work.
Perk and I would sit at our dining room table in our high-rise apartment
overlooking the East River in Manhattan, creating all manner of wonderful
ideas for film, television and theatrical projects.
One of the things I miss most about the man is that we worked together for
almost 20 years, taking a tiny company which was $10,000 in debt and
headquartered in our apartment, to having the joy of watching it become a
multimillion dollar enterprise with its corporate headquarters on Fifth
Avenue and four field offices with over 500 staff and freelance employees.
Prior to his death, we had offices in New York, Los Angeles, Las Vegas,
Orlando and Detroit. Each office specialized in its own particular kind of
entertainment and we loved the differences and the variety in each of them.
While many people have said “Oh, I could never work with my partner, we would
kill each other,” the fact was, Perk and I thrived on one another’s ideas and
imagination. In fact, for the vast majority of the 18 years we were together.
We seldom spent a night apart. Yes, once in a while we got on one another's
nerves, but far more often, we pushed one another to see far more together
than either of us could have seen through our own eyes.
While my concepts were always big and bold, Perk’s were seemingly off the
planet, off the wall and off the charts in terms of budget. Without fail when
he would come up with an idea, I would reply “Perk, that’s impossible. It
can’t be done. We can’t afford it.” He would just grin and wiggle his
eyebrows and laugh and say, “Oh Eddie, you’ll figure out how we can do it.”
And he would walk off and rearrange all our offices, thinking about how much
fun it would be seeing the idea on stage.
Of course, I would think about the idea and a few hours or a few days later,
I would figure out how we could do it. Perk’s ideas were so thrilling in
their inspiration that I brought in technical people who helped realize
things which had never been done before in film, video or the theater. As a
result, we became known for our spectacular special effects in an age when a
smoke machine and a mirrored ball got an “ahhhhh” from an audience. We went
to our clients and imbued them with our confidence that, indeed, we could
pull off a miracle. And we always did. And they always paid for it.
I remember one particular idea Perk came up with for a finale in a traveling
rock space odyssey we did called “The Excitement Beyond Tomorrow.” It was a
new car introduction we created and produced for Pontiac and they had given
us a multimillion dollar budget to work with. We needed something huge as a
finale, so Perk said “I see this huge space ship coming down out of the
ceiling with swirling vapors, lights chasing and rockets slowing its landing.
And I want all the cast on board and the space ship to take off and reveal
the Pontiac Transport van, like it was brought to earth by this space ship.”
To make a long story longer, the effect was created for the finale and I do
not mind saying somewhat immodestly that it remains to this day the most
spectacular special effect I have ever seen on a stage. I think it was much
more fun than that silly chandelier on a pulley in “Phantom.” Or the
helicopter in “Miss Saigon.” And while only thousands of people saw our space
ship, and not millions, the gasps we heard from our audience every time it
landed sent chills down my spine.
The show went on to win nine gold awards at the International Film and
Television Festival in the live theatrical category and John and I were both
given special gold awards for our contributions for “expanding the limits of
creativity and technology on the American stage.” It was our proudest moment
together professionally.
Perk’s creativity and imagination knew no bounds. Nor did his love and
appreciation for all people. He was a quietly passionate man who had great
dreams, just as I did. In the course of our relationship, we were able to
make virtually all our dreams come to pass.
Both of us were horrified to learn the Marcoses were the owners of the
building and that in all likelihood, the money had been stolen from the
Philippine people to buy it. There was nothing we could do, however, since we
had already signed the lease.
The reason for calling the company Lionfish, Perk told me, was that I was the
lion (a Leo) and he was the fish (a Pisces). Plus, we both loved the lionfish
for its beauty, grace and theatricality, but we also liked the fact that if
you backed one in the corner, you were in serious trouble because they are
very poisonous and will fight to the death.
Perk told me this also reminded him of us...that we were kind and gentle
spirits, but we did not hesitate to fight for our beliefs when we had to.
Plus, he felt the lionfish was a reflection of Key West, our home, and he
wanted to acknowledge our beloved island in some way.
Today, Lionfish Entertainment remains a legacy of John D. Perkins. He remains
co-founder and President Emeritus of the organization. As the company
continues to create large scale theatrical shows for Broadway and Las Vegas
and film and television projects for Hollywood, I wonder how Perk would have
embraced the world wide web and created his artistic visions for many of our
clients.
Unfortunately, he died of AIDS.
Unfortunately, there is still no cure.
Unfortunately, I still have to make a life after I have lost the one person
who meant more to me than life itself.
Rest in peace, my love, I will be yours for eternity.
Love always,
Eddie
in business and in life for 18 years before Perkins'
demise of AIDS in 1994. Photo by Martha Swope.
From October 19, 1978, the day we met
in a sleazy leather bar called Chaps on
New York City’s upper east side, until his death in the emergency room at
Cabrini Hospital in Chicago 18 years later, this amazing human being brought
remarkable joy, challenge, beauty, hope, imagination and accomplishment to my
life. Even now, over five years after his death of AIDS-related conditions on
June 24, 1994, his loss so overwhelms me that I can barely function some days.
Perk, on the other hand, was shorter, muscular, semi-hairy, an Irishman with
the most amazing bronze-colored hair you have ever seen. He was attracted to
shorter, more ethnic-looking people, as he had been married to a beautiful
Lebanese woman for seven years. 
I looked at him like he was insane. Totally out of his mind. I told him the
effect would cost at least a quarter of a million dollars and the space ship
would have to be about 85 feet wide and around 20 feet high. Well, I kept
thinking about how tremendous the effect would be and I brought in our legion
of technicians and sure enough, it would cost $250,000. 
One of those dreams became reality in 1990, when we sold Edward Ditterline
Entertainment and created Lionfish Entertainment. Perk came up with the name
for the new company, which I hated at first because I thought it sounded too
funky and tropical. Our headquarters, were after all, in the Crown Building
on Fifth Avenue, just a few floors down from where Imelda Marcos, wife of the
deposed president of the Philippines, stored all her thousands of pairs of
shoes. 
Unfortunately, no one will never know.