Tony Padilla is not a social butterfly, but he is the guy you’d want to sit next to at a cocktail party—charming, funny, cerebral and observant, he’s just a fascinating human being.
Then there’s that delicious accent.
Born in Santiago de Cuba, Padilla’s father was a barber, and his mother a singer. Padilla grew up in the middle of the Cuban revolution; his parents were very protective, but Tony was aware of the gunfire and protests all around him. He learned early to distinguish the difference between a gunshot and a car backfiring.
Padilla is the oldest of six children, and the only one who was born in Cuba. When his parents came to the U.S., his father was drafted and sent to Monterey, Calif., for basic training before heading off to Germany for his tour of duty. Padilla stayed behind with his grandmother in Cuba until the revolution was over, then joined the family in Germany. He taught himself English from a book his dad used, and admits, “I sounded like a robot.”
When the family returned to the U.S., 11-year-old Padilla took the Oath of Allegiance to become a citizen. The reality of life in America was very different from his expectations.
“In Europe, we were always dressed up,” he said. “I always had on a sportscoat, etcetera. But here in the States, it was jeans, T-shirts and tennis shoes.”
Padilla was exposed to the world of performing at a young age, because his mother had been a singer in Cuba, but it wasn’t until high school that the acting bug hit. Padilla attended a junior college in Monterey, and was later accepted at the prestigious American Conservatory Theater in San Francisco. He performed in plays directed by William Ball, the school’s founder.
In the mid-1970s, on his way back from visiting a friend in Ohio, Padilla stopped in Chicago—and fell in love with the city. He decided to stay, and it was where he met Jim, his partner of 48 years. They started a company called Dover Metals, designing and selling food-display items like tea caddies, baskets and bowls.
In the late 1980s, shortly after the couple visited a friend in the Palm Springs area, Jim bought a house here, partly to give his ailing, elderly father a comfortable home in the sun. A few years later, they sold the company and made Palm Springs their home base, though they do spend summers in Carmel-by-the-Sea, to escape the extreme desert heat.
One day, on a stroll down North Palm Canyon Drive, Padilla noticed a building called The Galleria.
“It reminded me of an old arcade building in Europe. … I just loved it!” he said.
While the front of the building housed an art gallery, many spaces were empty, and others were being used for storage. Padilla and his partner rented out a small space downstairs, and offered to buy the entire building if it ever went up for sale. In the mid-1990s, after the building’s owner passed away, his wife offered the building to Padilla and Jim, knowing how much they loved it.
Today, the lower level is an upscale art gallery ran by Padilla and his partner, with paintings, sculptures, Japanese ceramics and glass beads from Italy. Both men have an artistic eye, and Jim himself is an abstract painter. Retail tenants hawk their wares in the other lower-level spaces. Upstairs is Padilla’s office, along with a second office and two apartments which are rented out.
Padilla’s prolific writing career began when he started churning out what he describes as “schmaltzy” poetry. “But I always wanted to be a man of letters—to have some gravitas,” he said.
He cites Edward Albee, and particularly his play The Zoo Story as a big inspiration. “It was so shocking at the time. I mean, this guy kills another guy over a park bench. It was a sensation both here and in Germany, and he reportedly wrote it in a week. I thought, ‘That’s what I want to do, write something in a week that has that kind of lasting social consciousness.’”
Tony Padilla is currently working on a follow-up to his recent Sherlock Holmes Confidential, as well as a serious work about transgender identification.
Padilla said he believes the play Endangered Species is his best work. The story revolves around what people do when they find a live baby abandoned in a garbage can in New York City. Would you immediately rescue the infant—or choose not to get involved? The play offers some surprising answers. A friend in Italy produced it, then submitted it to the Schegge D’Autore (Festival of Italian Theatre) in Rome, where it won the International Award Medal.
Though Padilla has also had success as a director, he said writing is absolutely his first love: “I enjoy it more than anything else.”
As laid-back and soft-spoken as he is, Padilla admits that his pull toward writing and directing came from a desire to control things.
“The writer is God—he creates the world; he creates the characters; he tells them what to say,” Padilla said. “The best combination is a good writer and a good director. You get those two together, and it’s heaven!”
Padilla writes mostly at night, sometimes with the TV on low as background noise. He carries a little notepad and always has ideas for new plays percolating in his head. He’s currently working on a follow-up to his recent Sherlock Holmes Confidential, as well as a serious work about transgender identification.
Padilla doesn’t mind hearing suggested changes to a new play he’s written. “I’m secure enough in myself that I can take the comment into consideration, and ask if it’s really of value to me or not,” he said.
Of the numerous honors Padilla has received, the Joan Woodbury-Michell Award from the Desert Theatre League is one that is close to his heart. The award is given to someone whose mission is to help theater grow here in the desert.
As the co-founder and artistic director emeritus of Desert Ensemble Theatre, Padilla is particularly proud of his company’s training and scholarship program. They teach kids backstage skills, like lighting, sound and set design, stage managing, etc., which is a rarity in the valley. Some of their students have gone on to great success.
When asked what other era Padilla would have wanted to live in, he pauses, then answers: “In Harlem in the 1920s, because so much was happening. But only if I had money!”
As for his philosophy of life, Padilla doesn’t hesitate: “To leave this place better than I found it. I ask myself that a lot since I’ve gotten older: Have I just sucked it up? Or have I contributed anything?”
The answer to the latter question would appear to be a resounding yes.
Bonnie Gilgallon also writes theater reviews for Independent and hosts a weekly radio show, The Desert Scene, on Mutual Broadcasting. Her website is www.bonnie-g.com, and she can be emailed at BonnieGnews@gmail.com.