Chad Estrada was supposed to be a one-off.
Harbour Theatre was holding an event called Lounge Night at the old Raffles Inn in Prince Rupert. The show would feature music acts and a motif based on the cool, casual bars/lounges of the 50s and 60s.
I was still fairly new to the performing arts but I had always fancied myself a good singer and loved the old Sinatra and Andy Williams-style songs. My dad had been a big influence as he had his own band and was quite the crooner. So, my initial plan was to do the black-and-white suit look that was Frank Sinatra’s trademark, but a skit on Saturday Night Live changed things.
In the skit, Bill Murray was playing a hack lounge singer at an airport lounge. One of his songs was
“Star Wars, nothing but Star Wars …” sung to the movie’s theme music. I loved it and would make it my own – but I needed a name. Enter my good friend, Rod McNish.
While out at a coffee shop discussing my act and search for a name, Rod said that I kind of looked like CHIPs TV show star, Eric Estrada, and maybe I could be his brother. I had a good laugh but then thought, why not? I named him Chad and he would be the half-brother of Eric, whose family had adopted him (there’s an elaborate back-story).
The first costume was an ordinary blue suit jacket with black lapels, a white dress shirt and black bowtie, black slacks and shoes, and orange-tinted shades. The first jacket lasted me a couple of shows until a friend gave me a sparkly blue jacket that I would wear for almost 20 years.
Physically, I always had my hair greased back and, at some point, decided to have one big curl on my forehead. I had a fake mustache at first but it wouldn’t stay on (it got a big laugh one night when it was dangling off my upper lip) so I discarded it.
While Bill Murray’s character did a lot of chatting with the audience, I stuck mostly to a stand-up routine that was broken up by 2-3 songs depending on the length of the gig. I did the walk-about chatting thing for more intimate settings if the audience seemed right for it.
As the gigs got bigger, I had to not only expand my act but customize it at times to the audience, whether it be a birthday party or a business conference. I also came up with an indicator for the type of show it was going to be: the more shirt buttons that were undone, the raunchier the show. I recall the late Frank Parnell telling me one night before a show for TRICORP, “I wanna see your belly button tonight!”
The Chad show was largely successful but it didn’t always go well. My worst experience was also my best paying. It was in Kitimaat village for Haisla Days and, because I was getting paid well, I extended my act to about 40 minutes (it’s normally half of that).
After a great dinner on a beautiful sunny day in the village, my show was set to go at 7 pm. I felt good about my material but I was more nervous than usual because there was a lot of new stuff and this was my first time in Kitamaat.
It was bad right from the start.
I opened with a joke about prison and Aboriginals that was met with gasps. The girl running the sound for me laughed at first but then stopped when she saw the crowd’s reaction. I moved on, serenading an older woman in the front row. But, when I playfully sat on her lap, the woman beside her yelled “get off my aunty!” and pushed me off of her.
Oh boy.
That’s when I scanned the crowd and, this time, saw what I somehow hadn’t earlier. This was a mostly older crowd and, suddenly remembering what other villages are lik solemn Christians. The judging was written all over their scowls.
I went through the joke Rolodex in my head and realized that my show was now cut in half – at least. Needing to win them over NOW, I quickly moved into basketball which is, of course, a favorite topic of pretty much any Northcoast Aboriginal community. It is certainly much beloved in Kitamaat, which has an illustrious history in the All Native Tournament.
Of course, flattery gets you everywhere so I sang praises of Haisla hoops glory while also noting Port Simpson’s poor record, particularly in the All Native, and got some laughs. I rolled into more basketball jokes and, while I wasn’t killing it, they no longer looked pissed.
I got through that show without any further calamity then changed my mind about the overnight accommodations - especially after seeing a group of what looked like angry nephews chatting and shooting glares at me. I snapped the cheque out of my host’s hand and high-tailed it out of there.
Lesson learned. ALWAYS do your homework. At least I wouldn’t have to worry about running into any of those angry folks sometime down the road as, much to my surprise, not a lot of people recognize me as Chad.
I thought that, with just my hair slicked back and wearing tinted glasses and the flashy suit, it was easy to recognize me. Yet, there were several times friends who were seeing the act for the first time later said they didn’t even know it was me.
My favorite reveal was when I worked at the Friendship House and the Executive Director and I was talking to some of our youth program members about the upcoming Youth Conference. He told them that Chad Estrada was going to be performing and one girl said, “That guy? The one with the shiny jacket? He sucks!”
Farley laughed and nodded toward me. The kids all looked at me and, after a few seconds, it sank in. The girl put her hands over her mouth, “Oh my God …” and we had a good laugh.
Even my partner believed Chad was a real guy when she caught my act at a staff party. She was incredulous that not only would someone come all the way from Vegas (which I always said I just arrived from), but that he would be so bad. It wasn’t until a few months later when she saw me at a house party and we met for the first time that she figured it out.
One of my best shows was at Rupert’s Lester Centre, where I opened for the renowned Indigenous comedian, Don Burnstick. The All Native Tournament was in town so there was a full house.
I did about 20 minutes and killed with jokes about area village slogans and singing “Who’s Gonna Fry Bologna Tonight” to the tune of the Cars’ song, Drive. After I introduced Burnstick, he grabbed me by the elbow as I was passing him in the wing and said, with a fake scowl, “Hey, the opener’s not supposed to be that good.”
After the show, Burnstick asked if he could borrow one of my jokes and his manager asked if I would consider traveling with them as the warmup act. I thought about it but not for long, telling them over drinks that night that I had a kid and was a single dad, and well …
So, while I also got gigs at conferences in Vancouver and Kelowna, the Royal BC Museum in Victoria, and also got a call to do a month-long stint at a hotel in Vancouver, it did not become a full-time thing.
Over the past decade, Chad has been hosting The Legendary Chad Estrada Christmas Special Spectacular, a show done in the style of the old Bob Hope TV specials. It’s done at the Tom Rooney Playhouse in Rupert and sells out every time and is a highlight for many, including students whom I recruit from the high school musical to do a spoof of it.
Due to COVID and my having to withdraw from the last show for personal reasons, it has been three years since the last Chad Estrada Christmas Special Spectacular.
Lately, I have been very busy with writing, working on a podcast project, and family commitments, and I’m not sure if I can manage a show this year. Also, I’m not sure how much more Chad has left in him, and I am seriously thinking that maybe the act is at its end.
But, if this is the end, how to do it?
A huge gala with comedy, dance, special guests, and a farewell song, would be fun. I’ve always wanted to have a full band and all the bells and whistles of the Lester Centre show.
Or maybe the last show was the end. And he is already gone.
Perhaps he has left in much the way he was revealed to his first big audience at the Lester Centre; stepping out of the shadows at an audition for a talent show, unheralded, not even close to the star he thought he was ... but good enough to make people smile every time he sauntered on stage.