Witchie Poo casts a lingering spell on Sonoma

Every October for 40 years, Diana Rhoten has wriggled into striped tights and a fright wig to become Witchie Poo, a good witch with fleet feet and a warm cackle.

The very first time she donned the costume of her Halloween alter ego, Ronald Reagan was president, the space shuttle hadn’t launched yet, and the average American home cost less than $50,000.

In the four decades since, more than 3,000 local kids have sung and danced in the annual production, 1,000 of their adult carers have donated time to the project, and Witchie Poo established itself as a Sonoma tradition.

“This only works in Sonoma, believe me,” Rhoten said modestly. “Sonoma cheers us on for the stupidest things we do.”

There are five fundamental elements to a classic Witchie Poo show: a medley of popular songs, a dance number set to music from “A Nightmare Before Christmas,” a black light performance, slick magic tricks, and an ensemble performance of Michael Jackson’s “Thriller.” In between all of that, Witchie Poo and her merry band of misfits embark on a “hero’s journey” of a sort.

“Gotta have the antagonist and protagonist. Something has got to happen to Witchie Poo and Lemy, and you’ve got to have a villain,” Rhoten said.

The original idea was scaled somewhat differently, gifted from a from a friend who wanted to make Halloween memorable for her young son.

“My son Jeremy was in kindergarten, and his best friend’s mom made me a puppet called Witchie Poo. She put on a gorilla outfit, I had the puppet, and we put on a little show in my garage,” Rhoten said of the show’s origins.

Rhoten took that little show on the road to Flowery Elementary School, and her husband, Roger, came along to add magic. “The puppet did some magic, and then Roger made a puff of white smoke, and I came out of the smoke as a big version of Witchie Poo. I had so much fun, I never went back to the puppet,” Rhoten said.

For the first couple of years, the production was staged at the Boys and Girls Club. “Lumpy Williams was the director and there had been a big scare about trick-or-treating,” Rhoten said, remembering the tainted candy news stories that seemed in those days to be everywhere at once. “We created a ’safe and sane’ Halloween and vendors came in and the kids could trick or treat and see a show.”

Staging a production that had to be completely struck between shows turned out to be a lot of hard work. Invited to relocate to the Sebastiani Theatre in 1987, the Rhotens jumped at the chance and never looked back.

“We really grew then,” Rhoten remembered. “We went from a boom box and a little mic to a real sound system. The Community Center had loaned us a little follow spot, and we went from that to all these lights and sounds and a fog machine. More kids. More costumes. More make-up.”

Without really intending to, the Rhotens had built a meaningful tradition for local kids and their families, and Witchie Poo took on a life of its own.

The secret sauce, Rhoten said, is in the show’s inclusiveness. “If you showed up for practice, you were in the show. That was—and still is—the main thing.” Of course, some of the kids arrived with native skills that set them apart, and Diana Rhoten had a good eye for talent.

Local singer/songwriter Sarah Summers, now 27, had her first Witchie Poo go-round at age 5. “Diana’s inclusiveness has created this weird, sort of anarchist, creative hub that’s really not about showcasing elite talent,” Summers said, despite being in possession of fairly elite talent herself. Summers won a coveted spot at UCLA’s performing arts school, going on to win major competitions and build a music career. “Instead, you have generations of ’poo’ kids who fall in love with performing because it’s pure, hilarious joy. When I think about how Diana influenced my career long term, I think about resourcefulness and experimentation and joy.”

But this year, like almost everything else, Witchie Poo was canceled by COVID-19. The Rhotens have never suffered a shortage of tenacity, however, and are already planning to go big for next year. Unwilling to let the 40th anniversary of the show slide by without fanfare, they’re electing to hit the reset button on 2020. “We’re thinking of this year as year 39.1, and next year we’ll celebrate our 40th anniversary,” Rhoten said.

Will next year be the last? Is 40 years enough?

Rhoten, 76, is almost aghast at the temerity of the question. “No! Witchie Poo is going to go on forever, even if the first Witchie Poo has to retire. It’s just too cool of a project to not have anymore. We hope our legacy can go on,” Rhoten said.

Despite the production’s forced hiatus this year, it’s deep archive of filmed productions has been compressed into a super-cut, available for viewing on the Sebastiani Theatre’s website.

And on Halloween, Witchie Poo herself will fire up her broom and fly into town. She’ll be outside the Sebastiani between 4 and 7 p.m., socially distanced from her faithful sidekick, Elwood, perhaps with some kind of safe candy delivery system rigged for the kids who pass by.

Mostly she’ll be there just to let her light shine, same as she has for 39 years. By now, the character and the woman who plays her are inexorably fused. “I can’t go a year without dressing up as Witchie Poo,” Rhoten said.

Next year, with the world hopefully tipped back onto its axis, and the bad craziness of 2020 relegated to dark memory, Rhoten plans to carry on the tradition that has introduced so many youngsters to the liberating joy of silly self-expression. But if the cookie crumbles differently, and coronavirus still reigns? What would happen to Witchie Poo then?

Rhoten is unfazed by the specter of further doom. “We don’t believe in miracles. We depend on them,” she said.

Contact Kate at kate.williams@sonomanews.com.