Sacred Ground

       Last night amid the towering thunderheads and the flashing lightning, a lovely, blue moon poked its head in and out. As the storm blew south – without a drop of needed rain, I might add – the night grew quiet and majestic. The woods and fields that surround our house glowed in the moon light and helped explain why Shakespeare was moved to write A Midsummer Night’s Dream. This was a weekend of reunions in our house. I visited with theatre classmates I last saw when I was in college and we celebrated with Jeanette’s high school colleagues from 1980. I’ve come to understand that relationships created around challenging and rewarding activities are not as affected by time as others. I had not seen or spoken to many of my theatre classmates in over 40 years and still it was easy to recall very specific moments from various productions. I know what the research says about the accuracy of these “snapshot” memories, but despite the fuzziness of the details, it was clear that these experiences from decades ago had a huge impact on the people involved. And as we grow older, gratitude plays a bigger part in our memories, too. It seems we come to realize that much of what makes any experience personally significant depends on the generosity and assistance of others. I heard – and said – thank you often in the course of the evening. There are few experiences that require the emotional risks and provide the emotional rewards of theatre performance. Creating plays together can create bonds that last a life time. And yet, only a few of those in attendance actually made performing or producing plays a career. What is the value of studying theatre in college? Or any subject for that matter? How do we measure the value of a college education?

            I’m not sure when I specifically decided I might go to college, but I think it was in Mrs. Linley’s speech class in high school. I vaguely remember a discussion in class when Mrs. Linley was warning the boys that “a baggie and a rubber band” was probably not a good strategy for birth control. She seemed to be having so much fun and it made me think about becoming a teacher. Like many prospective college students, I saw college connected to a job. I did not come from college educated parents, but I think they also saw college as an avenue to a more financially secure future. (Although she never said as much, I believe my mom was aware that college admission also provided a deferment from the draft. I graduated from high school in 1968 when many were dying in Vietnam.) My dad, on the other hand, seemed to recognize that college might make employment more meaningful. Although he had a relatively skilled job as a tool and die maker, he did not find much reward in his work. I distinctly remember him saying after arriving home from the factory, “Another day wasted.” Perhaps it explained why he also ran our farm and spent 18 hours a day working. As such, academic performance in school was not a high priority. If we were passing and out of trouble, books were set aside for farm work. Extra-curricular activities like sports placed extra burdens on everyone. I entered college because I did not want to be a farmer. I’m a little embarrassed that I expected so little.

            I arrived on the campus of Wisconsin State University-Whitewater, later to become UW- Whitewater, anxious and uncertain. A mediocre student at best, I had been told that college was very academically challenging. I wasn’t sure I was good enough and I was on my own for the first time. In class, however, I discovered I could make sense of the material. (Ok, maybe not math so much.) If I actually READ my assignments and took notes about my reactions, botany and zoology, history and psychology all made sense. And for the first time in my life, I was immersed in a place where ideas were just as important as actions. I was experiencing what I would later understand as “enlightenment”. Every day brought something new. I don’t want to pretend that I suddenly became an honor student and scholar. I didn’t. But I was amazed and humbled by the way true scholars tried to make meaning of the human experience. For the first time I began to see that the purpose of education is not just to understand what we see around us, but also to imagine and understand the experiences we have that give our lives meaning. I began to understand why my high school teachers had patiently presented lessons that pushed me to the edge of my understanding, especially in English. Botany, zoology, economics, and history helped me see our long, magnificent tradition of intellectual inquiry. But far more profound was my involvement in the arts. Not because they offered a better career opportunity, but because the arts – theatre and music specifically - helped me discover a new part of myself. This discovery is the essential reason why college is so important. My family viewed the arts in the traditional folk art way. It was ok to put a nice design on a quilt, but the quilt better keep out the cold. Singing and playing the guitar entertained the family sometimes, but not until the real work was done. In college I learned that theatre arts offered a unique way to explore those questions that I never asked my mother and father: Why are we here? What happens when we die? What makes a meaningful life? Death of a Salesman helped me understand my father (and all fathers) in ways I never had before.

There is little doubt that college reinforces skills necessary to be a productive person. Every class requires organization, time management, determination (“grit”, the new buzz word in education), and diligence. Every class offers practice in composition, reading, and all levels of public and personal communication. But if college is nothing more than training for employment, something profound is lost. My college experience helped me create a fuller, more satisfying life. I studied with people who were raised in places I didn’t know and viewed the world in ways I couldn’t see. I read books I had never heard of and thought things I never before imagined. Of course I know college is not the only place where people learn these important lessons, nor do I believe every student achieves “enlightenment”, but college still provides the best place for self-discovery and enlightenment.

As I wandered around the performing arts center at UW-Whitewater, I was aware that I was walking on sacred ground. A place where dreams and hopes take shape. Forty years from now when the latest graduating class returns, I hope they too will find old friends and some inspiration.

Landscapes

       There is a goose sitting on the end of our dock and it appears that he has decided to stay. He seems to have taken a fancy to the water lilies just starting to sprout nearby. His mate is securely settled in a nest on an island across the way, but our friend is comfortably seated on our dock. I wonder why? In his book Bridge of Sighs, Richard Russo has a 10 year old boy say, “I discovered I could think things on a new landscape that never would have occurred to me at home.” I wonder if that goose has discovered a new landscape from his perch above the water. Does he see his world differently? More to his liking? What does his mate think? Does she scold him or just shake her head in amusement? I can identify with the bird on the dock.

       When I was seventeen, I went off to college only forty miles from my home on the farm, but it might as well have been to the moon. The people, the books, the ideas changed everything about my view of the world. It also helped me understand and appreciate my own background better. When I was young, I could never understand why city people wanted to come and wander around the farm. We had arrowhead hunters, boy scouts, nature lovers, and canoeists who found sanctuary in the fields and streams and woods of our farm. Why would anyone wander around looking for rocks in a farm field? My college landscape helped me better understand why we all do silly things.  (It also helped me identify with the significant other shaking her head in amusement.)

       Perhaps the urge to think new things is the reason some of us are drawn to travel. I don’t think I ever really thought about what our pioneer ancestors confronted until I stood in front of an abandoned log cabin on the lonely plains of North Dakota. Or the sense of awe I discovered on a Colorado mountain peak outside Durango. This helps explain why I have always liked rivers and motorcycles. Each makes it easy to move from place to place.

       Of course, some new landscapes are more psychological than physical. When we venture on to new emotional or intellectual terrain, we find new things to think about, too. Those of us who have worked as teachers all have stories of students discovering new ways to see the world without ever leaving home. And many times, we have gone on those internal journeys, too. We move on to a new landscape – sometimes by choice, sometimes not – and we think new things. Sometimes these moves can be difficult, but just as often they are exciting and invigorating. As this new spring erupts in sunshine and clover, I hope – just like the goose - you find a new landscape to think new thoughts.     

The Stream

The theatre and visual arts center at Edgewood College is called The Stream. I like that name. The notion that the arts are fluid and moving, sometimes unpredictable, makes perfect sense to me. I have become better acquainted with The Stream over the past few months after having the unique experience of performing in a play with Cassie, my youngest daughter. When she told me her director was looking for some “older men” to play parts in Little Women, I confessed that I always thought it would be fun to perform with one of my children. Of course, I assumed that Cassie recognized that I was making a rhetorical statement. I had not been in a play for years and I was just getting comfortable being a retired teacher. Silly me. When I received an e-mail from the director of Little Women inviting me to audition, things got a little more complicated. Fortunately, Director Susan Nanning-Sorenson understood fully the dynamic of the situation. After deciding that Cassie would play Meg, the oldest March daughter, she invited me to audition and offered me the role of Mr. March, Meg’s father. Exquisite, isn’t it? And surprising. I joined to have a personal experience with my daughter and discovered anew why theatre is so indispensable.

Cassie has ALWAYS been dramatic. Pictures of her over her 21 years are often filled with grand poses and funny faces. Like her father, she is the youngest and uses her playfulness to make friends. She is also a good singer and dancer which helped her find success in the only consistent performance organization in her school - show choir. Sadly, Cassie attended a school like many, many students in rural Wisconsin that has no theatre arts program save for the annual school musical. Until enrolling at Edgewood, Cassie had never had any formal instruction in theatre arts and, even though she has performed regularly in their choir and theatre musicals, she had never done a non-musical play until Little Women. She was worried that she might not be up to playing Meg. I found myself saying the same things I had said to dozens of acting students I have worked with over my years as a high school theatre director. “You will need to find something in Meg that touches you and helps you understand how she feels. Don’t worry. You can do this.” And – with the help of Susan and her fellow actors – she did. Beautifully.

As interesting as it was to watch Cassie and the other actors develop their characters, I was fascinated by the process of creating the play. Now, keep in mind that while I have been involved in dozens of plays as an actor or director, I have not done a play in several years. I suspect this absence let me see the process with fresh eyes.

All play rehearsal schedules follow a fairly regular routine. After auditions, the entire cast meets to do a complete read through of the play.  Everyone gets to hear the lines and see their fellow players. (At the read through, the director will often make a few comments about his/her vision for the play. My experience taught me that talking too much at the start was not useful. If I had selected a good play, it would speak for itself.) From then on, the director works individually with the cast to connect them to the overall interpretation of the script. Little Women is a play based on a novel written by Louisa May Alcott and follows the four daughters of the March family during and after the Civil War. Susan had decided she wanted the story played “authentically”. She cautioned her cast to avoid sentimentality. The heartache and joy in the play would be more poignant if it was underplayed. She reinforced this “real” quality with wonderfully accurate period costumes (thanks to Mary) and by encouraging a variety of tempos throughout the play. As the rehearsals continued, I watched young, enthusiastic artists breathe modern life into century old characters. Little by little, all the elements were added. Props were selected, set pieces were built, and soon the empty space - painted and focused with lighting - became magical.  And when Susan began to play the music she had selected for the show, the emotional transformation was complete. As a director, I always knew the time would come when the play belonged to the cast.  It’s similar to being a parent. The role of the director is intended to be nurturing, but, ultimately, unnecessary. Two nights before we opened, I sensed the cast was looking beyond Susan. They needed to add an audience to really make the play work. And work it did. Tears and laughter. Love and death.  The sweet melancholy of memory.  Then, in a matter of ten days, it was over.

Cassie and I had spent each evening together for several weeks. During that time, we discussed acting challenges a little, but mostly we shared observations about the daily experience. She had discovered that creating a character on stage was more about concentration than inspiration. By identifying what Meg wanted, Cassie could make her real. I watched her confidence grow and her Meg come to life. I was very proud to be on stage with her.

And what did I learn? I was reminded that theatre - at its core – is about discovery. What is there about a Civil War family that means something to those alive today? How can actors share that meaning? What does it matter? In one scene, Mr. March must explain to Jo that her sister Beth is dying. As I stood on stage, I felt connected to this father as he tried to manage his own grief while comforting his daughter at the same time. Plays let actors and audiences see how others live their lives and they help us discover how we might live ours. Amazing, isn’t it?