Forever the Fat Kid: How I Survived Dysfunction, Depression and Life in the Theater (13 page)

“What?” I asked, trying to sound nonchalant–and failing miserably.

“Well, Sheila said that Sherri told her brother…”

Oh shit! Not Sheila! Not Sherri! I knew what was coming next. If not the exact wording, I knew precisely what it was that Ruthie was about to ask. I was paralyzed with fear. Sheila, the older sister of my classmate that Sherri was now dating, was one of those people who found enjoyment in putting people on the spot and watching them squirm. She loved to innocently drop tidbits of whatever gossip she had heard and see those involved start to sweat. She had very few friends, and for good reason. While she was always careful to give the outward impression of being a sweet, kind, and caring person, she was in actuality what could only be described as a bitch.

“Sherri told Sheila’s brother that Alan is your boyfriend. Is it true?”

I couldn’t believe that Ruthie had come right out and asked. True, I knew that one day we would have to address this issue, but I thought that day was a long way off. Wrong! Here she was dropping the bomb on me and I still hadn’t even completely sorted it all out in my own head. I was caught totally off-guard. I took a long, deep, and exasperated breath allowing myself some time to put together a believable denial in my head. In the pressure of the moment, I couldn’t come up with anything remotely logical or believable.

“Sheila told you what?” I asked, buying time. If I couldn’t think of a good lie, perhaps I could convince Ruthie that her question was absurd.

“That Alan is your boyfriend. Is it true?”

As she repeated the question a second time, an unexpected course of action entered my brain: tell her the truth! She had asked twice now. Obviously, she was willing to keep asking until she got an answer. Since I couldn’t think of a decent lie, and since she was not about to let up, why not just tell her the truth? How bad could the consequences be? Tell her the truth and get it the hell over with already! Besides, if I lied now, I’d only be prolonging the agony. She had to know sooner or later, so why not sooner? I turned to face her and saw in her eyes that she was only asking as a formality; she already knew the answer. This knowledge had to be unpleasant for her, but I knew that she would be hurt even more if I was less than honest. She deserved at least that much from me.

“Yes. It’s true.”

There was no immediate reaction, only silence. Now that it was out in the open, neither one of us knew what to say or do next. In that moment of awkward quiet, I experienced a whirlwind of unpleasant emotions–sadness, fear, and shame to name just a few–and I’m sure that she did as well. That small moment wasn’t nearly enough time for either of us to fully digest what had just transpired. Finally, she broke the silence and spoke.

“Well, whatever you do, don’t tell your father. He’d have a fit.”

And that was it. In an instant, a great weight was lifted from me. I realized that the days of hiding who I was from anyone were over. If I could share this part of me with my mother, why should I care what anybody else thought? I knew that from this point forward I would be able to handle any curve life should throw my way. I said farewell to adolescence and stepped into adulthood a new person. More importantly, my relationship with Ruthie moved to another level too; one not always reached between a parent and child. Her unconditional acceptance made the already strong bond between us rock solid. But, really, what was the alternative? Having already suffered the loss of one child, was she going to risk losing another over the issue of his sexuality? Death has a funny way of putting things in perspective.

I can now appreciate how entering adulthood as a card-carrying member of two marginalized groups of people turned out to be a blessing for me. My perspective on life with regards to my racial identity was often in direct conflict with the points of view I had related to my sexuality. These contradictions always led me–or should I say, forced me–to seriously consider my thoughts and actions, as opposed to simply doing what everyone else did. I had no one to follow, knew of no one like me to turn to for guidance; I had no role models. I started thinking outside the box at an early age, mainly because my box wasn’t as neatly constructed as the boxes of those around me. Though initially quite scary, I soon came to appreciate the things that made me different during my adolescence, a time when fitting in was so important yet, for me, so out of reach. I became more adept at self-examination and, as a result, better equipped to find a balance between the many facets of myself. This is not to say that the grown-up me doesn’t still carry traces of the war wounds from that particular time of my life.

ALL THE WORLD’S A STAGE

If you decide to take the road less traveled …

… don’t waste your time looking for a map to show you the way.

The odds of making it in show business are slim to non-existent. Yet each day countless numbers of people make the decision to do so. Bless you all! And I mean that! It takes a special person to pursue that particular dream. And to those who have taken the challenge, and succeeded on one level or another, I salute you. I admire that you’ve remained optimistic in a business that has far too many people chasing too few jobs. Your achievements have come at a high price. You have conquered, and continue to confront, tremendous obstacles. You’ve made sacrifices in your life that most people could never comprehend. I complement you on your tenacity, commitment, and determination–not to mention, talent. And it’s no mistake that talent is listed last for, in many cases, it is the least important requirement for success in the theater. It’s no secret that in this business jobs are often bestowed upon individuals for reasons that have little to do with their talent. In the world of professional entertainment, talent is simply an asset. Additionally, despite appearances, words, and deeds to the contrary, most of the people that you encounter in this business do not want to see you make it. It’s a classic love-hate relationship that the theater and I share with each other.

THEATER PEOPLE

The theater is a unique institution, and most who inhabit it are worthy of being institutionalized. Yes, those who choose a career in “show biz” are, on some level, crazy. By its very nature, the theater is a transient business. Shows open and close, people come and go, and you constantly find yourself in new situations, different circumstances, and surrounded by whole new groups of people. This is in stark contrast to most other occupations. In the real world, which the theater most definitely is not, this kind of existence would tend to make forming substantial relationships difficult–a fact that those who live in the world of theater haven’t quite woken up to. Theater people seem to have a knack for developing deep, meaningful, and eternal friendships at the drop of a hat. How they’re able to do this, I’m not quite sure. Could it be that the well-worn theory about none of us getting enough love in our childhood has some validity?

Call me jaded, but I have a hard time buying into the idea of unbreakable bonds of devotion formed in the blink of an eye. I won’t say that these connections lack sincerity but I have noticed that, for the most part, they do seem to dissipate soon after closing night of the show in question. Okay, I admit that every now and then a relationship of substance is established. However, that is the exception and not the rule. But try and tell that to a theater person. I often run into fellow performers whom I haven’t seen for years and, despite the fact that we weren’t particularly close to begin with, they act as if they’re my best friend in the world! Hugs, kisses, the whole nine yards! The operative phrase here is “act as if.” Which points out another irritating flaw many theater people possess, they don’t know when to stop acting, they’re always “on!” I’m acquainted with too many actors who can break my heart when portraying a character in a play, yet who I find phony as hell when they are offstage. If there’s one thing that being in the theater has taught me, it’s to know the difference between a “friend” and an “acquaintance.”

But when all is said and done, and for all of their shortcomings, and no matter how much they may annoy me, I will always find myself surrounded by theater people. They may be a lot of things, but they’re never dull or boring. The one quality that I admire most about them is that, for the most part, they live their lives as they choose without making excuses for it. It’s rare that you find what I refer to as a “maybe-never” person among the ranks of theater people. You know the type: those who loudly announce their intentions to the world–what they should, or should not, do–only to never actually do, or not do, it. “Maybe I’ll take a trip to China.” “Maybe I’ll buy a new carpet for the living room.” “Maybe I should just dump that man!” People who are always proclaiming that maybe they’ll do something but then never end up doing it. “Maybe-never” people lack the courage of their convictions; they’re non-risk takers, always afraid. Afraid of what the consequences might be, afraid of making a wrong decision, afraid of what people will think. You rarely find this trait in theater people, and it’s the one most singularly refreshing thing about them.

Another adjective that I added to my list of self-defining terms over the years is “realist.” Although I certainly appreciate the shared camaraderie that comes with being a part of a group creative project or situation, I realize that when all is said and done, we are merely co-workers. I’m acutely aware of the fact that when a particular project ends, most of those involved will have very little reason to remain a part of each other’s lives. And with that thought in mind, I ask that you not get too wrapped up in any one person you read about from this point on. There’s a very good chance that they won’t make any recurring appearances in my life story. It’s the nature of the beast; the way it is in this business called “show.”

THE SWEET SMELL OF SUCCESS

Success? How does one measure success? That’s a damn good question. The problem is that success, like love, is subjective. One person’s idea of success can easily be interpreted by another as failure. Knowing this, we shouldn’t put too much credence in someone else’s opinion of our own level of success. Easier said than done, especially in a business where someone else’s opinion of you can mean the difference between life and death (figuratively), between working and unemployment (literally), and between self-respect and self-loathing.

Having pursued a career in the theater, I can tell you that the question of your success is always hanging over your head. In a business where you, your actual physical body and/or the way you look, is more often than not the basis on which you are judged, you run the very real risk of sustaining serious damage to your sense of self. There’s a popularly held belief in this business that you’re only as good as your last job. Also, too many people who have a career in theater, or any other area of entertainment (show biz!), often have a problem separating professional success from personal success and, trust me, being unable to differentiate between the two is bound to manifest in some unhealthy behaviors. That’s why “artistic” types are often referred to as “weird.” Face it, many times we are.

Whenever I look back at the years that I spent in the theater, I find it difficult to objectively evaluate how well, or not so well, I’ve done. Each time that I look back at my credits and accomplishments, I come up with a different answer as to how successful I’ve been, so I’ll leave that judgment to you. A large part of what follows attempts to document the twenty-odd years that I spent attempting to make my mark in the world of theater. As you traverse the peaks and valleys of my professional, and not so professional, body of work, I’m sure that you will find more than enough information to make your own judgment as to whether or not it was worth the effort.

THE THEATER AS CLASSROOM

The theater, and so many of its talented artists–writers, directors, designers, performers–has been instrumental in educating me on so many levels over the years. I have gained a wealth of information about the world around me simply by my involvement in theater. Additionally–perhaps, most importantly–the theater has shown me that the world as I know it is not necessarily the world as it really is. It’s taught me that what I perceive as my reality is not the only reality that exists, just a very small piece of an infinitely large picture. My involvement in the theater has also freed me of many of the prejudices instilled in me by society at large over the years. For this alone I am eternally grateful.

To illustrate, I’ll use the musical Jesus Christ Superstar. Andrew Lloyd Weber’s rock musical about the last seven days in the life of Jesus was instrumental in giving me an understanding of Christ and Christianity. Having listened to the recording, and then seeing the subsequent stage and film versions, I was made aware of–and began to question–the source material. How accurate is this interpretation of the last seven days of Jesus? Who were some of these other interesting characters (Pilate, Caiaphas, Herod)? What preceded the events depicted here? What came after? Why is this show so controversial; why does it stir up such strong feelings and opinions in people? In looking for answers to these questions, I picked up an incredible amount of knowledge that has served me well in other aspects of my life. Even when the answers weren’t clear-cut–after all, religion is a hugely debatable topic and subject to a myriad of interpretations–I benefited from being forced to think, deduce, and come up with my own answers and beliefs. All of this from a Broadway musical! Now multiply that times all of the shows ever done and you’ll start to see the impact that theater can have on our world, why it is vital to our society and culture, and why it should be protected and preserved at all costs.

I’ve learned more about history, philosophy, historical figures, humanity, and life in general from the theater than from all the classroom hours of my life combined. My love of the theater has exposed me to emotional, intellectual, and physical experiences that I would have, otherwise, never encountered. I’ve gotten to visit foreign countries, and immerse myself in different cultures and societies because of my involvement in the theater. I’ve seen, met, lived among, and loved a wider spectrum of people than I would have ever known existed had it not been for the theater. And I’ve seen others have their hearts and minds opened as well.

THE POWER OF THEATER

In 1970, the musical Inner City opened on Broadway. This was the short-lived show that served as the catalyst for my friendship with Delores Hall. Subtitled “a street cantata,” Inner City offered a savvy and street-smart look at life in America’s inner cities: the ghetto, as it were. It was based on the book The Inner City Mother Goose, by Eve Merriam, which was a clever re-working of classic Mother Goose rhymes to reflect life in the major ethnic, urban enclaves of the day. This musical was not a critical success, but gained a loyal and devoted following despite that fact. At the risk of sounding cliché, the show was simply ahead of its time. Tom O’Horgan’s minimalist and abstract staging wasn’t standard Broadway fare at the time. Neither had the style of singing displayed by the black members of the cast reached the masses. This was a time before mainstream America had discovered, and come to appreciate, the likes of Patti La Belle and Luther Van Dross. Helen Miller, who composed the music for the show, told me that her mother’s first comment after seeing a preview performance of the musical was, “Why are they singing like that?!” That this show appealed to and attracted the forward thinking individuals of the time is evident when you look not only at its audiences, but at those behind the scenes as well. Harvey Milk, who went on to become the first openly gay elected politician of a large US city (San Francisco’s City Controller), was an associate producer of Inner City. His murder in 1978 at the hands of a homophobic city supervisor is a major part of gay American history.

In an effort to build an audience for the show, the producers targeted the urban/inner city demographic–neighborhood church groups and public schools in Harlem, in particular–people who didn’t usually attend the theater. At one weekday matinee, a group of high school kids from Harlem were seeing the show. As a bonus, they had been invited to meet the cast afterwards. Still in my teens, I was able to easily pass myself off as part of the group. After everyone else had exited the theater, the students (and me trailing behind) were brought to the first few rows of seats closest to the stage where we then waited for the actors to remove their makeup, change in their street clothes, and make their way back to the stage to greet us and answer questions.

Each time a cast member came out onto the stage, the students cheered. As Linda Hopkins (who won the Tony Award that year for her performance in Inner City) spoke with us, she noticed Eve Merriam, the author of both the show and the book it was based on, standing off-stage, out of view of the students. Linda asked the students if they would like to meet the lady who wrote the show. They were ecstatic in their response. Yes, they definitely wanted to meet the person who wrote this hip, cool, and happening show. Linda called to Eve to come join the cast onstage. As she did, the previously loud and raucous group of high school students went silent. Eve, a small, thin, middle-aged white woman was obviously not what they expected to see. The thoughts in their head were crystal clear by the expressions on their faces. “Don’t tell me this skinny little white lady wrote this show about black people.” “What the hell does she know about what it’s like to live in the ghetto?” “This has to be some kind of joke these Broadway people are playing on us!”

After an uncomfortable silence that seemed much longer than it actually was, one of the students–a heavy-set black girl with a huge afro–asked, “Lady, did you really write this show?” “Yes,” Eve answered, “I did.” The girl shook her head, her huge afro shifting from side to side, while everyone waited to see how she would respond to Eve’s answer. Finally the girl spoke, “Well, all I have to say is when the revolution comes, you ain’t got nothin’ to worry about! I will personally see to it that nobody messes with you!” The other students began clapping and shouting in agreement. The cast members on stage began applauding the students. And Eve simply stood there smiling appreciatively. Age, race, and social standing had been transcended and there was an incredible feeling of unity, community and, yes, love in the air.

Theater today still has the potential to touch people on this level. Unfortunately, that power been diluted as the overriding criteria for producing for the commercial theater today has transitioned from “what can audiences gain from this work?” to “what will the return on my investment be?” My personal philosophy regarding any artistic endeavor that I undertake is something I call “the Three E Rule.” It must Entertain, Educate and Elevate. To Entertain is obvious; nobody wants to sit through something that’s boring. To Educate is to teach your audience something, hopefully something that will stay with them long after the show ends. This can be as simple as a previously unknown fact or bit of information, and as complicated as a concept or way of thinking. They should have a feeling of “wow, that’s really interesting” or “gee, I never thought about that.” Finally, by Elevate I mean that whatever it is that they learn should enable them to see something from another point of view, open their minds to some possibility that they hadn’t previously considered and, in the process, attain a higher level of understanding and compassion. As I see it, whether one ticket is sold or a thousand, if a show accomplishes these three things then it is worth the effort.