i'd like to thank the academy
My love for the theater and all things dramatic began when I was a little girl, as I got to be in the stunning musical productions dreamed up by my grade school principal and choir director, Mr. Al Herbst. A perfectionist and serious musician, he worked us hard. Classes and school work came second to his productions. Half days of school, half days of practices went on for weeks leading up to his musicals. He had three choirs: Rogate, Jubilate and Cantate - that all sang at our church. I got to be in Rogate, a high honor.
For our Spring musical, it was a thrill to see my brother Andy dressed up as the Candy Man from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, lit up by the dazzling colors of the Trinity Lutheran school gymnasium stage floor lights. I remember standing next to him on the stage in dress rehearsal, his case of candy securely fastened to his person with suspenders, his top hat and striped cane works of art I think he himself fashioned. The round floor lights were big globes that gave off heat as they illuminated the dusty air. I felt the excitement only the theater can bring as I basked in their glory.
As a member of the choir, I didn't get to be on the stage. No, I had to sing "She'll Be Coming Round the Mountain" heartily from bleachers off to the side. I also remember singing a poignant "What Child is This?" in the Christmas musical, darkness enveloping us bleacher dwellers.
"I could hear you, " my brother Tim would tell me later. "You are louder than everyone else."
My dad and I had a standing monthly dinner date where we would talk about important stuff. He would ask what I wanted to be when I grew up.
"Maybe a singer," I said.
"Why don't you sing a few bars of Blue Moon," he replied.
And I did, as we drove through downtown Springfield. When I finished, he just shook his head. "I think you might want to try something else." Really?
Years went by and then after to a move to Austin, I decided to try again for a place in the theater, this time at my high school, Sidney Lanier. I tried out for a part as a deafmute. I spent no time preparing, and when it was my turn to audition I had no place from which to draw the multitude of facial expressions necessary for one who does not speak or hear. I acted like I had no teeth. I acted paralyzed. Not sure what that was about.
In college I settled for being a part of a program called "Experience in Drama." At Concordia, you could get an hour of college credit for a semester's worth of going to see plays and then writing a short review of each. Mine were usually written in the wee hours of the morning following the performance, with a beer in hand, the reviews just flowing. I hope my professor enjoyed them.
I actually started going to these theater events with my father in high school, as he was a professor at Concordia. We became fans of one very rotund - but very light on his feet - dancer at UT who would appear during the musical numbers. His dancing joy was our joy. As soon as we sat down in the PAC we would search the playbill for his name. He never missed a beat. He stole the show every time.
Through the years, I have seen many productions, in many places...too numerous to count. But one musical stands out loudly and proudly against all the others: Cats. My dad and I dressed up to see this at UT's PAC...having left this to be one of the last Andrew Lloyd Webber productions to go to together. Neither of us wanted to see it. Neither of us believed it would be any good, despite press and fan reviews.
And so as fate would have it, after a lot of screeching and singing? and posing from the stage, I turned to my dad at intermission with a serious look on my face. I think he knew what was coming.
"Let's act like we are loving it. And lie to whoever hasn't seen this and say it's the best show we've ever seen. We will feel better." My dad laughed and agreed. We joined the buzz in the lobby and amused ourselves by discussing what could be the point of this poetic anomaly and what kind of drugs did they take to create this? I was stunned into a frozen nothingness.
That evening, under the dark winter sky shining with stars, we arrived home in our theater attire, glowing from the brisk air and life only the theater can bring. My mom met us at the door in her robe, switching the porch light on.
"Well, how was it?" she said as she let us in.
"Wonderful!" my dad exclaimed.
"The best!" I shouted. "Every ONE needs to see this! The CATS are magical!"
"There's nothing like it!" my dad proclaimed.
She laughed a bit, surprised but taken in by our enthusiasm. And that I believe was one of my best performances. Still a little proud of it.
Memory
All alone in the moonlight
I can smile at the old days
I was beautiful then
Remember the time I knew what happiness was
Let the memory live again
For our Spring musical, it was a thrill to see my brother Andy dressed up as the Candy Man from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, lit up by the dazzling colors of the Trinity Lutheran school gymnasium stage floor lights. I remember standing next to him on the stage in dress rehearsal, his case of candy securely fastened to his person with suspenders, his top hat and striped cane works of art I think he himself fashioned. The round floor lights were big globes that gave off heat as they illuminated the dusty air. I felt the excitement only the theater can bring as I basked in their glory.
As a member of the choir, I didn't get to be on the stage. No, I had to sing "She'll Be Coming Round the Mountain" heartily from bleachers off to the side. I also remember singing a poignant "What Child is This?" in the Christmas musical, darkness enveloping us bleacher dwellers.
"I could hear you, " my brother Tim would tell me later. "You are louder than everyone else."
My dad and I had a standing monthly dinner date where we would talk about important stuff. He would ask what I wanted to be when I grew up.
"Maybe a singer," I said.
"Why don't you sing a few bars of Blue Moon," he replied.
And I did, as we drove through downtown Springfield. When I finished, he just shook his head. "I think you might want to try something else." Really?
Years went by and then after to a move to Austin, I decided to try again for a place in the theater, this time at my high school, Sidney Lanier. I tried out for a part as a deafmute. I spent no time preparing, and when it was my turn to audition I had no place from which to draw the multitude of facial expressions necessary for one who does not speak or hear. I acted like I had no teeth. I acted paralyzed. Not sure what that was about.
In college I settled for being a part of a program called "Experience in Drama." At Concordia, you could get an hour of college credit for a semester's worth of going to see plays and then writing a short review of each. Mine were usually written in the wee hours of the morning following the performance, with a beer in hand, the reviews just flowing. I hope my professor enjoyed them.
I actually started going to these theater events with my father in high school, as he was a professor at Concordia. We became fans of one very rotund - but very light on his feet - dancer at UT who would appear during the musical numbers. His dancing joy was our joy. As soon as we sat down in the PAC we would search the playbill for his name. He never missed a beat. He stole the show every time.
Through the years, I have seen many productions, in many places...too numerous to count. But one musical stands out loudly and proudly against all the others: Cats. My dad and I dressed up to see this at UT's PAC...having left this to be one of the last Andrew Lloyd Webber productions to go to together. Neither of us wanted to see it. Neither of us believed it would be any good, despite press and fan reviews.
And so as fate would have it, after a lot of screeching and singing? and posing from the stage, I turned to my dad at intermission with a serious look on my face. I think he knew what was coming.
"Let's act like we are loving it. And lie to whoever hasn't seen this and say it's the best show we've ever seen. We will feel better." My dad laughed and agreed. We joined the buzz in the lobby and amused ourselves by discussing what could be the point of this poetic anomaly and what kind of drugs did they take to create this? I was stunned into a frozen nothingness.
That evening, under the dark winter sky shining with stars, we arrived home in our theater attire, glowing from the brisk air and life only the theater can bring. My mom met us at the door in her robe, switching the porch light on.
"Well, how was it?" she said as she let us in.
"Wonderful!" my dad exclaimed.
"The best!" I shouted. "Every ONE needs to see this! The CATS are magical!"
"There's nothing like it!" my dad proclaimed.
She laughed a bit, surprised but taken in by our enthusiasm. And that I believe was one of my best performances. Still a little proud of it.
Memory
All alone in the moonlight
I can smile at the old days
I was beautiful then
Remember the time I knew what happiness was
Let the memory live again