This morning, as I was finishing up my coffee and filling the dishwasher, a little later than normal because it’s summer, the radio station was done with the morning news and started playing the score of Brigadoon. The music brought me back (oh Brigadoon, Brigadoon; blooming under sable sky). I was transported to the paper mache bonnie moors of Scotland where my fellow community youth theatre cast members and I, dressed in very much not historically-accurate tartan plaids, tried not to cough from the smoke machine as we sang in our most etherial voices about where our “hearts forever lie.” Oh, those were the days.
I loved community youth theatre. There were very few places where, as a budding introvert, it felt completely comfortable to be around other kids. I mean, let’s face it, I was a dork. (My family – if they are reading this – will question the word “was” in that previous sentence.) I tried softball but was too nervous to ever make a play. Soccer was a non-starter. And while I stuck with dance for ten years, I always felt like an outsider because I’d rather be reading books.
Community theatre was different. Looking back, I think what I was drawn to was its story-building. There were characters that had to be created and brought to life. There were songs and dances that had to be practiced over and over to perfection. There were lines that had to be studied, memorized, and executed with precise blocking and timing. As an adult, I appreciate the fact that all of these elements helped me understand what makes a narrative compelling. As a kid, I just liked the fact that I could hang out with a bunch of theatre nerds who wanted to participate in one biggest games of “pretend,” complete with costumes and scenery!
I participated in community youth theatre through the Middle School summers and generally have fond memories – except for one. The summer before I started high school, whoever was in charge of the community youth theatre program decided a new director was needed. Gone was the 20 year-old metal head who lived out of his van and worked in the local convenience store. (There were rumors that he could hook you up with smokes, and would show some of the girls the mattress that he slept on in his van. What a cool dude!) In was the fourteen year-old boy (whom we will name Jef(e)) who played the Tin Man in the previous year’s production of The Wiz. Why was Jef(e) chosen to direct a cast of 50 adolescents, you ask? I honestly don’t know, but hey, he was too young to drive a van, or even have a license.
The production that year was The Pajama Game. I don’t recall any real drama from auditions. I had no desire for a speaking part, but I still ran some lines and sang a song. All I wanted (and expected) was to be part of the chorus. Summer Theatre had been my summer routine and I was looking forward to have something that would get me out of the house during those long summer days. When the cast list came out and phone calls were made (remember, this was before the internet), I waited to get my phone call with the rehearsal schedule. My friends got their calls. Some were excited with their roles. Some were bummed. I waited patiently to hear from Jef(e), and waited some more, and waited some more.
After a week, it became clear to me that Jef(e) was not going to call me. Eventually my mother “encouraged” (i.e. made) me call Jef(e) to see what was going on. When he got on the phone, I’ll never forget his words that he “hadn’t made his final casting decisions yet.” (I think you see where this is going.) It became clear over the next couple of weeks that Jef(e) didn’t cast me, but for whatever reason, thought it would be better to string me along until I figured out that rehearsals had started without me.
At the time, I was hurt. Jef(e) and I weren’t friends, so to speak, but he had seemed like a nice guy. While my audition was unremarkable, I came to think the reason I wasn’t cast in The Pajama Game was because I had flubbed my song the previous year when I was cast as Glinda in The Wiz. I had struggled to get the opening note on “Believe In Yourself” and bombed the song in one performance, which resulted in my own internal burning shame for the rest of the year.
I’ll be honest, I’ve been struggling with the different ways to tell this story. It would be so easy for me to turn this into a slash-and-burn exercise. After all, I had been a naive thirteen year old girl who thought that the world was an ok place; that all changed with Jef(e)’s rejection. But I don’t think slash-and-burn is much good in this narrative. While it took me awhile to re-focus my attention away from Jef(e)’s personal role, as an adult, I’m truly astounded by the sheer amount of sketchy things at play – from the lawsuit-in-waiting 20 year-old director, to the person who chose Jef(e) (a mere kid!) to be in a position of power. Not to mention, who thought casting me, a nerdy twelve year-old white girl from the burbs, in a role made famous by Lena Horn could ever be successful?!
As I am writing this Pajama Game audition fiasco today, it suddenly occurs to me just how much it is a story of a particular time and place. Jef(e)’s rejection could never happen today. Things like mandatory sexual harassment training, the #MeToo movement, cultural sensitivity, the advent of the internet, social media, cell phones and texting, would have halted the rejection in its track. Can you imagine what the Moms of Facebook would have done with story if they got their hands on it?!
Looking back on it all, I’m not happy that it happened. However, like many children of the 90s, it did help me realize that the world was not-so simple. That adults and people in power can’t always keep you from hurting. That it’s not all bubblegum and roses (or tartans and bagpipes). And that even though a person can play a role really well, it doesn’t mean they’re a nice person.
Finally, I’m trying to remember what I ended up doing with my time that summer between middle and high school. I wasn’t old enough to get a real job, aside from babysitting. I likely annoyed my parents, hung out friends at the community pool, and read a lot. I do, however, have one vivid memory of hanging out with a friend who had an older brother. On that hot summer night, I remember him playing the album of this new band, Nirvana, on his stereo. There was just something about that music and that moment that seemed to fit together. I hadn’t turned into a completely jaded teenager, but something in that album resonated. If there were people in the world that didn’t want to care about me and what I could give, well then, Nevermind.
Venessa Anderson 