Theater history in a box
The whole thing was in a box. A banker's box. Half a century of theater history in a yellowing banker's box.
Betsi Morrison and I were in Los Angeles recently to finish up auditions for our upcoming production of "Hair." We'd been in New York City earlier and saw more than 200 actors out of more than 800 submissions from agents.
While Betsi made most of her casting decisions from that round, we still were obligated by Actors Equity to dive into the musical theater talent pool in Los Angeles. We've never actively auditioned in Los Angeles, so it was a good opportunity to look at actors there.
In an effort to save some money on the trip, we asked Burt Wright, a relative of ours and an Alpine Theatre Project donor, if we could stay at his house. He graciously and generously said we could. So, Betsi and I had the distinct pleasure of staying at a classic Spanish Mission-style house in the Hollywood Hills for the three-day trip.
On the final night of our trip, we had dinner at the house with Mr. Wright and his two sons, Brian and George. Naturally the conversation drifted toward the subject of theater, and I was completely taken by how well versed Mr. Wright was on the subject of theater.
George interjected, "Well, you know he's kept all of his playbills since the 40s."
Sure enough, there was a yellowing banker's box in the basement full of playbills dating back to 1945. Original playbills from theater in Chicago, Los Angeles and on Broadway. These were from the original productions of some of the most influential works of musical theater in history. And there they were, all neatly organized in file folders and sorted by date.
Collection is nothing new. People have been collecting things for ages. I, myself, used to collect comics and baseball cards. But this was not the collection of someone who went to conventions, paying top dollar for mint-condition prints encased in plastic.
This was the collection of someone who had lived it, had watched it. This was a history of American theater as witnessed by a true aficionado.
Think of it, the original playbills from "West Side Story," "Gypsy," "The Music Man," "Beckett," "Look Back in Anger," "My Fair Lady," "Hair," "Fiddler on the Roof," "Liza" with a Z, "Fiorello!" and others. Each of these containing bios for young upstarts like Julie Andrews and Chita Rivera, just to name a few. Betsi and I were in full theater-geek heaven.
It reminded me of the true value of patronage. Mr. Wright is a graduate of the Wharton School of Business and, while his profession was not arts-related, he has been an ardent arts patron his entire life. Consequently, he knew even the most apocryphal theater trivia. And all of this not from doing it, but from watching it.
Theater is one of the last communal experiences we have left in our society. Every night, a bunch of strangers sit in the dark watching other strangers pretend to be something they are not. And with makeup, lumber, lighting and a few well placed speakers, something magical happens that leaves everyone in the dark room transformed. It only happens as a group. And it never happens exactly the same way twice.
We all have the opportunity to be a part of this magic; even to make the magic happen. We here at ATP help make part of it, the part you see on stage. But it takes more than that. It takes donors to help fund the part you see on stage. And it takes patrons. It takes people coming in the door and sitting in the dark with a bunch of strangers.
It takes a community. It takes you. Thank you for being such a vital part in making that magic happen.
Luke Walrath is the executive director of the Alpine Theatre Project.