Lyndon: Solving a Mystery

May, 2009

Whenever someone missed a rehearsal, Lyndon, our dedicated stage manager, stepped in. He'd jump out of his seat and leap into the part. It could be an "ocean maker" or it could be Orsino; didn't matter. Lyndon was always ready and willing.

This made me even more curious about his peculiar decision not to audition this year after having been a success as Friar Laurence in "Romeo and Juliet" last year.

Whenever Lyndon helped out in rehearsal, I could see his eagerness to be up there with the actors and it puzzled me.

Lyndon lives with his mom. The two of them make up a small family. His dad would occasionally drop by to pick him up after school, and on those days Lyndon was tense and hurried.

Lyndon's teacher is a large, full-voiced fellow and a couple of times I heard him ream the boy out. On those occasions, I found a way to be in proximity to Lyndon. I wanted to protect him. I had a sense that his relationship with men was a tricky one.

One lunch hour, Lyndon's teacher shouted at him across the quad, "You can just forget about Shakespeare Club!"

When the teacher had disappeared, I saw Lyndon's tear-filled eyes. On further investigation I learned of a mishandled situation between Lyndon and the sometimes-troublesome Geneva.

"I didn't say that...I didn't." Lyndon tried to hold back sobs.

"Okay, let's solve it. Go apologize to Geneva and it'll disappear."

I took a moment with Geneva as well. I knew her well enough to know that in her anger, she could make stuff up. To be sure, I was butting in on the whole affair, but it bugged me when his teacher threatened to yank Lyndon out of Shakespeare Club.

One day I caught up with Lyndon on campus with the intention of solving the mystery of his not auditioning. Thus far, he shrugged off my queries with, "I dunno...just didn't feel like it."

"Hey, Lyndon, I'm already starting to think about who might be a good stage manager next year after you've gone to middle school. I'll probably never get anyone as responsible as you, but I wondered if I could send over a couple of candidates to talk to you about it. Maybe you could tell them what the job is all about."

"Sure, Ms. Ryane," he responded in his affable Lyndon way.

"Lyndon, why didn't you audition as an actor this year?"

He looked to the dirt and twisted his foot.

"I liked doing Friar Laurence so much. That was so great."

"I know. That's why I can't figure it out."

He looked up at me with his clear brown eyes.

"I thought if I tried out this year that I would get a small...you know, like little part...because I had that big part last year and...I didn't want to something not as good."

"Oh Lyndon, that would never have happened. I don't work that way."

I touched his shoulder.

"Are you disappointed?"

"Yeah."

"What part would you have wanted do you think?"

"Orsino."

"Yup, I can see that. You'd have been a good Orsino."

We let a few seconds pass and scanned the field, where other kids screamed and played.

"Lyndon, this is important: Don't do that to yourself again. Always shoot for the stars because I'm telling you the truth, Lyndon: You're going to be fine. You're going to have a great big successful life. You have everything it takes inside you, I can see it. When bad days happen, remember that we had this conversation because I promise you....You're going to be just fine."

CHILDREN'S WRITES: A Journal Entry

My goals:

1. Be a successful actor
2. Live to be 90.
3. Get a scholarship to U.S.C.
4. Get a house at the age of 23.
5. Get married at the age of 40.
6. Live war free.

Friar Laurence

He is very smart. He plants and he makes potions. He wants to help. He doesn't want Romeo and Juliet to commit sucide. Friar Laurence is kind've like me. He is like me in a way because we both like to help. I think Friar Laurence doesn't like to be selfish. !

—Lyndon, 4th grade (Year Three)

Losing the Twins

May, 2009

As we neared our performance date, every rehearsal was vital. We continued to meet once a week, on Wednesday afternoons, and every time I called roll call there were missing members.

Rachel, Lyndon and I lined the group up for warm-ups and I did a quick head-count. Wait a second....

"Where's Polly? Where's Ethan?" I looked to their classroom door to see if they were making a late exit.

"Oh sure, there they go, Ms. Ryane, over there." Luis pointed across the field.

I spun around to see Polly and her brother, Ethan, walking away with a woman toward the parking lot.

"Rachel, please take over the warm-ups!" I took off after the threesome.

"Hey!" I called out, but they kept walking.

"Hey, Polly! Ethan!"

They halted, turned around and blinked as if waking from naps.

"Oh hi, Ms. Ryane," Polly said.

"Where are you going?" I asked with obvious panic in my voice.

"We're going with her," Polly pointed to the woman standing next to them.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but where are these kids going?"

She smiled nicely.

"They're going to my house. I'm looking after them today."

"Yeah, well...I don't think so. Not right now. These two are in The Shakespeare Club and they have rehearsal right now. They'll be available in two hours."

Here's the crazy thing: She apologized, said she'd make sure to call their dad and the kids followed me back to Room 39.

"Who was that, Polly?" I asked as we walked away.

"I don't know...some lady...we're supposed to go to her house after school sometimes."

Okay.

This is just how it is on most days. Gathering these children together can be as slippery a proposition as scooping baby fish out of a stream.

CHILDREN'S WRITES: A Journal Entry

Dear Dad,

Methink thy brother Sabastein is gone down in tis sea. Drown tis Sabastein, water filled thy lungs. Thy hope tis is not true, but the possiblites to high and I think only thy capin and me survived. Doom thy feel and hope he is still alive if not I might as well die. This news I hope you don't belive as much as I do.

Sincerely,
Viola

—Polly, 5th grade

Recess: Taking the Step

If you ever wondered:

Gosh, what if I'd tried?

Or:

Broadway: bright lights, big city. What's that all about?

If you were ever curious if actors get scared, or get lonely.

If you ever wanted to know, I suggest you rent:

"Every Little Step"

This documentary chronicles the tale of recasting and remounting one of Broadway's biggest hits and my favorite musical: "A Chorus Line."


The film offers a backstage/onstage view of what it's really like — what really happens when actors come face-to-face with the highs and lows of American theatre's pinnacle, Broadway.


To spout a cliché: You'll laugh, you'll cry.

Henry: Life's a Casserole

April, 2009

The parents' booster club held a fund-raising auction in May. I attended this glorious and fun affair with its requisite Margarita bar and taco stand. Music played and everyone seemed in high spirits, bidding on restaurant gift certificates, spa treatments and sets of luggage.

I was told later the evening had been a tremendous success and much was raised to fill the school's coffers. This, of course, pleased me because those monies fund The Shakespeare Club.

The evening, however, also provided a jolt no amount of tequila could possibly numb.

Two mothers took me aside to tell me Henry's mother had taken seriously, dangerously and suddenly ill. She was in the ICU. Eight-year-old Henry and his four-year-old brother were being cared for by a set of grandparents and an aunt. The family had hunkered down in Henry's small house and the community was signing up to deliver food.

Henry would be playing Malvolio in our production of "Twelfth Night." A show, by the way, that was within weeks of performance. Henry lives, eats and breathes Malvolio, and my first thought was "He must continue; we cannot take this away from him."

Henry and his brother were only told "Mommy's sick and in the hospital, getting better."

Henry's mom is a young and golden woman, the picture of health. Only the day before, I had been in communication with her when she admired a group photo of The Shakespeare Club. Only the day before....

So fast...so sudden...so much news....

Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie,
Which we ascribe to Heaven.

All's Well That Ends Well Act I, Scene I

Yes, well, prayers nevertheless might help. Continuation, indeed, would serve. And, when left wondering and aching: mac and cheese.


I ran into Henry a few days later at school.

"Henry, how are you?"

"Good!" he answered, full of sun.

"So, just wondering...did you get the dinner I sent over to your house?"

"Yes, Ms. Ryane...mac and cheese."

"Well, I remember you telling me that was a favorite of yours, so I wanted to make sure it was especially good."

"It wasn't good, Ms. Ryane," Henry made this statement with a serious look.

"Really? Gosh, I'm so sorry."

"It was great!" and when he said this he bounced straight up in the air.

Once more, I was delivered the lesson. This was another way to handle difficulty, upheaval, fear and the unknown.

Henry's family made sure he attended all of our final rehearsals. Relatives flew in from across the country to see his performance. His mother was in the hospital for a long time, and upon release faced months of rehabilitation. After the performance, in the mad chaos of people and children, I hugged Henry — but I didn't know it would be the last hug. I didn't know I would not set eyes on the child again.

Henry was whisked away to a far part of the county to live with his grandparents and attend another school.

Our revels now are ended. These our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits, and
Are melted into air, into thin air:
And like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capp'd tow'rs, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve,
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff
As dreams are made on; and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.

The Tempest Act IV, Scene I

I cannot and will not, ever again, look at a dish of mac and cheese without thinking of the littlest, bravest and funniest Malvolio.


CHILDREN'S WRITES: A Journal Entry

My life in Illyria is a suvent. The food I eat is awesome. Do you know who I am? You don't. I am Malvoleo! It is fun being a survent. But Sir Toby and Sir Anderw and Festa are so anowing!

—Henry, 3rd grade

In Thanksgiving

To you, who take leaps, because I ask;

Use words bigger than your shoes and reach for the sun.

To you, who share your stories, so large, the Greeks

Would drown in the drama of them

And risk acts of trust to each other, to language, to exposure —

To you, who gamble and gambol

I bow before you,

Enriched and delighted because of you.

To you, I say, go forward —

Gamble and gambol into that sun

Let no one take away what you know, no, know — about yourselves.

Clothed in the courage of soldiers

Your armor, the brave coats of daring

Go forward.

To you, on bended knee, I say

I am grateful to have known you.

The Theatre

For this story you may want to curl up with a mug of hot grog or some other Elizabethan juice of substance. I am going to tell you of how our humble auditorium transformed from a standard-issue school assembly hall into a kind of theatre.

Before I became I associated with the school, there was a first-grade teacher, Orlantha Ambrose, who was also a concert-level violinist. She started an after-school program called "Strings by the Sea," where she taught little kids to play the violin.

The program was a success and she was a great teacher, but Orlantha wanted to shake her life up and decided to return to the country of her parents' birth, Sri Lanka, to start a "Strings by the Sea" with other children.


She succeeded with the program and her parents went to visit at Christmastime to hear her young students in concert. During their time together, Orlantha's father, Dr. Anton Ambrose, took his wife, Beulah, and daughter to the seaside for a holiday.

Dr. Ambrose woke one morning and, while discussing breakfast with Beulah, heard Orlantha in the next room shout, "Mom...Dad...water!"

The threesome ran from the tsunami. They made it out of their rooms, out of the lobby and out of the hotel. Across the street, Dr. Ambrose saw a truck that could get them further. He looked back to see Beulah tying her shoe and that was the last time he saw his wife alive. He lost his wife and daughter that day. Dr. Ambrose survived by clinging for hours to a tree.

I don't know what I would do with so much sorrow, but I will tell you what Dr. Anton Ambrose did. He renovated our worn auditorium into the Orlantha Ambrose Center for the Performing Arts. It was repainted and new floors and seats were installed. We now have a lighting board and a sound system. When the Shakespeare Club performed "Romeo and Juliet," we were the first group to be seen in the warmth of colored lights with amplified CD music to enhance the production.

I wrote Dr. Ambrose a thank you note and said, "Shakespeare gave these children the words but you gave them the magic."


Dr. Ambrose's nephew, Rohan Fernando, directed a documentary about the family's tragedy. "Blood and Water" tells the story of Dr. Ambrose returning to Sri Lanka a year after the tsunami. The film is enlightening, brave and encouraging. It can be located in its entirety, I'm told, at the National Film Board of Canada.

Thank you, Beulah, for your daughter. Thank you, Orlantha, for your legacy. Thank you, Anton, for continuing the good work of arts and children on days when you simply may have wanted to hide.

CHILDREN'S WRITES: A Journal Entry

I learned that to be an actor you can’t be embarrassed.

My favorite part in the play was when both Viola and Sebastian where on the boat.

I loved learning my lines and learning them.

The day of the show I saw the audience I was scared but this year I learned to be brave.

—Meara, 5th grade

Hard News: The Name Game

New Yorker cartoon by William Haefeli

In the eighties there were Michaels and Jennifers; the nineties brought us Zacharys and Emilys; for this decade we have Jacobs and Hannahs.

Teachers call out: "Jeremy T. or Jeremy B." "Emma D. or Emma W." "Madison J. or Madison C."

For Gwyneth Paltrow's child, "Apple": end of story.

This year I had eight children in the club whose names started with the letter J.

As if there isn't enough in a classroom to make me sound like a blithering idiot, there's the name game. Let's do as the Chinese do and number the kids. So much easier.

Theresa: Drawing Out the Talent

April, 2009

In fourth grade, Theresa played Juliet's nurse. This year she would be our Sea Captain, with her big scene with Viola at the start of the play, after they land on the shores of Illyria.

As the nurse in "Romeo and Juliet," Theresa fought hard to give us what we needed. I pushed and pushed for Theresa to give volume and to slooooowww down as she sped through her speeches. Upon finding Juliet passed out on the floor, she had to run in, crying:

Get up!
Why, lamb! Why, lady! Why, love! Why, bride!
Dressed in your clothes and now back in bed?
Help! Help! My lady's dead!

Oh boy. This was a reach for Theresa. I worked with her alone. I asked her to shout, but she creaked it up only an itsy-bitsy bit louder. Theresa wanted to do it so badly but she couldn't find her actor courage or her actor voice.

A super-bright girl, this year she whipped through the "Twilight" books like a speed-reader. I'd see her during lunch breaks reading novels or studying her lines. She was off-book before anyone else, but Theresa is quite simply off-the-charts shy.

She lives with her sisters, dad and stepmom. Sometimes she would miss school and our meetings.

"Hey, Theresa, are you okay? You didn't come to school or Shakespeare Club."

"Oh, sorry," she'd whisper. My mom...um...stepmom...didn't wake up to drive me."

One day, going through Theresa's journal, I saw drawings she'd done to accompany her writing. Stick figures with cartoon symbols indicating emotional reactions. There was one of Theresa fighting with her sisters. Sweat drops flew, eyes popped in fury and jagged bolts speared from heads. The sketches were advanced and remarkable.

I asked Theresa if she would consider contributing drawings to go along with some journal excerpts for display at our performance. She blushed and said, "Okay."

I set her up in the library with pens, pencils and colored markers. She drew Shakespeare as a "waterboy," balancing a tray with glasses of water and more tumblers perched on his head. She drew Queen Elizabeth powdering her face, with white fluffs floating around her worried look. She had Shakespeare under a family portrait, writing home as he wept over his letter.

I wish I could show you what Theresa came up with, but I returned the work to her after the performance. When I knew I would be writing a blog piece about her, I sent Theresa a letter with a pen, paper and a self-addressed stamped envelope asking her to copy some of her drawings to put on this site. I didn't hear back. A few weeks later I called her house and left a message. Nothing.

All I have are a few tidbits she drew for our program.


Before the performances of "Twelfth Night," I spoke to the audience and told of how exciting it was for me to see talents emerge in The Shakespeare Club. We see actors, writers, singers, musicians and, this year, a visual artist.


"My advice," I said, "would be to get this girl's autograph now....She's going to be famous. Theresa, please stand."


This impossibly shy talent bravely stood and accepted her due.


CHILDREN'S WRITES: A Journal Entry

In The Shakespeare Club I hope to learn more about Shakespeare and learn to a better actor and be less shy so I can act better.

—Theresa, 5th grade

Recess: Be Careful What You Don't Wish For

I was a teenager when I started my professional acting career in the theatre. I knew two things for sure:

My life, forever, would be on the boards; but never writing on one.

I would never, ever be someone so ordinary as a teacher.


I would like to say this arrogance of youth ended in my youth, but I cannot say that. I kept it up for many years until traveling from theatre to theatre and waiting around for some supporting film role turned me into an angry creep, and I had to walk away.


When we start a new year in The Shakespeare Club and spend time exploring the Elizabethan period, I tell the girls that, in those days, women could neither go to school nor ever become actresses. I use this as an opportunity to introduce the idea of irony.

Shakespeare's plays have more male characters than female. Our club usually has more girls than boys. Thus: Girls often play boys' parts, and they learn irony.

The lesson is not lost on me either. Fortunately, I'm as capable of learning as I want my young wards to be.

Geoffrey & Kate: Not-Twins

It's not difficult to notice the twins phenomenon of this generation. In the four years of Shakespeare Club, there has only been one year without twins.

This year I had twins, Polly and Ethan, playing the twins in "Twelfth Night."

Now I have a story of not-twins acting like twins.

Geoffrey first came to my attention as a third-grader auditioning for the club. Geoffrey is a top-notch little actor who can also rip out the blues on his harmonica. I noticed his family when he played Horatio in "Hamlet." His mom, dad and a darling little girl dressed in a pink dress, with bows in her hair: This was Geoffrey's sister, Kate. The next year when Geoffrey played Romeo, the family again attended and Kate said, "Hello, Ms. Ryane," and asked if she could hand out programs.

"Of course," I responded. "Good idea and thank you so much."

I later found out those first two years of Geoffrey's success were due in no small part to Kate helping her brother with his lines...over and over and over.

When "Romeo and Juliet" ended and the club held their wrap party, I made sure Kate was included. I was already thinking ahead to the next year's casting and decided that Geoffrey would be perfect as Sir Toby Belch.

At the party, however, Kate told me the family was moving away.

I was heartsick at the idea of losing Geoffrey, but so it goes. I met privately with both children to say good-bye. I gave Geoffrey his journal and a copy of "Romeo and Juliet."

Then I sat in the sun with Kate.

"Kate, I'm curious. In the two years that you helped Geoffrey with his lines and helped The Shakespeare Club in other ways, why didn't you ever audition and join us?"

"Oh," she said shyly, "I just...well...I just didn't think I'd be good enough to get in...so, I didn't and now...." She looked sad. "Now it's too late and we're moving and everything."

I had a special red velvet journal for Kate as a going-away gift and handed it to her.

"You know, Kate, I'm sorry too that you didn't audition, but you've learned something that many adults never, ever learn. You've learned to listen to your instincts and take a chance even if it's scary. Deep inside you is a place, Kate, where everything you need to know sits like your own private library. Listen to your heart and you'll always come out fine."

"Okay, Ms. Ryane," she whispered, and we hugged good-bye.

Geoffrey and Kate were in the same grade and helped and supported each other, but they weren't twins. I later found out their parents had held Kate back so that she would always be close to her brother. I'm uneasy at such an idea, but that's the most I'll comment on it.

November rolled around and it was time to set up auditions. I stepped onto the campus and heard two young voices shouting, "Ms. Ryane!"

They came running toward me, faces shining, out of breath and both ready to sign up. The house move didn't happen but another more profound move had.

"Ah, Kate...stepping up. Taking a chance?"

"Yeah!"

CHILDREN'S WRITES: A Journal Entry

My life in Illyria is just bumbin' MAN! All I get to eat in board is (obiesly) fish! & MAN! Don’t you get tired , if all you have to do is catch some fish & eat some fish & be a sailor & eat some fish. Oh! Did I mention I was tempted to eat chinese, but well…I guess fish souffle was already, my house is a small boat (that had everything inside like a house!) I hate my job!

—Kate, 5th grade

Terrible Run-Throughs

April, 2009

We had spring break, a birthday party and then:

A terrible, wicked, hopeless run-through. I stared aghast at the room full of actors NOT off-book, laughing as if it didn't matter, missing cues, missing meetings —

Oh, I wanted to scream. All the private sessions, all the hours, all the props waiting to be used, all the T-shirts ordered — AAGGGHHHHH!!!

At the end of our stumble-bumble-through of "Twelfth Night," which started to feel like "Twelve Hundred Nights," I sat quietly and didn't speak for twelve long seconds.

"So, what did you guys think of that?" I asked. Nicely, I might add.

They shifted their bums on the chairs, looked at each other and shrugged, and then Geoffrey spoke for the group. "That was pretty terrible, I guess."

"Yeah, pretty bad," I answered quietly. Because when they get it, my heart trembles and I want to hug them.

These children have never seen a play. Other than the few who have been in the club for a couple of years, they have no idea what they're in for in May, onstage and in front of a crowd.

"Okay, here's the thing: You have three weeks left. Only three weeks. This is the time, right now, that you have to step up and do the work. You need to track each other down at lunches and at recess to run your lines. You need to practice those swordfights, just using your hands, over and over. You need to follow along with your scripts and not miss cues."

"Kate forgot to move the bench," Darby pipes up.

"And you never, never blame another actor. Remember I'm not going to be up there with you when you do this. You have to count on each other. You're like soldiers in a war, taking care of each other."

"Yeah, my dad was in a war," offers Geoffrey.

"Another thing: When you leave big gaps...in the theatre we say that's a pause you could drive a truck through....If you do that, you'll lose your audience. They'll think it's all over, get up and go home."

After beating them up this much I thought some extra incentive might help. I pulled out a canvas bag.

"I have a surprise for you."

They scream.

"Only because I think you will now take this work seriously. Am I right about that?"

More screams and bobbing heads.

"Look what I brought home from New Orleans for you to wear in the play."

I opened the bag and revealed the colorful beads.

SCREAMS and SCREAMS and SCREAMS.

Kids like noise, no two ways about that.

CHILDREN'S WRITES: A Journal Entry

I learned that I can do anything I like I can be anyone I want I learned that I can do Shakspear..

—Rosa, 4th grade (Year Three)

Hard News: A Room of Their Own

Dodger manager Joe Torre and his wife, Ali, have started a foundation called Safe at Home, with a plan to install "safe rooms" in Los Angeles schools. The safe room will be a place for students to meet with counselors trained in domestic violence, or simply a haven for kids to read or play.

Joe Torre grew up in a home with a violent dad. I meet kids all the time in similar situations. Thank you, Joe, for bravely sharing your story. Thank you, Ali, for creating the foundation. And thank you, T.J. Simers, for writing it down.

Joe Torre, witness to domestic abuse, helps others to manage (T.J. Simers, LA Times)

Happy Birthday, William Shakespeare

April, 2009

Every year in The Shakespeare Club we spend one of our meetings celebrating the Bard's birthdate of April 23, 1564.

This year, we gathered in the school library to play games, watch DVDs and eat way, way too much sugar. With only four rehearsals left, I was reluctant to waste time partying, but it's a tradition and sometimes goofing off can be as productive as hard work.

Rachel made forty cupcakes, each topped with white frosting and "SC" written in blue. Young Kate also brought forty cupcakes. To complete the menu, we had oranges and juice boxes. The library bounced big time.

They love: The Insult Game.

Each child took a card with an Elizabethan insult written on it, chose another kid to insult, marched to the victim and in a BIG Shakespearean voice shouted something like:

"Thou gorbellied reeling-ripe maggot pie!"

or

"May thy lips rot off!"

or

"Thou beslubbering flap-mouthed strumpet!"

They loved being the insulter as much as the insultee. "Pick me! Pick me!" they screamed.

I offer this the next time you need a witty poke:

"I do desire that we be better strangers."

I've used it myself to great effect.

They also love the Dictionary Game. One child chooses a word out of the dictionary and everyone makes up a definition. I read six definitions aloud, including the correct one, and they vote.

Many kids chose Luis' definition of "minx": a dotor suss carchater.

No one voted for: A flirtatious girl and Lyndon won for stumping the group.

I closed the blinds, turned on the television and we watched the Simpsons' hysterical version of "Hamlet" and a second funny episode where Marge tells the story of Henry VIII. They clamored to see these twice and I hoped their laughter might whip the sugar through their systems lickety-split before the comas set in.

We ended our party with juice boxes raised in a toast to William Shakespeare. As a member once said, "Without him, we wouldn't be here together!"

Hear, hear!

CHILDREN'S WRITES: A Journal Entry

I want to be in the Shakespeare club because it is going to in courage my bravery in the future and help get a better job in the future..

—Miles, 5th grade (Year Two)