NOTE: Names of children and teachers have been changed.
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If I were William Shakespeare I would send a Valentine to Anne Hathaway. I would say:
Dear Anne,
You have the most beuatiful eyes. Your lips are as red as the redist rose in Straptered upon Avon. Your voice is sweeter that the blue birds in the forest.
ROMEO But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks?
It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.Romeo and Juliet Act II, Scene II
I want to be in Shakespeare Club because I want to be a good actor. My goal is to know more facts about Shakespear. I learned some parts of a dance. India makes more movies than L.A. He dies when he was 52. I would be angry if I had to stay in the house. If I was a groundling I would be respectful because they were nice to let us in. They could make it harder to get in so they are lucky to see some plays.
As a young actor, I had the good fortune to be directed by Delbert Mann in a television movie. Because of timing constraints, my part didn't make the final cut but Mann, ever the gentleman, wrote me a lovely note with assurances that it had naught to do with the quality of my work.
Before he died in 2007, Delbert Mann directed more than one hundred television dramas and feature films. The latter included "Marty" and "Desire Under the Elms." Suffice to say, Delbert Mann knew his craft. But that's not what stuck with me.
I'd started my professional acting career at the age of nineteen, so by the time I arrived on Mann's set, I'd already heard enough screaming voices to know that sort of angst did not help the creative process.
On Delbert Mann's set, crew members efficiently completed tasks, actors huddled in corners poring over scripts, and the director flowed through everything with the calm of a lazy river.
I'd never seen anything like it. Not in the theatre and certainly not on a film set, where time is money and more money and people are usually in a state of squirrelly panic.
But here was the kicker: when approached with a question, Mann would take a second to ponder and then either give a short, clear answer...or say, "I don't know....Let's figure that out."
"I don't know. Let's figure that out"?
Good God, what was he thinking? How could he have let his guard down like that? What would happen if our leader didn't have the answer?
Here's what happened: they figured it out, the actors acted, the cinematographer got the shots, the designers made their set adjustments, and the movie got made on time and on budget.
Delbert Mann's answer was a life lesson for me. I'd never heard a parent, teacher, coach, producer or director ever say I don't know. Let's figure that out.
Delbert Mann both defined and inspired confidence.
Imagine when a child asks us why?, how?, where?, when? and why?...why?...why...?
We answer: I don't know. Let's figure that out.
Dear Lysander,
My love, we go to forist tonight and get married, right? What if someone finds out? I'm very excited what thea do! Marry Valintines day!
Love,
Hermia
P.S. I love you
I had more help this year than any previous year of The Shakespeare Club.
Parents arrived with food and snacks. A mom set up our Shakespeare Club museum, an array of photo collages from years past. Another mom organized the T-shirts. Another three or four fought our on-site charter school, which suddenly decided to stage a concert the night before our performances, which would have undone our lighting and sound preparations.
I was exceedingly grateful for the assistance and cognizant that the outpour was the direct result of my screaming my head off that if this school community wanted this program to continue, they had to stop taking it for granted and start protecting it.
I was musing on all the advancements, all the sturm und drang, all of the six years that had passed since I came up with this crazy idea of little kids exploring the works of the Bard.
I pushed a broom across the stage, thinking about this stuff and wondering: Why did I ever do this? Why do I continue doing this?
The auditorium was near empty and oddly quiet after so much hustle and bustle. The next day, twenty-four kids would perform and crew "A Midsummer Night's Dream" four times. The next day, hundreds of kids would get turned on to Shakespeare by seeing their fellow students act hilarious under shiny lights.
Okay, here it is: my top three reasons for volunteering countless hours to steer kids into an Elizabethan bliss:
If I was Lysander I would pack my weapons a sword, a shield and a spear. I would also pack something to drink just in case I get thirsty. I would use the animals as food, I would especially kill lions for there hair and make it as a coat. I would make my house out of love apples and make my bed out of wood. The left over wood I would use to make a garage.
Aging. There ain't nothin' we can do about it. The clock will keep ticking with or without our approval.
Over and over I read of vital people who credit service as their fountain of vigor.
Check out Hedda Bolgar and be inspired. I surely was.
At 102, therapist is too busy to stop working (Steve Lopez, LA Times)
As we labored through our technical day, we were visited by a reporter from Patch.com, a local online news source.
I sent a few kids off to be interviewed and then the Patch crew videotaped some rehearsal.
Here you go: Walgrove Students Bond Over the Bard
The girl was seven. She entered the kitchen where her mother ironed her dad's shirts. The girl laid her head on the ironing table and wept. Her skinny elbows pointed out sideways and her tears soaked the tops of her small hands.
Her mother set the iron aside and stared at her daughter. What the hell?
The girl could not speak. She was overwrought and words could not form or find their way out of her mouth. She gulped and the tears flooded anew.
The girl had just watched "The Wizard of Oz" and was moved by the story of another girl finding her way home.
This girl was me. To be so touched by a movie, or a play, or a piece of music, was a first for me. And it was entirely pleasurable.
I fear that parents, teachers and coaches are apprehensive about a child feeling anything other than giddy joy. It's okay to be moved. It's a good thing. It's a sign of empathy.
Adults enjoy experiencing a sad story or a scary story. Adults find satisfaction in nostalgia, a perfect sunset or an orphaned dog finding family.
Why can't children have that? Why do we worry when there is gratification in identification?
Many of the children of The Shakespeare Club cried when the year was done, when the show ended and the meetings stopped.
All I could say to their parents was this:
These kids aren't crying because something awful happened to them. They are weeping because they had the best time of their lives.
That's worth a couple of good sniffles.
This is what I loved about Shakespere. I loved everything about it and it was very fun and everybody was very nice. I licked everything about the play and it was very intrest to learn about Shakespeare and I liked meating new people in shakespeare. I really loved how Ms. Ryan helped me and I sad that Miss ryan will have to leav. I give thanks to everybody exept Nick Botem.
"Hey, has anyone seen Calvin?"
Nope.
No, Ms. Ryane.
I think he's outside, Ms. Ryane!
And he was. Wandering the quad alone.
"Hi, Calvin."
Hi.
This was a forlorn "hi" from a sad-looking kid.
"What'cha doin' out here, Calvin?"
Scuff, scuff. Rub the top of the head. Look this way and that.
I guess lookin' for my dad.
Calvin is in fifth grade and in his final year of Shakespeare Club. In third grade, he was a sailor in "Twelfth Night." For the following two years, he took on the role of lighting operator. He was so adept last year on "Macbeth" that we doubled up his cues for this year's show.
He wanted someone — a certain someone — to see him run that lighting board.
Calvin struggles academically. There was some talk of possibly holding him back from middle school for a year...but the boy can operate lights.
Calvin is in pain on the home front. Dad.
I guess lookin' for my dad.
Oliver is playing Demetrius. Oliver had a phone conversation with his dad before the morning show. He was looking for some encouragement from the man. The man in his life who lives in another house and would not be showing up to see Oliver's Demetrius.
There is nothing, absolutely nothing, I or anyone else can do or say to make up for these AWOL fathers.
"Come inside, Calvin, you have a show to run. The actors need your lights. Maybe your dad'll show up."
Yeah.
Shuffle. Head down. Hoodie up.
"I know, Calvin. I know how great your work is and I will never forget how you operated that lighting board."
Calvin takes his place at the back of the auditorium with the rest of the crew. The audience is excited and loud. I step onstage to engage with each actor for a last-minute pep talk.
"Oliver, have a blast. Oliver...Oliver, look at me. What is it?"
He scans the house.
Nothin' I guess.
"Oliver, other kids are going to want to act and other people will go to the theatre again because of your work....You are that good. Believe me?"
Yeah.
I guess lookin' for my dad.
Dear my true love,
I miss you dearly. I can't wait to see you. You make my day every time I talk, and see you. I couldn't find a guy like you. I hope one day we get married. When you talk it is soft and gently.
P.S. Your sunshine girl
If a child says to you, I want to be [an actor/a dancer/a writer/a painter/a musician/etc.], you take a small breath and in a calm, even voice reply, "That's a terrible idea....Don't do it."
Because here's the truth of it: the mountains are high and the droughts are frequent.
And here's the further truth of it: if that child has a voracious appetite for a career in the arts, it won't matter a lick what you have to say about it. If their hunger is insatiable, they will seek out teachers and learn their craft.
And then if Lady Luck shines down, you will give a hug and say, "I am so proud of you."
In the meantime, as you toss and turn about your child's future, pick up a copy of Julia Cameron's "The Artist's Way." It's a workbook. Do it.
Everyone needs creativity in their life. As we need air, food, and multivitamins, we need to be creative. That can be onstage, in a gallery, in a garden, or in a kitchen.
Or in the classroom.
Because, as it turns out, for all of us: the mountains are high and the droughts are frequent. Creativity is the balm; art gives our lives reason and meaning. The frame. 
I wanted to be in Shakespeare because this is my last year in ________________. I also want to make good.
I would want to be prodigy basketball player so I can make a lot of money.
The Shakespeare Club performed "A Midsummer Night's Dream" four times on May 26, 2011.
Each performance ran about thirty minutes, including Bollywood-style dances. It was a challenging and exhausting experience, but no one would have traded a minute of it for a nap.
Dominick, a fifth-grader in his last year at our school, played Oberon, King of the Fairies. After a year of myriad classroom struggles, fear of failing as an actor and wrestling with an upcoming family move to another city, Dominick managed to pull a bunny out of a bonnet and rally with terrific performances...until three o'clock. 
Throughout the day, the kids were permitted to help themselves to snacks I'd laid out on a table. Fruits, water and protein-type bars. I say type because who the hell knows what's really in those things. I can pretty much guarantee sugar is the glue.
Dominick cannot have sugar. He knows that. I know that. His classroom attendant knows that...and yet....
He stuffed his pockets with those bars and then wolfed them any chance he could get.
For our third performance, I sat out front with my notepad. I started to scribble notes, then my pen froze as I watched Dominick dive into freefall. He lost his lines. This had never happened in his two years of Shakespeare Club.
"Line!" Dominick called. "Line, line...LINE!"
Poor Bridget, our eight-year-old narrator who also (in rehearsals) acted as prompter, jumped up, ran her eyes up and down her script and searched for where Dominick's line was....
I sucked in air. My private rule had to stick: Never go up there. Never get them out of a pickle. This is learning in action.
Oh, but I wanted to help the kid...so much....
Bridget found the cue and called it out to Dominick. He spat those words out, flailed his arms, swung around and kicked the fairy fabric on the floor. Kicked at it, swore at it and then collapsed in his chair upstage.
He got it together for his next entrance and finished the show well.
Afterward I sent the other kids off to wash their hands for dinner and grabbed a moment with Dominick.
"So, here's the good news: You came back, you didn't give up. This happens to all actors and you learned a good lesson today. Do you know why that happened to you?"
"No, Ms. Ryane." He studied his shoes and shook his head.
"Sure you do. What's the one thing you absolutely cannot eat, especially before you go onstage? The one thing you want so much but cannot have?"
"Oh yeah."
"So, now you really know and you'll never forget. I'm proud of you, Dominick, but don't ever kick the props again 'cause it throws the other actors off and it lets the audience know you're in trouble. They didn't really know until that point."
" 'Kay."
"Hug."
" 'Kay."
"Now go join the others. You'll have a great last show if you eat the delicious food and the yummy fruit but not the poison....Never the poison, Dominick."
"Yeah. Thanks, Ms. Ryane."
My goal for shakespeer club was to meat new people. I leared that people are really nice once you get to meat them. I have to say I was a little embarrest of my part at first but I felt much more comfortible when I got to know people more. I am sad to see the 5th graders go. I am sad sad sad that I can't do shakespeer club next year! bye Ms. Ryane...!
A group of seven children recently gathered at my house for two days to read "Romeo and Juliet," write about it, have lunch, and to view Franco Zeffirelli's film version as well as "West Side Story."
Day two of our reading dawned sunny and warm. We were now deep into the complexities of the characters and their terrible tempers clashing with their gigantic passions.
By this point in our reading, the kids had their favorite characters. In an unusual turn, Peter begged to read Juliet and Sabrina wanted Romeo. Sure, go for it.
"Look, I don't want to influence you one way or the other, but I really think Juliet's head is screwed on a teensy bit tighter than Romeo's."
What do you mean, Ms. Ryane? piped up Nathan, who had just spent part of his summer at Shakespeare Camp...where he was cast as Romeo. Understandably, he might want to defend the impetuous lad.
"First off, when they meet...Romeo's all into let's kiss right off the bat and Juliet says whoa, hold on there, pal...I don't even know you....We'll just touch palms for starters."
Yeah right, hands should do what lips do! shouts Peter, proud that he got Shakespeare's sexy joke. Peter's eight and I wonder...are we going too far? Nah.
"Then Romeo keeps letting his emotions get the better of him. He insists the nightingale is singing when Juliet knows perfectly well it's the lark, and he better get the heck out of her house."
Or he'll get killed, right, Ms. Ryane? Millie offers.
"Right. Then he hauls off and kills Tybalt and then he falls all over the Friar's floor weeping and not listening to the plan."
And then he drinks the poison, don't forget that part! Sabrina chimes in.
The group got busy writing in their journals, after which they shared what they'd written. We moved to the dining room for lunch, and as I cleaned up they followed Nathan into the yard where he taught them stage-fighting techniques he'd learned at camp.
I called them inside to finish our viewings of "Romeo and Juliet" and "West Side Story."
Peter gave his review: "I loved 'Romeo and Juliet' and I would love 'West Side Story' if it didn't have all that music."
I love that they know this story at an elementary level. Their high-school English teachers will be amazed.
Of course, here's what they all remembered, and repeated over and over:
Gee, Officer Krupke, krup you!
I remember when my brother got into a food fight with me. I had food all over my face.
How I would tell them to stop fighting: 1.) There really is no point of war 2.) Banish them
When I started The Shakespeare Club in 2005, Yuri Hayashi-Smith was our school's principal. For three years, Yuri mentored me in my fledgling attempt to corral children into an Elizabethan world.
After Yuri retired, she returned to see our productions every year.
I recently asked Yuri to comment on the value of The Shakespeare Club. I hoped she would give me one or two sentences. Here is her reply:
A Partial List of Reasons Why Shakespeare Club Should Be in Every School
Shakespeare Club empowers students to believe in themselves.
Shakespeare Club makes students role models for other students.
Shakespeare Club helps to develop responsibility, honesty, integrity, empathy, kindness and compassion.
Life Lessons are taught in Shakespeare's plays.
Shakespeare Club helps students understand how teamwork can create something more powerful than just one individual.
Shakespeare Club makes teachers and parents believe in their students again.
Shakespeare Club made me believe again that seemingly impossible things are possible with work and lots of love. This is a powerful program which should be in every elementary school.
Shakespeare Club motivates students to understand historical influences.
Shakespeare Club showcases the best in student achievement.
Shakespeare Club encourages student writing, makes students better writers in the different genres, and helps increase student achievement overall.
Shakespeare Club helps students to explore feelings and emotions and present characterizations which exemplify them.
Shakespeare Club amazed me, each and every year, with quality productions including: A Midsummers Night's Dream, Romeo and Juliet, Macbeth, and Twelfth Night.
All performed by elementary students in Old English. These performances would make William Shakespeare proud!
Shakespeare Club won over skeptics and cynics with the students' depth of performance and understanding of Shakespearean characters.
Shakespeare Club is a source of school and community pride.
Shakespeare Club embraces students of all backgrounds...neighborhood, disadvantaged, limited-English speaking, special needs, and all ethnicities and races.
If only the world could emulate this model, it would be a better place to live in.
Dear William,
I would like you to come to Whitehall as soon as possible to perform your new play.
Sincerely,
King James
P. S. I loved your play Hamlet.
If I were King I would wear only red T-shirts and purple shorts every day and would only eat meat, veggies, dairy and, Lets BE Frank, hot dogs. My name will be Marvin 'O' Gravel Balloonface the 64th and I would rule the land of the silly.
I love working with third-, fourth- and fifth-graders because they tend to be untarnished.
The grade-school experience is homogenous in its warfare. Everyone gets hurt. Everyone wants attention. Everyone suffers the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.
And then we think we grow up. We think we find our way. We think there should be payback.
I recently came upon a letter written to me in the late nineties. It was from an artistic director I had worked with, and he wrote:
"I don't remember all the details, Mel of that time...but I do remember your being difficult."
His letter was in answer to one I had sent with a long-overdue apology for my "being difficult."
I was a good actor. I had gifts. I had craft. And I had a corrupted ego.
The ego reminds me of Audrey II, that monster plant in "Little Shop of Horrors." It has an appetite as insatiable and dangerous. A little bit of fertilizer and the damn thing wants blood and more of it and all of it and soon....It is a beast.
At that time, I had been given wonderful roles, knew my stuff and had come to believe that I was better...than my directors and fellow actors. I railed at the wig department and the costume department. I made the stage manager's life miserable.
I was an ***hole because I decided no one wanted to work as hard as I did. That no one else cared as much as I did. That no one knew as much as I did.
My acting career was murdered — and my fingerprints were all over the smoking gun. 
Show business is not a democracy. There is no fair play, because there are stars and status. That is the truth and it must be accepted. This is also true in the worlds of law, medicine and academia, among others.
However, if you think you're at the top of the heap, or should be at the top of the heap, it's going to go one of three ways:
If I was a Queen I would make shure everyone would get fresh food and good stuff. I would not like to a meany queen or a pickey queen. I would like to be nice queen, I would like to live in Parris. I want a nice little village. I would excersise every day. I would like a five story castle.
