As soon as the “Wave” cast was off “stage” and the applause had died down, the room erupted in a frenzy of activity! Family and friends rushed to the players with arms outstretched as people arose from their chairs and moved into the center of the room, excitedly chattering, and milling about. I stood on the side lines for a moment taking it all in. The euphoria washed over me as I saw Olaf, face flushed, smiling, dashing toward me from the other side of the room. He enveloped me in a bear hug, and I responded, feeling all the joy and happiness that had propelled us to this point in the creation of what had just happened. He kept saying “Thank you” over and over again. “It’s all you” I replied … and it was. I was a bit overwhelmed. He looked at me and it was enough. As he moved away, I could hear the noise in the room getting louder. People were shaking my hand and offering compliments. Then Rorie approached with great purpose and intent. Even in his most effusive moments, Rorie was ultra-low-keyed and laconic. Now, shifting his weight from one foot to the other was the equivalent of him jumping up and down! His eyes widened as he itemized the reactions of the attending playwrights who, uncharacteristically, had praised the work and the presentation!

            The night of the second presentation was no different from the first except that the crowd was larger. It seems word had spread in the intervening twenty-four hours. There was no second night slump as this was actually “closing” night. Steven (Schipper) was there, as was Rick McNair representing the Canada Council. I had moved Steven to a spot well away from the huge loudspeakers at the side of the room and could see his feet tapping out the rhythms during the performance, eagle-eyed, concentrating very hard, and listening intently. He was on his feet the moment the show ended, applauding for all he was worth. He even turned and applauded me! The activity following was much the same as the night before. Only this time, uncharacteristically, Rorie rushed at me, grabbed me by the arm, moved in close and whispered in my ear “Steven wants to DO this!”. I just about fell over! He (Steven) had been swept away by the experience and was over the moon about the material and what it had to say. I went over to Olaf who was still at the piano and told him what Rorie had said, and he had the same reaction. A few moments later, I saw Steven grab Olaf and pull him out of the Hall toward his office. My job was done.

            It turned out that Steven wanted to talk further that night, but Olaf said he was on too much of a high and couldn’t think straight, that the next day would probably be better. As it turned out, Winnipeg Jewish Theatre was also interesting in producing it as was Manitoba Theatre for Young People. But Steven wasn’t wasting any time. They met the following morning along with Laurie Lam, MTC’s development officer, and the die was cast. MTC wanted to open the following season with “The Wave”! Olaf had his work cut out for him. Strangely, as I was learning all this information, I felt no proprietary angst. It had crossed my mind that I might find it difficult to let it go, but I didn’t. In the course of the days that followed Olaf approached me about becoming part of a “team” to create another piece. There were no ideas at that point, but that would change before too long. To give you some idea of where this eventually all went, the photo above is from the Dutch production of “The Wave”!

            All too quickly, it was back into the world of Music Services after the whirlwind of the Workshop! We were contracting Karen Kain’s Farewell Tour with the National Ballet, “Martin Guerre” in Toronto, “Joseph” in Vancouver, the “Showboat” Tour hitting Calgary and Edmonton; I was into budgets for a “Peter Pan” in Vancouver, a “Victor/Victoria” in Toronto and the Royal Winnipeg Ballet all over the place! There was tension from time to time. With no warning, I found myself being ordered by Livent’s Production Department to prepare 14 Orchestra budgets for the two “Showboat” U.S. companies! I didn’t work for them! This led to some heated exchanges. Thank heavens for the even-keeled Sharon Harris in our Vancouver office who would ease the tension with some phone calls and information. I was being treated like a secretary by some Livent underlings and that was a bridge much too far. I let Sam know that this was not working for me and he was in touch with the bosses. Things calmed down a little … for the time being.

            Almost as soon as “The Wave” had ended, I was into rehearsals for the musical adaptation of Mordecai Richler’s “Jacob Two-Two and the Hooded Fang” at the Manitoba Theatre for Young People. Robbie was at the helm this time, having played ‘Mr. Fish’ ten years earlier while I directed. Now I was playing ‘Mr. Fish’ (complete with a spandex-y muscle shirt which managed to keep my gut under control – partially pictured above) and the responsibility wasn’t all that onerous. I could have some fun playing opposite Jan Skene as ‘Mistress Fowl’. We were “the bad guys”! The rest of the adult cast was filled with major fun folk – Gene Pyrz, Harry Nelken, Wayne Nicklas … the “over-the-hillers” as one newspaper article put it. Our first rehearsal day began with the usual “Meet and Greet” assembly. The room was filled with Theatre and Production Staff and the Cast, part of which was made up of an inordinately large number of children. Their parents were also in attendance. I was close to last to introduce myself. I stood up, said my name and what I was playing then proclaimed that I hated kids. There was silence for a moment then everyone started laughing. But I’d put it out there and as far as I was concerned, I’d set boundaries for the time ahead.

Rehearsals went well. Because of my “dictum” the little ones avoided me at all costs, however, over time that changed. Beau Sweatman, who was playing ‘Jacob’, was especially hard to avoid as I had a number of scenes with him. He was an incredibly good little actor and a cute kid, and try though I might not to, I succumbed rather quickly to his innate charm. Beau and I ended each day with confirming hugs. The other kids took note and began to think that perhaps I wasn’t quite the grump I’d advertised. As they became less fearful, they learned which buttons they could push to get a rise out me, much to everyone’s delight … and maybe mine a little bit too!

Robbie had set the tone for the process. He was incredibly patient and sensitive to everyone’s needs. He treated all the kids like his own, calling them “honey” and being very fatherly. “Look at me, look at me” was a phrase he used whenever he wanted to get their focus, one that I’d heard him use with his own kids at home. This sense of Family was a great part of this experience. The not-so-great part was what I was being put through physically on this show, especially with the small kids – lifting them, throwing them about and acting like a carousel as they hung on my outstretched arms! It was having a very negative effect on my back and shoulders and legs and I went off to my chiropractor for some relief. After a few attempts at some adjustments, she had to call her husband in to help her do a push/pull maneuver on my collar bone! “What have you been doing to yourself?!!” she yelled at me! Thankfully, we ended up changing some of the choreography in the show. I didn’t used to have that problem, but quickly concluded that my Gene Kelly days were probably over. We were doing ten shows a week and they were taking a toll and I vowed that shows with kids were a thing of my past. Yeah, well, that didn’t work out.

            After nine sold out performances of the “Christmas Carol” readings at Dalnavert, it was into “Brel” at PTE. Allan MacInnes was directing. The cast was great – Jennifer Lyon (who had been making a name for herself back East in “Tommy”), Dimitri Chepovetsky (from “Picasso”) and Quebec chanteuse Sylvie Peron – and we all got along pretty well. This was the fifth production I’d done of the show and I was very comfortable with the solos I had to do, I found that the group numbers were sounding old. The original vocal arrangements were getting creaky and antique-y, so I was very happy when our guitarist, Greg Lowe, came up with some new arrangements giving the ensemble numbers a close harmony “Manhattan Transfer” sound – hard to sing but extremely satisfying when we got it right.

There was no escaping or hiding in this show, vocally or visually. While I’d played in PTE’s quasi-thrust performance space many times, it had now been re-configured into an in-the-round stage for “Brel” and took some getting used to. One always had to be aware to play on the diagonal – there was no “front” of the stage – and that added another complexity to the staging. Rehearsals were exciting and although the tech was extremely complicated, we all maintained if only because we were very happy. Allan had been generous and supportive during the process. We opened to blazing reports and notices. The look of the show was dazzling apparently – we couldn’t see it, but we could sense it. The lighting defined the space, cocooning us on the individual numbers and giving the “big production feel” on the group numbers. As had always been the case when I’d performed the show I could hear the voices of my old cohorts from the first Portland productions so many years earlier. Richard Storm’s beautiful tenor was still in my head whenever “Fanette” was sung and Chrisse Roccaro’s achingly glorious mezzo on “Marieke” will forever be the standard when it comes to that song! “Brel” maintained its position as the “hot” ticket in town for the entire run.

One night mid-run, I was in the throes of singing “Amsterdam”, that gut wrencher that had almost taken me out during the audition but which I’d molded at bit during rehearsals into a comfortable delivery. I was at the very end, belting out the final high G’s. I looked out into the middle distance before me. The steep stadium-style seating in PTE’s theatre puts the audience very close, and in certain positions the faces of the people sitting four rows up are level with yours. For a moment I focused on who was in front of me and there, sitting beside each other and staring right into my eyes, were Evelyn Hart and Brent Carver!! The recognition jolted me, and I resisted the instinct to recoil. I was only glad I’d not seen them before now. I instantly found myself mentally tracking the previous three minutes … had I hit all the right notes, had I “inhabited” the character, had I created the right atmosphere? There was applause, the lighting changed, and we went right into another number. But their faces were still in my head and I did my best to ignore that section of the audience for the rest of the show! Brent Carver was a Canadian Theatre God to me! Our paths had crossed briefly at UBC in Vancouver in the 70’s when he was a very young “scene changer” (along with Goldie Semple!) for an Ouzounian adaptation of “Much Ado About Nothing” in which I was playing ‘Don John’. I’d watched his amazing career trajectory over the years and had recently been stunned by his performance in “Kiss of the Spider Woman” in New York. So to see these two Canadian Treasures standing in the Green Room afterward made my heart race. I hugged Ev because I knew her pretty well and as I let her go Brent stepped in where she had been, and I found his arms around me. What could I say? His eyes were filled with something ethereal but at the same time something immediate and so present. There were compliments, a bit of stammering on my part and laughter, and then they were gone. It was the highlight of that run for me. We closed “Brel” with the same enthusiasm and joy as we had opened.

            By now, the second (but actually the first) edition of Kayla and Richard’s New York City Tour for that spring (’98) was sold out! Our previous offering a year earlier hadn’t elicited sufficient response to make it financially viable for Carlson Travel, but this time … well, it seemed we would be shepherding 30 people, including my Mother (!) and some friends from Portland, hither and yon around the Big Apple for a week in May! I was looking forward to it already, but there were a few projects to deal with before taking off.

            Earlier in the year, Winnipeg had been awarded the 1999 PanAm Games and the organizers were now in the throes of acquiring volunteers for hundreds of positions during the two-week event. I had filled out an application and sent it in with the thought of being a part of the excitement and energy and of doing my part as City Ambassador. I didn’t think I fit in to the run-of-the-mill category of jobs like “grounds maintenance”, “venue runner” or “ticket taker”, but I would supposedly find out what I might be right for at an “assessment”.  At the first mass meeting, a group of way too ultra-high-energy young ladies dressed in the peachy-orange polyester jumpsuits (which were to be our volunteer uniforms) told the throng how “great” this experience was going to be and “how much fun” we were going to have! I half-expected them to make us stand and learn a dance routine! We watched a glitzy video about what would be expected of us and were then individually directed to cubicles to meet our “assessor” who, in my case, was one of the bippy young girls who’d been yelling at us for the past forty minutes. She proceeded to ask me the same questions I had answered on my application – which she was looking at on the desk in front of her! 

She asked me what I did for a living (I could see my handwritten answer on the paper in front of her) and I told her that I was an actor. “Have I seen you in anything?”, she asked. I said I had been in “Hamlet”, but I didn’t get the impression that she was a theatre type. Actually, I don’t think she was really listening to anything I said but just checking that the answers I spoke were the same as those I’d written down. By now I was taking all this with a grain of salt and what had been scheduled as an hour-long interview was over in fifteen minutes, ending with a smile, a tilt of the head and a “we’ll be in touch”. In talking with my friend George Einerson a few days later about the Juvenile Diabetes Gala for that Fall, I happened to mention that I’d “auditioned” for the PanAm Games. I told him what had happened and since he was connected to the Media Center for the Games, he told me that he would look into getting me “on board” through the Center doing what I told him I really wanted to do – house announcing for the baseball games at the new Stadium. He asked me if I would be interested in doing the same thing for the Opening and Closing Ceremonies. “You bet”, I said. And then I waited.

In the meantime, an interesting project began. It was called “The History Project” and had been initiated by Steven (Schipper) at MTC. Those of us who had been invited to be a part of its creation – myself, Robbie, Ross McMillan, Julia Arkos, Sharon Bajer, and Ian Ross – had entered into the experience without any firm understanding of what was to happen; even after the first day of this “workshop” were still in the dark. Steven kept calling it an “entertainment” but what that meant at this point was still up for grabs. Over the first week, we listened to a number of speakers giving talks on various aspects of Manitoba’s historical record. Out of that we identified a number of areas about which we might write – Hudson Bay Company, Louis Riel, Native Canadians, geographical changes, etc. – and were to approach these topics from a “non-academic” point of view.

            Coming up with my first “something interesting to say” was no easy task. I wanted it to be out-of-the-norm so I got on my keyboards and computer and created a “Land-Before-Time Soundscape”, a five-minute “aural impression” of the old, unwritten history of Manitoba. It sounded great on my big studio speakers but left something to be desired when I played back on the tiny recorder speaker. But it went down alright with the group, Steven commenting that he felt like he was at the Planetarium. But there was still no concrete direction for the pieces we were creating. At one point I thought Louis Riel might be an interesting take-off point for a monologue about the two years he spent in an insane asylum. But Steven needed time to think … and so did we. “Go away and write” he would say. Without any deadline, but being paid each week, it seemed there was no pressure. The hope was that inspiration might strike at any moment. And for me, it did.

            One afternoon, after parking the car a few blocks from my newest haunt, the Library, I happened to pass a Native man sitting on a raised planting bed in front of an office building. As I went by, he held out his hand asking for spare change. Like every other time and like everyone else, I ignored him and kept walking. But as I crossed the street toward the Library it struck me that he might have a story to tell and I decided that if he were still there on my way back to the car, I would sit down and talk with him. He was, and I did.

            Despite it being a sweltering day he was wearing a fur-lined coat and a toque. I told him my name and what I was doing and said that I would give him five dollars if he would spend 15 minutes talking with me. His eyes kept rolling back in his head and I could see that he was high on something, but he managed to slur out “okay” and we were off. I gave him a cigarette and he told me his story. His name was Glen, and he was from Northern Manitoba. He’d come down to Winnipeg a long while back to look for work but hadn’t found much and was now spending most of his time on the street. Prompted by my questions (and cigarettes) he spoke very slowly, getting more lucid as time went on. He spoke simply and plainly and while nothing out-of-the ordinary had happened to him, he still managed to captivate me. While I had no connection to him, here he was, open, trusting and almost anxious to let me know him. As he talked, I took notes (he told me he loved my handwriting) and after 30 minutes we stopped. I discovered that I only had a tenner in my wallet and gave it to him. I watched him wander off down a lane almost certainly on his way to buy some booze even though I’d made him promise he’d get some food with the money.

Back in my car, I found myself energized, almost hyper, exhilarated in a strange way. My encounter with Glen, though unproductive on one level, had created an unidentifiable joy inside me. My house felt different when I walked in. Perhaps I was bringing an altered “me” into the space … but altered by what? I chose to think that, superficially, my ego was stroking itself for creating and addressing a challenge; but, fundamentally, inside, there had come a profound awareness that simply put, when you actually look, actually see, there is nothing that separates us from each other!  It was clear that I had brought a part of Glen home with me that afternoon. This had been an accidental Life Lesson … and that’s what was different about my house.

I had no trouble writing the ‘Glen Monologue’ but was slightly nervous presenting it the following day at the table. I was affecting the accent of a stoned Native and wondered what Ian Ross, who is Native, was thinking of my portrayal. How politically incorrect was I being taking Glen’s perspective and speaking with his voice. At the end, there was silence at the table. I looked over at Ian. He was nodding his head. “That was real and familiar to me” he said.

While it wasn’t used in the final presentation of the 37 pieces that Steven had us recite/present on the final day, the whole experience had been incredibly satisfying. I learned how difficult it was to write unless you honestly had something to say. I learned how hard it was to maintain a quality level without the input of others. My Pre-History scene about a bickering man and a woman crossing the Bering Land Bridge 12,000 years ago seemingly drawing comparisons to a contemporary car trip along with another monologue by an Irish Immigrant woman talking to an unseen friend about how Winnipeg was getting bigger and bigger since the turn of the century made it into the roster of pieces for further consideration. It would take two years before variations on our work became “The Complete History of Manitoba From The Beginning of Time to The Present In Forty-Five Minutes”. Over the subsequent years, would be seen and enjoyed by thousands of Manitobans!