The Power of Theater:Through Our Eyes,In Our Voices:theater helps heal in the wake of 911
In September of 2001, I was the Production Stage Manager for the hit Broadway musical CHICAGO. At that time, our regular day off was on Tuesday, so that on Tuesday, September 11, we were all looking forward to a relaxing day that promised wonderful weather, with clear blue skies and mild temperatures. Little did any of us know that our lives would be turned upside down and the world would change forever.
New York City and most of the country was in lock down. Bridges, tunnels, air travel, sea travel, all were shut down. From my apartment on the Upper West Side, at 102nd Street and Broadway, just seven miles from ground zero, sirens screamed nonstop from morning until late that night and there was an awful, sickening smell of burnt rubber, chemicals and death. Time stood still. People were paralyzed by fear and could not stop watching 24 hour news coverage of the events as information slowly trickled out. All Broadway shows were canceled Tuesday and Wednesday.
It was my job to contact the cast on behalf of the producers to update them on the status of our show. This was before texting had become a more efficient way to transmit information to individuals or groups albeit as impersonal as texting is. I made actual phone calls to each company member, in part to relay information, but also to attempt to soothe and comfort. By Thursday, September 13, all of the shows were ready to try to resume performances. Politicians and leaders were encouraging people to go about their lives or the terrorists would "win". Easier said than done.
In order to get some context of this crisis, you have to take into consideration the geographic size of Manhattan. It is a postage stamp parcel of land, a tiny island, 13 1/2 miles long and just over 2 miles wide. The process of trying to return to our lives and pretend everything was normal, was challenged every time you walked outside and smelled that acrid, foul smell, when you heard sirens day and night, when you heard fighter jets circling overhead, prepared to shoot down any aircraft in the new "no fly zones," and when you saw soldiers in full combat gear everywhere in Manhattan. America was at war, and this tiny postage stamp that so many of us call home, was the bulls-eye.
I was in the awkward position of trying to coax actors and crew to come to work for that first day back, reasoning that we were safer now than we were before 9/11 because everyone was on high alert. Still, there were so many reports of false bomb scares, followed by anthrax hysteria, that left everyone on edge. On that first day back to work, there were a few that were just too frightened to come to work and I told them that I completely understood and respected their wishes. Fortunately, we had enough understudies and covers, so that we were able to fully staff the performance.
The Shubert Theatre has over 1,400 seats and is one of the most beautiful and recognizable of all the Broadway theaters. On that first night back, we had barely 100 people in the audience. There was no chatter or buzz. There was an eerie silence. This tiny group was stoic, with a palpable sense of grief. We decided to acknowledge the elephant in the room and made a live announcement, asking for a moment of silence prior to the performance. Standing at the back of the Shubert, I was overcome by the sight of these 100 souls, slowly and spontaneously standing, with great reverence and fortitude. After a moment, one person began to sing "God Bless America" and others joined in. I had goosebumps and my heart was pounding out of my chest. Everyone was singing, save for those who were choking back tears and others that were outright sobbing.
At intermission, I came backstage and saw the cast and crew seated in the basement, huddled together, looking defeated. I tried to rally their spirits as best I could, and said something like this: "God bless each and everyone of you. That was such a cathartic experience. I know all of you do not want to be here. That you would rather be at home with your families or at ground zero trying to be of service but what you are doing tonight, is as important and necessary as anyone else responding to this crisis. You are helping those brave people who came out of their homes, shell-shocked and terrified, who came to this theatre tonight. You are helping them to forget for even a moment or two, some of the horror we have experienced. You are giving them hope and helping them to heal. And this is as important as the medical personnel and the firemen and the police and the military trying to protect us and restore us to some sense of order. I know, I know all of you are scared. I know our show isn't the same because everyone is so distracted. But please try to understand that even if the small group out front is not laughing it up or they are not responding the way we are used to, your being here tonight and their being here tonight, is so, so incredibly important and necessary. You are helping all of us heal and that is such a powerful, important thing."
When people find out what I do their usual response is, "Oh that must be fun." To which I have thought, "Sometimes, yes, but like other jobs it has it's peaks and valleys." But the truth is that it is more than just a job. The theatre truly is a vocation, a calling. She requires many sacrifices and a commitment beyond the 9 to 5 routine that defines most careers. We work when the majority of people play, primarily nights and weekends. Holidays, especially holidays geared toward family, are times when we work to help others make their holidays even more memorable. Make no mistake, most of us do not complain about this. We knew what we were signing up for. This calling is a gift. In the wise words of Confucius, "Choose a job you love, and you will never have to work a day in your life."
In the weeks following September 11, those of us working on Broadway, took salary cuts so that our shows would stay open. At CHICAGO, we appealed to the audiences for donations, and raised tens of thousands of dollars for the families of Engine 54, the firehouse in the theatre district, that lost 15 of their firefighters, New York's bravest. It is not just a job. The theatre and the Arts, are as necessary to our culture and to our survival, as doctors and lawyers and first responders and military and space exploration and religion and schools. We must never forget. Never forget 9/11 and never forget the importance of the Arts and theatre in our lives.
Terrence Witter New York
Do you have stories of using the arts to heal after 911? Please post on comments or send to me to post @ lois@theartsdothepublicgood.com
New York City and most of the country was in lock down. Bridges, tunnels, air travel, sea travel, all were shut down. From my apartment on the Upper West Side, at 102nd Street and Broadway, just seven miles from ground zero, sirens screamed nonstop from morning until late that night and there was an awful, sickening smell of burnt rubber, chemicals and death. Time stood still. People were paralyzed by fear and could not stop watching 24 hour news coverage of the events as information slowly trickled out. All Broadway shows were canceled Tuesday and Wednesday.
It was my job to contact the cast on behalf of the producers to update them on the status of our show. This was before texting had become a more efficient way to transmit information to individuals or groups albeit as impersonal as texting is. I made actual phone calls to each company member, in part to relay information, but also to attempt to soothe and comfort. By Thursday, September 13, all of the shows were ready to try to resume performances. Politicians and leaders were encouraging people to go about their lives or the terrorists would "win". Easier said than done.
In order to get some context of this crisis, you have to take into consideration the geographic size of Manhattan. It is a postage stamp parcel of land, a tiny island, 13 1/2 miles long and just over 2 miles wide. The process of trying to return to our lives and pretend everything was normal, was challenged every time you walked outside and smelled that acrid, foul smell, when you heard sirens day and night, when you heard fighter jets circling overhead, prepared to shoot down any aircraft in the new "no fly zones," and when you saw soldiers in full combat gear everywhere in Manhattan. America was at war, and this tiny postage stamp that so many of us call home, was the bulls-eye.
I was in the awkward position of trying to coax actors and crew to come to work for that first day back, reasoning that we were safer now than we were before 9/11 because everyone was on high alert. Still, there were so many reports of false bomb scares, followed by anthrax hysteria, that left everyone on edge. On that first day back to work, there were a few that were just too frightened to come to work and I told them that I completely understood and respected their wishes. Fortunately, we had enough understudies and covers, so that we were able to fully staff the performance.
The Shubert Theatre has over 1,400 seats and is one of the most beautiful and recognizable of all the Broadway theaters. On that first night back, we had barely 100 people in the audience. There was no chatter or buzz. There was an eerie silence. This tiny group was stoic, with a palpable sense of grief. We decided to acknowledge the elephant in the room and made a live announcement, asking for a moment of silence prior to the performance. Standing at the back of the Shubert, I was overcome by the sight of these 100 souls, slowly and spontaneously standing, with great reverence and fortitude. After a moment, one person began to sing "God Bless America" and others joined in. I had goosebumps and my heart was pounding out of my chest. Everyone was singing, save for those who were choking back tears and others that were outright sobbing.
At intermission, I came backstage and saw the cast and crew seated in the basement, huddled together, looking defeated. I tried to rally their spirits as best I could, and said something like this: "God bless each and everyone of you. That was such a cathartic experience. I know all of you do not want to be here. That you would rather be at home with your families or at ground zero trying to be of service but what you are doing tonight, is as important and necessary as anyone else responding to this crisis. You are helping those brave people who came out of their homes, shell-shocked and terrified, who came to this theatre tonight. You are helping them to forget for even a moment or two, some of the horror we have experienced. You are giving them hope and helping them to heal. And this is as important as the medical personnel and the firemen and the police and the military trying to protect us and restore us to some sense of order. I know, I know all of you are scared. I know our show isn't the same because everyone is so distracted. But please try to understand that even if the small group out front is not laughing it up or they are not responding the way we are used to, your being here tonight and their being here tonight, is so, so incredibly important and necessary. You are helping all of us heal and that is such a powerful, important thing."
When people find out what I do their usual response is, "Oh that must be fun." To which I have thought, "Sometimes, yes, but like other jobs it has it's peaks and valleys." But the truth is that it is more than just a job. The theatre truly is a vocation, a calling. She requires many sacrifices and a commitment beyond the 9 to 5 routine that defines most careers. We work when the majority of people play, primarily nights and weekends. Holidays, especially holidays geared toward family, are times when we work to help others make their holidays even more memorable. Make no mistake, most of us do not complain about this. We knew what we were signing up for. This calling is a gift. In the wise words of Confucius, "Choose a job you love, and you will never have to work a day in your life."
In the weeks following September 11, those of us working on Broadway, took salary cuts so that our shows would stay open. At CHICAGO, we appealed to the audiences for donations, and raised tens of thousands of dollars for the families of Engine 54, the firehouse in the theatre district, that lost 15 of their firefighters, New York's bravest. It is not just a job. The theatre and the Arts, are as necessary to our culture and to our survival, as doctors and lawyers and first responders and military and space exploration and religion and schools. We must never forget. Never forget 9/11 and never forget the importance of the Arts and theatre in our lives.
Terrence Witter New York
Do you have stories of using the arts to heal after 911? Please post on comments or send to me to post @ lois@theartsdothepublicgood.com
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