Written by Michael Claxton
Have I told you that I come from a theatrical family? My uncle was an actor in school, and as an adult, he revived the abandoned theater in his hometown. My sister was an actress too. In high school, college and a little beyond, she absolutely shined on the stage.
My favorite of her roles was in “Once Upon a Mattress,” the musical made famous by Carol Burnett. Beth played a jealously wicked queen, and I remember her costume, with a hat that was at least three feet wide and a train that went on and on. The minute the spotlight hit her, the audience was in stitches.
As a child, I thought the world of theater was magical and longed to be part of it. I got my wish in the fifth grade when Miss Brooks cast me as the elf who hated Christmas in our holiday musical. I was the anti-Buddy. The whole point of the program was for the other elves to change my mind, so I was pretty much the star of the show. My redemption arc was epic.
But my career quickly faded. In fact, I was an out-of-work actor for the next 40 years. A brief stint as a magician didn’t pan out, and I didn’t even place in the school talent show. I did have a cameo in a student film a few years ago where I played an English teacher. Not exactly heavy lifting. I had all but given up on reviving my stage career.
Then three months ago, I ran into Dottie and Steve Frye, and we chatted about the upcoming Homecoming musical. She was still casting and said she had a part for a mature actor. Since no one has ever accused me of maturity, I said I wasn’t qualified. Undeterred, she pointed out that the part required no dancing or singing, which is good because I am legally banned from doing both in Arkansas and in four counties in Tennessee. So, I auditioned and soon found myself in the show.
The minute I began attending rehearsals, I realized two things. First, this was going to be an absolutely wonderful experience. And second, I was seriously rusty. As I watched our incredibly talented students doing their stretching exercises and vocal warm-ups, I found myself an amateur in a sea of pros. Fortunately, I am used to role reversals as a teacher. I often learn as much from my students as they learn from me. It was time to go to acting class. I called my sister for advice. “Don’t peak too soon,” she said. I was just hoping to peak at all.
In the film version of “Mary Poppins,” Reginald Owen played the slightly daft Admiral Boom, who insists on marking time by firing a cannon. The fact that his role was shortened for the stage musical turned out to be a blessing when I got the part.
The night we blocked the first scene I was in, I showed up ready to go. I made my entrance, said my lines and waited for feedback. The director — the cheerful encourager that she is — said, “That was great! Now try it facing the audience.” Ah, the people who pay for the tickets. As an admiral-in-training, I made a note of it in the log.
The musical omits the cannon firing altogether, and Dottie was kind enough to let me add it back in. So, I wrote a new line, which I promptly forgot during a key rehearsal. The next night, I had the words written on my hand. I am not kidding. Mercifully, I only had nine lines total. I was about to run out of fingers. Later, I also broke a prop spyglass.
But thanks to a very patient group of students, I finally got my act together. When we started dress rehearsals, I discovered the camaraderie of the dressing room, as the guys joked around as they made super-fast costume changes — one actor had 11 of them. I struggled to master the art of makeup. As the director wanted me to go gray for the part, I had to apply color to my hair. One night, I overshot my eyebrows and spray-painted my entire forehead silver. I looked like the Tin Man. Thank goodness for makeup wipes.
“Mary Poppins” was a huge success. Over 7,000 people saw it, including 2,600 local schoolchildren. I was in awe of the cast and loved watching them night after night in rehearsal. We were supported by an amazing crew, orchestra and production team, who created a magical story of hope and healing. As I rode the coattails of these students and colleagues, I was grateful to be along for the jolly holiday. If only Miss Brooks could have seen me.
