Creating Theater in the Age of Covid-19

Ft. Huachuca Cast

   Is it possible to create theater during a pandemic? Yes.

Recently, my husband and I were having drinks with friends in New York. That is, we were in Los Angeles, our friends were in New York, and the four of us were on a Zoom meeting enjoying beverages and conversation. Lately, this is our new reality.

We caught up with each other's lives as we discussed life during lockdown in our perspective cities. I mentioned I was in rehearsal for a play. My statement paused the conversation.

"A play? Now? How's that possible?"

I understood. Theaters across the United States, the UK, and around the world have closed until 2021. Many theaters have closed their doors permanently. The idea of rehearsing a play sounded absurd. 

My journey to creating theater during the Covid 19 pandemic began like many other acting gigs, with a casting notice on an actor's casting platform.

Casting "Fort Huachuca." Synopsis: Set during World War II in segregated America, five African American women enlist in the army to train as nurses. They are sent to an army base camp in Arizona where they are set to encounter the biggest challenges of their lives.

My uncle, Sergeant Allen

This  period has always fascinated me. My father and uncle were both veterans of WWII where they served in the segregated army. My father served in the European Theater. My uncle served in Europe and Asia; he was part of the "colored" unit that participated in the liberation of the Buchenwald concentration camp. He did not talk about his experiences at Buchenwald until the 1990's. 

 And now, something new had been presented to me; there were Black women serving as nurses in WWII. The thought never occurred to me. I did a little research. When the war ended in September 1945 just 479 black nurses were serving in a corps of 50,000. A quota system imposed by the segregated Army during the last two years of the war held down the number of black enrollments. I found photos and newsreel footage of Black women in uniform which inspired me.

Us Army Nurses arriving in Scotland, at mail call in South East Asia, and training in Indiana

The next day I shot a self-tape (an audition shot at home.) This has become common practice for actors in these last few years. During the Covid 19 crisis, most auditions are conducted this way. A few weeks later, I was offered the role of Lt. Susan E. Freeman in Fort Huachuca. The play is one of the offerings in this year's SheLA Summer Theater Festival, the premiere festival for new, original, creative works by women playwrights and composers in Los Angeles. 

The actor's agreement was standard, save for one phrase: It will be 100% digital.

At first, I had a hard time wrapping my mind around the concept, imagining the play being performed in a theater and recorded for viewing. I soon learned 100% digital meant that I would be rehearsing and performing from my home. For me, this meant my dining room. 

At first, my preparation was no different than it would be for any other theatrical production. I began memorizing and studying the period, which included researching the segregated army. 

For the first time I was portraying a real person. Lt. Susan E. Freeman was the chief nurse at Ft. Huachuca. She commanded the first unit of Black nurses to serve overseas at the 25th Station Hospital in Liberia. She would be the first Black Army nurse to be promoted to the rank of Captain. I needed to find her connection to the new nurses at the Fort Huachuca.

At our first rehearsal, I realized this was going to be like no other production I'd ever done. Our director, Ani Marderosian, described the production as “a step above a staged reading.” I was working with an amazingly talented cast of actors in three states and two countries. My stage was a 3x5 space against the back wall of my dining room. My proscenium was the width of my laptop screen. We met via Zoom.

For me, the most challenging aspects of the production were technical. At the first rehearsal, and despite the fact I'd done several Zoom meetings with no issues, my microphone was not working. I was able to fix the issue, but at subsequent rehearsals had a backup laptop and my cell phone nearby just in case. I had to remind myself to look at the lens of the camera to connect with my fellow castmates and the audience. I ran Zoom meetings with myself to get comfortable with entrances, exits while operating my camera and microphone. I spiked my laptop, lights, and dining room table with gaffer's tape for consistency. Wardrobe was simplified to what was in our closets. No special makeup  was needed, though I replicated a period hairstyle.

During our recording process, I had the same pre performance butterflies I experience before any production. Now that our final taping is over, I'm experiencing bittersweet satisfaction I feel after the completion of any other play. 

Is it possible to create theater during a pandemic? My answer is a resounding yes! I am grateful to have had this experience.

It is essential that we continue to tell our stories. I remember the industry after the Commercial Strike in 2000. Things changed. The next year there was another large change in the industry after the events of 9/11. As a result of Covid 19, we, as artists, are seeing our venues close and opportunities dwindle. Many have lost livelihoods. Tragically many have lost friends and loved ones to the virus. 

Now more than ever it is vital that the artistic community remain supportive, positive, and yes, creative.

SheLA is the premiere spot for new, original, creative works by women playwrights and composers in LA. This summer, we're going digital!

SATURDAY, JULY 18, 2PMPT 

FORT HUACHUCA 

by Ailema Sousa

Directed by Ani Marderosian

World War II. Arizona. African American nurses arrive on an army base camp for the biggest challenge of their lives: inequality, growing racial tension and a society that does not acknowledge their efforts, when all they want is to fight for their country.

Cast: Naima Herbrail Kidjo, Brittney McClendon, Brittany Shonka, Nicole Sousa, Casterline Villar, Donna Allen, Camille Mallet de Chauny, and Gilbert Roy.

Tickets are available at:

https://www.eventbrite.com/e/the-2020-shela-summer-theater-festival-tickets-107447055034

A Memory of Civil Unrest

Recent events made me remember a spring night from my childhood...

When I was growing up, I lived on a tree lined street  in a mid western city with my mother, father, and little sister. My life revolved around school, Barbie Dolls, and playdates with my best friend.

A few days before, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. had been assassinated. Tensions in many US cities were high.

 

On the night of April 8, 1968, dinner was over, the kitchen cleaned, and my sister and I had joined our mother in her bedroom to settle in for a night of television. I don't remember what we were watching, but I remember when program stopped abruptly.

"We interrupt this broadcast to bring you a special report."

 

On screen was a reporter from the local CBS affiliate. He reported that rioting had

broken out in Avondale, a predominantly African American neighborhood.

This was a different time. There were no twenty-four-hour news networks, no cable,

no satellite trucks, no computers or cellphones. Information was slowly coming into

the station. There was no film footage or photographs, just a report of escalating

violence.

The TV reporter asked us to stay tuned, saying he would be back with more details as

On vacation in Plymouth MA

the story developed. Regular programming resumed as the phone rang. 

I don't know who was on the other end of the phone, but whoever it was delivered more disturbing news. The last thing my mother said before hanging up was, "I need to call your father."

My dad had worked late and was still at his office near the University. I think she tried to dial the familiar number on the rotary phone three times before the call was connected. She yelled into the phone. "You need to come home! They're rioting in Avondale!" She ended the conversation saying, "Whatever you do don't go through Avondale!"

There were several routes from my dad's office to our home. His drive home should have taken no more than fifteen minutes. An hour later, my mother went downstairs to wait for

my father, trying to conceal her fears from my sister and me. This was becoming increasingly difficult as more people were calling to say what they were hearing or seeing. 

With my dad & sister on Easter Sunday.

Finally, we heard my dad's car pull into the driveway. 

My sister and I ran downstairs to greet him as we usually did when he came home from work, but the acrid smell of smoke stopped us at the top of the landing. 

"They're burning down Burnet Avenue! I didn’t see any police and people are running wild; breaking windows, looting, and I heard gunshots. It's a war zone!"

My father had ignored my mother's plea to avoid Avondale, and instead drove into the

middle of the riot. In retrospect, and remembering the strong smell of smoke on his clothing,

I’m guessing my father parked his car and walked into the melee. He knew several business owners in the area. Knowing my dad, he would have wanted to help.

I had never seen my parents disagree about anything. But on this night my mother yelled uncontrollably. "I told you to stay away from Avondale! You could have been killed!"

 

For the first time in my life, my sister and I saw my mother cry. We quietly went back

upstairs. 

My world no longer made sense; my city was burning. People were shooting. My

dad used the word war.

I was a child. 

I was scared.

Through adult eyes, I realize my mother, while angry, cried tears of relief that my dad

had made it home safely.

My sister and I went to bed early, but I couldn't sleep. I was terrified that the

rioters would come to our house miles away from the chaos. My mother assured me they

would not. I didn't believe her. 

Early the next morning my mother called the Reverend Mother at Sacred Heart

Academy, our school, to say that my sister and I would not be coming to school that

day. The Reverend Mother said, "Mrs. Allen, we've made the decision not to open

today. We too, are devastated about the events in our city and in our country."

Sacred Heart Academy was closed for the rest of the week.

That afternoon, my family piled into our green Chevrolet and headed to Burnet

Avenue. The day before this had been a thriving business area. I remember an A&P,

two dry cleaners, a greengrocer, beauty and barber shops, a Rexall Drugstore with a

lunch counter, and a Texaco Gas station. There were offices of doctors, dentists

and other professionals. 

I knew this area, but on this day, it was unrecognizable. Things were quiet now as

residents and shop owners were cleaning up and assessing damage. Some buildings

had been burned and several families displaced. Other buildings had broken windows

or were in the process of being boarded up. Some buildings had the words Soul

Brother painted on the plywood boards covering the windows. My parents knew several

business owners on Burnet Avenue, and on this day, we visited several.  

I remember stopping at a dry cleaner. When the owner gave my sister and I a lollipop,

I asked, "Why do so many buildings have Soul Brother painted across the front?"

He explained. "The businesses that say Soul Brother are owned by Black people. This

lets the rioters know not to damage our property."

I was confused. "But it's okay to damage the other buildings?"

My dad answered. "No, it's not right! But people are angry.,"

My five-year-old sister asked, "But why are they angry?"

The adults looked to one another.  

My memory stops there.

Over the years, there would be many discussions about Martin Luther King Jr., the

Civil Rights Movement, racial inequalities, and being Black in America. But those

discussions would come later. On this day, my family became witnesses to a dark

chapter in our city's history.

In the days after the assassination of Dr. King, there were riots in several major US

cities.  It was the greatest wave of social unrest the United States had experienced

since the Civil War. The riots in my mid western  city lasted for two nights. The National

Guard was called to restore the peace.  More than two hundred people were injured

while almost three hundred were arrested. Two people were killed.

I had not thought about this incident until the 1992 riots in Los Angeles following the

acquittal of the police officers accused of using excessive force and beating Rodney

King; an event which had been videotaped and viewed in television broadcasts. 

While I had been in Los Angeles for seven years, my parents didn't like me living

alone in such a big city. I called my parents to say I was fine and far away

from the rioting. This was not true. I watched the fires on Hollywood Boulevard from

the safety of my apartment building's rooftop in a residential area. I was close enough

to hear the voices of the looters and rioters just blocks away. Smoke was in the air for

days. Just like that eight-year-old girl, I was scared.

I'm reminded of that incident from my childhood today. I'm not scared. I'm angry,

stressed, and hoping this time, just maybe the message of racial inequality will be

heard. This is as I listen to the sirens and helicopters around my home in response to

the protests over murder of George Floyd in Minneapolis.

At my sister's backyard wedding

I've imagined myself going back to visit myself as a child the night the riots started.  I'd hug her, then assure her that she will be safe. I'd let her know that this will not be the last time she'll experience civil unrest in her lifetime. I'd remind her to be safe and smart as she moves through life. I'd tell her to see the best in people while remembering that nobody is perfect. I'd tell her to agree to disagree, and to always

keep an open mind. I'd explain that she'll have to accept the fact that some people's minds will never be changed. Then, I'd ask her what she would like to talk about. We'd have an honest conversation about things important to a child, even the difficult messy subjects. 

Most importantly, I'd let her know, it's okay to be scared because sometimes the

world can be a scary place. 

We got through 1968.

We got through 1992.

And despite everything that has happened this year, we will get through 2020.

I believe this. I must.

Remembering Samuel French

During quarantine, my mind has been wandering to places I'd like to visit. Unfortunately, one place no longer exists. 

One of the first places I went when I moved to Los Angeles was Samuel French Theater Bookshop on Sunset Boulevard.

I was familiar with Samuel French. While studying at Emerson College in Boston, I visited Baker's Plays (their Boston store). When I was in New York I went to their massive two story store in Midtown Manhattan that had everything for the working actor. 

The Boston store closed years ago. When my husband and I were visiting New York in 2017, I was shocked to learn that the Midtown store was long gone - I didn't see how this was possible. The woman at the Samuel French office said the only brick & mortar store was in Los Angeles. At that time New York actors still had access to the Drama Book Shop. 

When we returned home I made a special trip to Samuel French, simply because I could. In the back of my mind I feared this store would also be closing. The closing happened sonner than later in March of 2019. Many were robbed of a final visit when the store was vandalized two weeks before the scheduled closing; it never reopened.

Like many others, I have many memories of the Hollywood store. When I first moved to LA, I purchased books, guides and directories for actors relocating to Hollywood. I was thrilled that Samuel French was walking distance from my new home. Later, I remember giving the name of an obscure play to an employee who climbed a ladder that reached to the ceiling; a few moments later he returned with the play. Once, I needed a peice of sheet music for an audition. Hollywood Sheet Music (another place long gone) had sold out. They told me to go down the street to Samuel French who, of course, had what I needed. 

Samuel French had been a part of the Hollywood and acting community since 1947. The store lives on online. 

When the LA store closed, there was one last brick and mortar store in London. It too has closed for good. The Drama Book Shop in NYC was also on it's way to closing peranently. A group including Lin-Manuel Miranda purchased the New York Store. "The Drama Book Shop" was open for nearly 100 years, but had been forced to close its West 40th Street location.The Drama Bookshop was scheduled to reopen in March 2020 on West 39th Street between Seventh and Eighth avenues. The store's reopening will be something else to look forward to once New York City reopens. 

Many actors, writers, filmmakers and others in the performing arts community often dropped into Samuel French not only for books, but for inspiration and a sense of community. It was a place to go before or after an audition in the area. Later, a small performance space was added. I always looked forward to visiting the store the day after the Tony Awards to purchase new plays for my library. 

Sure, you can still find most items online, but it's not the same. Samuel French Film and Theater Bookshop is now a part of Hollywood's history. I along with so many others will and miss it, and remember it fondly.