Little Bits (Bytes?) of Barksdale History

Posted by Bruce Miller
Our two nonprofit theatres are currently engaged in a branding study that will help us determine the future paths of Barksdale Theatre and Theatre IV. Two MAJOR thank yous go out to Kelly O'Keefe, Managing Director of the VCU Brandcenter, who is donating his leadership of the study pro bono, and The Community Foundation Serving Richmond and Central Virginia, providers of the grant that funds the research component of the study.

As a part of this strategic exercise, we've been engaging randomly selected audience members in focus groups to learn their opinions about our two stage companies. It's been fascinating to learn what John and Jane Q Theatre-Lover do and don't know about Central Virginia's oldest (Barksdale) and largest (Theatre IV) professional theatres.

It is becoming clear that our illustrious histories are fading, for many if not most, into virtual obscurity, so I've begun to recount the legacies that serve as our foundation by posting a brief new snippet from our theatrical scrapbooks as my "status" on Facebook each Monday morning. I don't know who or how many people actually see these tidbits, so, from time to time, I'll post them here as well.

Here's the story thus far, including the date that each item was posted:

Aug 12, 2010
B'dale / TIV History (Part 1) - Barksdale Theatre was founded in Virginia's historic Hanover Tavern by six NYC actors in August 1953. We're 57 years old! And I think (hope) the founders would be proud. Maybe even a little amazed. I feel the presence of Pete, Muriel and Nancy (pictured below) every day. A blessing.
Aug 13, 2010
B'dale / TIV History (Part 2) - Barksdale Theatre was Central VA's first professional performing arts organization of the modern era. Founded in Aug 1953, Barksdale came 2 years before the Virginia Museum Theatre (TheatreVirginia), 4 years before the Richmond Symphony and the Richmond Ballet, 12 years before Swift Creek Mill Theatre, 21 years before the Virginia Opera, and 22 years before Theatre IV.

Aug 16, 2010
B'dale / TIV History (Part 3) - Before they'd heard of Hanover Tavern, the founders of Barksdale brought their dream from NYC to Richmond VA on Feb 4, '53. Tom Carlin and his partner Stewart Falconer, Pete Kilgore and his wife Perky, their 2 children Kate and Beau, Muriel McAuley, Pat Sharp, and a dog named Rags moved into the home of Aline Miles (Falconer's mom). They lived there rent-free for 6 months as they searched for a home for their new theatre.

Aug 23, 2010
B'dale / TIV History (Part 4) - During a 4-month search, the Barksdale founders found Hanover Tavern. On May 26, '53, they signed a contract to purchase the Tavern and its 4+ acres for $25,000 (that's $202,199 in today's dollars), with $5,000 down. $2,500 was paid on signing. Pete Kilgore cashed in his veteran's life insurance to close the gap on that first $2,500.

Aug 30, 2010
B'dale / TIV History (Part 5) - After paying down the first $2,500, the Barksdale founders had 2 months to come up with the second required down-payment of $2,500 (that's $20,220 in today's dollars). Co-founder Muriel McAuley wrote: "In July we saved over $1,000 by not eating, not smoking and not drinking two fifths of Italian Swiss Colony on Sat nights."

Sept 6, 2010
B'dale / TIV History (Part 6) - Borrowing from each of their families, and pawning everything they had, the Barksdale founders finally came up with the final $2,500 down-payment by the deadline date of Aug 1, '53. The last $10 was in change. Penniless, they moved into their new home. Monthly mortgage = $250 (that's $2,022 in today's dollars), plus interest at 5%.

--Bruce Miller

Thanksgiving Soup

Posted by Bruce Miller
During the first three years of Theatre IV (May 1975 – April 1978), our new nonprofit company netted enough revenue to pay all its actors, directors, designers etc., except for Phil and me. No one was paid much, mind you, but everyone received something. Phil and I worked for three years as 40-hour per week volunteers. We earned our living, mainly, acting and waiting tables at Swift Creek Mill Playhouse (now Swift Creek Mill Theatre) and the Haymarket Dinner Theatre. Each of us worked at whichever dinner theatre cast us in a show.

The Mill was the nicest place to wait tables, and if you arrived early, you could eat Mary’s wonderful cooking for $3 a dinner—a super deal. Mary was the chef at the Mill in those early days, and she was also co-owner Betty Callahan’s aunt. There were always quarter or half loaves of delicious Sally Lund bread left on customers’ tables when the meal was over, and the Mill let waiters take these uneaten remnants home with them. I got fat on many a sandwich made with leftover Sally Lund bread from the Mill.

The Haymarket had fewer perks, but it was the more lucrative place to work as a waiter. That’s because the waiters at the Haymarket collected the cost of the theatre tickets, dinner and bar at intermission. Your customers had the chance to see you on stage in Act I, and then you presented them with a bill that included everything. Frequently they would tip you 10% to 15% on the entire bill, including the cost of the theatre tickets.

Even in the mid-70s, I once made just over $100 in tips one night at the Haymarket.

At the Mill, the only money the waiters collected from the customer was for the bar tab, and customers would frequently leave the 15% tip only on that smaller amount. Plus, you collected that amount before curtain, so your customers had yet to have the opportunity to see your work on stage.

Phil and I acted some at Barksdale and the Barn during those years, but both of those theatres employed mostly waiters who were not actors in the show, so waiting gigs there were hard to come by.

We also worked during the first two summers at Kings Dominion. Kings Dominion and Theatre IV both opened at the same time. The personnel department at KD recruited performers from VCU to work the shows in the park, and cash control officers from the University of Richmond Law School. Somehow we heard about the U of R gig, and went to KD to apply.

We told them we were from U of R, neglecting to mention that we were not from the Law School. They hired us anyway. We’d arrive at work many nights at midnight, after completing our gigs as actor/waiters, and then count money till about 3 or 4 a.m. On weekends, we walked around the park pretending to be tourists, but popping into the back of each store and restaurant we’d pass to collect several thousands of dollars and then walk it back to cash control headquarters. Sometimes we’d be strolling through the park carrying upwards of $20 K in a plastic KD shopping bag.

During the 75-76 and 76-77 school years, we also directed (me) and choreographed (Phil) the shows at Collegiate School (mostly evening work). I’m blessed to have friends today who were my students during those two great years.

Lest you think this all sounds noble, be assured we were having the time of our lives. We were young bachelors, sharing a Grove Ave. apartment which also served as Theatre IV’s office, without the burdens of mortgages, car payments or college funds eating away at our meagre earnings. In many ways, I felt fewer money worries then than I have at any time since.

It was in those early years that I began my fall ritual of making Thanksgiving Soup, a ritual I continue to this day. The recipe was one I was given by my dad, Curt Miller, who grew up dirt poor on a Mennonite farm in Pennsylvania.

Turkey is one of the least expensive meats you can buy, back then in 1975 and still today. Like my dad before me, I cook a Thanksgiving turkey for the main event, and then on the day after, carve off whatever remaining meat is easy to get to, and then boil the turkey carcass and unused giblets to make soup.

Thanksgiving Soup is delicious, and really gratifying if you’re in a waste-not want-not frame of mind. It freezes well, and can provide many a super-cheap and inviting meal for months to come. I’ve often heard that the best way to give thanks is to be a responsible steward of the many blessings you receive. In that case, Thanksgiving Soup is aptly named.

The recipe is far from original, I’m sure. But as a family tradition, it means a lot to me. And it always reminds me of the early days of Theatre IV.

Curt Miller’s Thanksgiving Soup

To make the stock, break the turkey carcass into pieces and toss it and the giblets into a big soup pot. Add water until it just covers the turkey carcass. To the pot add 2 chopped carrots, two chopped onions, 2 stalks of chopped celery (leaves and all). Chop everything into large pieces. Toss in 2 cloves of minced garlic, a few shakes of salt, some basil and a bay leaf or two. Bring the whole thing to a boil, and let it continue on a low boil over medium heat, covered, for two to three hours.

Pour the stock through a colander into a large bowl—I usually get about 12 cups of thick liquid. Let it cool for a couple hours, and then skim off the fat (there isn’t that much).

Let the turkey cool, then sort through the bones and pick out all the meat. I usually get another four cups of meat, even after carving off all the easy stuff before cooking the carcass.

Throw away the bones and the vegetables, unless you want to save them for another use.

I usually freeze half the stock—about 6 cups. With the other half, I make my first batch of Thanksgiving Soup.

Soup

6 cups turkey stock
¼ of a large onion, chopped small, a generous half cup
3 peeled carrots, chopped into thick pennies
2 stalks celery, chopped into ¼ inch pieces, about ¾ cup
1 ½ cups cooked or frozen green beans
1 cup cooked long grain rice
1 can mushrooms, stems and pieces, 8 oz drained
2 cups cut-up turkey (about half of what came from the carcass)
2 cloves garlic, chopped small
Basil
Salt
Pepper
1 tablespoon butter
2 tablespoons flour

In the soup pot, melt the margarine and cook the onions and garlic for about 10 minutes over medium heat, stirring.

Add the can of mushrooms, liquid and all. Add the chopped carrots, celery, and green beans and continue cooking for about 5 minutes, stirring.

Add the flour and cook for another 3 minutes, stirring.

Add the turkey stock, about 12 shakes of basil, salt and pepper, and continue cooking over low/medium heat for about an hour.

Add the cooked rice and turkey and bring to a boil. Once it’s boiling, turn it off and serve.

Makes 6 servings.

--Bruce Miller

"Break a Leg!" "Grrrrrrrrrr!!"

Posted by Bruce Miller
Happy Friday the 13th--a perfect day to think a little about superstitions in the theatre.

Over the years, I've heard of 10 to 20 irrational but nonetheless traditional beliefs that seem to have been passed down from one theatre artist to another over the centuries. There are certainly three that are observed with regularity right here in River City. Let's talk about the best known first.

Throughout the ages it’s been considered bad luck to wish an actor “good luck” before a performance. If you want theatre artists to have a successful Opening Night and/or run, superstition requires that you wish them ill fortune rather than good. Whether in London, New York, Richmond, or anywhere else in the English-speaking world, the accepted way to wish an actor bad luck (when you really want them to have good luck) is to say “break a leg.”

I’ve heard many explanations as to why this particular phrase for bad luck was chosen as the standard. My favorite explanation goes back to the Elizabethan age and the Blackfriars Theatre, the first indoor venue for Shakespeare’s plays.

In 1597, during Shakespeare’s prime, Richard Burbage (that's him to the right) inherited the Blackfriars from his father. Richard Burbage was the principal actor with the Lord Chamberlain’s Men (Shakespeare’s company), the wildly popular troupe that performed with great success in the Globe. For years the Blackfriars had been home to the Children of the Chapel, a juvenile performing company. In 1608, Burbage and several partners took over management of the Blackfriars, kicked out the kids, and opened the elegant theatre in the winters for use by the King's Men—the new name given to Shakespeare's company after King James ascended to the throne in 1603.

The big difference between the Globe and the Blackfriars, other than the fact that the Blackfriars was an indoor venue, was that the audience at the Blackfriars was often considerably more well-to-do than the groundlings who paid a penny to get into the Globe. When a show met with approval at the Blackfriars, delighted patrons tossed coins onto the stage during curtain call, aiming at the feet of the actors who pleased them the most. When this happened, the showered-upon actors humbly dropped to one knee to accept the accolades (and scarf up the tokens of appreciation), therein “breaking” the line of their legs.

With this kowtowing for coinage custom in mind, a well-wisher says “break a leg” to fulfill the requirement of wishing bad luck, all the while knowing that there is a double-meaning to the phrase, a positive subtext that actually means “I hope the audience loves your performance enough to throw money at your feet causing you to break the line of your leg to pick it up.”

No one throws money anymore, more’s the pity. But once in a while someone throws flowers, which springs from the same tradition. Of course, when we produced The Full Monty, women in the audience often threw panties. Seriously.

Another theory regarding the etymology of the phrase “break a leg” comes from the Yiddish Theatre that was so popular in New York’s Lower East Side in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. In those early days, the Yiddish Theatre District that centered on Second Avenue in what is now the East Village equalled Broadway in both quantity and quality.

A favorite phrase for good luck in Yiddish is “Hatsloche un Broche,” meaning “success and blessing.” Knowing that wishing good luck was verboten backstage, Yiddish actors resorted to the similar sounding German phrase “Hals- und Beinbruch,” meaning “neck and leg fracture.”

The wishing-of-bad-luck superstition seems to cross all barriers of language and ethnicity. On the Opening Night of Boleros for the Disenchanted, our Latino actors, in keeping with Spanish theatre tradition, wished each other "¡Mucha mierda!"—which translates roughly as “Lotsa shit!”

In Stanislovski’s day, the great actors of the Moscow Arts Theatre wished each other "ни пуха ни пера" (ni puha ni pera). This literally means "neither down nor feathers." It was the traditional Russian blessing uttered to a hunter before he trekked into the woods, rifle in hand. Apparently Russian hunters fell into the same category as actors, and the only appropriate way to wish them “good luck” was to wish them something horrible. Wishing them “neither down nor feathers” was the same as saying “I hope you come home from the hunt empty handed.”

Sure enough, when an acclaimed Russian company was in residence in our historic Empire last fall performing The Humpbacked Horse, hardy calls of “ni puha ni pera” rang out prior to curtain from the dressing rooms and the darkened corners of backstage.

Whether you are a hunter or an actor, Russian or English, tradition states that you never say “thank you” when someone appropriately wishes you “bad luck.” In Russian, they reply “к черту" (k chertu), which literally means "go to the devil." At the Comédie-Française, when someone wishes you “Merde!” on Opening Night, you are supposed to respond with a robust growl. In Italy, after hearing the blessing “In bocca al lupo,” which means “In the mouth of the wolf,” an actor's recommended response is “Crepi!” or “Crepi il lupo!”, which translates as “May the wolf die!”

With so many Opening Nights fast upon us, we should all be getting our blessings, curses and guttural rumblings ready. And when you shout one out to a beloved theatre colleague, be prepared to hear a response something akin to a friendly, grateful growl.

Coming soon, superstition #2—The Scottish Play.

Till then, see you at the theatre!

--Bruce Miller

Déjà Vu All Over Again

Posted by Bruce Miller
What we need is a bright idea. Or three or four.

In my humble opinion, Richmond theatres will face a challenge in the months and years ahead. I know that Barksdale and Theatre IV face that challenge right now, and I fear it’s more widespread than that.

Challenges are insurmountable only when we fail to recognize them. I've always believed that individuals and communities are better able to address challenges if they acknowledge them directly and work in a united way to address them.

I think the number of nonprofit theatres and the numbers of plays produced by these nonprofit theatres have grown faster than the number of Central Virginia ticket buyers and contributors committed to supporting these worthy ventures.

When this happens, everyone suffers. No one wins. Certainly not the theatre artists looking for work or the theatre audience looking for artistic quality. In the long run, having lots of theatres and lots of shows is good only when there are resources enough to allow every theatre and every show to succeed on its own terms.

I could be wrong about all this. Maybe all you other theatres in town are doing great.

But if we are a little overly crowded right now, it's not a first-time thing.

If you go back to 2001, the Richmond theatre scene was crowded with TheatreVirginia, Barksdale Theatre, Theatre IV, and Swift Creek Mill (known for many years in days gone by as the Big Four). Then we also had the Firehouse, Richmond Shakespeare, African American Repertory Theatre (in its infancy, I think), Richmond Triangle Players, Chamberlayne Actors Theatre, HATTheatre, the Carpenter Science Theatre, and Theatre at Bolling Haxall House. The other big game in town was Broadway Under the Stars—for profit and not local, but nonetheless acting as the 500 lb gorilla. Mystery Dinner Playhouse was also here as a for profit entity.

Forgive me for overlooking, I suspect, one or two others.

In those crowded times, if memory serves, all of the theatres—each and every one of us—struggled to survive.

Then, in 2001, Barksdale hit the financial skids, precipitating the Barksdale / Theatre IV partnership that exists today. In 2002, TheatreVirginia went belly up. And shortly thereafter, I don’t remember the year, Broadway Under the Stars collapsed, leaving its subscribers high and dry. For a couple comfortable seasons, professional theatre in Richmond seemed right-sized, and every theatre in town seemed to do well.

Doing well, of course, inspires doing more. And so we slowly began to add again. Sycamore Rouge, Richmond Ensemble Theatre, Essential Theatre, Barksdale at Hanover Tavern, Henley Street Theatre, Stage 1—all admirable efforts with much to recommend them. Firehouse, Richmond Shakespeare, Chamberlayne Actors Theatre and African American Rep all began to grow—considerably. And then this year, the return of the 500 pounder—the “Broadway series” at CenterStage.

None of this growth is bad. All of it is good. But if it presents new challenges, shouldn't we recognize and figure out how to address them as a community, not as one theatre vs another?

From all that I have heard and seen, we've now entered another period where many if not mosts casts in town are playing to houses much smaller than they deserve—no matter how good their show. I haven't heard from any nonprofit theatre that's meeting its fund development goal--although you may know something I don't. I have heard from several theatre managers who are wondering how on earth we’re going to hang in there without cutting back on our salaries, our AEA contracts, our artistic quality, and/or our risk taking.

Of course, that’s the last thing we should be doing. Cutting back is often the kiss of death.

Three of the new nonprofit theatres that began since 2002 have already closed their doors, due in each case to financial pressures.

One good sign this time around is this. Theatres all over town have begun to partner—creating one production where there otherwise would have been two. Barksdale and Theatre IV are working together on Sound of Music (one show that stands in for last year’s Annie and Millie). Richmond Shakespeare and African American Repertory Theatre are co-producing Othello. AART and Barksdale are co-producing both Black Nativity and Crowns. And Barksdale is co-producing Grapes of Wrath with TheatreVCU.

All this partnering would not have happened six or seven years ago. For those who don't realize it, take a look back. The spirit of cooperation among Central Virginia's theatres today is MUCH greater now than it ever was prior to 2002. I may be misguided--I know there are those who think I am--but I think this is a huge step forward.

When markets become over-crowded, one or two of three things inevitably will happen. Central Virginia's theatres will discover new ways to co-produce and reduce the total number of productions, and/or we will find effective ways to increase overall ticket sales and contributions, and/or we will see another round of theatres begin to go out of business.

Several of us have ridden these waves before. They’re not fun. Maybe this time, we can all work together and find a way to make a win-win-win … say it nine more times.

Till then, for Pete’s sake, buy a ticket to a play produced in Central Virginia. Any play. Please?

--Bruce Miller

Progress Continues on Galeski Foyer

Posted by Bruce Miller
Until a few minutes ago, this post was going to be about the great work that John Moon is doing to upgrade the entrance to our theatre. Most of you know John as an actor in The Clean House (see photo above and to the right) or as the director of our current, brilliant production of This Wonderful Life.

What some of you may not know is that John is also on our Board. In fact, he’s a former President of the Barksdale Board of Trustees. To our great benefit, John has assumed Board leadership of our commitment to improve and upgrade our Willow Lawn performance facilities.

Sometimes, when I'm writing for this blog, my meanderings don't go the way I think they will. In this instance, I wrote the title, and as I typed the word “foyer,” my mind began to race. I knew that “foyer” was the word selected by the Barksdale powers-that-be in 1996 to indicate the lower lobby I intended to write about. Nonetheless, before I could stop myself, I began Googling to make sure that "foyer" was the right word. Thankfully it was, and is.

But Google can be a harsh mistress. The deeper I followed her into lingua-land, the more questions I had, and the more discoveries I made about this slightly out-of-the-ordinary word, "foyer."

How would readers pronounce it?--I asked myself. How would I pronounce it if I weren’t thinking about it? Why is the correct pronunciation open to debate? Where did the word originate? What does it actually mean?

I know. I’m a freak. I’m sorry. But first things first.

This post is now going to be all about the word “foyer” and how it relates to theatre history. I’ll get to John’s wonderful upgrades soon. I promise.

“Foyer” is defined by Merriam-Webster as “an anteroom or lobby especially of a theater; also, an entrance hallway.” Adding more fuel to the fire—a little foreshadowing here—Answers.com posts this definition: “a lobby or anteroom, as of a theater or hotel; an entrance hall; a vestibule.”
Dictionary.com weighs in with a similar theme: “the lobby of a theater, hotel or apartment house; a vestibule or entrance hall.” That's a photo of the "foyer" of the National Theatre of Prague to the right.

"Foyer,” therefore, seems like the perfect word to indicate the lower lobby of Barksdale Theatre at Willow Lawn. After all, our upstairs lobby is our official “lobby,” and the lower lobby is the “anteroom” or “entrance hallway” through which one must pass if one is intent on reaching the “lobby" proper. From all accounts the word “foyer” seems to conjure up images of theatre. So, “foyer” it is.

But … actually, the phrase selected in 1996 to serve as the moniker for this illustrious space was “entry foyer.” The official name of this room is the “Galeski Entry Foyer” (more on “Galeski” soon, I promise, when I actually begin writing about John’s upgrades).

Now that I know what “foyer” really means, saying “entry foyer” seems akin to saying “entry entrance hallway,” which I think we all can agree is redundant. So, at least for me, this room will henceforward be the “Galeski Foyer”—the word “entry” being ... silent.

Now's when the fun really begins. How do we pronounce it? Here’s what I thought I knew.

There’s the American pronunciation: foi'ər ( http://www.merriam-webster.com/cgi-bin/audio.pl?foyer001.wav=foyer ). Go ahead. Click it. It’s cool. It rhymes with “lawyer.” Well, almost.

And there’s the French pronunciation: foi'ā' ( http://www.merriam-webster.com/cgi-bin/audio.pl?foyer002.wav=foyer ). It rhymes with Charles Boyer, except you’re probably not old enough to remember who Charles Boyer is.

So, based on what I thought I knew, I figured if you wanted to sound like “Joe Sixpack” you could use the American pronunciation, and if you wanted to sound like “the cultural elite” you could use the French pronunciation. To me, it was Red State Blue State simple.

Of course I was wrong.

If you really want to sound like an Ahtistic Directah, you would use the real French pronunciation: fwä'yā' (listen for the third pronunciation after clicking http://www.howjsay.com/index.php?word=foyer&submit=Submit ). But if you really went around saying that, not only would you sound snooty, you'd also run the risk of sounding stupid.

In French, the word “foyer” doesn’t mean what it means in English. In modern French, the word “foyer” means “home” or “hostel.” The most common use of the word “foyer” in modern French is in the phrase “femme au foyer,” which means “housewife.”

You see, “foyer” meaning the entrance hall that leads one to the lobby of a theatre is not a French word at all. It’s an English word. Who knew? The correct English pronunciation is foi'ā' ( http://www.merriam-webster.com/cgi-bin/audio.pl?foyer002.wav=foyer ). Don’t take my word for it. Go to London and ask anybody.

Here's where the theatre history kicks in. In days of yore, early London theatregoers of means enjoyed a social meeting room that they could adjourn to when they wanted to warm up during intermission. The common feature of these rooms was a large, roaring fireplace. The theatres themselves were not adequately heated, being relatively cavernous spaces, so social rooms with hearths were provided for the upper crust. They were located off the lobby and you went there to get nice and toasty before you returned to your seat for Act II.

The English chose the word "foyer" as the name for these rooms because, at the time, referencing a little French every now and then was cool among the socially elite. And the Old French word "foier" meant "fireplace" or "hearth."

As more theatres were built, designers began to open up the "foyers" to everyone, not just the wealthy few. In more and more theatres, audiences began entering the "foyers" from the street. They'd enter, warm up, then proceed into the lobby, and finally into the theatre itself. Check out the fireplace to the right, located in the "foyer" of the New Amsterdam Theatre on Broadway.

Today, in modern French, the word for “fireplace” is “cheminée," the Old French word “foier” no longer exists, and the modern French word "foyer" means "home" and has nothing to do with theatres. So when we correctly pronounce "foyer" as foi'ā' ( http://www.merriam-webster.com/cgi-bin/audio.pl?foyer002.wav=foyer ), we do so because that's how they say it in England, not because that's how they say it in France.

Of course, we're in the United States of America, and you can pronounce “foyer” anyway you want. All American dictionaries list the American pronunciation first and the English pronunciation second, indicating that both pronunciations are perfectly acceptable. I guess it's just another case of po-tay-to / po-tah-to.

But wait a minute. Isn't there a large fake fireplace in the upstairs lobby of Barksdale's Willow Lawn facility? Doesn't that mean that the real “foyer” at Barksdale is the upstairs lobby, and the downstairs lobby is more appropriately called a …

Fogetaboutit.

--Bruce Miller