Tuesday, November 16, 2021

'The Visitor' makes the immigrant experience personal


     When I read that The Public Theater had in its fall programming a play called The Visitor I wondered if it could possibly be a staged version of the tender and sad 2007 independent film that had touched me deeply.  When I found out it was I was intrigued, until I learned it was a musical and then I was skeptical.

    As I was right to be.  This moving story of an immigrant’s experience in New York is ill-served by singing and, even more, by dancing, with a dozen ensemble members nearly colliding with each other on the small stage of the Newman Theater.

     People attending the show who haven’t seen the film, which I saw twice because I was so affected by it the first time, may have a different reaction because the same involving story is there.  Walter, a white, late middle-aged economic professor played perfectly by David Hyde Pierce, has more or less given up on life.  He has contempt for his students, which he expresses angrily in “Wake Up,” he has taught the same course for 20 years and hates doing so and is on semi-sabbatical, teaching only the one course, so he can write a book that seems to be about as lifeless as he is.  “The only thing that changes is the day,” he sings despondently. 

     A widower, everything about him screams bland — his gray suit (costumes by Toni-Leslie James), gray balding hair and wire-rim glasses.  He spends most of his time living in Connecticut but at the play’s opening he makes a rare appearance at his New York City apartment and that’s when his life starts to change.  He walks in to find a young couple, Tarek (Ahmad Maksoud) and Zainab (Alysha Deslorieux), living there.  Undocumented immigrants, from Syria and Senegal respectively, they have been trying to hide under the radar of detection.  When Walter walks in Tarek attacks him, thinking he is an intruder ready to harm Zainab.  After a frightened Walter convinces them it is his apartment, they realize they have been swindled by a conman who somehow got Walter’s keys and, knowing he was mostly absent, rented the apartment to them.  

     They beg Walter not to call the police, gather their things quickly and leave.  But luckily for them they have left behind a photo album.  Walter runs after them to return it and finds them looking scared and realizes they have nowhere to go.  He surprises himself by inviting them back to stay with him.  That’s when the beautiful story, and Walter’s transformation, begin.

     Tarek is a musician who plays his two African drums in the living room.  It’s a delight to watch Hyde Pierce’s Walter eye one of them before tentatively banging out a few sounds, not knowing Tarek is in the bedroom and can hear him.  He’s embarrassed when Tarek appears and encourages him to learn a few notes that he demonstrates on the other drum.  “Feel the beat in your blood,” Tarek tells him and before long they are playing happily, and well, together.  (Music composed by Tom Kitt).  The once uptight Walter even joins Tarek and his fellow drummers playing in the park, boldly soloing in the center of the circle.  Life is good.

     Until it isn’t.  Coming home from playing one day Tarek pays his subway fare but his drum gets in his way before he makes it through the turnstile.  Rather than pay another fare, he jumps over the bars and is promptly arrested by two police officers, even though Walter explains that he had paid.  The police release him into the custody of ICE and he is sent to a squalid detention center. 

     I won’t give away the ending except to say that Tarek’s mother, Mouna (Jacqueline Antaramian), arrives from Michigan where she has lived since she left Syria with Tarek when he was a baby.  She and Walter bond as they try to free Tarek with the help of the immigration attorney Walter hires. 

     Director Daniel Sullivan keeps the story moving until a song (lyrics by Brian Yorkey) or dance (choreography by Lorin Latarro) interrupt.  I’ve seen other musicals adapted from small films I’ve liked — Once comes to mind — and haven’t felt the singing and dancing were intrusive but I did here. 

     The show’s book writer, Kwame Kwei-Armah, said in the program notes that he wanted the power of the human gaze “to focus that gaze for the length of the piece, and, we hope, a little beyond, on the power we have collectively to change course, to advocate for justice and to enlarge everyone’s portion, no matter of station or privilege.”  As the book writer, he has been successful in this. 

     Oskar Eustis, The Public’s artistic director, also commented on the importance of this story:  “The movie on which our musical is based, Tom McCarthy’s powerful 2007 film, “The Visitor,” was created in the shadow of 9/11.  It sought to shake America’s conscience, to combat the anti-immigrant and anti-Arab ugliness that was taking deeper root in our culture, and to wake us to the moral obligations we had to the world.”

     Sadly the anti-immigrant and anti-Arab ugliness are still with us.  If this musical works for people as strongly as the movie did for so many of us, then we can be grateful.  

Monday, October 18, 2021

Ruben Santiago-Hudson's storytelling will touch your soul deeply


     Yesterday I did something I haven’t done in 18 months.  I attended a Broadway show.  And what a gift this first one back turned out to be.  Ruben Santiago-Hudson’s Lackawanna Blues is a loving tribute to the woman who raised him.  It is also a tribute to the man he grew to be as the playwright, director and star of this one-man autobiographical play at the Samuel J. Friedman Theatre.  

     “Nanny treated me better than my own mother,” Santiago-Hudson says as he opens the play.  For the next 90 intermission-less minutes he portrays Rachel Crosby, better known as Nanny, and the world of her boarding house in Lackawanna, NY, outside of Buffalo, in the middle of the last century.  This world is populated by more than two dozen down-on-their-luck inhabitants, brought to life by Santiago-Hudson with kindness and humor.  “Nanny treated everyone like a human being.”

     Nanny was a Black woman from the South who found the freedom and prosperity of western New York so appealing that she encouraged all of her family members and friends to join her, paying for their tickets if necessary to get them out of the Jim Crow south and finding them jobs when they arrived.

     “Nanny was like the government, if it really worked,”  Santiago-Hudson tells the audience.  

     She worked hard enough to own three boarding houses, a taxi service and a restaurant.  It was to one of those houses that the child Ruben arrived, finding far more than just a place to live after his mother, a barmaid who worked nights, largely abandoned him.  He found a surrogate mother.  

     Scenic designer Michael Carnahan wisely leaves the set bare except for three stools, a small table and a straight-back chair.  The effect of this simplicity, coupled with lighting designer Jen Schriever alteration of light and dark, is to focus all attention on one remarkable storyteller.  The atmosphere is further enhanced through original jazz and blues music by the late Bill Sims Jr. and performed onstage throughout by guitarist Junior Mack.  Santiago-Hudson also livens things up or slows them down with his harmonica playing. 

     This 64-year-old performer, who received a featured actor Tony Award in 1996 for his role in August Wilson’s Seven Guitars, slides from character to character, using no props, just a change in his voice and facial expressions.  His storytelling feels fresh, especially when he improvises.  When a member of the audience was heard expressing recognition of Nanny’s love of having her scalp rubbed with grease, Santiago-Hudson turned to the audience and said, “This is some Black culture here for you all.”

     In the larger theatre world this is the season for Black culture.  If the pandemic doesn’t cause another shutdown, at least seven shows by Black writers will open on Broadway.  The season before Covid, only two plays from Black playwrights were presented, and one of those was a revival.  The prior year featured only one and the year before that none.  Broadway has been criticized for years for its lack of diversity.  

     Lackawanna Blues was first produced at The Public Theater in 2001.  Santiago-Hudson then adapted it for a 2005 HBO film, with the characters being played by different actors.  It was nominated for an  Emmy Award. 

     His love for Nanny remains palpable.  When the boy Ruben tells her he wants to die before she does so he won’t have to live without her, she assures him that death is a part of life and that when she dies Jesus will hold out his arms to her and say, “Well done, my good and faithful servant.” 

     Toward the end of the play he describes Nanny as someone who could “take fragments and make them whole.  That’s just who she was.”

     In his final scene he marks Nanny’s passing by looking to the right and up and saying quietly, “Well done,” before soulfully playing his harmonica.  That’s when my tears started, and they continued to fall through the long and well-deserved standing ovation and as I walked up the aisle.  Thank you, Ruben Santiago-Hudson, for such a moving afternoon of theatre.  You blessed my soul.  Now I say to you, well done. 

Saturday, October 24, 2020

Artists are essential workers


     Mario Sprouse is an essential worker in New York City.  Although he hasn’t had a day off since the pandemic struck in mid-March, he is full of energy.  His focus is to heal.

     The work that Sprouse sees as essential is that of an artist.  In his case, a composer, musician and musical director.  What he is passionate about healing is the commonly held idea that a career in the arts and a life of financial struggle go hand-in-hand.

     “I dislike the starving artist syndrome,” he said.  “It doesn’t honor God’s gifts to us.  I’ve dedicated my life to combatting any of those negative attributes about artists.  We are essential workers.  Always have been, always will be.”

     To spread this message he published Precious & Honored: A Spiritual Handbook for Artists, which grew out of discussions with members of his arts group at Marble Collegiate Church in midtown Manhattan.  The theme for one year was Whealth Management for Artists, combing the ideas of wealth and health.

     “For 50 years I’ve been dealing with artists,” he said during a telephone interview from his house in Queens, NY.  “Those who look at their skills as God-given don’t look to the world for employment.  They look to God.”

     Sprouse made these comments in mid-August, with all of the city’s entertainment industry — concert halls, theatres, dance studios — shut down since March 12, with no date scheduled for reopening.  Even in the face of this, Mario Sprouse seems incapable if despair.

     “Performing artists have a unique position at times like this,” he says.  “We are intuitive.  We are seers.  We see the present time and we project into what the future will be.  There’s a lot of no work going on but a tremendous amount of creativity just filling our universe.”

     While New York’s theatres have been empty, actors, singers, dancers, choreographers and directors have mastered video conferencing to present musical fundraisers and concerts, perform virtual plays with actors chiming in from their own homes, and costume designers have been pitching in to make masks.

     “We’re collaborative people.  It doesn’t matter if I’m on one end of the phone and you’re on the other.  I can collaborate with you and get something done.”

     One of his current examples of this is his work with playwright Glynn Borders to bring to new life Borders’ play The Dark Star from Harlem: The Spectacular Rise of Josephine Baker.   Sprouse, who graduated with a degree in music theory and composition from The City College of New York in 1970, wrote the music and lyrics for this show, which was seen in November and December in a full-length production at Off-Broadway’s La MaMa experimental theatre.  Borders is working on a socially distanced script.

     “We are creative people, imaginative and creative beyond measure,” Sprouse says.  “It’s always with you.  These times bring out our best.”

     Much of the work going on now is unpaid, but Sprouse sees that as a problem for performing artists at any time.  

     “People are not being paid because we give our work away for free so often,” he says.  “We, as artists, set that up.”

     Which is why he published Precious and Honored at his own expense in 2018.  It combines spiritual principles and scripture quotes with the experience of the members of the Marble Collegiate group now called Arts Ministry.  The material is presented simply and clearly through the use of the alphabet and divided into 15 empowering lessons, each fitting for one day’s meditation.  The ABCs of Driving Your Own Car sets the tone, establishing the underlying premise that people can live productive lives “and still make money as the artists we were divinely created to be.” The A is for Authority, with the reminder that “we need to take authority over the gifts, talents and skills that we were given.”  To back this up, Spouse quotes 2 Timothy 1:7:  “For God did not give us the spirit of fear, but of power and love and self-control.”  

     Similarly B represents Boldness and C, Confidence.  The handbook sells for $12 and is available at preciousandhonored.net. Sprouse was adamant that it would be available only in print so people can touch it, write in it, carry it with them or keep it by their bedside and send it to a friend in a letter-sized envelope.  The title comes from Isaiah 43:4:  “You are precious in my sight and honored, and I love you.”

     “We have these gifts, talents and skills as gifts from God so let God direct how we use them.  When you put the A to Z together it’s almost impossible to fail.”

     He plans this to be the first in a series, although he doesn’t know yet what the next theme will be.

     “I have to talk to God about that,” he says with a laugh, adding that he has decades of possible lessons.

     Sprouse has been part of Marble Collegiate’s ministry to artists since the fall of 1982 and now serves as coordinator of Arts Ministry, one of two part-time paid positions he holds there.  He is also the associate director of the live-streaming Marble Vision, from which he is furloughed.  

     Unlike most churches that began live streaming because of the pandemic, Marble has been doing it for more than two decades, attracting viewers from around the world.  The church is empty now but each Sunday at 11 a.m. worshipers see archival film of full pews and close-ups of the recently restored stained glass windows while listening to and watching the choir, considered to be one of the city’s most beautiful, as well as musicians and soloists.  The service is interspersed with prayers, a scripture reading and a sermon delivered live from the ministers’ homes.  Marble Collegiate is the oldest congregation of the Collegiate Reformed Protestant Church in New York City, organized in 1628 under the Dutch West India Company.  For a half century it was led by the Rev. Dr. Norman Vincent Peale, with people lining up around the block to hear his sermons.  It is still widely thought of as the-power-of-positive-thinking church in reference to Peale’s best-selling book.

     Outside of his church work, Sprouse has been involved with cataloguing the massive music/media collection of the late Gordon Parks, the photographer, musician, writer and film director for whom he was the musical assistant for more than 20 years.  He performed at Parks’ funeral at The Riverside Church in 2006, was the music supervisor for three of Parks’ films and produced Parks’ first CD of original classical music.  He has provided musical arrangements for several other short films and musical direction for a number of theatrical events.  Carmen McRae, Hubert Laws, Cornell Dupree, Buster Williams, Freddie Hubbard and Grover Washington Jr. are among the jazz artists who have recorded his musical arrangements.  Orchestrations and original songs written by Sprouse have been performed live by Gregory Hines and Phylicia Rashad. 

     Sprouse developed his love for the arts growing up in the Bronx, the son of immigrants from the Dominican Republic.  He was surrounded by the sights and sounds of art and music from a variety of cultures and these influence his work today  He attended St. Augustine Presbyterian Church where he learned to play the piano. 

     “This was the melting pot in which I developed my firm belief that spirituality and the arts are inseparable.  If anyone thinks the arts are not necessary try going through a time like this without music.  Someone recorded it for you.  This pandemic has focused the world internationally on the importance of the arts.  It’s an opportunity.”

Saturday, July 4, 2020

Stabat Mater

     The gift of a new CD arrived in mid-March just as the coronavirus hit New York City full force.  Businesses were closing, I was told to work from home and news reports of rising hospitalizations and deaths were frightening.  I was anxious about whether grocery stores would remain open and how I would get food.  And if I would have a job to go back to.

     What a blessing it was that with all of that trauma swirling around me the CD I found in my mailbox was from my favorite choir, the Cape Cod-based Gloriae Dei Cantores (Singers to the Glory of God).  I put “Stabat Mater, Choral Works by Arvo Part,” in my CD player and there it remained for days.  When it finished I pressed play again so that the exquisite voices of the choir filled my apartment with prayer.  I no longer listed to NPR.  I wanted my mind to be clear.  “Stabat Mater” became the sound track of my life for hours and hours day after day.  

     In time I changed CDs, but not choirs.  The sacred choral music of Gloriae Dei Cantores has healed my spirit for probably at least two decades now.  As I have many times, I turned to “Shining Like the Sun: The Chants of Transfiguration,” “The Chants of Mary,” “Prism” and the more recent “All-Night Vigil, Op. 37.”

     Now, nearly four months later, New York is reopening, I’ve been back at work for six weeks, the grocery stores never closed or ran out of food and I am back to listening to NPR and WAER, my jazz station from Syracuse University.  “Stabat Mater” (Richard K. Pugsley, Conductor) has joined the choir’s other CDs for now on my bookshelf.  They will be there for me when I need them, just as they always have been. 

Saturday, May 2, 2020

The Boy That Could

          During her seven years of working in Harlem with children and teenagers, Laura Fernandez heard and saw a lot of their pain and struggles.  She did what she could to assist those children until she was inspired to help on a much larger scale.

     She was taking a writing class in 2018 when “God put in my heart a desire to write a children’s book,” she said by phone from isolation in her Manhattan apartment.  “The story of Leko came to me and I went from there.”

     Leko is the lovable little boy Fernandez brought to life in The Boy That Could, which is illustrated by Katharine Ward.  It’s the story of a sweet-natured child who is bullied.  Looking for a way to become more popular, he trains for a 2K race to beat the bullies at their own game.  But a terrible accident puts him in a coma, sending him on a spiritual journey that changes his life.

     Fernandez chose to make her main character a boy in the hopes of reaching a wider audience.  Studies show that girls will read books about boys but boys are unlikely to read books about girls.  And while she knows from experience what’s it’s like to be a little girl, she had plenty of opportunities to observe the boys’ side.  She has four brothers, one of whom is her twin.  She’s the only girl in the family.

     “They used to bother me all the time,” she says.  “Nothing serious.  Just sibling stuff."

     Boys also are more often the harsher bullies.  Interestingly, Fernandez made Matilda Leko’s cruelest tormentor and Willa his new friend and spiritual guide.  

     Although the name Leko sounds foreign, Fernandez intentionally kept the story free of any identification with place or culture so it would be universal.  She chose Leko from a book of names because it means lion/one chosen for his strength and Willa means valiant protector. 

     Through the trauma of his accident and his struggle to come through the dreamlike world of his coma, Leko realizes his own strength.

     “It’s like that with all of us,” Fernandez says.  “It takes us awhile to see our true value and the difference we can make.”

     Fernandez is currently making a difference as the Lifestyle/Activities Director at EastView Independent Senior Living Residence.  This new venture is own and operated by The Salvation Army, which makes it a good fit for Fernandez, the daughter of two Salvation Army officers who set the example of service for her and her siblings.  She was born in Argentina and lived there for 10 years before moving around as her parents were reassigned.  Stops included a year in Columbia and one in Puerto Rico.  She came to the United States in 1994.

     Before deciding on becoming a children’s book author, Fernandez had been working on a devotional book.  She had written 65 entries before she dropped her computer and the material was lost.  Now she posts twice a week to her Late Bloomers Blog and is mulling a couple of ideas for another book, one possibly for adults.

     Fernandez hopes young readers of The Boy That Could will see that struggles can be an opportunity to show them who they are and to discern their worth.

     “Leko learns what his purpose is through his pain.  Children need to recognize their creator watches over them and sees their pain and struggle.  They will find themselves with God on their side.”

Wednesday, April 22, 2020

Going Through It Together

     An elderly woman sits alone at the back of the now-unused Activity Room working on a jigsaw puzzle.  On a normal day she and her husband would be taking a tai chi class here.  Other EastView residents would be stopping in later for painting, sculpting, candy making or cupcake decorating. 

     But this is no ordinary day.  It’s part of the second week of restrictions put in place to keep residents safe during the coronavirus pandemic.  All activities have been canceled and residents take their packaged meals to their apartments. 

    This is the opposite of what EastView is about.  EastView Independent Senior Living Residence is The Salvation Army of Greater New York’s latest venture.  Like all of the organization’s residences past and present, the focus is on building a strong sense of community through shared meals and activities. 

     While the residents miss spending time with each other, they express gratitude that all of their needs are being met and that they don’t have to go out for anything.  And they are finding other ways to pass their days, ranging from online chat groups to reading the Bible.

     “In my room I’m doing programs on my computer through the virtual senior center,” said Arlynn Page, who came to the Activity Room to sit at the far side of a table to talk about her experience during this time of global crisis.  “They say, ‘Oh, you look so happy.  You look good.’  They only see my face.  They don’t always know I’m in my pajamas.” 

     Through the virtual center she is taking a course on using the internet for shopping — quite appropriate under the circumstances — and spends Monday nights from 6 to 8 in a chat group with people from around the country.

     “I get to see other people.  We have to be alone in our rooms and we’re not supposed to congregate.  Being able to chat online, it helps.”

       Evidence that life at EastView has changed greatly is everywhere.  Signs posted throughout the building and in the elevators tell residents to keep six feet apart and to tell a staff member if they have a cough, fever or trouble breathing,  Common areas are deserted and the cafe’s seating section is surrounded by yellow caution tape.  The Salvation Army has had more than 150 years of experience in meeting  a crisis with precision and caring.  Safeguarding EastView residents is just one of the efforts being undertaken during the coronavirus pandemic. 

     These efforts are greatly appreciated. Residents express gratitude that they don’t have to face the pandemic alone.  The friendly staff they have known for years at The Williams Residence is still cooking their meals, cleaning their apartments weekly and giving them fresh linens.

     Still, the uncertainty is hard, especially since the pandemic followed closely after the majority of the residents had made the move from their long-time home at The Williams on the Upper West Side to the new state-of-the-art EastView facility in East Harlem.  That was traumatic enough.  Add in a global pandemic and the challenge to keep going became harder.

     “The move nearly destroyed me,” said Joan O’Donnell (in photo) who had lived at The Williams for 13 years and at The Salvation Army’s Teneyck Troughton residence for 40 years.  She said she had been through many difficult times, such as the deaths of her twin sister and her husband when he was only 34 years old, but the trauma of the move was so great she began using an anti-anxiety drug, which she still takes.  “If I can get through the move I can get through this.  I realize I’m lucky to be here.  My problems are so negligible compared to what’s going on.”

     She said she isn’t living in fear, she washes her hands often and even went out for bananas.  Although she misses dining with friends, she finds enjoyment in the comfort of eating in her recliner.  But it is still stressful.

     “I don’t feel good mentally, physically or emotionally,” she said.  “I know I have nothing to worry about.  I just have to control Joan.  What about the people losing jobs and retirement accounts? I am very, very fortunate and I know it.  I just miss my friends and my activities.  I miss going to the movies, but I have my TV.”

     She also misses being in the audience at the New York-based TV talk shows — she’s been to all of them — and is concerned she won’t be able to make her annual summer visit to her native Toronto to see family.  Since she can’t be with her friends she connects with them through WhatsApp and phone calls.

     And she praises the EastView staff for all they are doing to keep the residence running.

     “I can’t thank them enough for what they’ve done for us.  They’re keeping us alive.”

     With awareness of the danger of social isolation for the elderly — an AARP study compared the effects of prolonged isolation to smoking 15 cigarettes a day — EastView’s leadership is making every effort to meet the emotional needs of its residents.  Heather Foreman, EastView’s Social/Resident Services Manager who lives onsite, reports on life there during the crisis.

     “All of their needs are being met far beyond what would be required in an Independent Living Residence.  I have sent out a letter to the residents offering emotional support through the EastView staff.  The officers from our Corps Community Center are also available to talk to any resident who is in need of spiritual and emotional support.”

     Laura  Fernandez, the full-time Lifestyle/Activities Manager who lives onsite, is also available to address their concerns.  

     Foreman put together a packet of information for residents that included mental health resources that could be accessed from home and she had  gifts for them as well.

    "We are purchasing puzzle books, adult coloring books, colored pencils and puzzles as gifts for the residents so they will have things to do to occupy their time while they are isolating.

     “There is only so much we can do at this point to help them feel less isolated when the reality is that isolating is exactly what they should be doing.   As far as meeting the challenges of caring for the residents, we are providing everything they need, including food and housekeeping services as always.  We are being extra diligent in cleaning the facility and educating residents about the coronavirus and social distancing.”

     Ingrid, who asked that her last name not be used, is taking EastView’s new normal in stride.

     “There’s no sense in complaining,” she said, seated, like all of the residents interviewed for this feature, across a table from the reporter in the Activity Room.  “It makes me feel better to just go with the flow.  The people here are making a difference.  Everyone is very helpful.  We’re lucky to be here.  I feel secure.”

     She is doing a lot of walking indoors, going out occasionally while being careful to keep her distance from others and “reading trashy novels.”

     Anita Chenoweth is feeling peaceful by “spending time with the Lord.  I try not to watch a lot of stuff about the coronavirus.  I want to keep my mind clear and ready for God’s word.”  

     What bugs her, though, is having to miss another passion — basketball.  She had a ticket to see Butler University play in the Big East college basketball competition at Madison Square Garden and was then going to take a two-week trip to Florida to see the NCAA tournament.  Having to go without college basketball is torture.

     “I’m in basketball withdrawal,” she said. “Basketball is the hardest thing to lose.  It couldn’t come at a worse time.  I grew up in Indiana.  It’s called Hoosier Hysteria.”

     She also misses singing with her choir at the Brooklyn Tabernacle Church for three services on Sunday and Wednesday night practice.

     “We are a family.  At least we keep communicating through many phone calls.”

     Robert Loch also misses his church, St. Luke’s Lutheran on Restaurant Row in the Theatre District.  Like Chenoweth he keeps in contact with friends through phone calls.  He, too, relies on his faith because he is feeling anxious.

     “I’m worried,” he said.  “I really am. I’ve been through the crash of ’82 and 9/11.   This is the worst I’ve ever seen.  I don’t know what the outcome will be.  I’m worried about my finances.

     “Our health is what I worry about the most.  How easily can you come in contact with the virus?  Can you handle a credit card and not realize it’s on it?  I worry being 80 years old.  I don’t know what level of care will be given.  I don’t know if we are prepared at all for what is going on.”

     Fear doesn’t get the best of him, though.

     “My faith is in God.  I pray more.  I say, ‘Lord, it’s in your hands.’  There’s nothing more we can do.”

     He also draws on the memory of a miracle he witnessed during a trip to Montreal in 1972.  A man named Henri who had been blind for 25 years was on a tour Loch was taking of St. Patrick’s Basilica and its beautiful carved wood.  Henri said since he couldn’t see anything he wouldn’t go in.  The bus driver encouraged him and took him by the arm into the church.

    Loch said Henri prayed to have sight for an hour to be able to see the glory.   When the group moved on to visit Sainte-Anne-de-Beaupré, Henri told his wife he could see light.

     “He looked at me and said, ‘Robert, I see your eyeglass case in your pocket and your pen.’  His wife was hysterical.”

     Loch and others on the tour gave written testimony to the Roman Catholic Church of what they had observed.

     “I wish I had kept in contact,” he said.  “It was really an awakening.  God was saying to me, ‘There is hope.’  I always thought I’d been blessed to be a so-called witness to a miracle.  It was really an eye-opener to me at the time.”

     Remembering that experience helps now.

     “It gives me perspective.  Why was I called to witness a so-called miracle?  Whenever I look to the Lord I have a feeling he’s there for me.”

     One thing that is clear to the residents is that they are all going through the same thing, and they are going through it together, even while practicing social distancing and isolation. 

     “We’ve never lived through a time like this,” Chenoweth said.  “We’re all learning together.”

Photo by Laura Fernandez

Wednesday, March 11, 2020

'72 Miles to Go. . . '

     The Unitarian pastor at a desert church in Tucson is delivering a retirement sermon, starting with a string of corny jokes before getting to the moving message that will be his parting gift to his congregation. It is also the gift playwright Hilary Bettis gives to the audience at the Laura Pels Theatre in the world premiere of her play 72 Miles to Go. . .

     "The older I get, the more I realize that it's not the grand events that give our lives meaning and purpose," says Billy (Triney Sandoval). "It's the small everyday moments we take for granted."

     After mentioning the first time he saw his wife, the sound of his three children's small bare feet pattering around the house and the five of them sitting around the table making small talk over dinner, he says he regrets not paying enough attention to every little detail.

     "And now that I'm standing here in front of all of you, I can't help but ask why we don't realize how profound and beautiful and sacred these everyday moments are until they're gone."

     Over the course of an engaging 90 minutes we go back in time eight years from 2016 when the sermon is delivered to witness many small moments and their significance for this family because one member is missing, present only as a voice over a cell phone on speaker or an outgoing voice message. Anita (Maria Elena Ramirez) was deported to Nogales, Mexico -- 72 miles away -- and her husband and children live on the hope they will one day be reunited. It's a credit to Bettis's script, Jo Bonney's direction and the excellent ensemble cast that this show is not a downer but rather a little slice of love and humanity. With Rachel Hauck's set of a small apartment consisting of a kitchen and living room sparsely filled with inexpensive furniture, I felt a part of this world. The family was real to me and I cared about them.

     Christian (Bobby Moreno) is the oldest child; in the play he goes from 23 to 31. He was just a little boy when Billy found him and Anita hiding in the desert where Billy had been leaving water bottles for people crossing the border. Billy married Anita and raised Christian as his son, although their relationship is severed for years as the adult Christian tries to find work and lives in fear of being deported. He dreams of being a Marine but, being undocumented, this is impossible for him.

     The youngest child is Aaron (Tyler Alvarez), who ranges from 14 to 22. He's into science and is the one who does become a Marine. He loves his older brother and worries about him when he is late. This is a family well aware of the constant threat of deportation.

     Eva (Jacqueline Guillen) is the center of the family. Starting as a 17-year-old and continuing until she is 25, she is the caretaker, cooking and running the home and putting her life on hold until her mother returns.

     Anita tries to stay a part of their lives through her speaker phone conversations and the admonitions she leaves on her outgoing message, which tells them to eat vegetables. It's her way of being a good mother. She also tells Eva, "Don't wear too much makeup. All that blue eye shadow makes you look cheap." That's typical of what a mother would tell her daughter. It's just usually done face-to-face.

     The most moving of the phone exchanges is when Billy and Anita celebrate their wedding anniversary. Billy sits at the table with a candle lit and a vase of red roses, sharing with Anita by the cell's speaker phone the kind of loving conversation they would have had if they had been together. Then she says she wants to dance so Billy, a bit awkwardly at first, holds the small phone between his encircled arms and talks with Anita as he slowly dances around the room. It is heartbreaking and touching.

     The play moves in time to where it began, with Billy's farewell sermon. He suggests if we can just get over our our fears and egos, "then maybe, just maybe, we can treasure the people we love, the places we love, the everyday moments with every ounce of our existence.

     "Believe me, I know it's easier said than done. But that's what I'm going to try and do with the rest of my life.

     "Because this moment, right here, right now, is all we have."