The Little Rock Nine

I was going to blog more about my experiences with Hairspray rehearsals and the ghost in my apartment (Steve) but I'm still reeling over my visit to Central High School and opted to blog it out now in the hopes that I can sleep.

A good chunk of our cast had the opportunity to tour Central High School, famous for the 1957 segregation controversy and Alma Mater of 'The Little Rock Nine'. The impact of being there in person is something I will never forget.

Before the days of cell phones and Youtube, this school in Little Rock, Arkansas reached global attention as a hot-spot for hostile race relations and political maneuvering at the expense of its children.
In 1954, the U.S. Supreme Court had deemed segregated schools unconstitutional (Brown v. Board of Education: Topeka, Kansas) and plans began for the desegregation of previously 'white only' schools in the south.
Nine black students were registered to begin the school year at Central High in 1957. They were Earnest Green, Elizabeth Eckford, Jefferson Thomas, Terrence Roberts, Carlotta Walls LaNier, Minnijean Brown, Gloria Ray Karlmark, Thelma Mothershed, and Melba Patillo Beals.

The Governer at the time, Orval Faubus, deployed the Arkansas National Guard to support the segregationists in blocking the black students from entering the school. His rebellion of the new Federal law prompted Eisenhower to order the 101st Airborne Division of the US Army to escort the children to campus; and he federalized the Arkansas National Guard to take it out of the hands of Faubus (aka Douchey McAssHat).

The angry mob of white students, parents, citizens and curious onlookers is memorialized in photos and videos that are now famous in their depiction of 'white vs. black' at a time when segregation was commonplace.

It blows my mind.

The concept of prejudice and exclusion based on race is one that is absolutely foreign to me. I learned about slavery and segregation in school; but even at that time, it seemed as archaic as learning about ancient Greece.

Today, it struck me how RECENT this all was in our history. Merely 50 years ago in our history, we were still treating African Americans as sub-human; associating them as low-income, low-intelligence, undesirables. It makes my heart weep.

I've been hearing (and seeing) a ton about 'bullying' as it is a hot topic in American schools right now. Parents are raising their voices about the ill treatment of their children in places where we give up our rights and responsibilities to school administrators and district title-holders.
It occurred to me today that these nine students could shed a lot of light and wisdom about the lasting scars, having endured the most outrageous and blatant bullying I've ever heard of. And not just at the hands of their peers, but at the hands of parents, teachers, lawmakers... the very individuals that should have had no higher priority but to serve and protect the members of their community. And for God's sake... these were CHILDREN.

I have always maintained that intolerance and prejudice is predominantly learned. I do believe that in the case of the "Little Rock Nine", most of the white students that mistreated their black peers did so because they were taught by their parents and their parents' parents to think or believe certain (incorrect) truths about race and/or social classes.

"Forgive them Father, for they know not what they do."

We also had the amazing opportunity to meet Minnijean Brown (as well as her daughter) and listen to her speak. Her grace and poise was captivating and her words struck my heart.
Indeed, I felt guilty for being white, and throughout the afternoon I kept thinking, "Man, if I went to this school in 1957, it would be a TOTALLY different story!"

But would it?

Minnijean made the statement that the demographic breakdown went something like this, "There were about 100 truly mean and horrible students, about 20 nice ones, and a thousand silent witnesses."

It made me stop and think about any time I witnessed injustice or unfair treatment and said nothing. Any time I saw another human being in pain and just walked by...
I doubted I had ever been truly horrible to anyone besides my brothers... but I had to admit that there have been instances (more than one) in which I'm guilty of having been a silent witness.

It also brought to light how much weight... how much responsibility... how much shame... were put on these kids. Children who were doing nothing more than exercising their right to learn. To LEARN. And what were we teaching them?

I guiltily thought of every time I've ever joked disparagingly about another race in the presence of my kids. I justified it with the fact that I disparage my own race as much (if not more) than any other; and that because my kids are multi-racial themselves, the inclusion of all races, religions, sexual orientations, etc. have been equally accepted in our household as human beings worthy of love, acceptance, respect and tolerance. But even then, I had to check myself. Is there anything I do or say to indicate that anyone shouldn't be treated equally? Good God, I hope not!

I have to admit that I was raised by parents who never inferred or intimated that any race or skin color was better than another. As a kid, I remember wishing that God would make me black so I could sing and dance better, but that was based on my own observations at the time. I also have to admit that I know not every set of parents feels the same way as mine, nor did they raise their children in the same vein of love and fellowship.

It breaks my heart to hear the stories of abuse - both physical and verbal - that these kids endured on a daily basis. And they didn't have one bully or two like most of us did growing up. They had scores of bullies. Some of them the very adults that they were told they must respect and obey.
It is sobering and humbling to know and understand these events as they unfolded. And as I hear about 'culture clashes' and vitriol being spewed at collective groups because they are gay or Muslim or whatever... it is reminiscent of these mistakes of our forefathers.
The past echoes in my head as I wonder if we will ever learn, or if we will continuously repeat the mistakes of the preceding generations with a tendency towards fear and exclusion in an attempt to make our own selves feel special or closer to enlightenment.

My only hope is that I can do my part to correct these mistakes by raising my children to know (not just believe, but KNOW) that the world can only be a wonderful place if you continuously look to the beauty and wonder that it contains. And that includes love and respect for every person, place, animal, vegetable and mineral. There are shitty people within any group or subculture, sure. But no one person represents a collective any more than a collective can adequately represent any one unique individual. Perhaps with another generation or two, we can effectively dilute the hate, the fear and the confusion.

As I left Central High School, the only thought in my head was that the mob back in September of 1957 fancied themselves the majority 'in the right' over these poor, ignorant nine students.... but were instead an example of a truly ignorant majority.
Wake up, nation. It was not that long ago. I wonder how much progress we've actually made since then.

And on that note, I'll leave you with this poem, recommended by Minnijean Brown and penned by Cyrus Cassells for Elizabeth Eckford:

Soul Make a Path Through Shouting

Thick at the schoolgate are the ones
Rage has twisted
Into minotaurs, harpies
Relentlessly swift;
So you must walk past the pincers,
The swaying horns,
Sister, sister,
Straight through the gusts
Of fear and fury,
Straight through:
Where are you going?

I'm just going to school.

Here we go to meet
The hydra-headed day,
Here we go to meet
The maelstrom-

Can my voice be an angel-on-the-spot,
An amen corner?
Can my voice take you there,
Gallant girl with a notebook,
Up, up from the shadows of gallows trees
To the other shore:
A globe bathed in light,
A chalkboard blooming with equations-

I have never seen the likes of you,
Pioneer in dark glasses:
You won't show the mob your eyes,
But I know your gaze,
Steady-on-the-North-Star, burning-

With their jerry-rigged faith,
Their spear on the American flag,
How could they dare to believe
You're someone sacred?:
Nigger, burr-headed girl,
Where are you going?

I'm just going to school.

Adventures in Little Rock - Vol. 2

My apartment is haunted.

I know what you're thinking. "Oh Andi, you're so overdramatic."
So I will explain the events as they unfolded....

I arrived on Monday and dropped my luggage off in my room (#7) and left immediately for a trip to the grocery store to stock my kitchen.
I returned to unload groceries and the apartment was frigid. Not just chilly... COLD. So, I went to turn on the heater.... and my A/C unit was dead.

No worries. I put in a call to the head honcho in charge of that stuff and he said he'd have a repairman out to take a look at it the next day. When I returned from rehearsal, there were four space heaters in my apartment to get me through the night.

Fast forward to Friday.

I got a call that the repairman had to go on the roof to inspect the unit and found that mine (and only mine) had been hit by lightning.
Wow. Crazy. But not too creepy... yet.
It'll be a while before I have actual heat, so the space heaters are destined to be my friends for the next few chilly nights.

I returned to my apartment after rehearsal on Friday and promptly made myself a BLT (without the T - 'cuz I hate raw tomatoes) and sat down to watch 'my channel' - Investigation Discovery.

I was just getting to the details of an 'unexplained disappearance' on the show when I heard a 'pop' and the TV went out. Along with my ceiling fan. No big deal. Prolly just flipped a breaker or something, right? Nope... it was just the fan and the outlet that my TV was plugged into. Everything else on that breaker was working fine. I switched the power cord to another outlet and the TV popped right back on to the same channel I had been watching.
And that's when the weirdness started.
The TV flipped out and started changing channels on it's own - landing on some random channel with a movie I recognized - The Crucible. It tuned in just in time to see John Proctor's hanging.
Okay, a little heebie-jeebie-ish, admittedly. But at least the programming had spared me from the performance of Winona Ryder in that piece of schlock.

I scanned the room for the remote control and the instant my eyes found it, the TV popped off again.

I called Lillian, who drowsily answers the phone, and tell her that I think my apartment is haunted. She immediately responds with, "Don't say that! #7 was MY apartment last time I was here and I thought the same thing!!" We giggle a bit and I let her go, since she has to get up early... and return to the task of entertaining myself without my beloved television.

The power cord for the TV wouldn't reach any of the other outlets in the living room, so I opened my laptop and decided to check email and chat with my girl on Facebook instead. It was getting close to bedtime anyhow.

I started chatting with a full battery on my laptop (good for a few hours of basic browsing) and about ten minutes later, I got a low battery warning. Only 9% left. Odd.
I plugged it in so it could run on outlet power instead. About five minutes later, I got a warning that the battery was no longer charging. The outlet had gone dead.
(Insert theme from Twilight Zone.)
I plugged it into another outlet. About five minutes later, that one went dead... along with the remaining light in my living room.
The same scenario repeated as I chased the outlets through the hallway and into the bedroom... only to have them fail after five to ten minutes.

I finally settled on my bed, using the outlet in my bathroom to plug in the laptop. The ONLY outlet in the entire apartment that works... and it is now 2am local time. I have power in my bathroom... and power to my fridge and the light above the stove. That's it. Everything else in the apartment had gone dead. (Goodbye to my space heaters as well.)

After chatting well into the morning, I decided it was time to get some sleep. Since my clock wasn't working, I set the alarm on my phone to go off at 10am. It is now decidedly chilly in the apartment, so I bundle up with the heavy comforter and drift off to sleep.

At 8am, I was startled awake by a loud bang in my living room. I got up to inspect... only to find that my TV was on. (Incidentally tuned back to the ID network that I'd been watching before all the craziness started.) I turned off the TV and padded back to the bedroom, figuring that my power was back. I went to plug in my phone so it could charge a bit... only to discover the outlets still weren't working in my bedroom. So, I walk on back to the living room to plug it in to the TV outlet - 'cuz obviously that's working.

Only it's not.

WTF?

I also realized at that moment that I was sweaty... and it dawned on me that the apartment was no longer chilly. It was hot. Like a summer in Arizona hot. Stagnant, oppressive hot.
I go to open the windows in the living room that I've opened and closed half a dozen times already... and they're stuck. Both of 'em. I can't open the windows!!

I finally get my bathroom window open and lay back down for another hour (because I'm tired and haven't slept very long or very well at this point). Before I crash, I call Peter (the head honcho who has been orchestrating the repairs and maintenance of our living quarters) and leave a message letting him know the power in my apartment has gone wonky. I curl up on my bed (no covers, 'cuz it's still really warm) and doze when my phone rings about half an hour later.

It's Peter and he instructs me to go through the motions of flipping the breakers back and forth. Nothing happens on the first or second tries. The third one works and the apartment comes to life with a click and a hum...

Now here's the thing... I only flipped the living room breaker. But ALL of the power came back on. The living room, bedroom, and kitchen... even though they're all on separate switches.

It's after 10am and sunlight is flooding the apartment, so it's too bright to get the true creepy creepers, but my hair was standing up on end all the same. My mind kept flashing to Cusak in the movie 1408, which only succeeded in creeping me out more.

It can all be explained away, of course. It's an older building. The wiring could be faulty, etc, etc...

In the meantime, I'm making sure that I charge the battery for the video camera in case there are any more strange occurrences.
If I disappear into the vortex that is apartment #7, I will at least have left an account of the goings-on... and Lillian will totally back me up.
She named the ghost Steve.

On nights like last night, though... I really wish I had my dog. Or some holy water. Just for peace of mind.


Oh, Little Rock... you quirky, creepy little town. I like you. :)


Stay tuned for the next adventures...

Adventures in Little Rock - Vol. 1

It is a little-known fact that actors have to be able to travel - and travel well - on occasions.
We often book gigs out of town, which means that just like any businessman (or woman), we end up with our own processes of packing (often bringing just the barest essentials) and operating from a foreign location.

I was thinking about this as I packed my two suitcases to the absolute brim with enough clothes to make it through a couple of weeks as well as my "show gear" which includes my entire makeup case, rehearsal shoes, tights, 'show bras', script, music, etc. Now, while I've gone out of town to do shows before, I think this is actually the longest out-of-town run that I've done to date. I have been spoiled rotten.
True to form, I overpacked.
Not only do I actually have enough clothes (I packed a ton - including more panties than I even knew I owned) but I also packed my laptop, my video camera, my still camera, two research books for a project I'm writing, five fiction books, my knitting, scores of sheet music (to whittle down for season general auditions this year), six pairs of shoes, a blow-dryer, two curling irons and a flatiron.
BOTH of my suitcases required a good amount of pushing, pulling and sitting to get them comfortably closed and secured. In addition to that, it was clear that one of my bags was quite obviously over 50lbs. (The weight limit for United's luggage policy.) I packed and repacked to redistribute some of the weight, but it just wasn't working. I could tell that the larger suitcase was over 50lbs, but there was nothing I could do. I hoped beyond hope that I'd end up in a long line with impatient TSA agents who didn't want to weigh them, but figured I'd be paying through the nose once I got there.

It was 6:30am on Monday when Jay dropped me off at the airport. With my heavy bags and such, I figured it'd be easier to let the skycap at the curb hook me up, so as Jay and I said our goodbyes, I made eye contact with the tall, handsome fellah at the counter - indicating that I was gonna be moving his way next. He asked where I was headed and set about checking me in as he grabbed the larger of the two bags. I watched his face as he lifted it and our eyes met at that instant - there was no way to hide the fact that I knew the bag was heavy. I knew. He knew I knew. There was no way out.

And so he said, "You're aware of the fees for checking bags?"
And I said, "Yessir. If I could have fit it all into one bag, I would have."
And he said, "Well, this one feels like it might be a bit overweight."
And I said, "Sssshhhhhh! The bag will hear you!"
Then I continued, "You see, my luggage is simply experiencing the sympathetic symptoms of MY being overweight and 'between sizes' right now. Something I hope we'll both be able to remedy in the upcoming weeks. I certainly don't want my baggage being penalized because of my baggage."
(ending with a wink and a flash of the Watson smile - complete with dimples)

He charged me for my two bags. No overweight baggage fee.
God bless that beautiful black man and his sense of humor/pity on a poor actress.

And so I was on my way! I made it through security without TSA pawing through my backpack or feeling me up. Which is kind-of a disappointment. I got so used to having my carry-on handchecked at security that I started putting random items in my carry-on just for fun. Nothing contraband... just goofy or odd. Like a random pair of panties - which is actually practical in case you DO get separated from your luggage - or a single sock, a bizarre book, etc.

Since I printed my boarding passes online and flew through security without any trouble, I had about an hour and a half to kill before boarding. Enter my favorite airport game: People Watching!!!
Unfortunately, the pickings are pretty slim at 6:30 am. The usual business travelers - identified by their business suits and lack of luggage (save for the leather overnight bag or the custom case for their laptops), the occasional families or couples dotting the hectic-yet-barren landscape, and the random cute kid here and there.

I quickly grew bored and decided to pop open my book instead. Just as I was engrossed in the story before me, a woman stopped directly in front of me. I saw her boots first and looked up to see a slender woman in her 40's who looked like a cross between Joan Jett and Stevie Nicks. Skinny jeans tucked into knee-high caramel boots, layered tanks and a black leather jacket. Our eyes met and she gave a 'Hrmph', turned on her heel, and walked away briskly.
"Hrmph?" What did that mean?
She had a curious inflection, as if to say, "Well, isn't that strange/interesting/bizarre?"
I looked around, but no one else was close by.
I dismissed it as a case of "she-thought-I-was-someone-else" syndrome and let it go... but obviously I'm still puzzled by the random stranger 'Hrmph-ing' at me.

We boarded without incident (this was the first leg of my flight from Phx to Denver to Arkansas) and I ended up in an aisle seat.
To my left (across the aisle) was a mom with a 4-month-old baby. I groaned inwardly, and felt guilty for it when the baby turned out to be a champ of a li'l traveler. He fussed for all of 30 seconds before mom popped a bottle in his mouth and rocked him to sleep.

To my right was a (very) large woman who was occupying both of the seats next to me. Both the window and the middle seat were taken up by her right and left butt-cheeks, respectively. I gave a friendly 'Hello' as I sat down. She somehow said 'Hi' without moving her mouth and promptly gave me her back as she fiddled with the window shade.
About five minutes into our flight she opened her carry-on and started munching on the foulest smelling corn nuts EVER. I decided to try to nap and let my head loll attractively to my left side so as to avoid drooling over my seatmate should I fall asleep.
I began to doze, but woke to the announcement of beverage service just as the party gal to my right was opening a package of licorice.
Now, having been a hefty girl myself for a good period of time, I'm generally not concerned with the eating habits of others. At my top weight, I was 209lbs. I ate when I was anxious, stressed, lonely, bored or sad. I understand how easy it is to let bad habits spiral and how hard it is to face the disappointment or condemnation of loved ones and strangers alike. (I replaced comfort-eating with comfort-smoking, so it's not like the underlying issues magically disappeared in my life. I certainly ain't no poster child for healthy living.)
HOWEVER, I watched this lady eat cornnuts, Red Vines, Chips, cookies, and what looked like a Moon Pie (I love those!) within the first 15-20 minutes of our flight. I dozed off again and was again woken when the flight attendant reached past me to hand my traveling companion a Coke. She looked at it, frowned, and handed it back to the gal with, "No, a DIET Coke, please."

I didn't mean to, but my mouth gaped open before I was conscious that I was now staring at her. I'm sure my face had the expression of, "Really?" I almost laughed out loud in spite of myself.

I'm a judgmental asshole, I know.

And while I'm on the subject... While waiting at the Denver airport to board the flight to Little Rock, my darling friend Lillian arrived and saved me from boredom with cheery chit-chat and catching up on the last few months since we've seen each other. We were deep into our gossip session when a woman in her late 40's to early 50's skipped by - yes, skipped - wearing green running shorts (circa 1970) white tube socks with a green stripe at the top (also circa 1970) a white T-shirt and pigtails. Yes, pigtails... adorned with curly green and white ribbons. I was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt and explained to Lillian that she must be a Girl Scout troupe leader. It is cookie season, after all. I don't know if she's eligible for 'fashion forgiveness', but I do have to applaud her for her ability to skip through an airport without a care in the world. Even if I raised an eyebrow at her choice of hairstyle, I had to smile at the real-life 'Baby Jane' phenom.

We arrived in Little Rock on-time and were greeted by some of the friendliest production staff ever - and some of the unfriendliest storm clouds. It was rainy and cold, but there was still a buzz of energy in the air as we met new friends, reunited with old ones and set off to embark on the adventure that is 'Hairspray' in Arkansas.

So far, the cast is incredibly gorgeous - and they sound as good as they look!! Everyone has been so friendly and open-armed that it feels like coming home, even though I'm in a foreign town. I miss the kids, I miss the cats, I miss the dog, I miss my bed... and I would miss Jason, except for the fact that I've found a suitable replacement here in the South...

Sweet tea.
Glorious, delicious, refreshing, make-my-mouth-so-happy-I-want-to-bathe-in-it, nectar of the gods.

Sweet tea is my new BFF.
At least for the next nine weeks. :)


Stay tuned for the next chapter in the continuing saga. Or don't.
(It's not like I'll know.)
Peace and pigtails, friends.

Countdown to D-Day

My birthday came and went and I'm still alive. So that's a plus!

I was joking with one of my brothers on the phone that as kids we don't always approach the far future with any sense of certainty. I mean, as a teenager, I couldn't picture myself at 35. To me, that was old. My PARENTS were in their 30's for cryin' out loud!!
We talked about our youth and how we all figured I'd be dead before I reached my 30's. I had a whirlwind 'growing up' experience between the ages of 18 and 22... but even that didn't bring as much wisdom as that which I acquired between the ages of 22 and 30. Rather than celebrating the day of my birth, it was a celebration of 'Holy Crap, you're still alive!'

Nothing like siblings to cheerfully remind you of your mortality.
Jerk.

And so the month culminated in my birthday and my last show at Broadway Palm with the 'Murder on the Strip' cast. They sent me off with a sweet speech and an awesome card at the end of the show - which will join several other cards in my 'love box' and travel with me to Little Rock.

Which is where I'm off to on Monday!

The past two weeks has been the chaos of packing and settling everything at home so I can vacate the state for two months.

Two months.

Holy crap.

I've got three pet projects in the works, all of which can still be worked on - no matter where I am - so it's not like I'm going to be missing out on a ton of my daily routine. I'll still actually have to 'work' in addition to doing the show. But I will be separated from my creature comforts... and that's when I realize what a diva I am on the inside.
And by diva, I mean whiny, sniffling baby.

I've managed to convince myself that the kids are going to be fine. They've got their dad takin' care of 'em... and my mom will come to the rescue if and when they need a break. Jason is perfectly capable of taking care of himself and will probably revel in the fact that he doesn't have to share a bathroom or a kitchen with me for a while.
My animals, however... are breaking my heart. (Specifically my 'favorite'.) I don't know how I'm going to make it through without my snuggler (who is incidentally a great critic of audition pieces) and I know he's going to go through some separation anxiety himself. Then again, he'll probably be fine. I'm the one going through separation anxiety. And over cats? Really? I swear I'm going insane.

I can't wait to meet the new cast and start rehearsals for Hairspray. I loved doing this show and can't wait to see how it morphs - as every show does with its unique cast dynamic.

You'll probably see a little more activity on the blog (I hope). Most of it is just a way to keep family and friends updated on the goings-on without inundating Facebook with my ramblings. I'm excited about the time I'll be spending writing, at least.

I'm also excited about being reunited with some dearly loved friends and getting to see a little bit of Arkansas. I've packed my blue dress for a trip to the Clinton Presidential Library! :)

Last weekend with the fam, and it's gonna be a busy one!!