Grateful American: A Journey from Self to Service(15)
Jeff had graduated in the spring and gone to Illinois State University where he quickly became a rising star in their drama department. At one point, I contemplated going to college, maybe even to Juilliard, to study theater. I never told anyone about my dream, because report cards came out and I needed to go back to high school again. Who was I kidding? I whispered to myself. Juilliard?!
Fast-forward to the fall and the audition I’d bombed. The day after Mrs. Patterson’s call, the callbacks were held at school. I went in and read with two friends, Bob Lovitz and Barbara Brandt, both great actors. We read the famous scene where Cyrano is under the balcony. Cyrano is an older man, big-nosed and not handsome, but a poet inside—and he loves the beautiful Roxane, who’s being courted by the young, handsome Christian, a muscle-bound bumpkin. Christian is under the balcony looking up at Roxane, trying to woo her, and Cyrano skulks in the shadows feeding Christian lines that eventually win Roxane’s heart. I was playing Cyrano, Bob was Christian, and Barbara Brandt was Roxane—and the three of us crushed it. We finished the scene, and I looked out at the seats. Barbara Patterson was sitting there, eyes closed, a bemused smile on her face, and she didn’t say anything for a moment. I knew she’d been deeply moved.
Once again, theater had snapped me out of my darkness. Barbara Patterson had shaken all the self-pity out of me. She’d gotten me back on track.
Barbara Brandt was cast as Roxane. Bob had auditioned so well that Mrs. Patterson did something she’d never done before. She cast both Bob and me as Cyrano and also cast both of us as Christian. We learned both parts, and each night we swapped roles.
We performed the play in the cafeteria. School officials had built a real theater there by then, with a stage, proper risers, and real lights, not coffee cans. It was a tremendous experience, being an eighteen-year-old playing Cyrano de Bergerac. I couldn’t help but feel part of something larger than myself. The confidence I gained by having the chance to play this great part in this wonderful play made all that angst over having to return to high school fade away. I thought, This acting thing is something I want to do for a long, long time.
In January 1974, I finally graduated from high school. Today, if people ask, I just laugh and tell them I was part of the class of “1973 and a half.”
College wasn’t on my radar anymore. I just wanted to keep doing plays with these pals of mine. So with two friends who were still in high school, Rick Argosh and Leslie Wilson, we gathered some other kids we knew and we got ready to do a show. My parents knew the architects of a Unitarian church in Deerfield with a big open space. I asked them to ask the church folks if they would let us do a play there, and they said yes. We started rehearsing a play called And Miss Reardon Drinks a Little, a complex comedy about three middle-aged sisters who face their problems after the death of their mother. Since everyone was still in school except me, we rehearsed after school hours and into the night. It felt great to be working on a play again, in our own little space, an idea that was all our own doing.
During rehearsals, we got ready to print the programs and I said, “Okay, we need to call this outfit something.” We threw out all kinds of names. Rick was reading a Hermann Hesse novel called Steppenwolf, and while everyone was making suggestions he didn’t say anything. He just held up his novel, and pointed to it, and I said, “Great, Rick! Let’s put that on the program.” I hadn’t read it, but it sounded good. Steppenwolf Theatre Company. We needed to print the programs quickly, so Steppenwolf it was. I felt so hopeful about what we were doing, excited to think we were creating a company. We pooled a few bucks together to buy a rubber stamp with “Steppenwolf” inscribed on it and stamped our name everywhere we could.
Stamp. Steppenwolf.
Stamp. Steppenwolf.
Stamp. Steppenwolf.
What none of us grasped yet was the magnitude of the moment when Steppenwolf was named. What we couldn’t see was a future bigger than any of us could imagine, something that would last for decades and is still going strong today—the Steppenwolf Theatre Company of Chicago.
Our first play opened in March 1974. We were simply an impassioned group of teenage actors doing plays under our own steam. How could we possibly see that our actions would eventually result in the creation of one of the most prominent theater companies not just in America, but in the world? Over the years Steppenwolf would open shows in London, Australia, Ireland, and on Broadway, would win Tony Awards, and eventually would build its own multimillion-dollar state-of-the-art theater on the North Side of Chicago. Steppenwolf would help launch the careers of many prominent actors, including John Malkovich, Joan Allen, John Mahoney, Laurie Metcalf, Tom Irwin, Gary Cole, Glenne Headly, and many more. The company would be a place where we would work hard to entertain, inform, and inspire—and it eventually would become an internationally recognized Chicago institution. But we didn’t know any of that then.
At first, Steppenwolf was completely grassroots. After our very first play was over, Rick, Leslie, and I sort of collectively shrugged and said, “Okay, let’s do another.” Grease became our second play because we’d all seen it before, and it was so much fun—and I thought I could direct it. We used the gym at one of my old elementary schools, Indian Trail, and did five performances of Grease over a weekend. We were on our way.
On opening night of Grease, we were packed. A line of people even stood out the door. In fact, we were so packed the fire marshal showed up. He walked around the edge of the crowd during the show shaking his head, muttering to himself. Fortunately, he didn’t stop our play, but afterward he gave me a stern lecture about seating capacities.