Old Theatre, New Drama
I live in an amazing community. There are 55,000 people here but it really feels like a small town. It’s in the middle of a major metropolitan area - maybe 6 million people all around us. But it is friendly and it feels small - we still honk and wave.
My first theatre gig ever was at the city’s historic downtown theatre. It had recently been restored and rehabilitated into a performing arts center. It is circa 1940 and reopened in 2001 as a 436 seat PAC. I was hired two days before Grand Opening.
I subsequently put absolutely everything I had into running this space. This is where I should mention that I had exactly Zero experience in theatre or any performing arts. In fact, the job before this one was my First Grown Up Job, working for a major league baseball team. I was hired because of my ability to sell and work special events. You see, there is a black box theatre in this space that my boss knew I could sell (create revenue) in order to offset the loss from the big theatre.
I willingly, lovingly, completely gave myself to my new job. I purposefully consumed myself with it. I wanted success and I felt this community’s desire to have this PAC succeed. As with many historic theatres this was not just brick and mortar - it was the place of first dates, first kisses, first movies for many residents. This special place tugged at their heart strings and they responded with their pocketbooks. Ten years ago they gave in excess of $2.5M for the restoraion. While that was only half the total project cost it was a significant amount considering that it was almost ALL from individual giving. There was no foundation giving and no corporate giving. It was all from the people in the town who loved the theatre and what it represented in their personal histories. This is what I love about historic theatres - the heart that resides within them.
I still love living in the first theatre’s town. My church is here, I volunteer here, I rear my son here. This is home. And the theatre is toast. My theatre. The theatre that I put ahead of myself, my marriage, and even my infant son. I loved that theatre with an unhealthy passion. During my pregnancy I started counting how many hours a week I was working - it averaged 65. So that theatre was me and I was that theatre.
Today I’m more than three years removed from that project. I was fortunately recruited out by another larger, more diverse city of 170,000 people who had a heart-theatre of their own that needed care and love and restoration. I was just the woman for the job.
I left that project and started a new and lovely adventure that I still enjoy today. But my first theatre languishes. It cries out for actual artistic programming. It has been taken over by my city’s corporate arm - and is now a sort of ‘convention center north’ in that there isn’t an arts series, there isn’t anything that appears to have much artistic value, and no one is hosting their special occasions there. It has lost its heart.
And now the town is pissed. And they come to me to ask my opinion. And I try hard not to give it. I recently attended a professional workshop in another state and was eating lunch with colleagues from theatres in a three state area. Two of the people who work at my old theatre came in to the restaurant and I asked them to join us. Very quickly it became clear that these employees are committed to the new vision for the theatre and uncommitted to the arts. When asked about the donors and the $2.5M one of them answered - ‘screw them. They are all dead or almost dead and the money is spent anyway.’ Stunned silence from my colleagues. Red faces from me and my dear friend who worked for 18 months to raise said monies. Tears weren’t far away.
When my fundraising colleague and friend carefully asked how the donors felt about this change in business plan they said ‘oh, they know, we’ve told them.’ at which point I almost came out of my chair. You see, I’m a donor. X and I gave $1500 to the project. While our names are in fact the tiniest on the donor wall - they are there. We gave because we were committed.
If you’ve changed the business plan, you’ve changed the business plan. But, please, please, don’t insult us. Don’t lie to us. Own your change. Own your new plan. Don’t lie to me and my esteemed colleagues - people who dearly love the arts, who depend upon and respect their donors - just don’t. It’s unbecoming and transparent. And, as a final note, when your city pays for you to attend a conference or workshop you might want to stick around for the whole thing. When only 50 people are working in a room we notice when you disrespect us, the speaker and the organization by ditching the afternoon session. You should know better.
