The Family That Plays Together

Every other year or so, the theatre group that I perform with puts on a show called “Remembering the 40’s.” The show is a revue made up of songs, dances, and sketches from the 1940s, starting just before the U.S. entered World War II, and ending with a celebration of New Year’s Eve, 1949. There are scenes of the soldiers at the front receiving letters from home, the women back home working in the factories and selling war bonds, several scenes from the Rodgers and Hammerstein classics South Pacific and Oklahoma, dance performances by a group of alumnae of the Radio City Rockettes and others, and a full-scale radio show. There are actors portraying such celebrities as Jack Benny, George Burns and Gracie Allen, Bob Hope, Rita Hayworth, Abbott and Costello, Jimmy Durante, and Mel Blanc.

This show has always been very special to me (see this blog entry). I often comment that it is my favorite show to perform with this group. Seeing the people I portray on stage in the audience watching my performance is both humbling and exciting. But this year’s performance was extra-special to me because not only did I get to perform with my husband, but with both my children as well.

One of my favorite scenes in the show is the song, “Be a Good Soldier.” The song is sung by a father who is in the army and going off to war. He is reminding his young son to take care of his mother, to obey her, and to remember and pray for his daddy while he is away overseas. The scene is sung to the side of the stage while it is acted out in a spotlight in the center of the stage. This year, my son played the part of the young boy. He is a rather intense and sometimes serious young man, and he took his part very seriously. The man portraying the soldier was absolutely wonderful with him. He whispered to him quietly to coach him about what was going on, “Give me a big hug,” “Let’s look out to the audience,” “Now give me a salute.” Any changes or corrections he was given (look back at your dad when you leave, turn towards the audience instead of away, nod when Daddy gives you the baseball glove), he remembered every time. I was so proud of him. And I was so pleased that he genuinely enjoyed being up there on stage.

The opening of the second act of the show was another opportunity for my son to be on stage, along with my daughter. The second act is a radio show, so at the opening, a family is sitting around an old-fashioned radio, listening to snippets of “The Lone Ranger,” “Abbott and Costello,” “Amos and Andy,” “Jimmy Durante,” and “Henry Aldrich.” I dug through our toy box and came up with an old wooden fire truck and a jointed teddy bear that both looked like they came from the 1940s, and our wonderful costumer came up with a flannel nightgown and some striped pajamas for the kids to wear. The kids behaved exactly as kids would have at that time: My son played with his toy and reacted to what was playing on the radio; my daughter was somewhat oblivious and just wanted to curl up on my lap and snuggle. It worked.

But as much as being on the stage with my kids was wonderful, being backstage with them was even more wonderful. My son camped out in the men’s dressing room with Dad; my daughter camped out in the women’s dressing room with me. And when I say “camped out,” I really mean “camped out.”

She had a little nest in a corner behind a door, and between shows she took a little nap there. But when she was awake, she flitted around the room, admiring people’s hair and jewelry and dresses, and chattering away to anyone who would listen to her. I was a bit worried that she would get in people’s way and make a nuisance of herself, but instead, she became the darling of the entire female cast.

And I hear that my son was just as much of a hit in the men’s dressing room, laughing uproariously at the cheesy jokes the men were telling and chatting a bit himself.

But perhaps the most exciting thing about doing this show with my kids was discovering the interest they both took not only in the process of performing, but in the history of what we were doing. Obviously, at age 4, my daughter doesn’t really understand the historical context. But she does understand that when I put on my plaid flannel shirt and bandana, I am playing a woman who went to work in a factory, and that when Daddy marches across the stage wearing a helmet and a green uniform, he is playing a soldier. She understands that people didn’t always have television but that they used to listen to stories on the radio and use their imagination, like we do when we read a book. It may not be history, exactly, but it is the foundation that will help her understand the past better later on. My son, on the other hand, at age almost 6 (going on 37), understands a lot more than I expected. He asks questions about the songs he learned just from sitting in on a few rehearsals, and we’ve had some incredible discussions about what it’s like when there’s a war going on, and what kinds of things cause countries to go to war. We compared war to a fight at school when two kids want the same toy, and we talked about how it’s better to figure out a way to share or take turns or work together to find another of the same toy, instead of hitting each other and both pulling at the toy and often breaking it so no-one gets to play with it.

Throughout my discussions with both of my children, I was continually reminded of the quote, “Those who do not learn from history are condemned to repeat it.” By beginning to learn history so young, I hope that my children can incorporate their knowledge of human history throughout their lives, carefully choosing what parts of history are worthy of trying to repeat, and which parts they want to work to avoid repeating at all costs. If they can learn that and use it in their lives, then I’ve done my job as a parent.

Who knew that would be the result of having my kids sitting on a stage in their jammies pretending to listen to a radio?

When They Love What You Love

Some people try lots of avocations and hobbies before they find their passion, but not me. I learned to sing before I could talk, and I was bitten by the theatre bug very early in life. Throughout my entire adult life, and even during the vast majority of my childhood, my passion has been singing and musical theatre. So it makes me ridiculously happy that both my children love to sing, and that they are comfortable being on stage.

Last night, my son had his first rehearsal for a small, non-speaking role in a production that my husband and I are performing in. This is a show that the Reagle Players of Greater Boston have performed roughly every other year since…well, I’m not sure when, but it’s probably been 30 years, if not more. The show is called “Remembering the 40s,” and it includes songs, dances, and skits from the 1940s – it’s a musical revue that starts off with a bunch of kids dancing to the jukebox at the local soda shop and hearing President Franklin D. Roosevelt’s “a date which will live in infamy” speech, then walks all the way through World War II from the perspective of both the American soldiers overseas and the women waiting back at the home front, then continues on through the postwar years of the marvelous radio shows of Burns and Allen, Jack Benny, Bob Hope, and groups like the fictitious “Cavalcade Singers.” The music includes such familiar hits as “In the Mood,” “I’ll Be Seeing You,” “Praise the Lord and Pass the Ammunition,” "The White Cliffs of Dover," and a plethora of Rodgers and Hammerstein’s Broadway hits, including “Oklahoma,” “People Will Say We’re in Love,” “Honeybun,” “There Is Nothin’ Like a Dame,” and “Bali Hai.”

But one of the most moving moments of the show (for me, anyway – even before my son played the role) is the song “Be a Good Soldier.” The women are holding an auction to raise money for the troops, and in the middle of it, there is a freeze, and we see a father, in his soldier’s uniform, talking to his young son about taking good care of his mother while Daddy is away at war. The beautiful lyrics go like this:

Come, little man, put your toys away; you and I must have a talk today.
But first, let me have a great big kiss. Now, what I want to say is this:
Be a good soldier while your daddy’s away, take orders from your mom and learn to obey.
Come, little soldier, I am saying goodbye. Smile for me, buddy, there’s no reason to cry.
Now I’m on my way, you stay and hold down the fort.
I’ll tell the captain our worries are over, we have your support.
So pray for me, soldier, and promise each day you’ll be a good soldier while your daddy’s away.

Tell me any mother who could listen to those lyrics while watching her son and not sob uncontrollably. Certainly not me. I was a puddle.

I blogged recently about how history never came alive to me until I read stories about the ordinary people who lived through it rather than the famous names who created it, and this show is absolutely the story of the ordinary people. It’s the men who never planned to be soldiers but who were drafted and fought bravely; it’s the women who were terrified by what their menfolk were going through but who worked in the factories to keep everything going anyway; it’s the children who didn’t understand what was happening but who tried to be brave. It’s the ordinary people who did their best to keep living through all the challenges swirling around them. It’s everyone who tried to keep some kind of “normal” happening.

And when I see my son imagining what it would be like, what it would feel like, to know that your daddy was going far away for a long time, braving unknown dangers, fighting unknown battles, not knowing when (or if) you would ever see him again…when I see his eyes widen in understanding, and in sympathy, I know that he understands history – and theatre – the same way that I do.

We live it, we love it.

And there’s nothing quite as wonderful as sharing that kind of passion and excitement with your kids.

Nothing.

Remembering the 1940s

This weekend, Herb and I will be performing in the Reagle Music Theatre’s production of “Remembering the 1940s”. We did the show together two years ago, and as we rehearse, not only do the lyrics come back to my mind and the dances come back to my feet, the emotions also come back to my heart. I had intended on writing a new blog entry today reflecting on the show, but I don’t think I can put it any better than I did following the production two years ago. So today’s entry is a reprint of the entry I wrote back then. And if reading it makes you interested in experiencing the show yourself, please visit Reagle’s website at www.reagleplayers.org for tickets to any of this weekend’s performances, at 2pm and 7pm on Saturday, September 25th and at 2pm on Sunday, September 26th.


War and Remembrance (originally posted on September 28, 2008)

This weekend I performed in the Reagle Players' production of "Remembering the 40s". The show is a revue of 1940s era music, mixed with scenes and skits from that time period. The first act opens with a fun dance number with youngsters dancing and romancing, without a care in the world, and then we see a projection of a newspaper headline announcing of the bombing of Pearl Harbor and a voiceover of President Roosevelt solemnly intoning, "December 7th, 1941, a date which will live in infamy." Suddenly the carefree young men are being drafted into the Army and sent overseas while the young women are on the homefront, raising money for the war effort and waiting for their men to come home. We see the troops bidding farewell to their loved ones, being entertained by the USO, and huddling miserably in camp, waiting patiently and hopefully for letters from home. We see the women working in the factories, patiently carrying on life at home. The act ends with their joyful reunion, and then Act 2 continues as a 1940s radio broadcast, complete with Edgar Bergen and Charlie McCarthy, Burns and Allen, Abbott and Costello, and cheesy radio commercials ("Try Rrrrrrrrrrrexall Bismarex!!"), as well as the "Cavalcade Singers" performing patriotic and traditional numbers from the time, from "Sentimental Journey" to "In the Mood" to "Cuanto la Gusta" to "The Stage Door Canteen".

When we started rehearsing the show, I thought of it as a delightful time capsule; patriotic Irving Berlin songs that made me want to sit up straight or march in place, charming jazzy songs like "Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy" and "Don't Sit Under the Apple Tree" that made me want to jump up and dance. I understood that these fun, upbeat songs were the generation's way of keeping their chins up, of cheering up a dismal nation, of boosting the morale of people who were tired of war and just wanted their loved ones to come home safely. But until I was singing those songs in an auditorium full of men and women who had lived it, who had sat at home and wondered if they would ever see their father/brother/husband/boyfriend again, who had lived in cold, dusty, insect-infested war camps, who had taken refuge in foxholes and trenches amid enemy fire, I don't think I got the full impact of the show. I was re-enacting USO shows for men who'd seen the original. I was playing the part of a Rosie the riveter who was sitting in the audience right in front of me. These people were the very youngsters we'd seen spooning in the soda shop in the opening number - and the same youngsters whose lives had been shattered by Roosevelt's words. Suddenly the scenes we were portraying had a lot more significance.

As a performer, the best reward I can get is for members of the audience to tell me how much they enjoyed my performance, and I love being in the lobby as patrons are leaving, seeing their glowing faces and hearing their appreciative comments. But the comments after these performances were extra-special, as arthritic hands reached out to touch my arm and tiny women with white hair and sparkling eyes thanked me for reminding them of their youth, or stoop-shouldered men wearing hats or pins with military insignias wordlessly and solemnly nodded their thanks. I felt so inadequate as I thanked them for their service, for their sacrifice. All I did was get up on a stage and sing and dance. They are the heroes who gave their youth, their lives, for our country, so that my generation still has all the freedoms they prized so highly. I am honored and humbled to represent them in this show, and I hope that by being part of it, I am a little more aware of and grateful for the freedoms that I enjoy every day because of their bravery and sacrifice.

War and Remembrance

In honor of Memorial Day, here is a reposting of a blog entry I wrote in September 2008.

This weekend I performed in the Reagle Players' production of "Remembering the 40s". The show is a revue of 1940s era music, mixed with scenes and skits from that time period. The first act opens with a fun dance number with youngsters dancing and romancing, without a care in the world, and then we see a projection of a newspaper headline announcing of the bombing of Pearl Harbor and a voiceover of President Roosevelt solemnly intoning, "December 7th, 1941, a date which will live in infamy." Suddenly the carefree young men are being drafted into the Army and sent overseas while the young women are on the homefront, raising money for the war effort and waiting for their men to come home. We see the troops bidding farewell to their loved ones, being entertained by the USO, and huddling miserably in camp, waiting patiently and hopefully for letters from home. We see the women working in the factories, patiently carrying on life at home. The act ends with their joyful reunion, and then Act 2 continues as a 1940s radio broadcast, complete with Edgar Bergen and Charlie McCarthy, Burns and Allen, Abbott and Costello, and cheesy radio commercials ("Try Rrrrrrrrrrrexall Bismarex!!"), as well as the "Cavalcade Singers" performing patriotic and traditional numbers from the time, from "Sentimental Journey" to "In the Mood" to "Cuanto la Gusta" to "The Stage Door Canteen".


When we started rehearsing the show, I thought of it as a delightful time capsule; patriotic Irving Berlin songs that made me want to sit up straight or march in place, charming jazzy songs like "Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy" and "Don't Sit Under the Apple Tree" that made me want to jump up and dance. I understood that these fun, upbeat songs were the generation's way of keeping their chins up, of cheering up a dismal nation, of boosting the morale of people who were tired of war and just wanted their loved ones to come home safely. But until I was singing those songs in an auditorium full of men and women who had lived it, who had sat at home and wondered if they would ever see their father/brother/husband/boyfriend again, who had lived in cold, dusty, insect-infested war camps, who had taken refuge in foxholes and trenches amid enemy fire, I don't think I got the full impact of the show. I was re-enacting USO shows for men who'd seen the original. I was playing the part of a Rosie the riveter who was sitting in the audience right in front of me. These people were the very youngsters we'd seen spooning in the soda shop in the opening number - and the same youngsters whose lives had been shattered by Roosevelt's words. Suddenly the scenes we were portraying had a lot more significance.

As a performer, the best reward I can get is for members of the audience to tell me how much they enjoyed my performance, and I love being in the lobby as patrons are leaving, seeing their glowing faces and hearing their appreciative comments. But the comments after these performances were extra-special, as arthritic hands reached out to touch my arm and tiny women with white hair and sparkling eyes thanked me for reminding them of their youth, or stoop-shouldered men wearing hats or pins with military insignias wordlessly and solemnly nodded their thanks. I felt so inadequate as I thanked them for their service, for their sacrifice. All I did was get up on a stage and sing and dance. They are the heroes who gave their youth, their lives, for our country, so that my generation still has all the freedoms they prized so highly. I am honored and humbled to represent them in this show, and I hope that by being part of it, I am a little more aware of and grateful for the freedoms that I enjoy every day because of their bravery and sacrifice.