I want everyone to read this (and prepare to cry). I bought Katie a book called Making It on Broadway. It was edited by Jodie Langel, with whom Katie had done a musical theater intensive in New York. Its a series of short vignettes written by performers who have been on Broadway. Quite frankly, about 90% of the vignettes are whiny---about how tough it is, how broke they are, how Broadway isnt what they thought it would be, etc. But then I came upon this gem. It affected me. Im not one to get choked up, but this one chokes me up every time I read it (including when I re-typed it to post on Facebook). Theres a wonderful statement of humanity here. It was written by Doug Storm, a Broadway performer. I was with the tour of Les Miserables and we were performing in Salt Lake City. At the time, we were doing the poster sales for Broadway Care/Equity Fights Aids. If someone donated $50, they would receive a poster signed by the entire cast. After one performance, I was in costume selling posters in the lobby. I noticed a little girl who was looking at me like I was the Messiah. I heard her say “Please, Mom, please, please, please can I have a poster?” Her mom said no, and they walked away. It was a moment I will never forget. In my left ear, quite distinctly, I heard a little whisper saying “Go, Doug, go.” Suddenly without giving it any more thought, I took off in full costume outside the theater. After walking through the crowds, I saw the girl and her mother down the block. They had already crossed the street. As I approached the girl, I said “Excuse me”. She turned around and just stared. “You forgot your poster”. I handed her a poster, and I was gone. I turned around and ran back to the theater before anyone could say anything. I went to the company manager’s office and I said “I gave one of your posters away. Here is $50, my contribution to Broadway Cares.” A few days later, there was a letter that showed up on the callboard. It read: “Dear cast of Les Miserables, you moved me so much. Thank you. I also want to thank you for giving my daughter this poster. I don’t know who you were, but it was a nice young man, and he was gone before anyone could say thank you. Let me tell you about my daughter. She is sick. She was not expected to live past a very young age. She always wanted to see Les Miserables. They even snuck her out of the hospital that night so she could see the show. The tickets were a gift from a family friend. I am a single mom. Money is very tight. It broke my heart to not be able to buy the poster for my daughter. Thank you so much, whoever you are. Thank you, thank you, thank you.” The whole cast was standing around weeping. I didn’t say a word. Four years later, the night before The Scarlet Pimpernel closed, I remember feeling bitter and jaded. Soon, I would be unemployed again. Out of nowhere, at the stage door, I heard a little voice. “Mr. Storm?” I thought “Oh, God, who’s calling me Mr. Storm, for crying out loud.” I looked down. I froze. It was the little girl. “Hi. I knew you were in the show because I was following it on the Internet. I brought you a little package. Here’s a card.” “Oh, my gosh, how are you doing? Do you want to come in? Are you watching the show tonight?” “No,” she said. “I’m not seeing the show tonight. I’m seeing it tomorrow. I’m seeing the last one.” I said “Why don’t you come around tomorrow after the show? I’ll take you backstage.” I went upstairs and started putting on my make-up. I stopped for a second to read her card. It read “I just want you to know that I’ve been accepted to NYU Tisch School of the Arts for Drama, and I’m going to enroll because someday, I want to give a kid a poster. Thank you for helping to shape my life.” I lost it. In a moment of my own despair and selfish jaded bitterness, there was that kid. Everything came full circle. That alone is why I got into this business. Doug Storm
Posted on: Tue, 12 Aug 2014 03:28:03 +0000
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