From the time I was sixteen years old
I knew what I wanted to do with my life - I wanted
to be on Broadway. I wanted to be a musical theater
actor and make my living on the stage. I wanted to
be Gene Kelly, Gordon MacRae and Jimmy Stewart all
rolled up into one. I wanted to make people laugh and
cry. I wanted to tell stories that weren’t mine.
I wanted to become other people for a couple of hours
a night.
And I knew what I needed to do to make that happen.
I needed to study the crafts of acting, singing and
dancing. I needed to be diligent and hone my skills.
I needed to move to New York to make my dreams come
true. I needed to take chances in my auditions to get
noticed. I needed to meet the right people to get to
Broadway.
With laser-like precision I pursued my course and by
the graces of some higher power I was able to achieve
my goal. I knew I could do it. I knew it.
I got cast in Miss Saigon in the fourth year of its
run. I rehearsed for a week and went into the show.
I couldn’t believe the feeling. Here I was making
my Broadway debut and fulfilling a life long dream.
The costumes, the sets, the cast lending its support – it
was all amazing.
When the show was over, the curtain came down and the
cast gave me a round of applause. Then they quickly
dispersed to get out of their costumes, into their
own clothes and onto their own lives. As I dressed,
basking in the glow of my achievement, something new
crept into my consciousness – loneliness.
I grew up in Cape Girardeau, Missouri. A place that
is about as far away from New York and Broadway as
you can get. The town of 45,000 inhabitants is populated
with families that have been there for generations.
It’s a place where the teachers at the high school
know how to pronounce all the names because the current
students are the sons and daughters of students past.
It is also a place where everyone is identified by
association. If you’re not sure who Mark So-and-so
is, he’s described to you as being Bert Such-and-such’s
cousin’s husband.
In such a close knit community, almost any event is
cause for celebration and gathering: a birthday, the
move into a new home, a college graduation and of course,
weddings and funerals.
So it was this past weekend when I paid a visit to
Cape. My wife, my son and I traveled there to attend
my nephew’s wedding. I was also looking forward
to meeting a new nephew, my sister’s four-week-old
baby. What I had not anticipated was that I would be
attending my aunt’s funeral.
My father’s sister was 89 and her health had
been deteriorating for some time so her passing did
not come as a shock, but the juxtaposition of a new
life just begun, a life joined to another and a life
just ended brought into great relief all that I’ve
missed by moving to New York.
I now have lived more of my life away from my hometown
in Missouri than I did growing up there. Now when I
go back I need to be reminded how to get to a certain
store or told that a certain restaurant is no longer
in operation. The experience is alienating.
I knew I wanted to be an actor on Broadway. What I
hadn’t allowed myself to think about was the
unexpected fees and hidden costs that I would have
to pay; the missed parties, t-ball games and wakes,
the events of a community.
What’s ironic is that I don’t regret my
decisions. I can’t imagine not pursuing the path
that I’ve chosen. If I’d stayed in Cape
I would have spent my entire life wondering “what
if”. And my family encouraged my every decision
as well, giving as much support as they could from
a thousand miles away.
What it comes down to is that in any life there are
going to be challenges faced, choices made and sacrifices
to be endured. In a perfect world, or at least my perfect
world, my whole family would have wanted to move to
New York, or somewhere along the line in history the
great theater impresarios would have decided that Broadway
in Cape Girardeau, MO was the place to build the world’s
theatrical Mecca.
Neither of those things has happened so I’ll
have to continue to endure the exquisite ache of wanting
to be with the people I love but needing to pursue
the path that’s been laid out for me.
As Pippin says in the musical Pippin, “I wanted
such a little thing from life: I wanted so much.”
