Fight and sing fortissimo...

It’s that time of year again. The leaves are changing, or changed depending on where you live. Mother Nature is decked out in her most fabulous colors. The air is crisp and the sun, while still as bright, does little to warm us. We begin a myriad of celebrations and holidays here in the States and throughout the world.

This is traditionally for me one of the busiest times of the year. And it all began back in high school. Ok not really. I guess I’ve always been a person who does projects. So much so that my mom, whom you've all met or at least read a little about through my blog, nicknamed me.

When I was little I was always doing something, so I’m told. Truth is I have no recollection of my younger enterprising self. Apparently I couldn’t keep still. One reason for this could have been my intense desire to leave my home town. The only memory I have is from when I was about five years old. It was summer. I was in the back yard playing. My dad was barbecuing. As I sat in the grass I looked up at my dad and said “I want to be an archaeologist when I grow up”. Apparently being an archaeologist was the most amazing thing there was. They got to discover mummies. And mummies lived in Egypt. And Egypt was far from the suburbs of Buffalo.

At any rate my mom nicknamed me “Stevie Bee” because I was always busy, like the proverbial bee. And my name was Steven back then.

It was this time of year that I joined the Drama Club in high school, at the request of my mother. She didn’t specifically say “join the drama club”. But in the tenth grade she did force me to join a club, any club, for my college applications. I had put it off until finally the Drama Club was the only club looking for new members.

My mom was always looking forward. I guess she had forgotten about all the other clubs and organizations I was in or had been in. The list includes the Boy Scouts, the Junior Achievers, the Lions Club, the Honor Society, and the Yorkers, which was a club that studied the history of New York State. The Yorkers worked year round on a historical project that was relevant to their particular area of the state. It was presented at a yearly convention. The host city of the convention changed every year, so every fall I was off to another New York State city and away from home.

Don’t get me wrong, my home life was pretty sweet. The only thing I had to do was get good grades, a few household chores (which I was given an allowance to do) and be a kid. In my parents’ house being a kid meant you did what you were told, obeyed the rules or you would be punished. Plain and simple. And my dad always said “If you don’t like it leave your key on the kitchen table, take the clothes on your back and say good bye.”

My dad and I never really got along. We were two very different people. To hear my mom tell it, we didn’t get along because we were the same person. I always scoffed when she said that.

You see I loved theatre and my dad hated theatre, well musical theatre anyway.  And musical theatre was where my passion would eventually lay. I can still remember when that passion was solidified.  I had joined the Drama Club. I volunteered to be an usher for the fall musical. I stood in the balcony waiting for the show to begin, not really knowing what to expect. As the curtain rose I became riveted to the stage and what was happening to the characters. I had seen the movie about a hundred times, much to my dad’s chagrin. But nothing could compare to seeing The Sound of Music live.

This is also the time I had my first real crush on a girl: Raffaela Pullo. She played the “Baroness Else von Schraeder”. I thought there was no one more beautiful or strong willed or talented than she was.

I knew then that I had found my place, my “home”. Unfortunately the real life home was none too thrilled. I bucked every tradition my family had, from eating every dinner together, to finishing homework far in advance, to just basically not being around, not even to help with the chores. My mom was unhappy with the situation and my dad down right hated it. In fact he and I didn’t speak to each other for a long time because of it.

I don’t remember exactly when, but my mom finally came around to the idea of me being in theatre. We made compromises that kept both of us happy. For instance I could miss eating family dinners because of rehearsal during the week, but I had to be home for Sunday dinner every Sunday, no questions asked. No get out of jail free card. She and my Grammie came to see every show I was in.

My dad on the other hand, only came to see one of my shows in high school. My senior year he came to see A Funny Thing Happened On The Way To The Forum. It was only because my younger brother was also cast in it. I went through four years of university with him never coming to see one production I was in. And I graduated with the second longest bio of my class. (Still keeping busy). To me it seemed he wanted to squash my dreams just like he did when I wanted to go to art school, but that’s another story.

After University I moved to New York to pursue theatre. It was after the holiday season much like this one and after I had turned down a job that would have had me performing in Buffalo. My mom was against me leaving town. I thought my dad didn’t care either way. Before I left he gave me a sort of warning:

“The world isn’t like home. They’ll see you as something different. Opportunities for men like you are far and few between”.

When I was joining Actors Equity, I found out I had to change my name. I asked both of my parents for help in picking a new name. None of those family names seemed to feel right. I finally settled on Evan Edwards and started using it immediately.

My mom was really sick as I was traipsing around the country doing shows as Evan Edwards. So I would call home every week. I made a point to talk to both my parents. And they both only had “parent-y” things to say. You know what I mean. I’d ask what’s new and the answer was always “Nothing.” They talked about inane things like the weather and the other things small town folk talk about. It was during one of these pedestrian conversations with my dad that I got the shock of my life.

“Boy, I’m upset with you”.

“What happened?” I was scared. I had never told my parents about my sexuality. They had known about my first crush, Raffaella. It and others turned out to be more of the “talent” kind than of the “physical” kind. I guess someone had let the cat out of the bag. “What did I do, or not do as the case may be?”

“How am I supposed to tell my friends about all the fantastic things you’re doing? They’ll never believe me and I can’t prove it. I can’t even point to your name in the program and say that’s my son”.

I promised him from that day forward I would always put my real name in every bio of every program.

As I climb up the ladder and build a career for myself I see dad was right. Opportunities for men like me are far and few between. Don’t get me wrong. They exist. It just takes a lot more effort to find those people behind the table who are willing to provide those opportunities. But true to my nickname “Stevie Bee”, I keep busy.

In the last couple of months I’ve produced a concept album of a new musical theatre piece. I wrote the book and the lyrics. I also sing on it. This was my first time in the recording studio as a solo artist. The project consumed my every waking moment.

I read a role in a public table read of a new play. The show is great. It’s about an Italian-American family. The role I read is that of the son/brother. It’s fun and very me.  I’d love to play it.

I assisted the producer and founder of New Camerata Opera on their inaugural production. It was The Count of Luxembourg. The company doesn’t have a space so it was performed in a rehearsal studio. They rented costumes and had musicians and even provided subtitles (the libretto is in German). My job title was associate producer.  In reality I just ran around the city like a mad man trying to pick up the little things that no one had time to do. All the singers in the show were also producing the show, doing all the backstage tech work and publicity. It was a huge endeavor because none of them had previous experience doing any of it.

I’ve been writing a new non-musical play. It’s been in the works for about ten months now. It’s a huge time commitment to just sit down and write. I have to filter out all the distractions and be in a quiet place both mentally and physically. That’s not easy with the holidays.

During this magical time of year, something happened that threw much of the country into a depression. We had our presidential election. Not only that but we proceeded to elect a man who is a liar, a thief, a letch, a misogynist, a homophobe, and a racist.

A friend of mine posted this on her wall on Facebook in response to a video connecting racists to the president-elect:

“...half [of] white America is so mad. Y’all had no idea this was the country you live in & are outraged (as you should be). But to be clear, this video is not all that surprising and your new outrage is my “good morning time to brush your teeth” RACISM HAS NEVER BEEN COVERT TO ME. It’s just a little less so now. People now get that a portion of this country sees me and all my ancestors (the unpaid ones included) as worthless no-contribuers. [Sic] Enough so that many folk are standing up, taking notice & getting angry...”

Things are happening in in our country. Some are good, some bad. And things were happening in my life as well.

The concept album arrived six days ago. After long delays, scheduling snafus and completely unreadable CD artwork it is finished. It looks and sounds great.

Money people are talking. A production of the play about the Italian-American family could be in the works. When it does get produced I’m doubtful I’ll be cast...hopeful but skeptical.

My new non-musical play, about a group of gay friends and their relationships is about three quarters written. I’ll have a first draft done by year’s end.

I warned New Camerata Opera’s “artistic director” about what could happen. She didn’t want to hear it. And what could happen did happen. Their first production was a mess. There was a blatant lack of direction, vision, follow through and general professionalism on the part of virtually everyone involved. This was a project I should not have been involved with. I knew it and I did it anyway. I mean I had to keep busy. So I threw my reason out the window. And I paid the price for it.

When I read the program I noticed my bio had been edited. There was no need to edit it since there was plenty of unused space. Someone somewhere decided that what they didn’t understand or deem important needed to be cut. It was a hack job extraordinaire. But what infuriated me was the fact that it was done without my approval or my knowledge. For the first time in twenty odd years my real name, Steven Hamilton, was absent from the text. My promise to my dad was broken. 

Soon after I was privy to witnessing families on stage. I saw two Broadway shows. Both deal with family dynamics. Both shows center at a festive occasion. They both reminded me that the relationships within a family are tricky to say the least.

The Humans takes place during a Thanksgiving dinner. It centers on the things families have to deal with, both secrets and the protection from them. Falsettos centers on a young boy’s bar mitzvah and a family dealing with the father’s not so secret homosexuality.

Being in theatre I was the black sheep of my family. It made me afraid of telling my parents I was gay. I mean they had gotten used to the theatre thing but being gay was different. It was something I didn’t think they would deal with well. It wasn’t about them cutting me off monetarily. When I left for New York City I had vowed not to ask for money from them. I had to prove I could make it on my own. Only once did I have to ask. I was on tour. I was broke and our paychecks were delayed. My parents were so proud I hadn’t needed their help before then. They were more than happy to give it.

In my head being gay was strike three. It meant I was too different from them. I would be disowned. I’d no longer be a part of the family. So I never told them. But it seemed they suspected it. My mom would drop not so subtle hints about guys she knew who were gay, I guess she was hoping to open a conversation. Whenever I did or said something that was considered questionable, my dad, ever the jokester, would laugh and say “Is there something you want to tell us sport?” Much later I found out that my parents had discussed the question of my sexuality with my older brother.

Neither The Humans nor Falsettos have a truly happy ending. But when you think about it neither do we. We all die. And sometimes that death has nothing to do with the physical being.

The results of this year’s election scared me. I mean I was literally afraid of going outside, of walking the street, of being out after dark. The media, both social and otherwise, was full of the unleashed hatred of people who were losing their grip on dominance, decorum and sanity. I was a prisoner of my fear and a captive in my own home. One day I re-read my friend’s Facebook post about the outcome of the election. I paid particular attention to the last line:

“...half [of] white America is so mad. Y’all had no idea this was the country you live in & are outraged (as you should be). But to be clear, this video is not all that surprising and your new outrage is my “good morning time to brush your teeth” RACISM HAS NEVER BEEN COVERT TO ME. It’s just a little less so now. People now get that a portion of this country sees me and all my ancestors (the unpaid ones included) as worthless no-contribuers. [Sic] Enough so that many folk are standing up, taking notice & getting angry. But my life is no different than it was last month. This ain’t new. My feelings just have some company now is all...”

Her truth is that the election hasn’t really affected her on a day to day basis. And when I thought about it, truly sit down and pondered the situation, other than my self-imposed exile, it wasn’t affecting me either. I remembered the words of my dad: “The world isn’t like home”.

At home I was “Stevie Bee”, always trying to stay busy with projects. I was always doing something I loved to do.

At home I ate slept and breathed theatre. I loved performing and creating something from nothing.

At home I was respected. My opinions were valid, and listened to, as long as I could back them up with fact.

At home everyone knew about me being gay. And they still loved me.

I had always wanted to leave home and my family, even back when I was five dreaming of being an archaeologist. To me it seemed as if the world was a beautiful place. And its beauty was just for me. Now I know that “home” is something you take with you wherever you go. And my dad, in his own way, tried to give me advice and fortitude. “It has nothing to do with you. It’s just how the world works.”

Dad was right but screw that.

Screw those people behind the tables who won’t hire me because of their prejudices. I’m gonna show up at auditions anyway. You don’t hire me? Your loss.

Screw the people who want to take away my right to equality. You may be able to keep me down but you can’t keep me quiet. And no matter what you believe you can’t stop me from loving who I love.

And screw the people who say I can’t do something. Because you know what? I can. And will.

Both my parents are dead now. I miss them terribly but understand that death is the ultimate part, the inevitable part, of Life. Death is the one part of living that no one escapes regardless of who wins a Tony, who gets married and who is president.  The entire country could benefit from realizing that.

In truth, most of the world could benefit from what my parents are still trying to teach me about my passion, be it men or theatre. 

We all need to keep...

“...learning love is not a crime.

It’s about time. Don’t ya think?”