I feel the snow! I feel the cold!

Recently there was an audition for a role and a show that’s on my bucket list. I decided to bite the bullet and make it happen. The audition proved to be a cathartic and enlightening experience.

I had picked out the perfect outfit and made sure that all aspects of it were cleaned and pressed. I've noticed a trend happening at auditions. Men are getting back to dressing nicely. They’re not wearing suits, but they are starting to wear vests and ties and dress shoes. A nice change from the sweats, flip flops and shorts I've seen in the past. I walked into the audition studio looking the part. I was calm, cool, collected with a sense of rakish style.

There were a lot of EPA auditions happening and my friend Arthur and I were trying to hit as many as we could. We focused on which was most important to us, individually. We never actually saw each other. We were texting each other throughout the day with updates.  

For an EPA (Equity Principal Audition) I have to rise before the sun does. Then I have to get dressed as if I’m hiking across Siberia, which keeps me warm and toasty while braving the wind and snow to get the subway. Then I have to pleasure of sweating my butt off in an overcrowded, over heated subway car, provided the subway is actually running that day.

Once at the audition site I have the privilege of waiting in line for maybe two hours, sometimes outside. Once the building where the audition is opens, I get to go inside and wait in line, again. Then finally I can sign up for an actual audition time slot. If I’m late getting into the line, all the appointment times maybe gone. So then I can sign up as an alternate. Being on the alternate list entails sitting and waiting at the audition site all day in hopes that someone doesn’t show up (or is late because the trains are screwy). Then the people on the alternate list are called upon to fill the newly vacant audition slot.

If I get in line early enough I can choose from a wide range of audition appointment times and not have to spend my day waiting around.

I made an educated guess, which is all one can do in these types of situations. I based my arrival time on where the audition was, what other auditions were happening, the general age of the actors needed and the morning temperature. For this important audition I arrived to stand in line only an hour before the sign up began.

It was a gamble since this was for a role and show that’s on my bucket list. Not to mention that pay is decent and the proximity to New York City made it commutable should an important audition pop up during the contract. 

None the less I arrived an hour before hand, which meant I would not have to stand outside in the freezing cold.

Luckily I was right. My fact analysis and number crunching paid off. I was only about the fiftieth person in line, which meant that I could have my pick of virtually any audition time. Not to mention the fact that I could go home and go back to bed, or warm up or do whatever else I wanted before having to get ready for and get back to the audition.

The people behind the table at this audition were nice and attentive. The accompanist was amazing. Arthur sent a text saying so. This made me confident there would be no accompanist drama with my song choice. I was singing a very difficult piece full of acting and dissonance and dynamics. It’s Sondheim. It’s a song that I've never done at an audition before ...because it’s Sondheim. Most audition accompanists would have been challenged trying to site read it.

The song is extremely long. It had to be cut. It made the most sense to do the most difficult part of the song, but not because it was difficult. It has the widest arc and the biggest vocal range. Both my vocal coach and I had decided this was the section to do. We worked on the song a week prior to the audition.

I met my vocal coach, Eddie Schnecker, doing a Fringe show. We were both in the cast and like so many performers these days, we both wear many professional hats. We do more in theatre than just performing. And in this show’s case, that was a good thing.

The choreographer of the show was abysmal. A week before we were to open, only one number had been fully choreographed and a couple others had been improvised. The “name draw” of the show (the star who would put butts in the seats) called the writer/producer and demanded the choreographer be let go. And of course she was. Eddie, who also dances, was approached to choreograph the show.

Because the original choreographer was friends with the director, the director quit following the firing. At this point we were supposed to have a costume parade and a run through. I asked if anyone minded if I took over and ran things. In my head I was thinking I could just help out so we could get through the one rehearsal and then find a director. To everyone else my words meant I would be the new director of the piece. And that's what came to pass.

Eddie and I worked very closely together to get the show up and running. He choreographing and me directing. And it went off without another hitch, largely in part to an amazing bunch of people. I’m still friends with the cast to this day, including taking the new choreographer/actor Eddie on as my vocal coach.

I had gotten this Fringe show role from submitting myself on Actor’s Access.

Actor’s Access is a website that allows projects to list what roles they have available. Then actors peruse the site and find what projects for which they’d like to audition. The actors then submit, electronically, a picture and resume. The casting people then go through the submissions and choose which actors they’d like to see and issue audition times. Everything from commercials, to radio spots to stage productions list on the site. Some offer pay some don’t. I’ve not heard of one thing being listed on Actor’s Access that wasn’t one hundred percent legit.

I heard about Actor’s Access through my colleague Bruce. We would run into each other at auditions. We struck up casual conversations and became friends.

One day, as we were sitting waiting for our audition appointments, Bruce was indecisive. He didn’t know if he wanted to go through with the actual audition. He had submitted himself for the show online, on Actors Access. The casting people didn’t give him an appointment. Now there are any number of things can result in not getting an appointment, from submitting after all the slots have been filled to the casting people not wanting to see the actor. Bruce, like most of us, automatically jumped to the conclusion that he didn’t get a time because the people behind the table did not want to see him.

In the end Bruce did audition. I mean it’s our job to audition. One we continually train for. In fact I originally met Bruce when taking musical theatre dance classes from the late Tony Stevens at Steps.

Tony was one of the last Fosse boys, having studied and danced for Bob Fosse himself. Part of the iconic musical theatre story of A Chorus Line is Tony’s real life story. He lived the legend. And he had stories to tell about all of the greats he worked with and loved sharing them in class.

Taking class with Tony was wonderful. I never felt out of place, unwanted or incapable of doing something. That was one of the things that made Tony special. He cared and he was caring. My favorite thing he used to say was in reference to standing in relevé: Stay and dance. Be beautiful. I think that should be the title of the documentary about Tony Steven’s life...”Stay and Dance. Be Beautiful”.

Fortunately before he died a documentary of his life and all his wonderful stories was made. It’s doing the rounds on the independent film circuit. I’ve only seen a few cuts of it, but I have to hand it to the husband of my friend Louise. It’s quite good. And I expected nothing less as Louise was close personal friends with Tony and the reason I started taking class with him in the first place.

Louise and I had been friends for years. She knew that I was looking for a good class, a class that was challenging and fun. She suggested that I go up to Steps and 72^nd Street and Broadway and try Tony’s class. Since Louise had been my teacher, she knew what I was capable of handling, both physically and mentally.

I had always been afraid of going to Steps to take class. When I was young I went to Steps, once. I was and traumatized by the teachers and intimated by the talent. I think I would have quit the Business was I forced to go to classes there. Luckily I didn't have to. I got a scholarship at another studio in New York, Broadway Dance Center. That’s where I met Louise.

I was young and in New York City. I was staying in midtown Manhattan. I was on scholarship at Broadway Dance Center. And I was at a complete loss as to what to do. My roommate at the time was Sean, or rather I was Sean’s roommate. It was his one bedroom apartment in Hell’s kitchen. He took me in after my sublet had gone terribly wrong. It was a true blessing that Sean and I had worked together at Surflight Theatre, “Broadway on the Beach”. We had done A Chorus Line together. Not counting cruise ships, that show was my last job as a non-equity performer.

I thought being non-Equity was fun, for a while. There were tons of auditions. I was new to the scene and didn’t want to traverse being a “professional” actor alone. I mean a city of nine million people is scary. Add that to the fact that seven million of them are actors and it gets really frightening, well for me anyway. I would drag one of my besties Helga around from audition to audition trying to be seen at as many as we could.

To this day Helga still talks about that one Valentine’s Day that I dragged her to seven auditions. And we were seen at all seven! That would be unheard of today. It was probably that day that I booked the show at Surflight.

Running around like that was a bit traumatic for Helga. Back then she was a bit prissy. She caught my attention at my very first summer stock job. She arrived late one night. Apparently her luggage got lost in transit and she had nothing but the clothes on her back. Yet the only thing that she worried about was her Estee Lauder make up and her tap shoes. Helga being upset about make up made me think “what a beyotch...I like her”.

That first season of summer stock for me was full of tap shows like 42^nd Street, My One and Only, and Sugar Babies. We were starting rehearsals the morning after Helga arrived, so I understand about her being upset not having her tap shoes. One of the choreographers, the one for Sugar Babies had a notorious reputation for being a hard ass. He never took any excuses and he rarely gave anyone a compliment. Yet he always gave scathing criticism. He tempered his abrasiveness by hiring a lovely and talented dance captain, Leslie. Though she was no push over either.

Leslie made us work and work hard. She had a reputation to uphold. Her shows were crisp and clean and that’s why the choreographer hired her in the first place. He knew he could trust her to maintain the level of artistry that he desired. And she did. In fact we had a cleanup rehearsal the morning of the closing night of our final show, 42^nd Street. Leslie told us that she didn't care that the show was closing.

“Tonight will be as good as opening night, if not better. So go put your tap shoes on”.

Leslie had such dedication and theatre savvy. She watched over me that entire summer, making sure I knew what was going on. And more importantly making sure I stayed out of trouble. It only made sense that she took me to my first ever audition in New York City.

Up until this point I thought I knew everything, which is the folly of youth. But in reality I knew nothing about the world of Show Business. I only attended two auditions outside of my home town area. The first one was when a group of us seniors from University carpooled it down to Point Park College in Pittsburgh to audition for Disney. I was the only one called back to dance. I danced and fell out of my double pirouette into the table that the people behind the table were sitting behind. I didn't get the job.

The other audition was the NETC.

The NETC is the New England Theatre Conference. It’s a combined audition. Thousands of performers apply for an appointment to do one two minute audition for hundreds of potential theatre employers. My friend Contadina and I were lucky enough to be given time slots. We had to get from Buffalo, NY to Boston, MA for the audition. This wasn't an easy feat for poor college kids. Luckily Contadina had a car and was willing to drive us. Since I couldn't share the burden of driving (I didn't have a driver’s license) I paid for gas.

Contadina had a plethora of callbacks from her two minute audition. I had a handful from mine. We ran to our respective callbacks and spoke one on one with the people behind each table. We were poked and prodded, ogled and ah’ed. We were handed brochures from theatre companies and resorts and told to be on the lookout for offers.

We couldn’t afford to stay overnight in Boston so we drove back that night. I’m sure we couldn't have slept any way from all the excitement.

The offers quickly started flowing in for Contadina. She took one and began making plans for Life after graduation. I didn't get a bona fide offer until long after graduation and a week after our last University show closed.

I attended a small private catholic university. The school had affiliations with a major Equity theatre in the area. The theatre allowed the university to mount pre-season shows. We did two every year before the Equity shows started production. This was a draw for students from around the country, including Bathsheba who transferred into the program my senior year. I remember being in awe of the Equity shows when my high school drama club director Mr. Eiklor took me.

Mr.Eiklor knew everyone and everything about theatre. As far as I was concerned he was the sun and I had to orbit around him. (If you knew the man you would find this funny because he was about the size of a large planet) The man was Theatre incarnate. When he said a show was good and worth seeing, you did. In high school he took his favorites and a few promising thespians to see productions he deemed worthy. On a few nights I was lucky enough to be asked to accompany him.

These days this would seem highly irregular. A teacher, a grown man, taking some of his students out for a non-school related evening. But all the parents trusted this man. They believed in his ability to teach and inspired their children. Even my over protective mother had no choice but to let me partake of all Mr. Eiklor and his Drama Club had to offer. After all it was her idea that I join in the first place.

At the start of tenth grade I had to decide on a career path. I had toyed with becoming an architect but gave that up when I realized I would be forty before I could open my own company. Forty was eons away. Then there was cosmetology. I liked doing hair and make-up. But I changed my mind after realizing all the stereotyping and stigma that was attached to being a male cosmetologist. I even thought about being an operatic costume designer. I could draw really well and I liked designing gowns and clothes. It seemed interesting, artistic and creatively fulfilling.

I finally landed on becoming an accountant. I was good at math and bookkeeping so it was easy. According to my parents, who worked hard to keep my suburban life very upwardly mobile, I needed more extracurricular activities for college applications. They started pushing for me to get involved with the clubs and groups at school. I put it off for as long as I could.

One day after much nagging from my mom, I promised that whatever social event had a meeting that day I would join. Off to school I went to become a member of this club or that club. To me it didn't matter. I just had to do something or I would never get into college.

In home room that morning I listened to the announcements. There was only one club meeting that cold and rainy day in October: The Drama Club. 

It seems as if New York City is getting inundated with bad weather. Every other day there’s a winter storm warning or advisory. If it’s not snowing it’s raining. And then there’s the frigid temperatures. A few days ago the wind chill was -7. It all makes me feel as if I’m a kid back upstate again.

Growing up outside of Buffalo was brutal. The snow starts around Halloween and doesn't end until almost April. There’s not many interesting things to do up there when you’re snowbound. I believe that’s the reason the line from the show A Chorus Line is so profound to me: “To commit suicide in Buffalo is redundant”. To me there was nothing worse than getting stuck in upstate New York for the rest of my life. I had to escape the madness of boredom. I had to flee the ennui that trapped me inside of a snow fort and pelted me with snowballs.

As a child I dreamed about my escape almost every day. I fantasized while watching TV shows about exotic places and sunny locales. I longed to be one of the people who were doing amazing things. I think that’s how, at five years old, I got the idea to become an archeologist.

I knew that making discoveries and digging up old bones and civilizations would allow me to travel the world and do something special with my life. But when I realized that I didn't like getting dirty or being pounded on by a blistering sun, that idea quickly vanished. The dread grew in me that I would be forever stuck upstate New York, in bad weather.

But wasting away in the snowy suburbs of Buffalo never came to pass because:

My parents insisted I go to college.

To get into college I needed extracurricular activities.

There was only one club, the Drama Club looking for new members at the time I was looking to join something.

The club’s advisor Mr. Eiklor’s influence over me resulted in me applying to only one college.

I was accepted at that one college and spent four years there.

During the four years I met Cantadina and became friends.

A student, Bathsheba, transferred into the program and shared what she knew about auditions.

Contadina and I drove hundreds of miles to attend a combined audition. Then drove right back.

I got an offer for employment from that combined audition that would take me away from home.

At this first job away from home I met Leslie who took me to my first New York City audition.

I also met Helga. We were both complimented on our talents by the hard ass choreographer. Helga was told that she was a "lovely tap dancer" and I was told that my portrayal of "Mark" in A Chorus Line was the best he'd ever seen. After summer stock, together Helga and I set out to conquer the New York City non-equity audition scene.

My last non-equity job I met Sean, who later not only saved me from being homeless but introduced me to Louise.

Louise became my teacher and friend and introduced me to Tony Stevens.

In Tony’s class I met Bruce.

Bruce told me about Actors Access, an online resource where actors submit for various projects.

I got a job in the New York Fringe Festival from a submission on Actors Access.

I met my vocal coach Eddie doing that Fringe show.

My vocal coach and I worked on material for the onslaught of auditions this year.

I walked into the audition room confident because Arthur professed the pianist’s prowess (later I would learn that Arthur never went to this call and was talking about an accompanist at a different audition!)

When I finished singing for my dream role, I walked out of the audition room. I got dressed in all my layers to battle the cold. I changed my shoes to boots so I could traverse the snow. I walked outside, hopped on the subway and went back home. I had done my job. It was time for the people behind the table to do theirs.

The after math of the audition was surreal. I didn't have the usual feelings of relief, or accomplishment, or regrets, or elation or sense of self. For the first time in my career there wasn't a thing I would've changed. There wasn't one thing that I could have done differently or better. From all the way back to joining the Drama Club in the tenth grade, everything up until now was building a foundation for me to land a dream role in a dream show. I made every right choice and every right move. My whole life seemed to lead to this one audition.

But I didn't book the gig.

I should be devastated but I’m not. It was for the lead in a show directed by a well-known director at a well-known theatre. I’m sure he can and will call in a few favors and get a star name to well, star in the show.

And that's the reality of the Performing Arts.

This audition made me realize that I’m in New York City, working on my craft, surrounded by supportive people (both past and present). It gave me an inner peace. I'm now satisfied, sated with the idea that I’m worthy to create Art and create it well. This audition gave me a new level of confidence. A confidence that I can actually do this thing called show Business.

And so can you.

You don’t need to proclaim your talents and craft form the roof tops. It’s not about Ego. It's not about accolades. It's not about booking a gig. It’s about perseverance and preparation combined with opportunity. The Universe will align with your purpose and all will come to fruition within your world, whatever that will be. 

I've learned from this audition that no one should let getting a callback, booking a gig, winning an award (or even getting into a school) validate who they are as a person or an Artist.

You validate who you are.

So I've decided to do what I can do and that’s all I can do. Everything else is out of my control. I just have to prepare and show up. That's my job. And I leave the people behind the tables alone to do their job. No longer will their decisions affect me. No longer will they have to power to build or destroy my world with an offer or lack of one. 

And with catharsis, this amazing insight...

“...I dug right down to the bottom of my soul and...I felt nothing”.