As Our Election Day Creeps Closer... by Thomas Putnam


Perhaps like me you are being inundated with political urgings via the USPost and emails and recorded phone calls. Perhaps like me you might be resisting urgings of frustration and despair and sometimes fear. Perhaps like me you are reminded or need to be reminded of the transformative power of art. I'm talking specifically of theatre and poetry and choral music. Perhaps I list these three forms of art since they are the ones with which I most often and intimately engage.


I'm concerned about the election and the future of democracy. I try to understand the political views of those with whom I do not agree, and I find myself grieved by the deep and what seems to me unreasonable polarity that exists in political thought.


As my despair and concern deepens, I'm finding my solace and nourishment from the arts becomes deeper still. Last week I finished a production of Grand Horizons. The experience of working with a wonderful group of talented committed people who are eager to offer a fine play for entertainment and thought is enriching and empowering. Add to that the meaningful discussion both before and after each performance and the edification becomes even greater.


Last week, too, I saw an incredible performance in Rochester of the play Somewhere. I won't go into the topic or themes, but the art of those two hours, and the experience of sitting with 300 other audience members all sharing that art, was enriching and empowering.


This past Sunday I had the wonderful opportunity to conduct the HG Children and Youth Choirs in the annual Autumn Chorale. We're down in numbers with the choirs, but the pure joy and dedication of these young singers is powerful. I don't think it would matter what they were singing, but in this case many of the songs were thought provoking and rich and harmonious and wonderful.


During the concert I shared a poem by Robert Frost, a familiar one that I've known for decades. It wends its way through my soul every fall and a clarity and assurance seems to settle in. There are a few other poems that seem to take up annual residence that are like old friends. During the concert Jessica Strouse sang a musical setting of another Frost poem that is an old friend. It was like seeing an old friend for the first time, in a new 'certain slant of light.'


I've been choosing repertoire for our spring concerts, including the MLK concert in January. I have discovered a few new pieces that are delighting me; first in the discovery, and then in the becoming more and more acquainted, and now in the anticipation of introducing them to the singers, and then in the anticipation of what it will be like when they perform these. The art of the composer, and the art of the poet, and the art of the merging of these creations is...yes, I'll repeat this again (and again and again)...enriching and empowering.


May I encourage you in these few days before the election, and in these days that you are going through whatever challenges you may be facing, to visit those old friends of music and poetry and theatre. Engage and let these old—and new—friends take up residence for as long as they'd like to stay.
​

I Ain't Gonna Study War No More by Barbara Biddison


​I'm still singing that after hearing the last notes of the
concert--out the doors and down the steps of St. Paul's and home
again.  The beautiful Wellsboro fall afternoon was just made even more
glorious by all four HG children and youth choirs and a guest
soloist....and accompanist, and directors....all back again.

I've sung with choirs all my life--since I was 16--with a few years
off here and there for other life demands.  And I still sing today with WWC.  I never tire of hearing, and seeing, the Hamilton-Gibson choirs.  And I know how determined Putnam has been to revitalize the
choirs since Covid got in the way for a while.  Seeing all "the little ones" up there tells me that we're coming back, that at least some of them will go on to the regular Children's Choir and the Youth Choir.
And that many will still be singing when they are older. 

So on Sunday we were invited to sing  I AINT GONNA STUDY WAR NO MORE with the choirs as the concert ended/.  And I'm still singing as I write. Lovely.

[Note: The HG Children's Choirs will be singing on December 2 at 7:30 at St. Peter's Catholic Church, Wellsboro; the kick-off to the Dickens weekend.]

Blog 10.26.2022




What's In A Name? By Thomas Putnam




Juliet wondered what difference something is called; it's still the same thing no matter what it is called, right? Maybe. I've read how some authors and playwrights begin writing with a working title and then change it as the work progresses. Sometimes the title may be changed a number of times. Remember in the film (and stage version) of Shakespeare in Love how both Shakespeare and others comment “Good title” upon hearing a title for a play in the works.


Over the years it's been fun to hear people get all mixed up with a title when ordering tickets for an upcoming play. Granted, some plays have tricky titles. In college I was associated with two such titles: Oh Dad, Poor Dad, Mamma's Hung You In The Closet And I'm Feelin' So Sad was one. We worked on a number of scenes in acting class and the university produced the full play later that year. Another one is The Effect of Gamma Rays on Man-in-the-Moon Marigolds. The play itself was a bear to experience—intense, sad, painful—but the title just trips off the tongue, doesn't it.


Looking back over our 30-some seasons we've had our share of challenging titles. There were some longer ones that weren't crazy, but long nonetheless, thus open for some fumbling. Consider I Never Saw Another Butterfly, or—possibly our longest--The Misadventures of a Dozen Kids From the Other Side of the Tracks. I like the symmetry of those with three elements: A Bird, A Fish, and A Boy from the Stars. Or Love, Sex, and the I.R.S. And what about I Love You, You're Perfect, Now Change.


We produced 33 Variations and The 39 Steps in the same season; don't think that didn't cause some mash-ups. Some include a new sort of word: Last Train to Nibroc. What the heck—or where the heck—is Nibroc? And Dancing at Lughnasa. What or where is Lughnasa? And another The Madwoman of Chaillot. What or where is Chaillot? And how in the world is Nibroc and Lughnasa and Chaillot pronounced?


There were thoughts that Underneath the Lintel might have something to do with soup. And that Miracle on South Division Street might be a sequel to that Christmas movie. And that Velocity of Autumn might be about race cars. More recently we had some fun titles like The Lifespan of a Fact, and Dead Man's Cell Phone, and Into the Breeches. Vanya and Sonia and Masha and Spike offered a whole lot of iterations. Perhaps the most mangled was The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time.


And soon we have Foolish Fishgirls and the Pearl. The phones are going to start ringing with requests for reservations and I'm sure we're going to get some wonderful paraphrasing. Maybe I'll write a blog about it.

​CANADA’S STRATFORD FESTIVAL CELEBRATES “A NEW BEGINNING”! By Larry Biddison
 
And HG is also celebrating! After a two-year pandemic hiatus, HG’s theatre trip to Canada’s Stratford Festival resumed on October 7-9 this year. As former trip coordinator, I’m especially happy that Thomas Putnam committed himself to this vital cultural experience. This is the umpteenth hat he has chosen to wear, and I don’t know how he does it. In addition to directing and acting in plays, conducting the HG choirs, scheduling the season’s plays and concerts, he also gardens, raises goats and chickens. Now the Stratford Trip, too!
 
On board the Benedict’s bus Friday morning were 37 fanciers of world-class theatre, more than a third of them first-timers. The others were happy to relive the Stratford experience, many of whom have been “regulars” since 2000. This year’s two-night, three-play weekend offered HG’s usual mix of a comedy (Moliere’s The Miser), a tragedy (Shakespeare’s Hamlet), and a musical (Kander & Ebb’s Chicago). Participants stayed in a centrally located vintage hotel (the same lodging I used for my Mansfield University students between 1988 and 1998). This year’s excursionists spent their “free” time sightseeing, shopping, sampling local foods and beverages, walking scenic paths, and enjoying the swans on the Avon River.
 
Our Benedict’s bus driver shuttled us to and from the theatre for all three plays. We saw all of them in the Festival’s largest venue, the Festival Theatre, which incorporates the original 1953 stage. The 2022 season’s other seven offerings were performed in the other three venues: The Avon, the Studio, and the brand-new Tom Patterson. Unfortunately, our tight schedule made it impossible to tour this magnificent piece of architecture, much less see any of the three plays being performed there. (Since the Stratford Festival is a residential repertory theatre company using its resident actors in several plays, Colm Feore, who had the lead in the Festival Theatre’s The Miser also had the lead in Richard III in the Tom Patterson theatre the next day.)
 
After getting settled into our rooms at the Windsor Hotel on Friday, several of us walked across Albert Street to have a festive meal at one of Stratford’s iconic pubs, Bentley’s Bar and Restaurant. (We returned to Bentley’s after the show for dessert and conversation about The Miser.) The number and variety of eating places always amazes first-timers. So much that is “not like at home”! 

[NOTE: HG is hosting a day trip on December 17 to the SHAW FESTIVAL in Canada's Niagara-on-the-Lake.  Call for reservations. The annual autumn trek to Stratford is already in the planning stages! We'll be traveling in late September or early October. Hope you can join us in these wonderful experiences. And thanks to Larry for pioneering and maintaining these trips for many years!]
 
With our stash of special mint smoothies to share with family and friends, we boarded the bus Sunday morning for the return trip. The mood I sensed on the bus was one of satisfaction. All’s well that ends well!

Parenthood is Very Rewarding by Thomas Putnam


Toward the end of GRAND HORIZONS, the father says to his wife (who has announced she wants a divorce), his eldest son, and his daughter-in-law, “Parenthood is very rewarding.” This comment comes after nearly two hours (representing a full week) of upheaval as his family seems to be falling apart. It's debatable whether this man, Bill, is being completely genuine or is he being sarcastic or snarky or something less than genuine—just trying to say the right thing and not really believing it.


It doesn't appear in the action of the play that Bill finds parenthood to be very rewarding. He really doesn't have much to say about anything. He kind of goes with the flow of what he thinks might make people happy. Yet the oldest son reviews all the special events he experienced in his life: “every Christmas. Every birthday. Every baseball game..Every family photo, every family trip, every hug, every lesson learned, take your pep talks, your matching plaid pajamas.” These were all part of the fabric of his growing up with two parents who provided for him and kept him safe. Yet, because of some family secrets now revealed, he sees all these family activities/celebrations as “bullsh!t.” He can't trust that these events were real or worth anything.


There is a great deal of exploration of parenthood in this play and I could quote a number of lines that help to inform that line towards the end of the play: “Parenthood is Very Rewarding.” But I've just read today some thoughts that could also inform our broader exploration of parenthood.


“We have made mistakes with our children, which will undoubtedly become clearer as they get old enough to write their own books.” This from the author of Please Don't Eat the Daisies. Remember Jean Kerr? The book is charming and fun but I'm wondering in her honest moments could she truly say what she was doing with that wild bunch of kids was rewarding.


“Yes, Mother...I can see you are flawed. You have not hidden it. That is your greatest gift to me.” Bill and Nancy in this play could have learned some wisdom from Alice Walker's mother. Whether Bill and Nancy tried to hide their flaws, or whether their sons just couldn't see them for whatever reasons, the boys did not see that their parents are real, whole people—flaws and all.


“It's a wonderful feeling when your father becomes not a god but a man to you—when he comes down from the mountain and you see he's this man with weaknesses. And you love him as this whole being, not as a figurehead.” Hmmm, I wonder if Bess Wohl read this quote of Robin Williams when she was writing the play.


So where are we. Don't kids need to see their parents as gods for a while; as beings that can do no wrong and can protect them? Then, when they are ready to write their own books...that wonderful realization that “hey, these ordinary, human beings did a damn good job of protecting me and keeping me safe and taking me on family trips and watching my baseball games and giving us all matching pajamas.” They're not divine beings at all; just flesh and blood who were doing their best.  

​WE LISTEN AND ARE FED By Thomas Putnam


This weekend has been one big multi-course banquet for me. I've had the great good fortune to immerse myself in some of the great loves of my life. I was able to spend a bit of time with a few members of my family. I spent much of the warm-ish sunny day on Saturday painting a much needed railing—so I was at home, surrounded by light and color and sunshine and peace. I relished in the opening of our production of Grand Horizons, able to interact with a talented and very nice cast and crew and two enthusiastically encouraging audiences. Yesterday I had the great good fortune of spending the afternoon listening to the glorious sounds of Peggy Dettwiler's MU choral groups. In the midst of the concert, I directed ten talented and committed kids singing a Moses Hogan spiritual. Quite frankly, I could die today and be supremely happy.


I could write a blog about all of the above, but primarily in this one I'm focusing on the great power I find in good choral music. The concert yesterday was one of those thin places the Celtic Christians speak of; the place where the division of earth and heaven, physical and spiritual, here and everywhere is so thin as to be imperceptible. It happens a lot to me with choral music that simply transports me, or simply melts everything else away.


Peggy Dettwiler invited our HG Youth Ensemble—ten singers—to sing a song with the Festival Chorus and also to sing a song on our own. I don't remember that happening before, and it was an incredibly gracious offer, one of which I heartily accepted. Our numbers are few this year—Covid seemed to take the wind out of our sails—but this group is committed and loves to sing. It was an honor and great joy to sing in this concert.


The MU Concert Choir sang a song never before performed. It was commissioned in memory of our friend Keith Cooper who died last year. The text is based on a poem by Rumi, concluding with these words:


Oh, music is the meat of all who love,
Music uplifts the soul to realms above.
The ashes glow, the latent fires increase:
We listen and are fed with joy and peace.
​
Good choral music is one of the great nourishers of my life. I am grateful I have the opportunity to direct the HG Choral program and offer the opportunity to kids to explore rich music. I am grateful for Keith and Hilma Cooper who were/are great supporters of the arts. I am grateful for Peggy Dettwiler for the incredible opportunities she has and is providing for thousands of young people—and me—to experience those indescribable thin places. We listen...and are fed...with joy and peace.