Leadership, Legacies, and Shakespeare

The books on leadership will tell you that the best time to think about your legacy is at the beginning of your tenure at the top. Another good time is right before you squander it with misbehavior, but that's not my subject today.

I was recently asked to take the reins of a small, venerable little organization, whose dedicated membership had dwindled to a handful of enthusiasts: The Shakespeare Readers.

Begun in the 1980s by a pastor as an activity for his intellectually hungry congregation, the group met twice a month in the church basement to read one entire Shakespeare play aloud. As this very informal group evolved and changed leadership in the 1990s, the "rules" and "privileges" of membership clarified.

When the pastor handed the leadership over to the next volunteers, the group named itself "The Washington Shakespeare Reading Group" (WSRG), a schedule of readings was circulated, a formula was created for assigning parts to give equal numbers of lines to all who chose to attend, and ads were placed in the local newspapers to boost membership. (That's about when I joined the group. I made the T-shirts.)




For about a dozen years, that's how things were done. Membership grew, peaked, and began dwindling. Life happens, as does death. Leadership passed to the next volunteer, but the legacy of the incumbent could not be conveyed. For whatever reason, the church could no longer provide the free, comfortable basement classroom as a space for the Shakespeare fans, most of whom now were not also members of the congregation. There was no longer a relationship to build on.

The new leader also wanted to introduce changes to the formula: Rather than being assigned parts in each scene, readers would take lines in turn as the play moved around the table. She was then advised by the incumbent, who wanted to protect her own legacy, to come up with another name for the group.

"Shakespeare Readers" was born, and the process of finding free, comfortable space and a universally agreeable monthly day and time for the readings became a challenge. Montgomery County libraries wanted money for their spaces, but D.C. libraries welcomed the group for free on Sundays until municipal funding ran dry. Then the American University library offered space, and the Readers could read again.




I tell this tale because this spring, as the youngest still-somewhat-actively participating Reader, I was handed an envelope of contact information (i.e., mailing addresses and telephone numbers) for all individuals who had attended the Shakespeare readings since the days of the pastor and his basement congregations. The resigning leader wanted to spend more time with her grandchildren.

It is a coincidence that this "greatness" was thrust upon me at about the same time I became the editor of THE FUTURIST. So I needed to apply some of the lessons of leadership I'd already begun absorbing.

The leader's legacy matters to the members as much as to the individual who is stepping aside. What matters most to this group are the relationships it established with each other and with hosting organizations, such as the churches and libraries. And one of the most important relationships was with our local royalty, the Shakespeare Theatre Company, which grew from a personal connection established early on by the WSRG leader and allowed our group to attend invited dress rehearsals. This would be our most significant (but unadvertised) membership benefit.

Another lesson is to embrace new ways of doing things, even if they're a bit outside of one's comfort zone. Advertising in local newspapers or library bulletin boards just wasn't going to cut it. I found MeetUp and quite a few local Shakespeare fans who were as eager for intellectual stimulation and the opportunity to use their voices as the pastor's congregation was a quarter-century ago. I was told by several of these "Shakespeare Explorers" that they would have joined our group many years ago if they knew we existed, but we couldn't be found on the Internet. So that will have to change.

While I was congratulating myself on finding a new source of members (and new opportunities for Shakespeare-related activities), the WSRG leader gave me a call to express concern for our group's integrity. I knew she meant her legacy. Did what she had built up and leave behind matter to anyone but herself? Of course it did. I reassured her that I was not leaving our Readers behind, and that I was not preparing a merger with this new group.

With the support of two previous Reader leaders, and the influx of new ideas and energy from the Explorers, I think I have a pretty good head-start on a legacy. Shakespeare inspires us both to use our voices and to listen to each other. Leaders need to do both--often at the same time.

Wishing Us Love

Back from I Wish You Love at the Kennedy Center, which plays for just one more night. I find I dislike Saturday night crowds, but I enjoyed participating in the rousing and well-deserved standing ovation for the small but gifted ensemble portraying Nat King Cole, two of his bandsmen--his "people"--and the characters behind the scenes of Cole's late 1950s television series.



Dennis W. Spears portrayed Cole, and if there were a dictionary entry for the term "shit-eating grin," you would find an image of Spears as Nat "King" Cole preparing his face and demeanor for the viewers out there in TV-land. An array of studio monitors orbiting the set depicted the show in a remembered black-and-white reality distinctly different from the live, full-bodied presence on the stage. In the breaks during the show, the monitors silently offered the program sponsors' black-and-white (rather, all-white) view of the American consumer.

For the honor of being rich in white America, Cole had to be the package of an acceptable black man, and this meant jumping through a series of fiery hoops, including playing a tour date in Alabama in 1957. He and his people were attacked not just by the KKK but also by the police. Upon returning to the studio and encountering the demand of the sponsors to segregate his own band, Cole finally refused. On his last aired program (in this fictional account, which I can only speculate is based on truth), Cole displays a sign he picked up from his travel South: "We Serve Coloreds ... Take Out Only."

Battles fought decades ago are still being fought, not just by one group of people robbed of its dignity, but also by others. The day after the anniversary of Edward Duke's birthday, he is much on my mind. He died in 1994 when it was almost impossible for an openly gay actor to get work as a leading man.

Before he came out of the closet, Rupert Everett got a lot of the roles that Edward would have been up for, I think. (The role that made him famous was the one most stereotypically gay, as Julia Roberts's confidante in My Best Friend's Wedding.)

Most of the bullying and hatred aimed at people like Clay Aiken may be because he wasn't open and (in my opinion) didn't conform to the stereotypes that straight America wanted. If you're queer, you should act queer, like those gays on Queer Eye for the Straight Guy. Entertain us with your swishy nonchalance, and don't confuse us by acting--you know--normal.

I always hated that show, and now I sort of understand why. Not for any "shit-eating-grin" behaviors depicted by the individuals participating in it, but for the attitude of my friends who loved the show so much. Why would they love those gays and not Clay? And why would my family love seeing Edward do his "Jeeves" tales but not want to hear one word about his "unhealthy lifestyle"?

I want everyone to be happy. I want the world to be beautiful. I want to wish it love, too.

love, hosaa
wishing for love

Another Year, Missed

To Edward Duke, who would have been a distinguished 58.

I'm always remembering some small tidbit or other. Edward inspired me to write a story, then a play, with characters based on him (or at least my idea of him).

Once when I met him in his dressing room, I mentioned that I'd written another screenplay, but that it wasn't inspired by him.

He looked at me, at first registering hurt. And then he smiled that Edward Duke smile of his and said:

"It's good you've outgrown that!"

Love, hosaa
looking for the silver lining

Sing Casual

Back from Strathmore for the first of a two-night gig by Mandy Patinkin, with pianist and occasional duet partner Paul Ford, on the "Dress Casual" tour.

When I saw that Harry Chapin was among the songwriters that Mandy intended to cover in this tour, I was a bit disappointed because "Cat's in the Cradle" was on the setlist the last time I saw Mandy (New Year's Eve at the Kennedy Center a number of years ago). But even though the material was familiar, the execution was remarkable (and in the case of the Chapin piece, quite touching, for reasons that I won't spoil).

The 1-hour, 45-minute set was full of lyrically complex and dramatically challenging songs from the best of Broadway, ranging from Les Miz ("Bring Him Home" opened the show) to Secret Garden, and of course Sunday in the Park with George. Mandy's tone was richer than ever, and his range is nothing short of astonishing.

Flaws? As I mentioned, there were some very challenging lyrics, like the "Trouble in River City" and "He Doesn't Know the Territory" numbers from Music Man. He lost his place several times, but handled it as part of the show. At one point he called out to the audience, "what's the line?" and sure enough a chorus of half a dozen guys in the back provided the correct lyric. The power of the voice more than made up for the lyric issues.

The two Music Man numbers got a couple of fun twists - "do certain words start creeping into his vocabulary--words like 'Twitter'?" and the crooked salesman who sold boys' bands was not Harold Hill but Bernie Madoff!

It's all entertainment. Mandy cracked on the group of latecomers down front (the ushers erroneously led them in as Mandy was sliding into his next song. He hit "abort" and started interrogating the latecomers on what took them so long to get here). Other than that, there wasn't much in the way of interaction with the audience, but he reached up into the upper tiers to draw everyone in.

There is nothing casual about that kind of star quality.

love, hosaa

being alive

Building Futures

Elektro, by Westinghouse, courtesy of NBM

Yesterday I got to see Designing Tomorrow: America's World's Fairs of the 1930s exhibit at the National Building Museum in Washington, D.C., conveniently located across from the Judiciary Square Metro stop.

entrance to National Building Museum

sculptures at the National Law Enforcement Officers Memorial, adjacent to Judiciary Square Metro stop

(Photos by C. G. Wagner)

It's another one of those not-Air-and-Space-Museum museums I'd always been meaning to explore, and I heard about this World's Fair exhibition thanks to a flyer from the Art Deco Society of Washington, which was promoting some related lectures and tours.

Unfortunately, ADSW's events were off-site, somewhere in Virginia, but the exhibit was worth an afternoon downtown. Also, unfortunately, the Building Museum had a bunch of other events scheduled that I didn't know about. Anybody attending the Intelligent Cities Forum tomorrow (June 6), I'd love a report. I didn't know about it. I'm not omniscient. (Shocker.)

In addition to the World's Fairs exhibit, the museum also was showing the work of Art Deco muralist Hildreth Meière, but this work was in a separate gallery, on a different floor, rather than considered alongside the aesthetic works of the World's Fairs. Curious. There was also something to do with LEGOs, which cost $5 and didn't seem worth it to me, so I didn't go to that.

I liked the big open atrium of the Building Museum, but didn't know why there were tables set up with numbers, like they were expecting to host the Taste of DC or some big reception. Had I just missed something? Was I hours early for an evening event I didn't know about? Dang that lack of omniscience.

So the "Designing Tomorrow" exhibit was what I focused on. I tried to take my time with the huge collages of pictures and the captions that were too small and placed too low for me to read - if I could even find which caption went with which image. The Web site said they included 200 artifacts from the various World's Fairs that took place across the U.S. during the Great Depression, but they were overwhelmed by the big posters.

The artifact I was most interested in was the big robot, called Elektro: Moto-Man. But what was on display (according to the teensy-weensy caption) was a replica. The plastic model looked imposing but cheap. The grainy video showing Elektro in action was much more interesting. You can find it on YouTube.

I did learn that there was more than one World's Fair in the 1930s. The two I usually only hear about are Chicago's Century of Progress and the great New York World's Fair of 1939/1940, the one with the Trylon and Perisphere. I didn't learn all that much about Elektro and robots and the role of automation. Even the exhibition book only mentions it in a passing reference on page 10.

I wanted to learn more about Art Deco, but the long captions about the designers of the Fairs were impossible to absorb while standing and leaning over the display cases. So I'm glad I got the book, even if it doesn't include the Hildreth Meière stuff. I guess I could have bought her exhibition book too.

I got a good picture of how much influence industry now had on shaping the nation. By the 1930s, I don't know whether they were just trying to stimulate consumption by promising grander futures or just generally distracting the American public from the war in Europe. Probably both.

The future we were building then was one of comfort and convenience. But even the robots were taught to smoke. No wonder futurists get blamed for so much.

More press pictures from NBM for "Designing Tomorrow: America's World's Fairs of the 1930s"