“You pig! We have spent our lives in this theater. We have given of our time taking care of our art. You talk to us about money all the time. ... You have no morals. I don’t know how you can sleep. I care deeply and passionately about this place, and you must address yourselves to your consciences.” Richard Monette, Canadian actor and director, at the December 1980 annual meeting of the foundation of the Stratford Shakespeare Festival, shouting from the audience at the outgoing board president
(I pay tribute today to Monette, who, 12 years after this extremely dramatic outburst, went on to become artistic director of the Stratford Shakespeare Festival. Now it became his lot to deal with money issues. Amazingly enough, he succeeded. By the end of his first season, he had transformed a $1 million debt to an $800,000 surplus, and continued to do so throughout his 14-year run. More than any person associated with the festival since Tom Patterson provided the publicity and organizational spark and Tyrone Guthrie the directorial genius, Monette made his mark on this glittering jewel in Canada’s cultural crown.
But Monette not only enabled the festival to thrive: he brought it to artistic heights it had only reached intermittently before. Among the highlights of his tenure: renovating the Festival and Avon Theaters; establishing the Birmingham Conservatory for Classical Theatre; creating a formal program of new play development; adding a fourth venue, the Studio Theatre; and creating a $50-million endowment.
I was lucky enough to see the festival in Monette’s first full season as artistic director. I missed the unexpected hit that became the centerpiece of that year, Long Day’s Journey Into Night (though I saw it on TV, in a production that forever altered how I viewed that play and Eugene O’Neill himself). I did, however, in a little less than a week, see Othello (which, in that post-OJ-in-the-Bronco summer, draw many parallels to contemporary events), Twelfth Night, Hamlet, The Comedy of Errors, and The Pirates of Penzance. I couldn’t get over seeing the same actor perform two different roles in the same week—and often, even in the same day.
It wasn’t until much later, talking to other theater aficionados—Canadian natives who knew all the backstage gossip—just how much it took for Monette to keep everything going—how to launch a pet artistic project without bankrupting the place again; how to keep, say, an actress who had long been estranged from the festival from departing in anger again; how to find one play that meshed with the talents of particular directors and actors; how to satisfy competing, clashing egos of all ages; how long to stretch the festival’s season with moneymaking musicals without infringing on how much its actors could make in other, more lucrative productions off-season. (Just as New York actors have an inordinate number of credits for one of the Love and Order series, Stratford actors, at least a decade ago, had an enormous number of credits for Kung Fu: The Legend Continues. They all need something to pay the bills!)
I returned to Stratford three more times over the years, savoring more and more. The last time, in 2001, I attended a theater-enrichment activity, a “Meet the Festival” spotlighting Monette himself. He held forth in droll, the-hell-with-it fashion on such subjects as the current penchant for staging Shakespeare in almost anything but Elizabethan dress (it’s a way of proving the plays are still relevant, he said); his refusal to apologize for musicals that put fannies in the theater (musicals required more diverse skills than nearly any other theatrical form, he said, and to his mind there were really only about a half-dozen truly great ones); and his disdain for the Globe and Mail’s theater critic at the time, Kate Taylor (he was aghast that when she took on her role, she had a background in journalism but not theater).
I have no idea what Monette was like as a person. It seems that he experienced the requisite miserable checkered childhood that so often sees acting as a glorious escape, as well as an Olivier-like bit of stage fright that drove him from an acclaimed acting career into his later, more celebrated career as festival saver. But I can’t imagine the Stratford Festival getting another artistic director so passionate about his work and so canny about getting it noticed.)
Friday, September 12, 2008
Thursday, September 11, 2008
This Day in Cold War History (Eastern Bloc Defector Victim of Umbrella Assassination)
September 11, 1978 – Georgi Markov may have strongly suspected he was marked for death, but it’s doubtful if the Bulgarian dissident-turned-defector ever conceived it could come by means of an umbrella tip.
But that’s what happened on September 7 as he noticed a stranger nearby him fumbling with an umbrella as they waited at a bus stop in central London. The next thing he knew, Markov felt a sharp pain in his thigh.
After Markov’s death on the 11th, germ warfare scientists in the U.K. discovered, in their postmortem, a tiny pellet containing a 0.2mg dose of the poison ricin.
Waterloo Bridge gave its name to a classic 1940 Vivien Leigh-Robert Taylor weeper, but this incident that took place on the fabled London landmark sounds like something out of a James Bond movie. (You know, the amazing villainess Rosa Klebb in From Russia With Love, attempting to kick 007 with a poisoned shoe.)
By itself, the discovery of the ricin alone might have been enough to arouse suspicion, but several other factors led investigators to believe that certain forces were responsible for it:
* A playwright and satirist before his defection, Markov had, as a BBC journalist, castigated life under the Czarist regime in his former homeland;
* Markov had already survived two assassination attempts, and had received a phone call as late as August predicting his death through a poison the West could not detect;
* The Bulgarian secret police had a well-deserved reputation as a lapdog of the Soviet Union. Three years later, when Pope John Paul II was targeted, his Turkish would-be killer was thought by many to be doing so at the behest of the Bulgarians, who were doing so, along with East Germany’s Stasi, on behalf of the KGB. That connection received some corroboration in 2005 with the opening of files on the case that hinted at this involvement.
* The umbrella was specially adapted by the purpose. The KGB had a reputation for this type of exotic death.
Markov’s murderer has never been brought to justice, and the case could have been one of those fascinating “how-about-that?” stories of the Cold War if not for two recent developments.
But that’s what happened on September 7 as he noticed a stranger nearby him fumbling with an umbrella as they waited at a bus stop in central London. The next thing he knew, Markov felt a sharp pain in his thigh.
After Markov’s death on the 11th, germ warfare scientists in the U.K. discovered, in their postmortem, a tiny pellet containing a 0.2mg dose of the poison ricin.
Waterloo Bridge gave its name to a classic 1940 Vivien Leigh-Robert Taylor weeper, but this incident that took place on the fabled London landmark sounds like something out of a James Bond movie. (You know, the amazing villainess Rosa Klebb in From Russia With Love, attempting to kick 007 with a poisoned shoe.)
By itself, the discovery of the ricin alone might have been enough to arouse suspicion, but several other factors led investigators to believe that certain forces were responsible for it:
* A playwright and satirist before his defection, Markov had, as a BBC journalist, castigated life under the Czarist regime in his former homeland;
* Markov had already survived two assassination attempts, and had received a phone call as late as August predicting his death through a poison the West could not detect;
* The Bulgarian secret police had a well-deserved reputation as a lapdog of the Soviet Union. Three years later, when Pope John Paul II was targeted, his Turkish would-be killer was thought by many to be doing so at the behest of the Bulgarians, who were doing so, along with East Germany’s Stasi, on behalf of the KGB. That connection received some corroboration in 2005 with the opening of files on the case that hinted at this involvement.
* The umbrella was specially adapted by the purpose. The KGB had a reputation for this type of exotic death.
Markov’s murderer has never been brought to justice, and the case could have been one of those fascinating “how-about-that?” stories of the Cold War if not for two recent developments.
First, with Bulgaria’s 30-year statute of limitations about to expire, British allies have pushed hard to try to solve the case, asking specifically for access to files and permission to interview up to 40 witnesses. One suspect has come to light--Francisco Gulino, codename "Piccadilly," the only Bulgarian agent known to be in London around that time. Right after the Markov assassination, "Piccadilly" received quite a present from his government: two medals, two holidays and thousands of pounds from the government.
Second, the death of a dissident through exotic means miles from his homeland had an eerie echo last November, with the poisoning—in a first, through the “nuclear poison” of polonium 210—of Russian dissident Alexander Litvinenko.
Quote of the Day (William Faulkner, With Inspiration for His Troubled Time--and Ours)
Five years after Hiroshima and the onset of the Cold War, a half year into the Korean War, Faulkner made these remarks. It was as dark a time as one can imagine. Now, seven years after 9/11, in an atmosphere of moral and political confusion at home and abroad, it is worth recalling his words about the best instincts of men—of the citizen’s possibilities of displaying these and of the writer’s responsibilities to remind us of their existence. Faulkner’s words remind us why, in the end, despite ourselves, the terrorists’ hopes of 9/11 will not be fulfilled.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
This Day in Naval History (The Battle of Lake Erie)
September 10, 1813—In the most harrowing—and, finally, sweetest—of naval triumphs, Oliver Hazard Perry managed to overcome the loss of his flagship, casualties dropping right and left around him, and the bizarre behavior of his chief subordinate to beard the British lion at the Battle of Lake Erie.
Twenty-first century students of history, if they are lucky, may remember one sentence from Perry’s report to General William Henry Harrison on this key victory in the War of 1812: “We have met the enemy, and they are ours.” (Cartoon readers of a certain age might also recall the parody of this in Walt Kelly’s cartoon Pogo: “We have met the enemy, and he is us.”)
The battle deserves more attention, however, than simply an entry in Bartlett’s Familiar Quotations or an answer to Jeopardy. Perry’s exploits are the kind of stuff inculcated into Annapolis cadets for years as they learn about what military historian John Keegan has called The Face of Battle.
Inveterate readers of this blog might remember my praise of Pierre Berton’s Flames Across the Border: 1813-1814. Sure enough, his chapter on Lake Erie is a gem, capturing the breathless energy of Perry as well as the atmosphere of this engagement, a seesaw engagement similar in atmosphere to how the Duke of Wellington famously described his victory over Napoleon at Waterloo: “a damn near-run thing.”
Begin with the months leading up to it. The Americans needed to gain control of the Detroit River and Lake Erie in order to secure their left flank, move troops to the eastern front and fracture the British-Native American alliance. Thus began a frenetic shipbuilding campaign on both sides.
Perry eventually built ships in Erie—a feat all the more jaw-dropping because the community had only 500 inhabitants and the builders of the ships had to be brought in from places as far afield as Pittsburgh, Philadelphia and Meadville. Locating this operation there, in what was still wilderness, in an area featuring still-shallow water, was, if you will, a riverboat gamble.
When Perry faced off against his opposite number, Capt. Robert Heriot Barclay, he had nine ships and 54 guns to six ships and 63 guns for the British. That initial advantage to the Americans, however, proved illusory: because of the inexplicable decision of Perry’s subordinate, Lt. Jesse Elliott, not to engage the British more quickly, Perry soon found himself on the Lawrence (so named for his dear friend, James “Don’t Give Up the Ship” Lawrence) facing the combined might of several British ships. At one point, Perry had to abandon the Lawrence, which was battered to a pulp.
At the height of the battle, the legend of “Perry’s Luck” sprang into being. While one man after another (including his second lieutenant, standing right next to him) was struck by enemy fire, Perry remained entirely unscratched. It continued to hold as he boarded the ship headed by Elliott, the Niagara, and took command of it, taking a leaf from Admiral Horatio Nelson’s playbook a decade ago and cutting right through the British line of ships.
Within 15 minutes, it worked. By 3 pm, Perry had won and the Americans were pinching themselves over what they’d accomplished: the first time in history that a British had been defeated and captured intact by the enemy, not to mention the first time an American commander had successfully shifted his flag in the midst of battle.
Perry’s campaign and battle were a victory of improvisation. Somewhat like fellow New Englander Benedict Arnold had done at the Battle of Valcour Island in the American Revolution, Perry had created a makeshift navy that achieved its strategic purpose. None of Perry’s hastily built ships set sail again.
One should not let this opportunity pass without mentioning the contribution of African-Americans to victory. About one-fourth of squadrons on the lake that day were black. Much like George Washington in the American Revolution, Perry overcame his initial opposition to African-Americans in the conflict and came to praise their contribution.
Twenty-first century students of history, if they are lucky, may remember one sentence from Perry’s report to General William Henry Harrison on this key victory in the War of 1812: “We have met the enemy, and they are ours.” (Cartoon readers of a certain age might also recall the parody of this in Walt Kelly’s cartoon Pogo: “We have met the enemy, and he is us.”)
The battle deserves more attention, however, than simply an entry in Bartlett’s Familiar Quotations or an answer to Jeopardy. Perry’s exploits are the kind of stuff inculcated into Annapolis cadets for years as they learn about what military historian John Keegan has called The Face of Battle.
Inveterate readers of this blog might remember my praise of Pierre Berton’s Flames Across the Border: 1813-1814. Sure enough, his chapter on Lake Erie is a gem, capturing the breathless energy of Perry as well as the atmosphere of this engagement, a seesaw engagement similar in atmosphere to how the Duke of Wellington famously described his victory over Napoleon at Waterloo: “a damn near-run thing.”
Begin with the months leading up to it. The Americans needed to gain control of the Detroit River and Lake Erie in order to secure their left flank, move troops to the eastern front and fracture the British-Native American alliance. Thus began a frenetic shipbuilding campaign on both sides.
Perry eventually built ships in Erie—a feat all the more jaw-dropping because the community had only 500 inhabitants and the builders of the ships had to be brought in from places as far afield as Pittsburgh, Philadelphia and Meadville. Locating this operation there, in what was still wilderness, in an area featuring still-shallow water, was, if you will, a riverboat gamble.
When Perry faced off against his opposite number, Capt. Robert Heriot Barclay, he had nine ships and 54 guns to six ships and 63 guns for the British. That initial advantage to the Americans, however, proved illusory: because of the inexplicable decision of Perry’s subordinate, Lt. Jesse Elliott, not to engage the British more quickly, Perry soon found himself on the Lawrence (so named for his dear friend, James “Don’t Give Up the Ship” Lawrence) facing the combined might of several British ships. At one point, Perry had to abandon the Lawrence, which was battered to a pulp.
At the height of the battle, the legend of “Perry’s Luck” sprang into being. While one man after another (including his second lieutenant, standing right next to him) was struck by enemy fire, Perry remained entirely unscratched. It continued to hold as he boarded the ship headed by Elliott, the Niagara, and took command of it, taking a leaf from Admiral Horatio Nelson’s playbook a decade ago and cutting right through the British line of ships.
Within 15 minutes, it worked. By 3 pm, Perry had won and the Americans were pinching themselves over what they’d accomplished: the first time in history that a British had been defeated and captured intact by the enemy, not to mention the first time an American commander had successfully shifted his flag in the midst of battle.
Perry’s campaign and battle were a victory of improvisation. Somewhat like fellow New Englander Benedict Arnold had done at the Battle of Valcour Island in the American Revolution, Perry had created a makeshift navy that achieved its strategic purpose. None of Perry’s hastily built ships set sail again.
One should not let this opportunity pass without mentioning the contribution of African-Americans to victory. About one-fourth of squadrons on the lake that day were black. Much like George Washington in the American Revolution, Perry overcame his initial opposition to African-Americans in the conflict and came to praise their contribution.
Quote of the Day (Reed, on Statesmen)
"A statesman is a successful politician who is dead." – Thomas Brackett (“Czar”) Reed, Speaker of the House of Representatives (1839-1902)
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
This Day in Sports History (Arthur Ashe Wins U.S. Open)
September 9, 1968—In just one of a series of “firsts” he accomplished throughout his short life, Arthur Ashe not only won the first U.S. Open men’s singles tournament, but became—still to this day—the only African-American to do so.
Did you realize that for his accomplishment, Ashe only received $230 to cover his daily expenses at the tournament? The reason was that he still was an amateur—a second lieutenant at West Point—so the $14,000 purse went to his opponent, Tom Okker of the Netherlands.
In 1996, on what would have been his 53rd birthday, a statue of Ashe was erected by his hometown, Richmond, Va. The site, Monument Avenue, so named for the statues of Confederate war heroes, has often been called the most beautiful avenue in the United States. (I’d rate Summit Avenue of St. Paul, Minnesota, up there, too—but that’s another story.) At the time, the notion of an African-American joining Robert E. Lee, Stonewall Jackson, J.E.B. Stuart, Jefferson Davis, and Matthew Fontaine Maury in this area got some unreconstructed sons of the Confederacy bent out of shape.
For all the courage and achievements that the Confederate heroes displayed, I can’t say that I have any sympathy for opponents of the Ashe statue. As a child, Ashe would not have even been allowed to visit this area of the city because of segregation, the lingering effect of the slavery on which the Confederacy was based. His statue there helps sanitize that long-lasting stain on the American fabric.
Did you realize that for his accomplishment, Ashe only received $230 to cover his daily expenses at the tournament? The reason was that he still was an amateur—a second lieutenant at West Point—so the $14,000 purse went to his opponent, Tom Okker of the Netherlands.
In 1996, on what would have been his 53rd birthday, a statue of Ashe was erected by his hometown, Richmond, Va. The site, Monument Avenue, so named for the statues of Confederate war heroes, has often been called the most beautiful avenue in the United States. (I’d rate Summit Avenue of St. Paul, Minnesota, up there, too—but that’s another story.) At the time, the notion of an African-American joining Robert E. Lee, Stonewall Jackson, J.E.B. Stuart, Jefferson Davis, and Matthew Fontaine Maury in this area got some unreconstructed sons of the Confederacy bent out of shape.
For all the courage and achievements that the Confederate heroes displayed, I can’t say that I have any sympathy for opponents of the Ashe statue. As a child, Ashe would not have even been allowed to visit this area of the city because of segregation, the lingering effect of the slavery on which the Confederacy was based. His statue there helps sanitize that long-lasting stain on the American fabric.
I’m just sorry that I visited Monument Avenue in the early ‘90s, before the Ashe statue went up. If I ever get down to Richmond again, I’ll make it a point to stop there to see what I missed.
Military heroes Lee, Jackson, and Stuart were honored with equestrian statues, which tower over the viewer not simply because the statue itself is larger than life or because it is on a pediment, but because of the horse on which its rider sits. In contrast, Ashe is elevated by example. The other statues are there because of force of arms; Ashe is there by force of will.
Ashe joins Lou Gehrig and Jackie Robinson among my trio of sports heroes. All three were highly intelligent, deeply committed to family, and brave in the face of adversity—and, unfortunately, all three died far too young (Gehrig at 38, Ashe at 49, Robinson at 53). True, Big Bill Tilden, Babe Ruth, and Michael Jordan might have achieved more in terms of statistics in their sports than my trio. But Gehrig and Robinson made a greater impact in the larger society, and Ashe’s influence extended outside to encompass the whole world.
I’m not even going to get into his accomplishments as a tennis player. Think of everything else he accomplished outside athletics—broadcasting (commentator for ABC Sports), writing (for Time, the Washington Post and Tennis Magazine), academe (a stint teaching about black Americans in sports led to his writing the first comprehensive history on this subject in 20 years, the three-volume A Hard Road to Glory), urban affairs (the Arthur Ashe Institute for Urban Health combats inadequate health care delivery to minorities), human rights activism (he battled apartheid in South Africa for more than 20 years), and medicine (he established the Arthur Ashe Foundation for the Defeat of AIDS—the disease that took his life because of a blood transfusion).
Maybe those who cherished their Confederate heroes had a point—maybe Ashe would have been at home with someone more committed to a different cause. Like civil rights for all.
Military heroes Lee, Jackson, and Stuart were honored with equestrian statues, which tower over the viewer not simply because the statue itself is larger than life or because it is on a pediment, but because of the horse on which its rider sits. In contrast, Ashe is elevated by example. The other statues are there because of force of arms; Ashe is there by force of will.
Ashe joins Lou Gehrig and Jackie Robinson among my trio of sports heroes. All three were highly intelligent, deeply committed to family, and brave in the face of adversity—and, unfortunately, all three died far too young (Gehrig at 38, Ashe at 49, Robinson at 53). True, Big Bill Tilden, Babe Ruth, and Michael Jordan might have achieved more in terms of statistics in their sports than my trio. But Gehrig and Robinson made a greater impact in the larger society, and Ashe’s influence extended outside to encompass the whole world.
I’m not even going to get into his accomplishments as a tennis player. Think of everything else he accomplished outside athletics—broadcasting (commentator for ABC Sports), writing (for Time, the Washington Post and Tennis Magazine), academe (a stint teaching about black Americans in sports led to his writing the first comprehensive history on this subject in 20 years, the three-volume A Hard Road to Glory), urban affairs (the Arthur Ashe Institute for Urban Health combats inadequate health care delivery to minorities), human rights activism (he battled apartheid in South Africa for more than 20 years), and medicine (he established the Arthur Ashe Foundation for the Defeat of AIDS—the disease that took his life because of a blood transfusion).
Maybe those who cherished their Confederate heroes had a point—maybe Ashe would have been at home with someone more committed to a different cause. Like civil rights for all.
Maybe Ashe would have been in more congenial company with someone like Ulysses S. Grant, who, as President, battled with all he had, against the political odds, to bring the Ku Klux Klan to heel as the South backed away from Reconstruction. I couldn’t help think of this connection when I learned that Ashe had completed his memoir, Days of Grace, only days before his death, just as Grant had finished his autobiography—generally considered the finest memoir ever produced by a President—just before his own demise.
With keen intelligence and quiet but unswerving determination, Ashe got the most out of himself so that he could make a difference to others. As well as anyone I can think of, he personifies what Rick Warren calls “the purpose-driven life.”
With keen intelligence and quiet but unswerving determination, Ashe got the most out of himself so that he could make a difference to others. As well as anyone I can think of, he personifies what Rick Warren calls “the purpose-driven life.”
Quote of the Day (Letterman, on Palin)
"Sarah Palin is an avid hunter. An avid hunter. A vice president who likes guns? Well, what could go wrong there?" --David Letterman
(As far as humor goes, we run a nonpartisan blog here—we’ll take our chuckles anywhere we can get them. Today, it’s the Republicans’ turn to be ribbed. Another day, it’ll be the Democrats. This particular aspect of Gov. Palin’s background presents, if you will, an irresistible target.
By the way, I heard last week a brief description about how “field-dressing a moose” is done. It sounds like what the Republicans want to do to the Democrats—and what the Democrats would like to do to the Republicans.)
(As far as humor goes, we run a nonpartisan blog here—we’ll take our chuckles anywhere we can get them. Today, it’s the Republicans’ turn to be ribbed. Another day, it’ll be the Democrats. This particular aspect of Gov. Palin’s background presents, if you will, an irresistible target.
By the way, I heard last week a brief description about how “field-dressing a moose” is done. It sounds like what the Republicans want to do to the Democrats—and what the Democrats would like to do to the Republicans.)
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