LIMERANCES
Zac June 7th, 2009
“And thereby hangs a tale.”
My Academy Awards Story
February 27th, 2012It happened over twelve years ago. I remember it was a Sunday afternoon. I was working in my stuffy little office in the bowels of Wescoe Hall at the University of Kansas. No one else was around, so I left open the door to 1070 Wescoe even though it doesn’t help to increase the air circulation nor to decrease the claustrophobia. The building is locked on weekends, accessible only to those who have keys to the pearly gates, and who are foolish enough to work even on God’s own day of rest.
Imagine my surprise, therefore, when, out of the corner of my eye, I espied a stranger scurrying along the corridor outside my office. This he did, not once or twice, but three times. He was tall and gangly, scruffy-looking, perhaps in his late 30s or early 40s, perhaps a disgruntled former student who has come back to wreck havoc and seek vengeance.
Summoning what little courage I had, I stepped out of my office, and saw the intruder peering intently at the sundry newpaper items and cartoons tacked on the door of the office next to mine. ”Excuse me,” I mumbled, “can I help you?”
“Just waiting for Jack,” he replied vaguely. He was referring to Jack Healy, the affable Graduate Teaching Assistant who had the office next to mine. But Jack’s name was on the door for anyone to see, so that was no proof that the guy actually knew Jack.
“Oh? It’s Sunday afternoon. Do you have an appointment?”
“Jack said he would meet me here.”
“The building is locked. How did you get in?”
“The side entrance by the dumpsters is open. Someone has propped the door open.”
“We’re not supposed to do that.”
“Well, someone did. Maybe Jack was here earlier and propped it open for me.”
“Would you like to come into my office while you’re waiting? We can try calling Jack at home, to see if he’s on his way here.”
He came in as I looked up Jack’s number and dialed. No answer. Awkward silence. He was quietly surveying the odd knickknacks I had in my office.
“How do you know Jack?”
“We were in school together, in Nebraska.”
“Oh? And what brings you to Lawrence?
“I’m looking for locations for a movie I’m making. Jack said he would help.”
“Really? What sort of locations?”
“Fraternity houses.”
“Hmmm.” Another awkward silence. ”So, you make movies?”
“Yes, I’m a director.”
Then, skeptically. ”Might I have seen anything you’ve directed?”
“Citizen Ruth was at Sundance in ’96, and Election came out in ’99.”
“You made Election?” I was genuinely astonished.
He nods.
“Are you Alexander Payne?”
Again, he nods.
I start to gush. ”Election is one of my favorite movies! You know how Reese Witherspoon scrunches up her little face when she’s deviously plotting her next move? That’s exactly the same look my dog Mykee gives me whenever she decides she’s really alpha and I’m omega.”
He smiles.
“Oh. And you know that scene where the jock says his prayers before he goes to bed?”
I paraphrase the line, laughing hysterically: ”And thank you, God, for giving me what, I’ve been told by all the girls, is a large penis.”
He smiles again. “Chris Klein is a very funny actor. He’s like that, too, in real life.”
It’s all very convivial now. ”So, you’re looking for fraternity houses for your next movie? What’s it called? What’s it about?”
Before he could answer, Jack Healy arrived, and off they went, to look at fraternity houses at the University of Kansas in Lawrence. As it turned out, the movie was About Schmidt (2002), with Jack Nicholson. But Alexander Payne did not use any of the fraternity houses Jack showed him that day in Lawrence, choosing instead to go with the ones he was already familiar with, in his hometown in Omaha, Nebraska.
I have, since then, followed Alexander Payne’s Hollywood career with personal interest. Although Election was nominated for an Oscar for Best Adapted Screenplay in 1999, it didn’t win that year. But, all the awards would come shortly thereafter. About Schmidt won the Golden Globe for Best Adapted Screenplay in 2002; Sideways would win his first Oscar for Best Adapted Screenplay in 2004; and, no surprise to me, The Descendants gave him his second Oscar for Best Adapted Screenplay in 2012.
I left my office in the bowels of Wescoe a long time ago, finally moving up in the world, to the third floor of the same building, where the offices turned out to be equally airless and claustrophobic, but that’s no longer any concern of mine because I retired two years ago.
A recent email from Jack Healy indicates that he, too, is moving up in the world. After having been Associate Dean of the College of Liberal Arts & Sciences at Central Methodist University in Fayette, Missouri, he will now be the Dean of the College of Humanities, Arts & Social Sciences at the University of the Incarnate Word in San Antonio, Texas.
As for my dog Mykee, she is now nearly fifteen years old, is severely deaf and arthritic, has not responded well to her second major surgery for cancer and her extensive chemo treatments, has now lost almost all her fur, and shivers pathetically in her nakedness every time I take her out to do her business. Interestingly enough, she still has a mind of her own, still scrunches up her little face whenever I catch her doing something naughty, but she no longer looks like Reese Witherspoon in Election. If anything, these days she looks more like Jessica Tandy in Driving Miss Daisy. I dread the day when I have to drive her to the vet one last time.
But…onward and upward with Alexander Payne. At age 51, he is still remarkably trim, and there is nothing scruffy about him. He is graying nicely, and looks very distinguished indeed in his tux as he shows up at the Golden Globes and the Academy Awards to collect his various awards. Needless to say, I’m a fan, and I’m looking forward to seeing the next one, and the next one, and the next one.
My Harlan Ellison Story
October 20th, 2011(This is the first in a series of entries about visiting writers I’ve encountered at the University of Kansas back in the 1970s, when I was working on my M.A. in English, and was still quite undecided about what to do with the rest of my life, whether to pursue an uncertain future as a writer, or maybe a more traditional career as a teacher engaged in academic research and scholarship.)
Although I had read a great many science fiction novels when I was still in high school in Manila, I did not encounter the work of James Gunn until years later, when I was a student in the English Department at the University of Kansas, where Gunn was actually one of two faculty members who taught creative writing (the other one was Edgar Wolfe). I quickly read most of Gunn’s books, which he preferred to call “speculative fiction” instead of “science fiction.” And, to this day, one of my favorite novels is Kampus, his Kafkaesque novel about what campus unrest would be like in the near future, a novel which I also taught regularly in a class about depictions of life in academia, alongside other, more canonical works like Hard Times by Charles Dickens, Beneath the Wheel by Hermann Hesse, Lucky Jim by Kingsley Amis, Changing Places by David Lodge, etc.
Living amongst many colleagues who were Doubting Thomases, disdainful of anything which smacked of genre writing, in which science fiction was held with the same disregard as historical romances, James Gunn tried his best to bring some respect and legitimacy to the world of speculative fiction. To that end, he brought to the campus some of the hot, young writers who were making names for themselves not just in books, but in the movies as well.
One of the hot, young writers Gunn brought to KU was Harlan Ellison, whose apocalyptic short story “A Boy and His Dog” had just been made into a movie, an underground hit, a cult favorite among the hip and the restless. I was lucky to get a seat in the classroom where Ellison was giving a lecture. When he strode into the room energetically, for some reason I thought he looked like a younger Groucho Marx, minus the hat, the glasses, the moustache, the cigar. Maybe it was just his grin, the gleam in his eye, the promise of unpredictability.
Actually, I don’t remember much about what Harlan Ellison said that day, in the formal part of his presentation. What I remember is what happened afterwards, during the Q&A, when one of undergraduate creative writing majors raised his hand and asked the inevitable question, “Mr. Ellison, can you give us some advice on how to get our stories published?”
“That’s simple,” Ellison smiled. “Where would you like to get published?”
“I don’t know,” the acolyte fidgeted uncomfortably in his seat. ”Maybe Playboy…or Esquire…or The New Yorker.”
“Well, it makes no difference where you want to get published,” Ellison grinned. “All you need to do is go buy some recent issues of your magazine of choice, read all the stories that are published in them, then sit down and write one just like them.”
“Are you serious?”
“It’s the same editor who has been deciding what stories to publish in the magazine.. Those are the kind of stories he likes. So sit down and write one just like the ones he likes, and chances are he’ll like yours, too. That’s how you’ll get published, sonny.”
“B-b-b-but…isn’t that like…selling out?”
“You didn’t ask me about artistic integrity,” he grinned again, his eyes gleaming. “You asked me for advice on how to get your story published.”
There was dead silence in the room. The students felt betrayed. Now they have to look elsewhere for another Moses to lead them out of the wilderness of creative writing classes. To this day, one hears the same arguments being tossed around by MFA students—Isn’t this writer too commercial? Hasn’t that writer sold out? Aren’t we all just better off writing things which we can admire and discuss endlessly in our workshops, never mind if our stories never get published in any magazine anyone recognizes?
But, back to Harlan Ellison. I thought it then, and I think it now. He told it like it is, and for that I admire him. He’s been laughing all the way to the bank, right from the very beginning, when he was writing for such TV shows as The Loretta Young Show, Ripcord, Burke’s Law, Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea, The Outer Limits, The Alfred Hitchcock Hour, The Man from U.N.C.L.E., Star Trek, The Flying Nun, etc. And now, it’s my understanding that, after nearly four decades of being an underground cult favorite, A Boy and His Dog is finally going big-time. It’s in pre-production, being remade as an animated feature, due out in major theaters in 2012.
Quite fortuitously, James Gunn is also still around. Although he retired many years ago, Gunn still shows up daily in his English Department office in Wescoe Hall at the University of Kansas, as hale and hearty as one can expect for a gentleman his age. Maybe it’s time Gunn invites Harlan Ellison back for another campus visit, once more to share his craft and craftiness with our MFA students.
Friends Without Benefits
October 2nd, 2011Every week, I am pleasantly surprised and filled with inexplicable nostalgia when FACEBOOK sends me a message reminding me of upcoming birthdays of friends, many of whom I haven’t seen or heard from in years. Usually, because it costs nothing to do it, I send these aging friends an e-greeting of one sort or another; and I don’t really expect them to respond because, even though these e-greetings are often fun and clever, they also seem like a lazy way to maintain friendships which now mostly belong in the past.
But, occasionally, FACEBOOK reminds me of birthdays of friends who are still near and dear to me, even though I don’t see them as often as I should or would like to. For these friends, I do go out of my way to do something special. Most recently, to someone who has worked closely with me in theatre, at a surprise party being thrown for his 40th birthday, I contributed 40 specialty cupcakes, and also gifted him with all three seasons of BREAKING BAD. Before that, to another friend and colleague in theatre whom I’ve known since 1975, whose wit and wisdom I continue to admire, I surprised him with a bottle of imported Scotch whiskey costing nearly $150, and also took him out to a nice Japanese lunch in Kansas City.
I could list more, but the point I’m trying to make is this—in none of these occasions, when I had gone out of my way to do something special for a friend’s birthday, did I get a follow-up “Thank You” by way of a phone call, a note, or even just an e-mail. So, if our friends and neighbors just don’t do it anymore, why should we expect our elected leaders, the contentious Republicans and Democrats in Congress, to even be civil to one another?
Okay, I admit that I continue to look at the incoming FACEBOOK messages about friends with upcoming birthdays, even though I now also delete them almost immediately. I don’t feel badly about this, because I do not want to feel worse later, about feeling badly that I haven’t been thanked properly for having gone out of my way to buy expensive gifts for these once and future friends, my friends without benefits.
I wonder if it’s significant that, even when I was young, one of my favorite songs was “I Am a Rock” by Simon and Garfunkel. I still remember some of the lyrics—
I’ve built walls,
A fortress deep and mighty,
That none may penetrate.
I have no need of friendship; friendship causes pain.
It’s laughter and it’s loving I disdain.
I am a rock,
I am an island.
I have my books
And my poetry to protect me;
I am shielded in my armor,
Hiding in my room, safe within my womb.
I touch no one and no one touches me.
I am a rock,
I am an island.
And a rock feels no pain;
And an island never cries.
I also wonder if Paul Simon ever misses Art Garfunkel. Are they “friends” on FACEBOOK? Do they need FACEBOOK to send them reminders of each other’s birthdays, or have they committed the dates to memory? Do they give each other gifts, send each other cards via snail-mail, perhaps even just short notes via e-mail? Can they bear to listen to “The Sound of Silence” now?
Okay, okay. I confess. I’m lying. I’m eagerly anticipating the next FACEBOOK reminder about which friend is having another birthday…and the next one…and the next one. And now, not just for birthdays either. I wish there were some way FACEBOOK could also alert us regularly about friends who’ve been sick, at home or in the hospital…friends who’ve lost loved ones, including pets…friends who’ve lost their jobs or their homes…friends who need friends.
Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary…
September 14th, 2011Through the years, I’ve had a strange love/hate relationship with Mary Doveton, the Founding Mother and Executive Director of Theatre Lawrence, formerly the Lawrence Community Theatre. Mary directed the world premiere of my play Flesh, Flash and Frank Harris (1984); and encouraged me to direct three others of my own at LCT—Hatchet Club (1983), Chambers (1985), Lee and the Boys in the Back Room (1987).
Additionally, through the years, I’ve directed many other plays at LCT, frequently as co-productions with English Alternative Theatre (EAT), my own theatre-producing organization within the English Department at the University of Kansas. Among these productions are Master Class by David Pownall (1986), Master Harold and the Boys by Athol Fugard (1989), Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? by Edward Albee (1998), A Raisin in the Sun by Lorraine Hansberry (2000).
Many stories can be told about each one of these productions, some funny, some not so funny, but nothing to seriously damage my friendship and working relationship with Mary Doveton. And then something happened during the production of Whiteout, a new play by my student Alan Newton which Piet Knetsch was directing for EAT in the LCT space in October of 2000. I am not yet ready to share with everyone the awful details of what happened at that time. But then, in 2007, along came someone out of the blue who inadvertently “buried the hatchet” once and for all, although not in the usual sense one uses this phrase, as to where the hatchet is buried.
In June and July of 2007, Zack Mannheimer, an enterprising young director who had grown weary of the theatre scene in New York, decided to undertake “A Survey of the American Theatre Landscape” by embarking on a remarkable journey which takes him from Pittsburgh, PA to Raleigh, NC, with 25 stops in between, to see if there is a hospitable city where he can locate his own theatre company. He started a daily blog (http://www.zacksblog.subjectivetheatre.org) which you can read in its entirety, or you can skip ahead to what he says about Day 49 of his odyssey, in Lawrence. I’m reproducing below, the more salient passages of his account of the separate interviews he had with Mary Doveton and myself, in our respective offices.
Post 49—Day 49: Thr 7/19/2007—Lawrence
After a shower at…Jay Hawk Motel…I leave to attend my first appointment with Mary Doveton, the Executive Director of The Lawrence Community Theatre (www.theatrelawrence.com). Housed in an old church, the theatre is one block out of the heart of downtown on New Hampshire Street….
I am led downstairs to the offices by the receptionist who brings me into the green room. Mary is busy speaking to another employee. Behind me sits a large-scale model for a new theatre, and I find out later that this larger space will be opening in 2009.
….Mary brings me into her book-lined office and we sit down. “I’m sorry, we only have a few minutes, I do have another appointment coming shortly.” Mary sits before me, a strong-willed woman of about 55 who, despite her stern look, is as sweet as Moscato….We begin with the usual round of questions, and Mary answers: “This is our 31st season. We bought this space in 1984. Before that we were operating out of community centers or wherever we could find space.”
LCT has an operating budget of $325,000 of which 65% is earned through ticket prices of $14-$20. They do receive some assistance from granting organizations, but the other 35% is made up mostly through private donations and corporate sponsorship. “There isn’t much, we get about $8,000 from the Kansas Arts Commission,” Mary tells me after I ask her about state/city funding. “There isn’t a lot of public funding in Kansas.”
LCT produces 6 shows per year, recently closing Thoroughly Modern Millie to sold out houses….Mary explains that they try to produce cutting edge work, but the same people always come to that; there does not tend to be an overlap of those who come for campy musicals to something like the latest Shanley play. “Mysteries and musicals bring in the money, and that’s what we need right now.”
…..Her next appointment, who was running late, has now arrived. Before I leave I tell her about my quest to find a new city (to settle in). “Do not come here,” she warns me pointedly. “There’s just not enough room for another group.”
Mary asks me where I’m headed next. “Off to English Alternative Theatre to meet with Paul Lim,” I say. She makes a face. Not a pleasant one. “What?” “O, nothing. Enjoy your talk with Paul.”
And with that, I’m on the road across town to the University where Paul is a professor. It seems, as I am gauging from Mary’s comment, that the theatre community here knows each other, but that doesn’t necessarily mean they like each other.
I’m on the phone with Paul as I cannot seem to find the building he is talking about. “I’m in a black shirt standing in a spot for you as there isn’t a lot of parking,” he says. I arrive almost 30 minutes late to meet him, after driving repeatedly in the wrong direction down dead end streets….
“Hello!” Paul greets me as I finally pull into my reserved spot. “I’m so sorry, I got lost.” “Don’t worry. Come, let’s go to my office.” I follow Paul into Wescoe Hall for the Humanities. Paul is a lively, happy man of about 60. Originally from the Philippines, he wound up in Lawrence at KU for college, receiving his BA in 1969, his MA and becoming a GTA in 1972, a lecturer in 1978 and was granted full professorship in 1989. He is the Chancellor’s Club Teaching Professor of Playwriting in the English Department. Not the Theatre Department. Don’t mess that up.
Paul brings me into his small office jampacked with books, posters of old productions, and endless knick-knacks. I sit down beside his desk and we begin. I have so many questions for him about his company, English Alternative Theatre (www.eat.ku.edu), and its affiliation with the university. “EAT is the only theatre company in the country run through the English department,” he tells me….
“Since you’ve been in Lawrence for quite some time, how has it changed?” “People used to be more adventurous,” he begins, “but that time seems to have passed. There is not a great deal of risk-taking now when it comes to theatre. Lawrence Community Theatre used to take a lot of risks, but that’s not what pays the bills anymore. Still, there is a small handful of people in the community who actually miss what they used to do.”
EAT has an annual budget of $15,000 – $20,000. Most artists are not paid, as it is almost uniformly student driven, though the designers, technicians and stage managers he brings in are given a stipend. “I don’t like them to do work for free,” Paul says. “Does the university provide the funding?” He laughs. “We have one angel who gives us money—it’s been the same person since our inception; we founded the group together.”"Who is this?” I ask curiously. Paul hands me a copy of Angels in the American Theater. Apparently, Southern Illinois University Press, who tends to publish all the important theatrical essay books, has just put out a book about theatrical donors in America, and there is an entire article devoted to EAT’s one Angel, Grant K. Goodman. Goodman has an amazing story…there’s not enough room here to go into it, but the long and short of it is that he has always had a lifetime devotion to and love of theatre. Each year he gives EAT the full budget for the season. Paul has never run a fundraiser and has never received a grant, though they are a not-for-profit.
Angels in American Theater is an important book. Never, to my knowledge, has a book been written about the donors of American theatre. This is vital as there would be no theatre without these generous folk. For better or worse, these are the first line of defense when it comes to creating theatre in this country. While I typically abhor the wealthy paying for the art that they want, this book does not only profile the typical Broadway donors. There’s a whole chapter on EAT in Lawrence, Kansas, for god sakes. Robert A. Schanke is the editor and the brainchild behind this operation. He has edited and/or written a virtual catalog of books on American Theatre, this one being part of the Theater in the Americas series that he edits….
But back to Paul, talking about who performs in his shows “The actors come from the community and the student body. I get a lot of the disenchanted theatre students, the ones who just fall through the cracks but are talented and want to perform.” He says this rather jollily, his round face bobbing along with his words, kindness and warmth emanating from the wide hands he speaks with. “We’ve sent about 20 students to various regional festivals of the Kennedy Center American College Theatre Festival…and we’ve had 5 or 6 go on to win on the national level.”
“It’s all about the students,” Paul reflects.
This was such a wonderful meeting, and it was warming to be back inside a university. For all of my dislike of what some of them do, I do miss the feeling of being inside academia. I bid farewell to Paul, and am off to The Pig downtown to continue on with my writing.
I don’t know what’s happened to Zack Mannheimer, and whether he ever actually relocated to any of the cities he visited and wrote about back in 2007. But, it has now been nearly twelve years since I’ve stepped foot inside 1501 New Hampshire.
And now, of course, Mary Doveton is in the final stages of raising $6.2 million to build a new home for her newly-named Theatre Lawrence at 6th and Wakarusa, at the western edge of Lawrence, far away from the heart of the community. Last I heard, as of a couple of weeks ago, she was still around $600,000 short of her goal. She needs to raise the amount before the end of September, or she’ll lose a $1.2 million out-of-state challenge grant, and that will be the end of that.
Thankfully, on September 6, Lawrence city commissioners approved giving Theatre Lawrence $100,000 ($20,000 a year for the next five years). A week later, on September 13, representatives from Theatre Lawrence asked Douglas County commissioners to do the same, to give the organization another $100,000 (also $20,000 a year for the next five years).
In its editorial on September 14, The Lawrence Journal-World wrote:
“After making a successful funding pitch to the Lawrence City Commission last week, representatives of Theatre Lawrence, the former Lawrence Community Theatre, have decided to extend their tour with a stop at the Douglas County Commission…to ask county officials to make a similar commitment….To many local taxpayers, this seems like a double-dip….The theater received a generous contribution last week in the form of $100,000 in city taxpayer money. The decision now to ask the county to match that amount may be over-reaching. A large majority of county residents already will be contributing to the fund through the city’s contribution. Should they be asked to give again through the county?
“Theatre Lawrence says it needs the money to reach its $6.2 million fundraising goal by the end of this month and collect a $1 million out-of-state challenge grant. We hope they are successful in meeting their goal, but, especially at a time when local government dollars are in such high demand to fund essential services, the city’s contribution of local tax dollars may be enough.”
Needless to say, I’ve been thinking about Mary Doveton a great deal these past couple of weeks. And I’ve just reread what Zack Mannheimer had to say about Mary when he mentioned my name. What I’m wondering now, of course, is whether or not to bury the hatchet, this time in the usual sense of the phrase, by giving Theatre Lawrence a bunch of money before the end of September. If I do so, maybe Mary will no longer make a face, an unpleasant one, the next time my name is brought up in casual conversation.
Mary, Mary, quite contrary,
How does your garden grow?
With silver bells and cockle-shells,
And pretty maids all in a row.
Farewell, My Lovelies…
May 10th, 2011On the afternoon of 9 May 2011, the English Department of the University of Kansas gave a festive “milestones celebration” in the North Gallery of the Spencer Research Library for three of its new retirees, presided by Chair Marta Caminero-Santangelo, and organized by Administrative Assistant Robert Elliott. The retirees (Mike Johnson, Jim Hartman and I) were expected to say a few words. Here’s what I prepared for the occasion.
Many, if not most, of the people here know me as, until recently, the one and only person who has been teaching playwriting in the English Department since 1989, the same year I founded English Alternative Theatre to nurture, develop and produce the plays being written by my students. But, my history with the department goes all the way back to spring of 1969, and not many people here know how I came to be at KU, so I thought I might share the story with everyone present.
These days, if I am filled with feelings I cannot begin to describe when I’m watching the hit television series MAD MEN, it’s because I lived through the same exciting period in the 1960s as an advertising copywriter for J. Walter Thompson in the Philippines. Many of the ad campaigns that I worked on had won various industry awards, and my colleagues in Manila thought I was “good enough” to make it on Madison Avenue in New York.
Thus, travelling on just a tourist visa, I left for the United States with my hefty portfolio in June of 1968. To my disappointment, after they looked at my portfolio, the people at J. Walter Thompson in New York said that, ironically, I had too much experience. They were only interested in hiring cheaper, beginning copywriters. They suggested I try my luck with employment agencies, which I did, and they in turn told me that I could lie about my experience and start at $18,000 a year, or else I could sit and wait for a $30,000 job to open up at one of the ad agencies in the city. Not wanting to sell myself short, I chose to wait.
Day after day, I sat by the telephone, waiting. Nothing. Six months went by, and I began to worry, because my tourist visa was running out. I had only two options. I could be deported as an illegal alien, returning to Manila with that damned portfolio, my tail between my legs, or I could exchange my tourist visa for a student visa. And then I remembered that, back in 1964, I had met a peripatetic historian from the University of Kansas, who had been in the Philippines first as a soldier during World War II, then as a Fulbright scholar, then as a frequent visitor in the course of his academic research. Although I did not have any of my college transcripts from Manila with me, I turned to Grant Goodman to convince the registrar at KU to accept me as a foreign student. And, believe it or not, that’s how I ended up in Lawrence, Kansas.
As a side note, two weeks before I left the East Coast for the Midwest, the telephone finally rang, not once, but twice, with lucrative job offers from The Wall Street Journal and from Alka-Seltzer, both of whom were starting their own in-house agencies, and they were interested in someone with my background and qualifications.
Too late.
I had dropped out of school after two years of college in Manila because I was bored with my teachers, but now I felt I was ready to reenter the groves of academe. Had I gone to work for either The Wall Street Journal or Alka-Seltzer in New York, I would not have had the joy of studying with, among many others, Ed Wolfe, Ed Ruhe, Ed Grier, Paul Kendall, John Bush Jones, Jack Oruch, Max Sutton, Hal Orel, Beverly Boyd, George Worth and Jim Hartman. I would not have formed lasting personal friendships with, among others, such wonderful colleagues in the department as Carolyn Doty, Bud Hirsch, Mary Davidson, Mary Catherine Davidson, Jim Carothers, David Bergeron, Geraldo Sousa, Amy Devitt, Dick Hardin, Bill Scott, Bob and Dorice Elliott, Marta Caminero-Santangelo, Brian Daldorph and Phil Wedge.
When Grant Goodman himself retired from the History Department 22 years ago, he let it be known that he did not want to be presented with an autographed 8 x 10 glossy of then-KU Vice-Chancellor for Academic Affairs Judith Ramaley, a position which, incidentally, no longer exists in Strong Hall. I’ve never met our new Provost, so I don’t think there’s any danger of my receiving an autographed 8 x 10 glossy from him. Truthfully, I am quite happy with all the pictures in my mind’s eye, of everyone I’ve named, of everyone here today, to say nothing of all the wonderful student playwrights, actors and designers I’ve been fortunate to work with through English Alternative Theatre, to remind me that the journey has been worthwhile. Indeed, it has all been more than worthwhile.
These days, given the economy, I’m thankful I never got into the habit of reading The Wall Street Journal, so there is no reason for me to imbibe the “plop plop, fizz fizz” of an Alka-Seltzer. Actually, I’ve never in my life ever had an Alka-Seltzer, not even the mornings after the nights of heavy drinking after some of our more memorable and sometimes even deplorable departmental meetings. I hope I live long enough to tell all the steamy stories on my website at paulstephenlim.com.
Thank you for the memories, one and all, everyone. A special thank you, too, to all my friends and colleagues who have given so generously to the KU Endowment Association for the annual Paul Stephen Lim Asian-American Playwriting Award which has been established by the Kennedy Center American College Theatre Festival.
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- Comments(17)
Congratulations Paul…am very glad to hear the story of your journey to Kansas. You leave behind a huge legacy. Am glad to have been afforded the opportunity to cross paths with you. Enjoy your “retirement.”
Paul:
An excellent farewell speech.
Although not a KU person, I do go back to 1969 when you first came to Lawrence….as I recall meeting you on my first visit to Grant’s during that spring/summer when you were staying with him. And now it’s 42 years later. Boy, do I feel old.
Best wishes for adventure and excitement during your retirement years.
Mervyn
Congratulations, Paul, and thank you for sharing that speech and your journey. Thank you also, for all the people outside of KU whose lives you’ve touched, mine among them. We are blessed…
One journey down and another starting. I can’t wait to hear what will come in the new journey of life that you are now in.
We’ve been too busy lately and I have to excuse myself from not contacting you but I will, I promise when we return from NYC June 30. Take care of yourself in the meantime.
Ione
Alka-Seltzer might help with a memoir in “flux.”
Or whenever I try “stream of consciousness.”
Paul,
I think it was Grant who shared your farewell speech with me. Thank you to him for doing so, and to you for giving us the story of your journey to KU. !964 was the year I too met Grant for the first time, at a venue in Tokyo; and in 1971, through his introduction, I came to KU, to try to learn to teach and to finish my dissertation. (I did both, but the latter took a year or two longer than it should have.)
You were there then, too, and I remember happy lunches and dinners and a few soulful talks.
Like you, I have just retired from teaching, and plan to devote the rest of my life to literary translation and to personal writing. Re the latter, I may very well be in touch with you for tips — Yoroshiku, as we say here.
You have had a splendid career at KU, and have been a good friend to many, many people there, and especially, of course, to Grant. Best wishes to you for the future, and God bless.
Paul McC. May 11 Shinjuku, Tokyo, Japan
Enjoyed your story, Paul. All good things must end, but your departure is the worst thing to happen to our department in recent memory. Dick
That is a wonderful story. I had an opportunity to say hi the other day when I saw your truck parked outside of Murphy Hall. Unfortunatey you were in a meeting and I didn’t want to interrupt. Your gift to me personally has been one that I will cherish forever. I hope at some time in the future I can tell you some of my story so that you will better realize the impact you have made on my life. I know I’m only one of many. Thank You so very much Paul for allowing me to participate in the KCACTF. I will keep you in my thoughts forever. Brian Blevins
A compliment from someone who is about to retire from academic life too: a nice speech. As a person whose native language is Dutch, I now rush to the dictionary to look up the word peripatetic. I know what Alka-Seltzer is supposed to do to a person, although it is not available in the Netherlands, perhaps because the Wall Street Jorunal is not read here that often. Fortunately, authority figures of the universities here do not hand out autographed pictures of themselves.
Congratulations Paul !
Im sure where ever your new path leads,
magic will soon follow!
Best
Phillip Schroeder
Paul! I wonder if you know what an impact you have made on me, personally. I will always treasure our “dates.” Can’t wait to hear what your next chapter will include. xo, Beate
Paul, we spent so much time in conversation together in the late 1970s. (I wonder if I was as quiet then as I am now. Probably not.) And I still recall our first meeting: it was at a rehearsal of Earnest in September 1977. During a break you came up to me and said “I don’t think an Englishman would stride into the room with as much energy as you do.” Do you remember that? Comments such as that were tremendously helpful to this greenhorn.
And to think that much of what, I take, you consider your most valuable work was begun in 1989 with EAT, almost 10 years after I left town, and more than 20 years before this moment! Ah Time, she flitteth overhead with mocking wings.
I hope your new career lasts another 50 years at least.
c
This is a wonderful story, from a wonderful storyteller. Thanks for sharing this chapter with all of your former students, colleagues, friends and your legion of admirers. And thanks for all the great EAT memories, Paul, and for a friendship I relish. Best always,
Harry Parker
What a story! Thanks for filling in the blank of those early years for so many of us who came later. Appreciate the EAT years even more, and how lucky for us that the offers from Wall Street Journal and Alka-Seltzer came ‘too late.”
Congratulations again Paul. Enjoy your retirement.
Folabo.
thank you Paul, for your career, as well as your memories and astute observations. Thank you also for enabling me to be a very small part of the EAT experience, from which I most especially hold on to the memories of the production of Bent, a highlight for me and perhaps for others as well.
Piet Knetsch
Dear Paul:
Wonderful! Thank you for sharing.
Now I hope you will get into some of the steamy stuff you promised us. (Big grin!)