Photo by NMU Northwind
The call came in the early afternoon.
That very morning I had seen three—count 'em—three
rejection slips. This was the fifth year of my burgeoning playwriting
career and I still had not learned most of what I should have known
about the profession. (Before the Interwebs, you see.) Hence
rejections on plays that were still largely undeveloped.
So I was having a pity party and
whining about how this wasn't worth it, etc. Sad. Pathetic. Then the
phone rings.
Me: Yes?
Voice: Is this
Mr. George Sapio?
Me: Yes. (Oh
god, it's a bill collector.) Who is this?
Voice: My name
is James Panowski...
(Where do I
know that name from...?)
Dr. P: I'm very
pleased to inform you that your play, Ghosts, was selected as
the winner of the 2001 Mildred and Albert Panowski Award.
Me: (What?
Did I hear that right? I just got three rejection slips. Is this a
joke?) I'm sorry. Could you repeat that?
Dr. P: (Slightly
slower and with more enunciation) My name is James Panowski. Your
play, Ghosts, was selected as the winner of the 2001Mildred
and Albert Panowski Award.
(Two beats of
silence)
Me: Are you
shitting me?
Dr. P: (Holding
back a chuckle) No, Mr. Sapio. I am not. If you are willing, we'd
like to fly you up to Marquette, Michigan for a week to workshop your
play. There will be a staged reading which I will direct at the end
of the week. And you'll receive a full production in November, five
performances, at the Forest Roberts Theatre at Northern Michigan
University. All expenses paid for both trips, by the way.
Me: (Completely
gobsmacked. “Fly” me?) Um. Yes? Willing? Yes. Sure...
(I try to
find intelligent syllables to say but I'm cut off before I can damage
myself any further)
Dr. P:
Wonderful! We'll be in touch within the week. Expect an envelope in
the mail in a few days. It was a pleasure to meet you.
(Dr. P hangs
up. I stare at the phone)
ME: (Thinking:
Production? Which university? Michigan? Bob Roberts Theatre?
Wait...Did he say ALL EXPENSES PAID?)
(Then, after
a few seconds: What the hell is “workshopping”?)
And with that phone call, Dr. P
almost single-handedly saved me from abandoning my playwriting
career. For better or worse.
At that date, the Mildred and Albert
Panowski Playwriting Award had already celebrated twenty winning
plays. Mine was number 21. My wife, Maura, and I were met at the
airport by Dr. P himself. We found him to be businesslike, but
outgoing, genial, and generous to a fault. We were housed in a nice
hotel room (and an apartment later that November!), given a car for
the week, and had much of our board covered. All supernova material
in the eyes of a neophyte dramatist like myself. But the best gift
was yet to come: Workshopping.
I had absolutely no idea what I was
in for. The word had been mentioned, but I never thought about it
much. I'd idly figured that it would be a tweak here and there, with
much of the process dealing with production values. You know,
production stuff and all that.
I walked into the rehearsal room to
find the entire cast assembled. There was an extra participant: Doug
Hill, a playwright serving as the dramaturg for this production. (I
had no idea what the hell a dramaturg was, but I shook his hand
anyway.)
I was greeted warmly by all. And then
we all sat down at the table and the process started.
What a week. I had no idea they were
going to actually ask me to consider things about the play. I
thought, “Well, it won, right? So it must be perfect.” But they
did. I had a day or so of consternation; I never knew this kind of
thing happened. But Maura, who is in many ways smarter than I am,
counseled me to stay with it and see what happened. Best advice ever.
By the time the week was over, I felt
like the next Broadway-bound playwright. I had a much better play. I
had done a huge amount of rewriting—not because I was asked to or
told that I should, but because these professionals were adept at
their craft. They pointed out things here and there that I “should
think about.” One of those things kept me up till 4:00 a.m.
rewriting, but it turned a so-so scene into my favorite scene of the
play--and one of my favorite scenes ever.
Dr. P's knowledge of theatre and
Broadway was prodigious. He knew every Broadway show. He knew
who starred in them. (He knew who should not have starred in them as
well.) He knew the hits and the flops. He knew how long they ran,
which theatre they played in, and details upon details. He had
attended every Tony Award ceremony for years. He spent months
collecting tales of Broadway trivia from theatre doormen all over the
district. (I do hope these are recorded somewhere.) He spent hours
regaling us with stories of Broadway, of actors and directors, of
successes and misses. I knew little of what he was saying, but I
loved listening to his tales. His passion for “the life” was
unquenchable. (I also realized that he wasn't that good with names.
He had a tendency to call everyone, “Poopsie”: “Go ask Poopsie
over there”; “Poopsie will take care of it.”)
Dr. P was a lucky man, and he knew
it. Adopted into a loving family and encouraged to be who he needed
to be, he believed it was his mission to pass his good fortune on to
others. Every student who came under his tutelage and every lucky
winner of the Panowski Award were the beneficiaries of his kindness
and endless knowledge. I was a nobody from nowhere, but Dr. P made me
feel like a celebrity.
He also made me realize that if I
wanted to succeed as a playwright I had to become a viable working
artist as well. He asked me to serve as dramaturg for two later
Panowski winners. Once again he'd done me a favor by putting me in a
highly beneficial learning experience. It was an honor to serve as an
important part of the workshop process and it made me think as a
dramaturg should, critically, honestly, and with care and
consideration for another's work. It was a job I loved—and still
do. When an opening came up for a playwriting teacher at Northern
Michigan University, Dr. P sought me out and encouraged me to apply.
It was only my lack of a Ph. D. (we later learned) that kept me from
the position.
My how-to book, Workshopping the
New Play: A Guide for Playwrights, Directors, and Dramaturgs,
would most likely never have happened without Dr. P's influence.
Workshopping is a process that not every playwright values. And
that's fine. But I believe it helps playwrights step back and look at
their work critically. And that helps the play.
Of course, I dedicated the book to
Dr. James Panowski. Without his gifts, my theatre career would not
have been as rich. Dr. P was one of life's true shining stars. His
generosity and love for our profession were gifts to all who knew
him. He will be sorely missed; we were all very lucky to have had him
with us for a time.
