Adventures in Storytelling (Newsletter #1)

This is the first issue of the Outloud Newsletter, featuring an article and accompanying monologue by Rob McCabe.

The Journey of Self-Discovery: Creating Peter and David, a Love Story.

Following my performance at The Michigan Storytellers Festival in Flint, Michigan, I had a brief talk with Milbre Burch, who was at the same festival as one of the nationally recognized professional storytellers. I was pleased and excited that she had sat through my performance and thanked her for her kind words. It was then that she told me that she and Antonio Rocha offered an annual storytelling and movement workshop in Paris, Maine at the Celebration Barn. She told me that I would benefit from the experience of working with her and Antonio and that she looked forward to seeing me later that summer. I was excited and nervous and when I arrived at the airport in Maine, I was thinking about the type of story I would develop for the final student performance following the workshops.
 
One idea which had come upon me and would not leave, was a story concerning the relationship between a Holocaust survivor and a young man who befriends him. I had not written down the story and it was just a vague idea to begin with. The Holocaust survivor, however, was going to be a survivor who had been imprisoned for being a homosexual. Most people, I thought, didn't know about the persecution of homosexuals in the camps, despite plays and movies like Bent, which focused on the atrocities performed on men who loved other men. The story, as I originally performed it before my fellow students, was told as a personal story, even though I never told anyone that it was true. Following the initial performance, Milbre told me how moved she was.

When she and the other people in the group discovered that it was a piece of fiction, I thought they were going to tar and feather me. I had betrayed and manipulated my audience. I was very upset.
But then, someone in the group had an idea. What if I made the story as a monolog of the survivor speaking to the young man as if the audience were the young man? I thought about it and decided that the story needed new vitality if it was going to be done at all.

For the next week I worked diligently on developing the character and creating a story which spoke about love and loss and the horrors of the Holocaust and how it impacted on the lives of my character, his friends and his lost lover who had been arrested and never seen again.
   Peter and David: A Love Story, was the result of that week of movement and story development. But on the day of performance, I had cold feet. I wanted to change the story I was working on and do something which was "safe." An hour before the performance, Milbre and Antonio both approached me and said that they were really disappointed that I wasn't going to be doing the piece I had worked on so long and hard. Following a few minutes' discussion with them and a few of my fellow students who encouraged me, I decided to do it. Following the intermission, a storyteller was just finishing up her story when a wave of panic swept over me. I was terrified. Then, one of the students who had listened to my story and been moved, said, "It's a great piece. Go out there and show 'em what you're made of!!!" I swallowed and went out to setup my set piece in the darkness and went back offstage to wait for the lights to come on.
 
The memory of that performance is somewhat blurred because I was so in my character that even though I was aware of the audience, I had transcended my body and let the old man, Peter tell his story. When I finished the last gesture which was a toasting gesture to a photo of Peter and David together in happier times, the lights went out and I was on the stage enveloped in total darkness. I ran off stage thinking, "Oh God, they hated it." You could have heard crickets chirping it was so deathly quiet. Then, quite distinctly I heard someone in the audience say, "Yes!!!" Followed by another "Yes!!!!" and another and another and then a wave of applause swept through the barn theatre which I had called my home for that past week and I went on stage to take my bow.
People were cheering and I was overwhelmed with emotion. I bowed, took my stuff off the stage for the next performer, and ran backstage to get a hug from the young woman who had given me encouragement.
 
Milbre and Antonio were waiting for me as well. Milbre gave me a hug and said, "That was the best work I've seen you do all week." Antonio, ruffled my hair playfully and said "Great job!!! I'm glad you decided to do the homosexual piece."
In the long run, I was glad that I had the courage to do it as well.
 
Included in this newsletter is a full copy of the monologue. You may send your comments and articles to me for future newsletters or my blog at www.outloud.blog-city.com. Or contact me via this form.
Rob McCabe—Storyteller            

Peter and David: A Love Story

Setting: A small living room in a small New York apartment in the lower East Side. At the rise of the curtain, an elderly man enters from stage right carrying a tea tray with a pot of tea and two teacups. He sets the tray down and pours himself a cup of tea. As he takes his first sip, there is a sound of someone knocking on the front door (from the audience). He sets his cup down hurriedly and walks with quick, small steps to the door which is where the audience is sitting. He peeks through a keyhole and gasps with delight, hurriedly fumbles with the locks while saying, "Just a minute, just a minute." He finally opens the door and smiles.)

Peter: Ach, my friend, how nice of you to come up tonight and spend a little time with me. Come in, come in please. I have just finished making some tea. Would you like a cup? (He listens for a response, pours another cup and hands it to the invisible man who is sitting where the audience is sitting). Ach, there you go. Now careful, it's hot. I see from your t-shirt that you are going out to another meeting with ACT-UP. Now, I remember when we first met, you told me what it meant, but, ach, at my age, my memory is not what it used to be. So, if you don't mind would you please tell me what does it mean again? (he listens very carefully) AIDS Coalition To Unleash Power? And what does your group do again? Political demonstration and guerilla theatre? What do you mean by Guerilla Theatre? Oh, politically staged protests in the form of theatre? Ah, sounds very powerful. Be careful though, I don't want to hear about you being arrested or hurt, all right? You are a good man.

Do you also remember the day we met? Tonight marks two very special events in my life. The first happened to me as a young man in Germany in 1926; the other was last year when I met you for the first time. You remember that day? You were wearing that same t-shirt with the pink triangle, remember? And do you remember what I asked you? I asked you if you knew what the pink triangle meant and you told me, "So that we should never forget the persecution of Gays by the Nazis during World War II." I was very impressed that you knew about that part of history. For a whole year, as I have begun to get to know you better, I have decided to share with you something very important about myself—something you don't know, but as we are now good friends, I feel I can tell you.

Ach, well. As I told you, today is a very special day for me. One, exactly one year ago today, I first met you, and on this date in 1926, I met the most important man in my life, David, my lover. You didn't know I was a homosexual? Oh my dear boy, I have lived through a lot of things—things you never would have or could imagine. Let me show you something. (He walks to a bookshelf and brings down a red photo album, old with age). This is a photo album I brought with me from Germany, in 1952. (He flips through a couple of pages and stops. He turns the photo album towards the man, laughing). Vell now, do you see this picture here? Do you know who that man is? (He mugs for the boy). Me. That's me in a production of Hamlet, I did in 1927? Ja, 1927. Not bad looking, eh? People loved my performance.

On the same page, you see that old yellow article? That's a review someone wrote about me. They said my Hamlet was the best performance anyone had ever done in Berlin. You know that I did it in German—the translation from English to German was difficult, but it was a great success. Ach, those were the days. Have you heard of the Weimar Republic? That was a time to be alive. Just before the rise of the Nazis, Germany had a brief period of absolute freedom. The 1920s were a wild, frenetic time during the Republic. You have seen Cabaret, yes? Well, that musical gave people just a hint of the wild excesses of that period. This was a time of political, sexual and artistic freedom—the type Germany never saw before or since. (He flips to another page)

Do you see this woman here? Her name was Olga and she was a rabid Communist and a wonderful artist. One year, she painted herself in wild colors and ran naked through the streets. You should have seen that!!! The police arrested Olga so many times for her artistic displays/performances, that eventually, thanks to the Nazis, she was deported to Russia and I never saw her again. She probably ended up in a work camp somewhere, a name on a list that was lost or destroyed. Poor Olga. (he smiles sadly to himself and shakes his head, turns to another page).

And this man here, standing with me in our favorite bar? This was David. He was a first-chair violinist for the Berlin Philharmonic. When he played, he played so beautifully, that the angels would cry. As a matter of fact, I have an old recording of him playing. Would you like to hear it? (He gets up and walks to an old Victrola) I brought this victrola from Berlin with me when I moved to New York It still works. (He cranks the handle and puts the needle down). Now listen—ach that is David. Just listen to him. He was a truly gifted artist!!!! (He listens for a few seconds, almost humming to himself, until he is jarred from his reverie by a question the boy asks). What???? Where is David now? (He walks to the sofa and sits).That is a story. First, let me tell you how we met.

We met at a party in Olga's apartment one summer evening. I was working on a new play and Olga had invited me to meet some important people. Standing in the corner with Olga was a very attractive young man. Olga was laughing so hard, I thought she was going to fall over, and David was doing his best to remain calm. She was fawning all over him. When she saw me, she screamed, "Peter...Douchka.Come here." I went to her and she threw her arms around me and gave me a wild kiss. I could tell she was quite drunk. She asked me a few questions and then introduced me to David. At that precise moment I knew I had met the man I was going to be with for the rest of my life. You know that feeling, yes? It's not rational, but you just know when you meet that one person. Anyway, we talked together for the rest of the night, we exchanged phone numbers and the rest, as they say, was history.                       

Eventually, we moved in together and shared a small apartment. We were quite happy until the Nazis took power. Gradually, laws were enforced against the Jews and other "undesirables." One by one, the bars which catered to homosexuals were shut down. There was violence—a lot of violence directed against Jews, intellectuals, and homosexuals. Brown-shirted young Aryan scum would beat up people for fun. One of our friends was beaten to death by a group of ruffians. People informed on friends and family and those who were arrested were sent to prisons and then concentration camps. David and I were living on borrowed time. It was only a matter of time before our lives would be changed forever.

One night, coming back from the theatre, we were walking past a tobacconist shop in our neighborhood. I told David to go on ahead to the apartment and I would get my tobacco. He hated the fact that I smoked, but I loved my pipe so I entered the shop and David went on. I was just paying for my tobacco when I heard a terrified scream coming from the direction of our apartment. It was David!!! I ran to the door and watched as David was forced into a police car and taken away. I heard him call out my name and I hid in the doorway!!! I couldn't move. I was terrified. Then, the realization hit me. David was under arrest!!!! I went to the police station to enquire after him, but the police told me nothing. David was gone. (Listens to a question) What happened? Well, my boy, David was sent to a concentration camp and I never saw him again. (starts to cry). Apparently, someone informed on us because a few days after David was taken away, they came for me. I was arrested and sent to a concentration camp. (wiping tears away with a handkerchief)

I am sorry, but I don‚t want to talk about that now. Maybe some other time, but not now, o.k.? The only thing I want to tell you is that after the war, following the liberation of the Camps, they released all of the prisoners except for the homosexuals. For us, they sent us to prison to finish out our sentences. It was horrible!!!! Imagine, after all of that horror in the camps, to be sent to prison!!! I am still angry!!!!  Damn them all to Hell!!!! After I was released, I went home to live with my mother and took care of her until she died. Then, a friend of mine who had left Germany before the war, wrote to me and invited me to come to America to live with him. We lived here in this apartment until he died a few years ago. So, here I have lived with nothing but my memories. Alone.

Alone, that is, until the day I met you!!! You have been my link to the outside world and I am proud to have you as my friend. You remind me of David so much—especially your dedication to your art. And you also remind me a little bit of Olga—outspoken and political. I want you to promise me something. Be careful. Protect yourself and your rights. No one can take your rights away unless you let them. So keep up the fight, eh? (Gets up and starts to walk to the Victrola).

Well, the music has ended and I know you have to go to your meeting. But before you go, I want to ask you a great favor. When I am gone, no, no, no, don't upset yourself, I am going to be here for a long time. But when I do die, and we all will, I want you to take my photograph album, this silver picture frame with the picture of David and me in happier times, and the Victrola and records, o.k.? Why do I want to give these things to you? Because you are my dear friend, and you'll know what to do with them. I have written down the names so you will remember who they are and know that they are not just pictures of people, but people—people who lived. So, will you do that for me? You will??? Good. Now, off you go. Come back to see me anytime, my door is always open to you, o.k.? Goodnight.

(He opens then closes the door, locks it, and walks back to pick up his cup of tea. He walks to the photograph on the wall, smiles, lifts his glass in a toast as the lights blackout).

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