NC Amendment One

by john | Feb 8, 2012 | Real Life

Warning – political post ahead.

Okay, you were warned. If you follow me on Facebook, this is your official warning that from now until May 8th, there will be a bunch of posts decrying Amendment One, the ballot measure that NC will be voting on to outlaw gay marriage. I’m staunchly against this, as I am in favor of equal rights for all people, and taking away someone’s right to stand in front of a justice of the peace, put their fifty bucks on the counter and say “Til Death Do Us Part” seems wrong to me. I would like to think that my stance on gay rights doesn’t influence my writing too much, but I’m sure it’s pretty apparent to the readers of Back in Black that I’m all in favor of gay marriage. Or as we like to call it amongst my friends – marriage.

I’m not going to debate all the pros and cons of the issue here, but suffice to say if you see me at a con and I’m wearing a shirt that says something about equality, and I have several, that’s what is being referenced. I was loathe to use my modest notoriety as a bully pulpit until I realized that the opponents of civil liberty in our country don’t share my reticence. So I’m speaking out, in no uncertain terms, about my opposition to any constitutional amendment, or law in general, that reduces freedoms. And this is the first one that hits home for me, because it impacts so many of my friends.

I’m a straight white southern guy, happily married for over sixteen years. So why is this important to me? Because I think that all of my friends should be able to declare their love for each other openly without fear of reprisals from society, government or anyone else, as long as both parties are of legal age. Because I think it’s stupid that one couple that’s been together for ten years can have visitation rights in the ICU, and another one can’t. Because I think that it’s stupid that if Suzy and I adopted a kid, and something happened to either one of us, the kid stays with the other one, but a committed lesbian couple can be together for decades and have their children taken away from one mother if the other one dies. And this isn’t a random possibility – these are things that happen. And it seems unfair to me. So I’m speaking out. I’d like to think that my readers will mostly agree with my positions on this issue, but if not, that’s okay. I have friends and relatives that I disagree with too. But I just wanted to warn you that I think this amendment is bullshit, and you’re probably going to hear a lot from me about it for the next few months.

Brotherhood in Black

by john | Feb 1, 2012 | Real Life

I’ve spent more than half my life working in theatre. I did my first show as an actor at 16, which would be 22 years ago now. I auditioned for that show because I thought the teacher directing the play was hot, and there were cute girls in it. I got the male lead in Up the Down Staircase, and a career somehow sprang from that. I was one of the two or three best actors in my high school, so I figured when I went to college I’d have no problem getting cast in a show.

Except that everyone there was the best actor in his or her high school, and a lot of them had way better high school programs than I had. Some of them had more than one drama class in high school. And some of them did more than one show each year. Some schools even had a teacher for nothing but drama! To say I was behind the curve would be putting it mildly. But I auditioned, and I took classes, and I worked, and I didn’t get cast.

Then I ran into my buddy Clark, and he changed my life with a simple question – “Do you want to run spotlight for this show for me?” Clark was the Technical Director at Winthrop when I started there, and I had come from another audition where I didn’t get cast. Clark and I knew each other from working together on weekends at the museum in Rock Hill, SC. I helped out with the front desk and gift shop, and Clark worked in the planetarium. So when he saw me wandering around the theatre building, he offered me a gig running spotlight for the show.

And that’s where it all started for me. I had fun running the spot, and I felt like I was part of something for a change. At the time I was an English major, which is a fairly solitary endeavor, so the feeling of working together with a bunch of people to get something done was really welcome. The theatre folks welcomed me with open arms, probably because they were (and still are) as weird, awkward and dysfunctional as I was (am). So by the end of that year I had double-majored, gotten some small roles in shows, but more importantly I had discovered a whole new world. A world that over the next twenty years would feed my family, buy my house, my cars, send me all over the country, and eventually turn me into a professional writer.

That year I joined a brotherhood that I’ve strayed away from for while, but always find myself drawn back into it. We’re the ones in black, with tools hanging from out belts, probably with tattoos and piercings, and we might look more like a motorcycle gang than highly skilled professionals in an extremely technical field, but we’re the people you want on your side when it absolutely, positively has to get done right away. We’re rude, crude and obscene. We drink too much, eat too much greasy food, frequently have unreliable relationships with barbers and razors, but we can make sure that the show happens right, and happens on time, and then gets the hell out of our building so we can go drink. We’re technicians.

We’re not “techies.” A “techie” is a high school kid running props for extra credit. A “techie” is an actor who might be able to run the light board if everything is programmed for them. A “techie” is someone who you’ll let help push road cases but you’d never trust them to stack motor boxes in the back of a semi with you. I haven’t been a “techie”for a couple decades now, and I’m pretty damn quick to correct anyone who tosses that term around.

We’re techs, stagehands, crew, technicians, squints, squeals, riggers, truss monkeys, wood butchers, sparkies, board ops, spot ops, deckhands, truck trolls and a thousand other names that we’ve given ourselves. But you might not get to use those. Nicknames are like kid brothers – I can beat the shit out of mine, but you’d better not even look at him funny.

We’re brothers and sisters in black, a family forged in the backs of tractor-trailer trucks and in the high steel. We’re the people who make your entertainment happen, and without us, your favorite performer naked on a bare stage in the dark and no one can hear them whine about it. No matter how long I’m out of the business, or just tangentially attached to it, I can walk into a theatre with a black shirt, gloves and a crescent wrench and step right back into that world. I’m not nearly as nimble as I once was scurrying up a rope ladder to focus a front of house rig, but I’m still able to get into the back of a truck and sling a lot of steel.

I was reminded this week of what it means to be part of that brotherhood, because we lost another on of our own here in Charlotte. Ironically,I met Chris Burchett when neither one of us were doing much stagehand work. I was selling him lighting gear as he was the tech director for a local private school. We weren’t friends, really, but buddies. Acquaintances. The guys who shake hands and catch up briefly when you work a gig together every three or four years. But in the sense that he was one of us – the crew, he was my brother. And I’ll miss him. Being a theatre technician in a small community like Charlotte is very much a John Donne kinda thing – each man’s death diminishes me. I’m diminished by Chris’ passing, as is our whole brotherhood. And even though the audiences will never know it, backstage there is a void.

Vaya con Dios, Chris. You are missed.