REMEMBERANCES OF THE RED BARN or "Will There Be Anything Else, Madame?" by Mary Ann Curtis May 1992 Mostly I played a maid at the Red Barn Theatre. At least, that's what I remember the most. More than 40 years ago, after a shaky acting start, complete with wobbling knees and dry mouth - I was a mere housewife with three young children at the time - I finally could say, "Yes, madam. No, madam. Will there be anything else, madam?" with or without cockney accent and at the drop of a hat (or drop of a line, as was more often the case). My sister-in-law, Ann Curbs, talked me into trying out far that first part. she was doing props for the show and knew I would adore being on the stage. She was right. Jim Webster began a summer community theater in 198 at the Saugatuck High School after World War II, but by my debut he had created his own theater building in Douglas. It was a long and narrow barn, just below what used to be Gray Gables (later Petter Gallery) and audiences sat on church pews. The stage was apposite the front door and both were on the longest sides of the building, with audiences spread out in-between. The entrance was so close to the stage that when the box office telephone rang, attars were inclined to pick up the stage prop phone thinking it was part of their scene. And one had to ignore the ludicrousness of performing in a serious, moody, period drama, while the phone could clearly be heard ringing nearby. In the fall of 1953, Jim Webster purchased a barn on the Belvedere estate northeast of Saugatuck and converted it into a theater - still the site of the Red Barn today. It was a regular working barn when Jim bought it, half the size we see today. Turning it into a theater was a formidable job, but he had a special talent and eye for detail. Major improvements - some expensive and dramatic - were made by each successive owned but the seed was planted by that first Jim, and a host of community volunteers and performers. The dressing room was one big space separated by bedsheet curtains in what had been cow stalls. Men and women put on their makeup side by side, and if you were lucky, the toilets worked. The people in the house next door controlled the water flow and one never knew when they might or might not turn the water off altogether - usually during a performance. The tiny lavatories were exotically painted places of questionable atmosphere and charm, decorated with colander lamp shades and flower-bedecked plungers. Even when the water was running, the plumbing often was not. Jim made himself living quarters in the silo - a fascinating, if inconvenient idea. One little round room above another, each with a narrow ladder for ascending and descending, calling for modesty from curious women who clutched their skirts around their legs in order to climb the heights and check the decor. On the stage all was wonderful bedlam. Why is it when we reminisce about little theatre, we always remember the disastrous moments more easily than the triumphs? Certain, there were great achievements, but the struggles came more quickly to mind; the laughs to cover the chagrin; the camaraderie of pulling through. There is an untrue, but oft repeated statement that says, "The audience will never notice." In fact, the audience never misses a thing! Those were the days when opening nights were a true experience, as audiences and performers alike never knew quite what to expect. They always hoped for the best, but delighted in the worst, if that's what they got. Jim put on a different show each week, playing one at night while rehearsing the next during the day, a not unusual situation in professional circles, but a major achievement for this small community where summer theater was a relatively new concept. He would find friends to perform from Civic Players in Kalamazoo, and sometimes he'd discover out-of-work actors or actresses vacationing with parents in the area, home for a few good meals. Once he was so desperate to find a young male for a play already well into rehearsal, he actually got the boy who ferried him across Lake Kalamazoo from one side of Saugatuck to the other to accompany him back to the theatre. As I recall, Don Bonevich came with his puppets and suddenly found himself filling in on the stage - a natural actor on his way to lasting Red Barn stardom. One leading actress from the Benton Harbor area was driven to rehearsals by her husband, who was promptly lured onto the stage for the first time. She had a chiffon handkerchief to match every outfit and like to fling the colorful things about during other people's speeches, which made her cause for much backstage talk. Her husband, on the other hand, turned out to be totally relaxed and at home on the stage, where he remained a star for some years. We locals suspected some of these individuals were being cajoled with money, but we didn't know for sure. Certainly most of the performers came from the community in those days and gave their all because they loved it. Jim Webster would begin each new season with bright eyes and clear shin, but as the summer and the stress progressed, his arms began breaking out in "sympathetic" sores that grew and spread in direct relationship to rising moments of panic. You could tell it was August by checking out his skin. Off and on, I would have yet another maid's role, each progressively bigger and more fun. There was Ida the maid in See How They Run, the only play that had three separate Saugatuck productions beginning when Barbara Kent played Ida at the high school, one under Jim Dyas in 1961. As my husband, Jim, was a priest at 'All Saints' Episcopal Church in Saugatuck, we were able to help with costumes for this comedy about a bunch of Anglican clergymen running around the rectory. The production I was in had such people as Dick Banks (summering in Macatawa?) and Helen lift of Kalamazoo as the funny organist or altar guild lady with a crush on the vicar. At the cast party after the final show, I remember being totally surprised to see someone running madly through the yard pushing a wheelbarrow with the "staid and quiet" Helen's long legs folded around it. In the sinister drama Night Must Fall, John Corkill (I think it was him) kept walking around with a head hidden in a hatbox, and I, of course, was the cockney maid. Unfortunately the rehearsals had not gone well, and the leads only knew their lines in Act I. During Act II, they kept changing the blocking as each star jockeyed into position next to the "window" behind which sat a busy prompter with flashlight and eyes pointed at the script. On opening night the audience heard every line of Act II twice - first by the prompter and then the stars - but the acting was so good no one seemed to mind. There was a kind of sick fascination in watching the male or female lead holding his or her stance with dramatic poise as they desperately listened for cues ... and then repeated with great aplomb what they - and the audience - had just heard. Finally, when one star had hovered by the window as long as discretion allowed, he or she reluctantly moved away and the other quickly moved into the vacated position. At one point I was required to go to the window and look out. The lights were dim and my old-fashioned hightop shoes were so big for me that the toes hit the wall before I arrived, practically throwing me through the window onto the lap of the startled prompter, who was already by far the busiest person in the production, of course, the audience never noticed. Once Nancy Ranson, a very talented local star, was called in from her boating to don a severe woman's suit and take on the part of a businessman, her lines rewritten onto a small notebook she held in her hand at all times. On another opening night, the newly painted floor was still wet as the curtain went up and the actors proceeded to get paint all over the bottoms of their shoes. In 1957 Jim Webster became ill and was told he had just so many months to live, so he left the Red Barn, sold everything he owned, bought a white convertible and went to Florida. When his money ran out and he was still alive, he came back to the area and enjoyed life for much longer than anyone could have predicted. but his days at the Red Barn were over. James Dyas followed Jim Webster at the Red Barn as producer-director for William John Upjohn of Kalamazoo from 1958 to 1975. Under this combination of money and talent things became very professional, with enlarged facilities and an equity cast of performers supported by locals only as needed. Over the years I was not always the maid. One play was the comedy Third Best Sport starring Dorothy Lee Tompkins wife of Jim Dyas) Bruce Hall, John LeGrande and Don Bonevich among others. I was cast as an uppity society matron. Early in the morning following our dress rehearsal I woke up screaming in pain, unable to open my tortured eyes. My husband led me to a specialist who found my eyes had been badly burned by the stage lights, my contact lenses apparently acting as magnifiers. That night I opened in dark glasses with my eyes barely at half mast, In 1961, I also had a small part in Sweet Bird of Youth with all of the above-mentioned people, along with William Cain and Leta Anderson, Youngsters Bill Olendorf and Jim-Billy Dyas were also in this show. During Mary Olendorf's exciting productions 1966-1986, I played in the original musical Fear of filing and for my efforts won the dubious honor of a devastating one-line review from a respected midwest critic. As he did not mention my name - fortunately - neither will I mention his. My most recent Red Barn performance was in 1989 as a tap dancer in Stepping Out starring Linda Kinnaman. It was directed for the little theater downstairs by Steve Hauck and produced by Paul Stuart Graham, who was in charge 1986 to 1991. There is a theatrical spirit in this community, being kept healthy by a combination of new and old blood. These are people who believe that the legacy of comedy, drama and musicals should continued in our community for future generations. And, as for this old actress? Could there be anything better than having a good part again at the Red Barn? Wouldn't it be nice, if I was emoting from my rocker, and suddenly a young lady in the role of a maid approached and said directly to me with trembling voice those well-remembered words, "Mill there be anything else madam?"

This information was OCR text scanned from SDHS newsletter supplements. Binders of original paper copies are in the SDHC reference library.