"REMINISCENCES OF THIRTY YEARS WITH THE THEATER WORKSHOP" Historic Nantucket article from the Nantucket Historical Association

Originally published in the Historic Nantucket, Vol 55, no. 3 (Summer 2006), p. 4-7

Reminiscences of 30 Years with the Theatre Workshop
By Elizabeth Gilbert

When John and I emigrated to the United States in February 1957 to make our home in Nantucket, my greatest fear was that I would no longer be able to immerse myself in theater, as had been my custom during my growing-up years in London. Theater was in my family and “in my blood.” My paternal grandfather owned and operated the Theater Royal in Liverpool in the late 1800s and early 1900s. He booked the stars of that era, and entertained the dignitaries who would travel by coach and horses from London to attend performances there. My father played in many productions in his early years, and knew many of the people with whom his father was associating. My mother was a professional musical accompanist. And I danced before I walked, I’m told! During my years in London during and after World War II, I was dancing, and involved in many shows, mingling among the theatrical stars in the early 50s.

Imagine what a sacrifice I thought it would be—to leave this all behind to start a new life, not knowing whether my need and desire for theater would be fulfilled while living on an island in what seemed like the middle of the Atlantic Ocean!

How wrong I was! Within two months of our arrival here, our real estate agent, Albert Pitkin, had persuaded us not to rent, but to put our worldly savings into a down payment for a little “fixer-upper” cottage on Vestal Street. With fear and trembling we did just that, and started renovating the historic Gaolkeeper’s cottage. One day in May 1957, John was chipping the heavy Calsomine paint off the master bedroom ceiling with an old bread knife, dressed in bathing trunks and my shower cap, when there was a knock on the front door. Thinking that the only person who would possibly be coming to call was Mr. Pitkin, he called: “Come in, Al,” but nobody appeared. Again he called, but to no avail. After several persistent tries, there was a soft knock on the bedroom door where John was working, covered from head to toe in white paint chips. There, elegantly dressed and gracious, as always, was the Theater Workshop of Nantucket’s artistic director, Joseph “Mac” Dixon. He had heard from Mr. Pitkin that we had joined St. Paul’s Episcopal Church choir, and he was looking for volunteers for the TWN chorus. In spite of the bizarre circumstances, he invited us to come to a rehearsal of The Mikado, which was being prepared for production in the fall.

Before we knew it, we were rehearsing at Flo Rand’s shack off Crooked Lane. I sang in the chorus, and helped to hand-paint all the kimonos. The actor originally chosen to take the lead dropped out, so John became the Mikado himself, and spent the next few months singing and practicing the dramatic opening “thwack” of his enormous fan, which happened each time he appeared on stage in the show! The vocal score was being taught by a resident of Siasconset named Nancy Silsbee, a professional pianist and harpsichordist. Nancy was driving us home from rehearsal one night in her venerable 1940s car when, after leaving Miss Rand’s driveway and heading toward Madaket Road on Crooked Lane, Nancy was changing gears and suddenly had the gear lever loose in her hand! In rather a panic, she recklessly waved it in the air and said: “Now what do we do?” John took over, put it back in the gear box, and managed to get us all home unharmed! What an adventure! This show was the fifth production of the newly formed Theater Workshop of Nantucket, and our first of nearly forty more to follow. It opened at Straight Wharf Theater on October 21, 1957, for only four performances, a long run in those days, and was a resounding success.

In February 1958 John was cast as Leonard Vole in the mystery, Witness for the Prosecution, with Shirley Perkins as the female lead. The publicity was done by Genevieve Hall, and included a special edition newspaper containing photos using our 1934 MG convertible, which we had brought over from England, to accentuate the plot. This was a challenging and “wordy” play. Rehearsals were held in people’s cellars, living rooms—anywhere that was heated, then taken to the stage at Straight Wharf for a few run-throughs before opening night, so that the theater did not have to be heated for any extended period of time before productions—a challenge in itself. One night, Jane Wallach, Mac’s “aunt,’ who was the founder and inspiration behind the organization, and a “grand dame” of the arts, was sitting in the audience, and during a particularly tricky scene suddenly shouted out: “Maccie, won’t he ever learn his lines?” John was totally undone, but pulled it off, of course, by opening night!

Subsequently, we spent many wonderful evenings at Janie and Mac’s home on Orange Street, having sumptuous dinners by candlelight, and afterwards playing Janie’s favorite game, Charades. We were not always enchanted by this game at first as, without warning and in a loud, commanding voice, Janie would make a show-stopping remark such as the one to John at Straight Wharf. This was sometimes intimidating but always got your attention! At first, as fledglings from London, we were inclined to be intimidated by invitations to these soirées, but if you were invited, you were expected to be there, by order of the Grand Dame! As years went by, Janie mellowed and became much less formidable on those occasions, and evenings spent with them in their lovely home became warm and comfortable.

Teahouse of the August Moon, a delightful play with music set in Okinawa, Japan, presented numerous challenges, as Mac insisted that every detail—the sets, costumes, lighting, and special sound effects—be as authentic as possible, as first produced in New York in 1953. A live goat named Lady Astor was imported from Martha’s Vineyard to appear in the village scenes. Following her arrival on the ferry, she was paraded up Main Street in the back of a truck, accompanied by Mac and members of the cast, as a publicity stunt—a “first” for Main Street! During one of the performances, Lady Astor decided to “deposit” in the middle of the stage, and Bob Clark, one of the backstage crew, was summoned to come and clean it up. He stole that show! John built a wooden jeep for the set (which never went anywhere but looked very effective), and had great fun learning to be a Sumo wrestler with Zip Dunham, as entertainment within the Teahouse! In the role of Lotus Blossom, the geisha girl, I had to learn the whole play in Japanese. I also had to learn the graceful and precise hand and body movements, use of flowers, ceremonial dances with special ways of using a fan to tell a story, and the traditional Japanese tea ceremony, all within the geisha tradition. It required hours of concentration, control, and rehearsal before it was incorporated into the play, but it was so meaningful—and beautiful, and became one of my favorite roles. Apart from the joy of performing, it provided a unique opportunity to become immersed in an Oriental culture, thanks to the expertise of Whitey Willauer, who had lived in Japan for many years. The production was presented in October 1958, and received rave reviews.

One of the most memorable and powerful plays—and Mac’s favorite of all time—was The Diary of Anne Frank, produced in March 1961. Having been brought up in World War II, I was profoundly impressed by this story of a young girl. Lillian Waine played Anne and I played her sister, Margot. Perhaps the telegram that was sent to Mac and the cast by the then president, Barbara W. Nelson, says it most appropriately: “On behalf of your board of directors and the audiences who have been so deeply moved and amazed by the singular skill of your technical production, by the genius of your direction, by the sensitivity of your interpretation and by the subtle beauty of all the acting, we wish to thank you for a great presentation of The Diary of Anne Frank.” The immense impact of the final moments of the play—when the Gestapo agent knocked three times on the door with the barrel of a gun to come and “get us”—has stayed with me over these four decades, and will continue to do so whenever I hear any similar sound.

Many more indelible memories were created during preparations for the musical Brigadoon in May 1961. I was the choreographer for the show and danced in it as well. I taught the famous sword dance to Danny Morgan after school hours at the North Water Street home of Erica and Grenville Curtis, during the time we lived there and took care of their three children for the winter. We were assisted by their pet myna bird who wolf-whistled to the music during the lessons! We were ready to dispose of the bird by spring! One of the funniest occasions happened during the run of the show. During one scene, the Scottish lass, Maggie (Marie Giffin) was being wooed by the visiting American soldier (Allan Stapleton), seated romantically on a bench under a tree. At the exact moment that he said to her, “Listen to the nightingale. . .” the steamer was coming round Brant Point and blew its foghorn: “BLAAAAH!!!!” The cast tried to continue but the audience was already in gales of laughter, and the leg of the bench broke because Marie and Allan were laughing so hard, which tipped them onto the stage! Mac ordered the curtain to be closed while order was restored in front of, on, and behind the stage, and started the scene again! That was the only time I remember a show being stopped in the course of a performance—for any reason!

In March 1962, Mac decided to chase away the “winter blues” by introducing a format that heretofore had not been done—two different offerings on the same evening. The pieces he chose to present were polar opposites in content, and stretched both audiences and players. The first one was a just-for-fun spoof of Prohibition in a popular American bar in Paris, The Nothing Doing Bar, named “Le Boeuf sur le Toit.” It was played completely in pantomime—only movement and dance. It was directed by Julia Jelleme, a professional dancer, with unusual décor and costumes by Doris Beer. I was La Dame Décolletée, and shook the town by appearing in an outrageous red dress with a large feather boa, black fishnet stockings, and “attitude!” One of my dance numbers was with Le Boxeur Nègre (James Robertson), who was among several cast members in “black face,” which was permitted in those days. Well, the whole concept of me playing that part and dancing with that partner in a barroom so completely horrified a particular lady in the audience that she never spoke to me again for the rest of her life! That piece rocked the town−and I loved it!

After the intermission, Mac sobered up the evening with George Bernard Shaw’s two-act Androcles and the Lion, which takes place inside the gates of Rome, behind the emperor’s box at the Coliseum in ancient days. John enjoyed the part of Lentellus, a Roman senator dressed in a toga. I did mean polar opposites! The whole evening certainly chased the winter blues away, and received great reviews, despite the poor, unsuspecting lady!

A truly outstanding occurrence happened during one performance of the chilling mystery, Wait Until Dark, in 1971, which must be shared. My role of Susie, the blind wife, was both exciting and demanding, and required complete concentration for two and a half hours (unlike movies, there were no “cuts”)! in order to sustain the blindness. A particular scene toward the climax was played in total darkness. Even the exit lights had to be extinguished for full effect. During the blackout, the audience could only hear, not see, the wounded “bad guy” stabbing a large kitchen knife into the wooden floor several times, and dragging himself toward me. A dear friend and neighbor, Margaret Harwood, director of the Maria Mitchell Association, was in the audience, and had become so wrapped up in the plot that she was terrified that I was going to be killed. Feeling so scared, she turned her flashlight on to the stage to warn me of the impending danger! It did spoil the scene, just for a moment—and Mac was horrified. Margaret was audibly relieved when the lights came back up, but wouldn’t leave the theater to go home until I had come to sit beside her, and calm her down! The cast of the show used to judge the success of that scene by the number of screams we could extract from the audience! The role of Susie stands out as the most rewarding, and certainly the most challenging. John took my car keys away from me during the whole run of the show, as I had become so truly “blind.”

There are myriad unmentioned memories and anecdotes as we look back on three decades of participation in the Theater Workshop—seasoned with laughter, love, tears, and frustrations. Of course, the burning of the Straight Wharf Theater building in 1975 made an indelible impression on the entire community, and caused grief beyond words. However, thanks to the dedication and support of hundreds more people since then, the Theater Workshop and Nantucket’s commitment to community theater is alive and well today. “Let’s go on with the show.”

ELIZABETH GILBERT: Upon their arrival in Nantucket in 1957, both Elizabeth and John Gilbert became involved with the Theatre Workshop at the Straight Wharf Theatre under the direction of Joseph "Mac" Dixon. Since then, Elizabeth has been connected with more than forty TWN productions. She was a member of the board of directors for nineteen years, during eight of which she served as president.