The Halls are Alive with the Sound of Music

 

One day a few years ago in Chicago, I was rounding the corner into a hotel hallway hullabaloo.  I was there as a volunteer for an annual east coast conservatory of music Midwest musical theatre audition.  While this historic hotel was located downtown near the Magnificent Mile there was very little about me that day that felt magnificent.  A four hour car ride had taken six and left me exhausted, disheveled, hungry, wet, uncomfortable, wired and tremendously late.  To top it off, the hotel was experiencing a major remodeling about which I didn’t know which made my arrival even later, and me a whole lot more disoriented. 

As one entered the hotel any of us who weren’t guests were led away by greeters away from the gorgeous lobby full of gilded mirrors, King Louis furniture and glass chandeliers to the dreary back hallway.  Single light bulbs hung on wires, and everything was a seriously odd olfactory combination of construction sawdust, Pinesol and lunchtime cooking.  Yellow barrier tape as well as an occasional handwritten paper sign taped on a wall stud kept us dutifully away from the kitchen and crassly guided down to the service elevator, which was the size of a room and actually had a wooden planked floor.  This maze of maintenance and maids was a city of multiplicity.  It was sort of reminiscent to downstairs in Downton Abbey, minus the accents and Mr. Carson. 

We were an eclectic mix heading upward in this elevator room to the skies above Chicago: four construction workers, several electricians, a few hotel maids, a waiter, two chefs, some auditioning students with their parents, and the pièce de résistance - a woman in a full fur coat carrying a miniature Poodle wearing a pink bow and sweater.  And then there was me.  By the time I finally got off the elevator on the thirtieth floor it seemed that time, place, and manner were all mixed up.  I rounded the corner and it was then I saw and remembered.  

I had forgotten about the twirling.  There seems a young actor-singer-dancer phenomenon of twirling in a hallway before a musical theatre audition, which is sometimes interspersed with a lot of erratic and sporadic leaping.  This whirling dervish certainly bears no resemblance to a typical hotel hallway, which tends toward a culture of decorum and quiet, especially when strangers are passing by.  In audition hallways there’s also the potential for random outbursts of singing, as well.  In those moments one can pretty much guarantee a crescendo whenever a stranger passes by. 

While there’s understandably a lot of nervous energy before an audition it seems safe to say that the younger the musical auditioning crowd, the more spectacular this unique hallway visual seems to be.  Sometimes it’s a regular three ring circus, making it hard to focus.  Or perhaps a Fellini film, as it can be painfully surreal to watch with a lot of contrasting symbols.  Fear and confidence perform together in this one moment so perfectly vulnerable with awkwardness and grace. It’s often a sea of people of all shapes and sizes, with just a little clowning around thrown in.  Fellini would indeed be proud. 

Audition hallways seem sacred spaces for nervous young performers.  We can assume that there is a whole lot of praying going on in them, or for some perhaps there’s meditation, even if just in the form of analyzing the competition.  Yes, there are practice rooms set aside for such things at auditions, but hallways seem to get you ready in ways the private practice room cannot.  This linear land of competition is closely located right outside the door of what you’ve been dreaming about for weeks.  It is the direct ramp connected to the actual threshold which might lead you to your shining moment of discovery.  Or the plank you walk before your death of embarrassment and shame.  A hallway outside an audition room is where you line up consecutively by the exact time you were given, and where each minute moves you closer and forward in time like the hand of a clock.  It holds the potential to stroke the ego, and sometimes awaken the soul but usually it merely just keeps you waiting.  Ultimately, the audition hallway seems a portal which holds an ambiance where time seems to stand still.

On this winter day in Chicago, high above the city in a hotel hallway full of singing, twirling and leaping, I eventually found the registration table for the conservatory.  It brought back myriad memories as my own college theatre audition had been in a different city, for a different school, in a completely different decade but also in a hotel.  I suddenly could see myself years earlier and decades younger back when my name was Darrell Gamache, nervously handing my own resume and headshot to a volunteer, ready to leap into the unknown.  This hallway seems a precious moment full of innocence, hope and naiveté.  Perhaps you can change the date and modernize the leotard, but these interpersonal hallway dynamics are apparently timeless.   

As I wove my way forward down this Chicago hotel hallway a smiling, short, round woman leapt up from her chair like a jack in the box, rushed over to me and began chatting quickly.  At the same time she was somehow shaking my hand continuously, packing up her large bag to leave and finishing her last sips of a Diet Coke.  It was unclear how she did all this at once but it was flawless choreography.  A part of me was in complete awe as my own similar multitasking efforts just end in littering, breaking or spilling.  This happy volunteer was wearing lots of plastic, neon jewelry to complement her very bright and bulky ski sweater and all of this was somehow now mesmerizing to me in my sleep-like state of exhaustion.  My own fashion choice of being in all-black with a hat, coat, skirt, turtle neck, tights and tall boots had now created some random moment of confluence for Fellini and the circus.

Happy the Volunteer now tumbled a litany of run-on information my way, “OH, my goodness! You are finally here!  My name is Barbara, so nice to meet you pluuleeez, tell me that you are the next volunteer you’re here to replace me, right? I bet you’re late because of all this horrible weather hey, this has been so much fun, but a lot of work I hope you didn’t get stuck in that snowstorm I hear it’s horrible out there, my husband just called me to tell me to drive slowly, and that it’s a nightmare on the Dan Ryan wait until you hear these kids sing, it’s gonna make your head spin this sure has been fun, you’re just gonna love it THEY ARE ALL SO TALENTED! ”  My New Neon friend was her own whirling dervish.  I think I nodded but her bobbing earrings and plastic bangle bracelets now had my full attention instead.  “Ok, so, I’ve gotta go, but this is all so easy, these kids are all lined up here and ready for you to check them in.  Now, the staff are behind this door, so we have to be very quiet,” it was only now that she began to whisper and, with one last gasp, “Oh, I almost forgot here are the files and headshots from the morning, just take them when they come in and check them off the list so that you can get it all to the staff!” and with that I realized I now needed to actually pay attention. 

Screwing up the names, headshots and resumes would really suck, I thought.  Leave it to me to make a mistake, causing some young student to never get their big break into a prestigious performance school. I decided I might need some clarification quickly.  “Excuse me,” I loudly whispered, “I want to be sure I get the basics before you actually leave.”  Barbara was now fully armored for the outdoors and well on her way with her fluorescent hat, scarf and tall, lime rubber boots.  I whispered again but now dramatically used my best throaty voice while practicing my diaphragmatic delivery. 

“What exactly do I do?” I yelled down the hall in quiet desperation.  Three students in line whipped their heads around like they were going to throttle me for interrupting their meditative panic. 

“There’s an instruction sheet on the table.  For now, just know that the next young woman auditioning is in the bathroom.  She’ll be back any minute so just be sure she gets back into that line soon as she is next.”

“What’s her name?” 

“I dunno.  Just check the schedule!” And with that the neon lights of Broadway went out.

I took a deep breath and sat back to take it all in before paying any attention to the piles of paper and details in front of me.  It seemed wisest to absorb the surroundings first, and learn later.  It seemed an art to just get ones hallway bearings.  Within seconds it was clear that the noise, movement and excitement all around were palpable.  It was sweetly familiar and just like I had remembered – so very long ago when I was young and in a hallway like this and my name was Darrell Gamache.

A huddle had now gathered to listen to a student auditioning behind the door beside us.  This young man singing had a gorgeous voice and he stopped every one of us with his gift.  His tone and delivery seductively beckoned us to listen fully from the hallway as he tenderly sang Bring Him Home from Les Miserables.  All the twirling and leaping respectfully came to a halt and all the whisperers knew to become silent.  The hallway was in its sacred space and moment.  This young man was channeling “Valjean” and passionately pleading those tender and illustrious high notes so desperately to a God above, asking to save Marius from death.  We were a hallway transported, transfixed and delivered. 

Just then I was interrupted.  It was a bit startling to leave France and the Revolution but a young woman was now standing in front of me asking me something while showing me her resume and headshot. 

It was uncanny but my first reaction was that she looked like me when I was her age!  Surely my blizzard driving experience had now completely taken its toll.  Don’t be ridiculous, I thought.  Just because she had the same similar long, really thick, curly hair… and her eyes were uniquely close set like those of us who are of French descent …and her body-type exactly the same... Clearly I was over-tired, and thinking way too much.  Darrell, get a grip.

My millisecond pause wasn’t helping her nerves so she urgently handed me her resume and whispered, “My audition is next.”  

“Oh, you must be the young woman who went to the bathroom!”  She rolled her eyes and gave me a half smile.  It seemed an attempt at being casually wry isn’t welcome when one is about to leap off a precipice. 

“I need to check you off the list and match your resume and headshot – what’s your name?”

“Rebecca.”

“Hi Rebecca.  Rebecca what?”

“Gamache.” 

Now I knew I must be asleep.  I shook my head to clear and reset. 

“I’m sorry, whadju say?  I don’t think I heard you clearly…what’s your last name?”

“Gamache.” 

All I could think was something I couldn’t say out loud:  WTF?!
“I’m sorry.  This is embarrassing, but you’ll have to say that one more time.  Did you say Gamache?”

“Yeah.”

“Gamache?  G-A-M-A-C-H-E?!”  Rebecca looked at me like I was having a stroke.                                      

My hearing and sanity seemed to be colliding.  “Am I hearing you correctly?  Your name is actually Rebecca Gamache?  Seriously?!!” 

I began babbling louder and rambling deliriously.  Now everyone in line had whipped around to stare.  Nothing made much sense right now and apparently neither did I.  At this point Rebecca Gamache had every right to walk away and get back in line, as surely this was not what she needed two minutes before her big audition.   

“You know….that’s my last name, too!  Well, actually that was my maiden name and the one I had when I auditioned for college, just like you, and I was JUST thinking about that moment and remembering all of it.  You know, Gamache is a really unique name and …”   She was looking at me like I had two heads, three eyebrows or was speaking in tongues.  It was then I realized something I’d never said out loud: “I’ve never met anyone with our last name….ever. It’s French Canadian and there aren’t many of us … wow, what are the odds that the first person auditioning…”  And round and round my mind and babble went, with no amount of logic or self-control to stop me.

Rebecca seemed unamused and impatient, so I stopped and looked down at her resume instead. That’s when I found what at this point I already knew:  Rebecca Gamache and Darrell Gamache had been similarly cast in many to most of the same roles in theatre.  Because this additional parallel was uncanny, unbelievable and perfectly surreal, I just kept it to myself.   

“Do you have family in New Hampshire or Vermont like I do?” 

“No, not at all.  I’m from Oregon.”   

Ms. Gamache began to gather her things, but something seemed to stop her.  She gracefully turned to me and said softly, “But you’re right, you know.  I’ve never met anyone with the last name Gamache, either.”  She smiled graciously.  Her voice was tender, calm and clear.  “How funny that you also auditioned when you were my age and that we have the same last name.”  She turned to leave, but then actually came back one more time.  She paused, then said, “I really do get it.  Thank you.  I appreciate you going out of your way to tell me all this.”

Just then the door opened and they called her name, “Rebecca Gamache?  Come on it, it’s your turn, Hon.”

I smiled.  My heart was someplace long ago and far away while at the same time amazingly present.  “It was wonderful to meet you, Rebecca Gamache. Break a leg!”  She walked away but I now leapt up and gently touched her arm. She twirled around slowly and we met eyes one more time.  Time stood still.  “Remember, no matter what happens today – you’re gonna be fine.  Just fine.”   She smiled. 

Then I let her go.

Back at the table the anonymous list of names blended back into the meditative murmur and motion all around.  Twirling, leaping, singing.  Giving, receiving, accepting. 

Yes.  The audition hallway is a sacred space, indeed.