from Judson Jones, Artistic Director
When life
gives you lemons, make saturated calcium hydroxide1
We’ve all heard the old adage before.
And while we know it to be true, that doesn’t mean it’s easy.
The year is 1990. I’m a junior at
Whitehouse High School. And for some reason, in the infinite wisdom of a 17-year-old,
I opted to sign up for Physics class. Why? I still don’t know. I could say
that I truly wanted to ponder the mysteries of the universe. Most likely there
was a cute girl in the class; at 17 you tend to follow certain parts of the
body more than others. So there I was. I had already plastered my textbook
cover with my favorite bands, I had my new Chuck Taylors on (which I think the
cute girl noticed), I was ready for some Physics. Then Mr. Tom Young walked in.
You know that look on your face when you smell something but you can’t figure
out exactly what it is, and you kind of turn your head one direction and then
another to see if you find the source? That was my face for the next 50
minutes. Who cares about Bon Jovi? Who cares about red canvas Hi-Tops with
black laces? Who cares about the cute girl?! I’m going to fail Physics!!! After
school that day I went and drowned my sorrows in a tall
suicide2
Slush
from Sonic.
As I lay in bed that night two
thoughts kept creeping into my mind. Over and over. Incessantly. No matter how
hard I tried, my mind was plagued with fear and grief. One: Cop Rock. Really?! From the same mind
that created Hill Street Blues?! It made
no sense! That was the problem with the ’90s! Things were too good! We left the
depressing, gritty, cocaine-filled, recession-induced dramas with the ’80s! We
didn’t want to see a brooding cop with a dark past who nurses a bottle of Scotch
each night just to blot out the nightmares of the streets arresting some
arrogant drug lord that had the cop’s partner taken out in an undercover sting
that went bad two weeks ago! We didn’t want to see that! Instead we wanted to
see the same brooding cop and the same arrogant drug lord SINGING AND DANCING
TOGETHER! Ugh! It was such a rough time. Oh, and the other thought that kept
penetrating my mind was sitting in Mr. Young’s Physics class for the remainder
of the school year.
But much to my surprise Physics class
got better. There was something incredibly special that Mr. Young brought to
class every single day: Passion. And it was contagious. He loved teaching. He
loved his students. He didn’t try to make science cool, instead he simply
showed us how cool it was. Listening to him talk about quantum behavior or how a Dunking Duck works was like
listening to a master painter talking about a piece of art. He was the myth buster
before MythBusters came along! Plus he always
had assignments you could do for extra credit. This was the secret to me
passing. (Oh, and after the 11th episode—“Bang the Potts Slowly”—Cop
Rock was canceled.)
We were
getting close to midterms and we were each directed to conduct an experiment
and document the process FULLY. This would count for half our grade. The stakes
were high. So I chose the old lemon-powers-the-digital clock experiment. I
already had a head start: we’d bought my dad one of those setups years ago for Father’s
Day and my dad keeps everything! I had my digital clock, my piece of copper, my
galvanized nail, my wiring, and most importantly my lemon. It went off without
a hitch! Then I had to write about it. What was the chemical process that made
it work. Mind you, this was before one could just Google it or go to Wikipedia to
find out that it’s just an electrochemical reaction caused when oxidation and
reduction occur. (I’m still not certain what that means.) Anyway, I pored
over texts and labored over my predicament for days. And the night before it
was due I found myself staring at the blinking colon on my
lemon-powered-digital clock. Then an idea struck me. Partially because I’m
stubborn and partially because it’s rumored that I’m a smart ass…I would write
a play. Which Way Did He Go George
could be called an homage to Of
Mice and Men with a Frankenstein twist. It
centered around an ill-fated lemon named Lenny and the painful choice that
George would have to make. I don’t want to spoil anything for you, but yes,
George kills Lenny! Sorry. But then George decides to resurrect Lenny in
spectacular fashion and thus documenting my experiment began. I finished my
masterpiece, went to class the next day, and handed in my death sentence with a
smile.
When we came back from the break Mr.
Young promptly started handing out our graded term papers. All but mine. He
simply asked me to stay after class. Great. I was going to get an F and a
lecture. I could hear it already: “You don’t apply yourself.” “Was this
supposed to be funny?” “You’ve learned nothing in my class.” After everyone
left the class I slowly made my way to his desk and was prepared to lay
prostrate and receive my lashings. Mr. Young handed me my paper. B–. “I would
have given it a higher grade but I felt like the plot sort of fell apart
towards the end. And it seemed a bit contrived at times.” I just stared at him.
Oh my God, I’ve fallen asleep again. That’s what’s happening. I’m asleep at my
desk and at any moment something is going to wake me up and I’m going to spring
back and let out something like, “Uhwoodowha?” That didn’t happen. I was indeed
awake. Mr. Young broke the silence, “You probably think I'm teaching you
Physics don't you? I’m not. I'm teaching you that when you're faced with
something and you don't know what to do or how to move forward…you don't close
the book. You don't give up. You DO something.”
...
In this business of theatre, we are
told “No” so many times. Whether it’s seeking a role, funding for a production,
a home for a play, presenting a design or a score, we will hear “No” many times
before we will hear “Yes.” And all too often it makes us want to throw up our
hands and simply close the book. Over the past couple of weeks Mr. Young has
come to mind often. Every time I think I can’t send another email, I can’t
reach out to another possible funder, I can’t chew another TUMS…I take a
moment. Breathe. And think, “Don’t close the book.”
Thank you, Mr. Young for that gift. It
has made all the difference. What you put in motion…has stayed in motion.
