Thank you for the wings.

A speech given at debrief.

It isn’t often that anything in our lives lasts for six months, these days. That’s a long time to work on any project, and by the end you’re either totally in love or ready to take a long nap on a train-track. But Challenger… Challenger was a sort of instant spark. Of course there was the fact that I’m in love with space, but ever since the very first night of callbacks, I could feel something happening.

I have learned so much in these six months.

First of all, I learned how to write a play. I learned how to birth art into the world in a new way and I learned how to say goodbye to it. I learned that you’re not going to ever write anything if you aren’t willing to write it wrong the first time. I learned how to rip up some beautiful thing that I’d created and nested my ego into and piece it together with other fragments of beautiful minds to create something much better and more whole than I ever could have imagined. I learned how to say goodbye to things that aren’t essential, which is something that I’ve been learning in my life as well. That nothing lasts forever and that sometimes we can only take away the theme and the way that it’s changed us. This was a literal metaphor for what I was learning to accept in real life.

I learned about people. Not every day is going to be a blue ribbon prize-winner for everyone, and this is the first cast in which that was understood. If somebody was having a bad night it wasn’t about how they were failing, it was about how we could support them and give them what they needed to make sure we were just as strong or stronger the next day. I can’t even begin to list all the trials and crises we’ve been through with each other.

I also learned about courage and about taking risks. I was raised in an atheist family and even though the concept of dying for something worthwhile is one that is beat into our culture, I was so terrified of death that I never truly thought I would ever be willing to die for something. Nothing seemed THAT worthwhile. But one day Elise brought in an article about playgrounds and about kids needing to learn to take risks and it struck a chord in me. I remember sitting outside my house in the car with Sierra that night and explaining my fears and crying. Hard. When suddenly a huge connection was made and amidst tears I dug out my acting notebook and started scribbling madly. We live in a culture where we’re dissuaded from taking risks, but of course we need to learn to take risks. Nothing big or important ever happens unless someone just goes for it. And I knew that, but I didn’t really know it. I guess you don’t ever really learn something until you learn it the hard way. By living with all of you and with Barbara and the Challenger Seven for so long, I think I finally understand what it means. To care about something so much that you’d be willing to put your life on the line for it. When I put it in the context of exploration and enlarging the human horizon? In the context of touching lives? Well, that just seems to fit for me. 

I don’t know if you understand how colossal this is for me. And yes, I will continue to have panic attacks when I think too hard about what happens after death – but at least overcoming it in one respect has been monumental. This is a good step. A very important step.

Above all, I’m so blessed that I got to work with all of you. If you know me, which now you all do, you’ll know that I’m usually an optimist with an incredible love for people. You might also know that prior to this project, I didn’t really feel a part of anything here at Central. I got my work done, but I wasn’t truly here. I was searching for myself and for a family. In this project, I found a home. I found a home in every one of your hearts and you found a home in mine. I want to thank you all for bringing so much love into my life. I belong to you. You gave me hope for people and for my craft just as I was beginning to feel like maybe I would never fit in and would have to simply love from afar. Thank you all for existing and being such quality human beings.

I also want to thank Elise for believing in me and giving me a chance to experience the best thing I’ve ever worked on, and to grow. I poured my heart and soul into this and it poured its heart and soul back into me. My dad said, after the show, that he could see the change in me, and wasn’t sure whether I’d changed the script, or whether the script had changed me. I know it’s both.

When we first talked about the disaster, we talked about how it was a perfect tragedy. Everything lined up so perfectly and it was terrifying and it was horrible… but it was meant to be. A friend who saw the show told me as he looked on, that it was as if there was an omnipotent presence in the room with us, and it’s strange for me to say this… but to me there was. It’s just too perfect that we would do this show and that I would wind up where I am and that we would touch so many lives and share something this beautiful.

I’m not done growing and this isn’t the end of us for any of us. It is with a heavy heart that I turn the page on this chapter, but with a more full one that I open to the next. 

So thank you everyone. Thank you for the wings to see the stars.

Diary of a Dramaturg

2/21

            A week from opening.

I had spent the last month witnessing a play take shape. As the production neared I found myself speaking of Challenger more often. My students were growing impatient:

“You’ve told us already.”

“Yes, but—”

“We’ll see it next weekend. Can’t we talk about it then?”

“Of course, we’ll talk about then, but—”

“I just want to see it.”

            I realized that I could only do so much to explain what Challenger had become. I brought it up because I didn’t feel my students understood what had been accomplished.

            But theatre is like that.

            An audience will see a finished product. They will often know very little about the process. This isn’t a bad thing—process can be messy, awkward; it can also be riveting. I wanted to share my experience of Challenger with my students, and they politely reminded me that the play must speak for itself.

            But what will it say?

            Being a part of Challenger from the beginning has granted me the opportunity to really listen. Night after night, I sit where the audience will sit, I track the movement of the play, the quick and steady pulse, and try to anticipate where it may skip. I also experience flashes of wonder, moments of terror, and unexpected lightness; all of these take my breath away. Challenger speaks to me a great deal.

What I think it speaks most often is joy: the joy of dreaming, the joy of exploration, the joy inherent in risk. Challenger illuminates a national tragedy, but does so as a celebration of life.

In this way, the play is wholly unique. It is a product of all the artists who contributed: the actors, the designers, the stage manager, the director, and myself. Another ensemble would have produced another play. It’s a beautiful thought, an empowering notion. Challenger emerged from the ether, from the spirits of those who touched it. To borrow a line from the play: “Your vision is not limited by what your eye can see but what your mind can imagine.”

A group of artists have created an original work, and are ready to present it. 

Diary of a Dramaturg

1/4

            We return to the cycle.

            A month away to breathe, and the work begins again. Or maybe it never stopped. Challenger had come to my mind often—at dinners, family gatherings. Someone would ask, “You’re dramaturging a what? A devised piece? About Challenger? How do you do that?”

            Oh, let me tell you.

I had a wonderful speech prepared; one that spoke of the creative process and the sacredness of the ensemble’s work. I told them I couldn’t give them details. It was all too precious. But soon.

            “So they wrote a play? Isn’t that hard?”

            Yes and no. Last quarter, I witnessed an ensemble create a play from nothing. They gave themselves to the task with such ease, such vitality, I was struck by their courage and tenacity. No, I don’t think it’s easy to write a play; it’s a lot of work. However, I do think it was easy for our ensemble.

But they’re exceptional.

            And I mean that, in the strictest sense. Elise cast the ensemble—we sat together at auditions and talked about truth in performance; how it can be recognized, but not always spoken about. It’s a different side of the brain. Elise was looking for truth in the actors she saw that day. I believe she was also looking for the exception. The actors who were hungry for this type of work. Who would be given permission to fly, and jump without a thought.

            And we found them.

            Over winter break, I longed to return to the creative process, to these individuals I found so inspiring. I continued to work on Challenger, doing a script analysis for Elise and considering possible cuts in the material. As we began again, we’d be less focused on generating work, and more intent upon shaping the play into a viable production. The challenge would be to remember the vision that shaped the play in the first place.

            But we were in good hands.

            Our first night back, Elise spoke candidly: there were some trouble spots in the script. We’d have to focus on them first, before we continued staging the play. What followed was a testament to Elise’s faith in the ensemble. After reading through the scenes once more, Elise asked them what was missing, what they were craving to see and hear. With their feedback in mind, she had the actors take the stage and improvise new material. In the end, we had three new scenes to replace those in question. What’s more, these scenes were closer to the ensemble’s original vision than the previous ones had been. We had returned to the cycle of rebirth, the cycle that characterized the journey of those on the Challenger Shuttle: hunger, fear, risk, loss, anger, grief, gratitude, wonder, and bliss.

            We had returned to our work.

Diary of a Dramaturg

11/30

It was the end of the quarter. Elise and I were meeting to discuss my thesis work—but Challenger invariably came up. It was on the tip of my tongue; the project hung in air, tugged on my thoughts. I wanted to know what else I could do.

            The ensemble had concluded their work for the quarter two weeks ago.

            They had turned in their final assignments; Elise had put the material in order. We had a complete script: the first draft of a new play. At their final rehearsal, Elise and the ensemble sat round a long table. They took turns reading the lines, passing the roles like secrets. We held our breath.

            By the end of it, someone was sobbing.

            Someone else nodded.

The air was heavy.

A collective sigh.

Yes, it was right.

Would an audience have the same reaction?

            Or was it our attachment to the work?

            I thought about my role in the production—I was to assist in ensuring the vision of the ensemble was effectively communicated to an audience. This could mean strengthening the choices already made; it could mean changing them. I would have to remain objective, at a distance.

            But for the moment, I was content to be biased. I loved our play. I couldn’t believe our actors were capable of such a thing. I was touched by the collaborative spirit of the ensemble—Elise, the actors, the designers, the stage manager—all of us drinking in the same dream. All of us pushing for the most affecting piece of theatre we could manifest.

            Two weeks later, I was asking Elise about the script—I wanted to know what I could do to help over winter break. I was hesitant to leave the work entirely. Elise admitted there were some minor things, but she wanted these changes to come from the actors themselves, and not until next quarter, after they had time away from the project. I nodded. Elise had absolute faith in her ensemble—I did too. This was no ordinary group of artists. Looking back, I understood this project was blessed from the start.

It was Elise.

It was the actors and how they responded to the work.

It was the designers, who attended and often participated in rehearsals.

It was our stage manager calling us to order, and the skill at which he recorded the various changes to the script, most of which came in half spoken conversation and frantic gestures.

I played my role as best I could, and was amazed when the actors began to do their own research, when they began to find things I had missed.

Together, we created a work of art.

We had found our voice.

It’s quiet, yes.

But soon to roar.

Barbara Morgan: No Limits Film

This is the best video on Challenger that I have watched thus far. This film is about Barbara's journey from applying to the TISP to flying mission STS-118. After watching this film, I am so incredibly pumped about the direction we are going with the second half of the show, especially our decision to feature Barbara's return to flight. It clearly meant so much to her, as well as all those involved with the TISP. The joy in the faces of Barbara, her colleagues, and her friends on the day she launched is infectious-- it got me excited about space and teachers all over again! You also get to see some things that I haven't seen anywhere else in this documentary: excerpts from Barbara and Christa's taped interviews (including their responses to the question, "What is you philosophy of life?") and a clip of Christa accepting the honor of being the first teacher in space. Just a random thing I found interesting: the crew of Endeavor in 2007 was 2 women and 5 men, just like Challenger. This video so deeply connected me with Christa and Barbara and what they worked for and what Barbara is still working for, I just had to share!

Barbara Morgan: No Limits (PBS)

Training Videos

Here are video pieces for the training scene. If the links do not work type in Pre-flight challenger training 51L part (then whatever part it is)

Part 1: This is the one Malana had found and I also really liked. Christa falls multiple times off the bar because she can not swing and then drop. She says " I didn't realize it would be so slippery." This is the first thing shown in the video.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-UYVS0qN0UM

Part 7: Funny guy being really serious, swinging the bag that is supposed to separate hydrogen from drinking water. starts at 2:20
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gA4V-I_1V9A

Part 8: Learning how to put out fires. They start out separately with smaller fires, then join together for the bigger fires. I think Christa is the one that the trainer yells multiple times " Keep it low" and then has to walk in and help her. Starts at 6:50
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nLxQWPJQQ40

Part 12: Zero Gravity Machine. Christa not even doing anything cool compared to the rest of the crew can not stop laughing. She apologizes multiple times for running into people. No one is having as much fun as her, it is so cute. Starts at 4:19
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WLDupQlp9gI

Part 13: Christa tries on space suit pants, she says " I just want what Judy suggested." Also really cute because Chrsita is so concerned  starts at 5:23
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q1egbFX1X8I

Diary of a Dramaturg

10/15-10/25

            “No writing gets done unless we’re willing to write it wrong the first time.”

           

            Our ensemble surrendered to the thought; there was no other way to create. The pieces were too immense: a play that hadn’t been written, an enormous subject, a grand theme attached to it. This was our creative process, our generation phase; two full weeks of writing material. How could we produce anything if we were afraid to risk?

            Elise warned the ensemble of this early on; she had asked that we not share the details of our rehearsals with others. She explained that creative ideas tend to be stifled if they’re given voice too soon, that sharing often invites judgment. Our rehearsal space, on the other hand, was sacred; it was an opportunity to risk without fear. It was a place to let ideas “cook.”

            The past two weeks were dedicated to this ideal. Each night an actor shared what they had been working on: a monologue, a short scene, a montage of sights and sounds. Some of it poignant, some of it humorous. All of it raw. Each night the actors went away with a new assignment.

The piece had begun to take shape in Elise’s mind. As new material was handed in, she wrote its title on a card. She taped these cards to the wall of the theatre. She stood back. It was a circle. The Cycle of Rebirth was being realized.

But it had yet to be spoken.

Two weeks of writing, and the ensemble was ready for the next step in the process. They would explore the material once again, but this time, it would be placed in a tentative order. The very first draft of a brand new play.

The piece would inevitably change; we still had months of work ahead of us. But we had reached a critical moment. Something new would be given voice, something new spoken.