I had a lot going on at the start of the fall semester of 1985. I was helping with small groups at CCF. I was helping with the Children & Youth at church. I had had a very successful summer academically where I had earned 12-hours @ a 4.0 GPA and I was pretty confident I had figured out how to earn good grades. I was living in the Campus House, I had an awesome girlfriend. What else could happen? “Al” happened.
Al Srnka was a faculty member of the theater department at NMSU. He was the Choreographer for the High Street Dance Company so I had met him a couple of times because of Amy. He was also one of the two resident theater directors. He directed plays and musicals as well as teaching Acting. Because I wanted to delve into a Musical and because I needed an elective, I took his acting class.
Al is kind of hard to describe. For one thing, he has only one vowel in his name, an “A.” which starts and ends his name. He is from the east coast, but has been in Kirksville most of his life. He was a dancer, but had developed a not-so-dancer like belly (he was always on a new diet, and you were obligated to hear about it, regardless of your immediate plans.) He also had a bit of a limp which was from a bum knee. He had a son older than me, and a son the same age, yet he seemed older than my own dad (possibly the white hair.)
Where ever we went, Al saw someone he knew. If you were walking into a restaurant someone would holler, “AL!” He would turn to you and say, “Just a minute,” and off he would go. You may never see him again. This happened all over the state, where ever we went. We would be in a random hotel lobby in Kansas City, just checking in at 1 AM and he would look to his right and say, “Just a minute,” and off he would go. Pretty soon you’d hear, “AL!” and you knew you were on your own. He tells the story that he was in Japan in the early 80’s at a hotel and he heard someone behind him give the call, “AL!” and there was someone there he knew. (I’m sure he totally ditched his Japanese interpreter, who knew fewer people there than Al did.)
Al was also nosy. His favorite phrase was, “Hey, where ya goin’? What are ya doin’?” Then he would interrogate you. He had super-sonic hearing, so if you were walking anywhere near his office you could here, “Hey,” then this weak excuse for a whistle (like you were a puppy) then, “Where ya goin’? What are ya doin’?” and eventually, “Go buy me a Coke.”
The intangible quality Al had was this: you wanted to do what he said, you wanted to please him. You were just drawn to him and what he said had weight to it. He was not mean, intimidating or unapproachable, quite the opposite, you were drawn to him.
Al cast me in three shows.
My first real show was Stephen Sondheim's "Follies." It was a huge show technically and I had to actually act and dance (which I had never done.) I knew I could sing it, but I had no clue about the other stuff. As I looked at the score I saw that the role of "Buddy" required the highest range. So naturally I thought that would be a part I could do (if I got into the show at all.) When the cast list came out I saw that I had been cast as "Ben." "Buddy" loved his wife and was trying to hold their relationship together. "Ben" was a horrible lecherous man who used people. I observed later that this was one of Al's tendencies, to cast against type. He knew where my faith was, yet he chose me for the womanizing weasel.
The whole process was difficult; the singing, the dancing, the weaseling, the makeup, the costumes. But the most difficult part was living with Ben in my psyche. I guess every actor goes through that dichotomous existence, especially the way Al taught us acting. "What is your intention? What do you intend to do?" where his two favorite phrases. For me he had to break it down to just a few basic parts. We have experiences that shape our values. Those values cause us to act in a particular way. I had to find Ben's core values and place them in my heart and then act and react accordingly. "Follies" is a difficult show. It is not happy. It really doesn't have a happy ending. You just get to watch these four older people full of regret fall apart for two hours during a bunch of song and dance numbers. Probably not the best "first show" to do. As I look back on it, I'm proud of that show, though in hind-sight, I may not have auditioned for it knowing the internal turmoil it caused me.
The next show he cast me in was a small show called, "Diamond Studs: The Life of Jesse James," It is a sort of country-style musical that was mostly just silliness with a few dramatic places. I got to play multiple parts and it was a lot of "cowboy-dancin'" that didn't require a lot of gracefulness. I played a part named "Bernie Greencheese" where I could add improv stuff. For the next two years in the Kirksville community I would get recognized at WalGreencheese!" The cast also took "Diamond Studs" to a small theater in Versailles, MO and performed it for a week. This was my funnest theater experience.
The last show I did I think Al picked for me specifically was, "Godspell." I went to Al's office when it was announced. I straight told him, "I really want to do this, but I can't be a part of it without the resurrection." He didn't blink, and he put it in. It was a life-altering experience. I had taken a New Testament class at Bible College about the Sermon on the Mount, The Beatitudes, and the Parables. I had a wealth of knowledge to draw from, but it was a whole 'nother thing trying to convincingly portray teaching those numb-skulls. If this had been my first experience, I would have pursued acting as a career.
I felt I was getting too old to change gears (again.) Plus I was committed to being a song-writer and pop-music performer. I was getting my education degree so I would have a steady day job while I pursued a music career.
One of Al's phrases that has stuck with me (besides, "One-two-go") is, "Shut-up and do it." Al would direct you to do something in the show that was impossible to do. When you started to either argue with him or tell him why it couldn't be done he would cut you off with a dismissive, "Shut-up and do it."
Here is an example;
Al cast me in three shows.
My first real show was Stephen Sondheim's "Follies." It was a huge show technically and I had to actually act and dance (which I had never done.) I knew I could sing it, but I had no clue about the other stuff. As I looked at the score I saw that the role of "Buddy" required the highest range. So naturally I thought that would be a part I could do (if I got into the show at all.) When the cast list came out I saw that I had been cast as "Ben." "Buddy" loved his wife and was trying to hold their relationship together. "Ben" was a horrible lecherous man who used people. I observed later that this was one of Al's tendencies, to cast against type. He knew where my faith was, yet he chose me for the womanizing weasel.
The whole process was difficult; the singing, the dancing, the weaseling, the makeup, the costumes. But the most difficult part was living with Ben in my psyche. I guess every actor goes through that dichotomous existence, especially the way Al taught us acting. "What is your intention? What do you intend to do?" where his two favorite phrases. For me he had to break it down to just a few basic parts. We have experiences that shape our values. Those values cause us to act in a particular way. I had to find Ben's core values and place them in my heart and then act and react accordingly. "Follies" is a difficult show. It is not happy. It really doesn't have a happy ending. You just get to watch these four older people full of regret fall apart for two hours during a bunch of song and dance numbers. Probably not the best "first show" to do. As I look back on it, I'm proud of that show, though in hind-sight, I may not have auditioned for it knowing the internal turmoil it caused me.
The next show he cast me in was a small show called, "Diamond Studs: The Life of Jesse James," It is a sort of country-style musical that was mostly just silliness with a few dramatic places. I got to play multiple parts and it was a lot of "cowboy-dancin'" that didn't require a lot of gracefulness. I played a part named "Bernie Greencheese" where I could add improv stuff. For the next two years in the Kirksville community I would get recognized at WalGreencheese!" The cast also took "Diamond Studs" to a small theater in Versailles, MO and performed it for a week. This was my funnest theater experience.
The last show I did I think Al picked for me specifically was, "Godspell." I went to Al's office when it was announced. I straight told him, "I really want to do this, but I can't be a part of it without the resurrection." He didn't blink, and he put it in. It was a life-altering experience. I had taken a New Testament class at Bible College about the Sermon on the Mount, The Beatitudes, and the Parables. I had a wealth of knowledge to draw from, but it was a whole 'nother thing trying to convincingly portray teaching those numb-skulls. If this had been my first experience, I would have pursued acting as a career.
I felt I was getting too old to change gears (again.) Plus I was committed to being a song-writer and pop-music performer. I was getting my education degree so I would have a steady day job while I pursued a music career.
One of Al's phrases that has stuck with me (besides, "One-two-go") is, "Shut-up and do it." Al would direct you to do something in the show that was impossible to do. When you started to either argue with him or tell him why it couldn't be done he would cut you off with a dismissive, "Shut-up and do it."
Here is an example;
- AL: Okay, lift up your right leg off the floor
- ME: Okay
- AL: Now, without putting your right leg down, lift your left leg off the floor
- ME: Uh, Al? That would be physically...
- AL: Shut-up and do it. One-two-go.
- Then I would lift up both legs and hover off the floor
- ME: Uh, Al?
- AL: Told ya, now go buy me a Coke.
The other thing that Al did that has been one of the most influential things in my life is this: He introduced me to Randy and Eric.
chris
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