Proving once again that if you build it they will come......
I come from the decidedly cynical side of the human family. I"m telling you this so that in a bit, when I start gushing over the new Performing Arts Center you won't conclude I'm simply a shill for the powers that be. It may surprise you to know that this has not been a good year for cynics. Oh, there's been no shortage of truly deplorable developments but most of these just fill a guy with revulsion. They don't prompt him to mutter and shake his head at the complete and utter absurdity of the thing. The cynic needs to find some irony in his bad news. There isn't, for example, much irony in the parade of policy makers willing to intentionally lie and distort reality to justify their appetite for war. What appeals to the cynic is the awareness that many of these very same guys cut their policy wonking baby teeth distorting and lying about Vietnam.
I know this sounds a bit harsh. So, I've decided that I am
going to strive to become one of those, "the glass is half
full, they're doing the best they can" kind of guys. I'm
not abandoning cynicism because of its corrosive effect on my
character, although I suspect it may have one. No, I have simply
concluded that no matter how cynical I become, I simply can't
keep up. There has been such a jaw dropping rise in greed, avarice,
and big fat liars that even the hardest working of cynics has
been forced to cry "uncle".
I bring this up because I attended the opening of the Trueblood
Performing Arts Center on Saturday night. Since I'm retired I
tend to hang around where the indolent and talkative gather. I've
heard a good amount of cynical grousing about this project almost
since it's inception. A goodly number of people seemed to want
someone else's money spent on a different kind of facility, maybe
a combination gym/ library/retirement home /waste treatment facility.
Some, oddly enough, seemed irritated by the expenditure of even
someone else's money on something as frivolous as the arts. Others
seemed sure it would somehow increase their taxes. Some didn't
like the design, some didn't like the designer, some the Board
of Directors, some seemed miffed that they'd not been consulted.
Some seemed to feel that it was promoted and built for the amusement
of a privileged few. I think the technical term for this type
of thinking is "looking a gift horse in the mouth".
For the most part I've ignored these discussions. In truth I hadn't given much thought to the Performing Arts Center at all. I was not particularly susceptible to the arguments of the naysayers because my cynical nature almost never survives the ferry crossing. By the time my ferry reaches Deaths Door I've almost always slipped the grip of detached irony and I'm feeling pretty good about my fellow man. I credit this to a decision made years ago to permanently affix a pair of rose colored glasses regarding all things "Island". I simply refuse to entertain anything even remotely negative about this Island or the people who inhabit it.
So, possibly you couldn't make it to the opening night of the
Performing Arts Center. Maybe you were tired. You may have had
other pressing engagements, or told yourself that you'd been to
enough such dedications. Or maybe you were thinking this place
wasn't for you anyway so let "them" have their grand
opening. I can only say, BIG, BIG MISTAKE!! Maybe it was the gorgeous
"Blue Moon" that hung like a gala Hollywood beacon above
the festivities or maybe it was the influence of the spanking
new hall on the performers and audience. Whatever forces were
in play this was a glorious evening. I don't think I've ever heard
the familiar roster of performers sound as good. I don't think
I've ever seen the citizenry look snazzier. By the time the last
notes of "Northern Lights" died out I was positively
brimming with love for the Island and it's inhabitants. I left
the hall feeling genuinely inspired and deeply appreciative of
those whose efforts made the place happen. As the evening evolved
I couldn't help thinking how improbable it all was. It seemed
to confirm something I'd read in a book about the power of Islands.
The author had contended that islands nourished the evolution
of improbable human beings. People, he believed, who were given
to sweeping gestures of imagination and generosity. The realization
of this incredible facility on this tiny piece of rock would seem
in keeping with his belief.
The decision to make the opening night an "all Island"
program was exactly right. If there was any question as to who's
Performing Arts Center this was it was resolved by the evenings
events. It belongs to the incredible diversity of creative people
whose hearts make their permanent home here. And it surely belongs
to those kindergartners who sang for us and to all of their younger
brothers and sisters whose creativity will be nurtured by the
existence of the place. Jerry Mann made an eloquent statement
extending the reach of the evening and the stewardship of the
Center to all of those Islanders not in attendance. Many that
might have been here were occupied keeping the Island afloat during
the peak of the season. Tribute was of course paid to those whose
generosity made the Center possible: To Carol and Wilson Trueblood
for the generous endowment that made the structure possible: To
the Richtor's for acquiring and donating the land on which the
building sits. Appropriate recognition was given to all of those
whose physical efforts built the hall on budget and on time. The
architect, Rick Phillips, was recognized for his creative design.
It seemed to me that the only group shorted the accolades they
deserved were the members of the Board of Directors. As the sponsors
of the event, they were obviously reluctant to blow their own
horns. Some of these folks toiled, literally for years to make
this happen. They gave an incredible amount of time to what was
often a thankless task. I hope all of them are now able to delight
in the fruition of their efforts. It would not seem at all inappropriate
if each were to have a brief "Nah Na Nah Na Nah Nah!... I
tooold you so" session in the privacy of their own homes.
With the tributes finished the focus became entertainment.
Kathy Sorenson and Cindra Hokkanen shared the responsibilities
as masters of ceremony. Dan Hansen put the evening's program together
and served as the entertainment coordinator. (Permit me dear reader
a brief departure from my gushing "criticism" of this
event. For the twenty plus years I've been coming here Dan Hanson
and Julian Hagen have shown up time and again to provide the support
and background for every conceivable type of musical and civic
event. We should be giving these guys some kind of lifetime
achievement awards: Something modest befitting their humble natures.
Possibly a nominal bump in our property taxes could keep them
in soft serve cones for the remainder of their natural lives.
Give it some thought.) There were musical performances by Wayne
Boshka, by the well known first names; Julian, Jens, Lyla, and
Cindra by the Faithful Friends, by Kindergartners Clara, Maren,
Maya and Patricia. There were Hansons and Hagans aplenty. And
there were surprises. Who'd have thunk Jen's had a stirring rendition
of "Don't Cry for Me, Argentina" in him. Barbara Hanson's
soaring performance took my breath away. Rich Hanson and Paula
McDonald's performance of their brother Michael's "We've
Got Today" was beautiful. The Berggren children were terrific.
In fact, I thought every single bit of the evening was terrific.
And, there's something else. The whole of the evening's events
conspired to create something that was genuinely stirring, something
greater than the sum of it's parts. I'm not sure what that "thing"
is but I think it might be the visceral experience of community.
I left this evening, as I have others, muttering to myself, "Damn,
I love this Island".