St. John’s Memories: Half-Act Players
For the most part, we weren’t professional theatre folks; we were amateurs, hence the play on words in our name. The same was true of Deep Man’OR, the medieval castle that Hunter Hall was transformed into to serve as the scene of the ridiculous plays we performed.
St. John’s Madrigals started out as a choir event. Our St. Ambrose Choir sat on stage, served as the royal court for whom a play was to be presented, and ended the evening with a Christmas-themed choir concert. Over the years, the fancy dinners, held every other year, became more focused on the sometimes-insane theatrics than the well-rehearsed choral music. Some people felt the Madrigals had “run its course,” and they dropped out, though, until recently, the actors continued to meet monthly for dinner and fellowship.
Production of the Madrigals was quite a task and couldn’t have been done without the enduring dedication of Becky Burns, who is now deceased, and Brenda Dearien, who retired as our parish administrator. When people ask if we shall ever bring the Madrigals back, the answer is that, without Becky and Brenda, it just couldn’t be done. All of the knowledge that they had has been lost.
This stained glass panel, which hangs in a window in Hunter Hall, was commissioned by St. John’s Half-Act Players and designed and created by Bob Rosier. The Gothic arch represents the medieval castle in which our Madrigal dinners supposedly took place. The music chord and two masks are self-explanatory, but wait—did you notice that both masks are smiling? We shall have comedy but no tragedy in Deep Man’or!
Some of the earlier plays that I recall included such noteworthy performers as Page Hamrick, Tom Vanderford, Myke Beckett, Randy Cain, Margaret Lieberman, and I know I’m forgetting the names of others. Becky always encouraged our clergy to become Half-Actors, and succeeded in recruiting the Revs. Mac McLeod, Karl Ruttan and others.
One of my favorite quotes from I forget which play was delivered perfectly by Mac. When the court was being asked if we could perform for them, we were told that our little play could not include any sex or violence. Mac’s character responded splendidly, “Oh, we abhor sex and violence—especially violence!” And the audience roared.
I became rather famous for transforming what had previously been a solemn, ceremonial delivery—accompanied by a trumpet fanfare—of first the wassail bowl, then the boar’s head, and finally the flaming dessert, into a comical and unexpected break in the ordinary routine of life in the castle. I don’t know how I did it and don’t remember all of the costumes I created over the years, but I was determined to come up with six new ones for each Madrigal, three for Friday and the others for Saturday. The key is that the choir, seated on stage, never knew beforehand what I would look like, sometimes dressed in drag, when I processed through the dining hall to offer up each course to them. And, so, their laughter was genuine.
Most of the older members of our congregation have fond memories of the Madrigals and the fine food and silly antics that were a part of the evenings’ fare. But, newcomers to St. John’s have no idea what they missed.