This was originally posted on the old blog on September 12th at the close of this season's Shakespeare in the Park.
Travis Stroessenreuther, friend, fellow guide, and Little Byter (Slaves and a Haircut, Madison Avenue, Park Avenue Part One: Death Avenue) has agreed to share my favorite story (his own) about the lengths people will go to claim those free tickets to the productions at the Delacorte. Travis is also a great actor and a company member of the improv troupe Eight Is Never Enough.
Here's Travis:
Let us start at the very beginning.....
I'm a stable man. I like simple pleasures, good food, good music and the like. While I am spontaneous, I do go forth in life with, I feel, a clear head--I know the difference between good and bad ideas. And when I'm foggy on that detail, I turn to my wife, Julianna, to help me.
Which is why I don't know why on earth she let me go and do the thing I was about to go and do.....
July, 2006.
The Public Theatre had announced that it was putting up, as one of the year's Shakespeare in the Park offerings, Mother Courage and Her Children. An interesting choice, I thought. I wondered who was playing the lead.
Meryl Streep. I must go.
Now, as you might or might not know, tickets to Shakespeare in the Park are free and handed out each day at one o'clock for that night's performance. You can pick up these tickets both inside Central Park and downtown at The Public. For the more popular shows, people start lining up very early in the morning. For popular shows with celebrities in them, they start lining up well before dawn. For celebrity-studded, popular shows that have gotten great reviews (such as this one), people start lining up the night before.
"What a great idea!" I thought. This is where my wife should have stepped in. But, no. She shook her head, gave me her concerned, yet supportive, look and said "I'd love to see Meryl Streep, honey. You go have fun."
Here was the plan. I would go out the night before to my favorite karaoke haunt on 54th street, close the bar, go and get in line and get WONDERFUL seats to the play. "So close", I thought, "that Meryl will spit on me!"
I send out a mass email, asking "Who's with me?!?!".
Not a single "I AM!"
Many "Good lucks!" and "I hope you don't get killed!" but no one would join me on this adventure.
And the day arrives.
I pack up my collapsible folding canvas chair, a blanket, a few magazines and off I go to karaoke.
Many friends are there, all toasting to my night I'm about to spend in the park. I mingle. I drink. I sing "Jump in the Line" by Harry Belafonte (the Beetlejuice Theme). I drink some more. I close the bar.
After some friendly fond farewells, I leave the bar, stop at a local deli for a turkey sandwich and a much needed bottle of water. I begin my walk up to 81st Street and Central Park West. As I walk up, I pass by a wide variety of people--fellow revelers, starting to make their way home; early morning dog walkers along Central Park; and a shirtless free spirit who makes his home on a bench of Central Park West.
I arrive at 81st street (the entrance closest to the Delacorte Theatre), expecting to see a group of like-minded, Meryl lovin', theatre folks.
No one is in sight. I think to myself that, perhaps, people have already snuck into the park and are in line by the theatre itself. I sit on the bench, pondering my options. Should I go into the dark park at 4:00 in the morning? Should I wait here, on a bench at 81st Street until dawn? Should I take the subway downtown to the Public Theatre and get in line there? I look up and down the street. No one is around.
No one, except Daryl, the young, African-American man with no shirt whom I passed on the way up and has now decided to sit down next to me on the bench. Suddenly, I'm in a production of Zoo Story. I try to play it cool.
"S'up?" I say.
"Nothin, man, I'm just out for a walk."
He's staring at my bag. And my turkey sandwich.
"S'cool...." I know I'm done if I tell him I'm here to see Meryl Streep. "I'm just resting before I go home, man."
I figure this is it. Ten years in this city without an incident, and now I'm going to get mugged here on Central Park West. I think about Jules, at home, asleep, cozy in the bed I should also be in right now. I wish he'd stop looking at my bag.
"You got any weed?" he pleads.
"No, man." (I figure if I say 'man' a lot, he'll somehow figure I'm cool enough NOT to rob) "But if I did, I'd sure share it with you." He pauses to consider. I decide to take the upper hand. "What's your name...man?"
"Daryl."
"Cool, Daryl, well I'm gonna get goin, man, I think." He waits before he responds.
"That's cool, man, I'm just gonna walk back up to Harlem. Nice meeting you." And he sticks out his hand.
Crap. He's gonna grab my hand, pull me in, and stab me in the temple with a plastic fork. I prepare. I take his hand. He gives me a good shake, stands up, and continues north on Central Park West.
I gotta get out of here.
I'm about to cross the street to the subway to head downtown to the Public Theatre (figuring there MUST be people down there), but as I reach the middle of the street I see a woman with a sleeping bag in one hand and a pillow in the other, heading into the park. I approach.
"YOU must be going to see Meryl Streep in Mother Courage!"
"YES" she loudly whispers, "Now come on!" and she darts into the park. I quickly turn around and follow her in.
Our conversation on the way to the theatre is limited, mostly because she keeps shushing me.
"You should have worn darker clothes so the police don't find us and stay low and be quiet and I've been doing this for fifteen years and my name is Emily and you need to STAY LOW because we're not supposed to be in here before 6AM!"
She's clearly crazy, but she's the only friend I have right now and she seems to know what she's doing. I follow her, down the curving path, into the Central Park darkness, until we reach the lamplight near the box office of the Delacorte Theatre. There is no one else in line. She is number one; I am number two. Mission accomplished.
I spread out my blanket, use my backpack for a pillow and secure my turkey sandwich. "How cool" I mutter to myself. "How cool that I am sleeping in Central Park on a beautiful night, going to sleep knowing that I'll have amazing seats to an amazing show with an amazing actress. I love this city and all it has to offer. Goodnight trees. Goodnight crickets. Goodnight Emily. Goodnight New York City.
I'm woken an hour later by the sound of Emily: "OH, SHIT!"
I check my watch. 5:35AM. It's still dark. We're still not supposed to be in the park. Why is Emily shouting? I roll over and see her standing up by the box office itself.
Bleary eyed, I stumble up alongside her and read a notice on the box office window:
DUE TO THE METROPOLITAN OPERA'S PRODUCTION OF RIGOLETTO IN THE PARK TONIGHT, THERE WILL BE NO PERFORMANCE OF MOTHER COURAGE AND HER CHILDREN. SORRY FOR THE INCONVENIENCE.
LOL
"Sorry for the inconvenience." Now THAT'S an understatment.
Posted by: Jennifer | November 20, 2008 at 11:56 PM