Diary of An Encourager: first house

Diary of An Encourager: The First House

Shortly after I arrived in the Twin Cities in 1989, I renewed my acquaintances at Minnesota Public Radio. I found myself in the right place at the right time. I'd been looking for a volunteer opportunity there. MPR was putting together a new radio show, "The First House on the Right", a musical variety show in which the caretaker of a house was visited each week by various musical and comedic guests. I was pointed in the direction of the show's staff. They needed some fill in volunteer help until their intern came aboard. The host of the show was Dan Rowles, a multi-talented writer, actor, singer and musician who had most recently been a regular on "A Prairie Home Companion." PHC sound effects man Tom Keith was also set as a regular on this show.

Here I was, fresh from the East Coast, brand new to St. Paul and I was going to have a chance to be a volunteer for a new live show featuring people whose talents I'd been admiring from 1000 miles away. Somebody pinch me.

I was also scared to death. This show was performed before a live audience and taped for later broadcast. They needed me to be a backstage "go-fer" for the first two shows. What if I screwed something up, or asked stupid, inane questions? I was, after all, a rookie at showbiz productions. Sure, I had radio experience from college, but would that be meaningful here? I was advised by someone at the station not to look through rose-colored glasses. But as a Virgo, I tended to view situations with a critical eye. I wouldn't be shocked at being witness to tempers or ego flare-ups. That was okay by me, just so long as I wasn't on the receiving end.

When I arrived at the theater on the day of the first show, my fears were unfounded. I was warmly greeted by everyone and told many times over my first day how nice it was to have me there. Things went fairly smoothly. I rose to the challenge of minor problems. Tasks I considered routine were warmly appreciated. At the end of the first day, I was physically and emotionally exhausted, realizing I had thrown so much of myself into each task.

It was fascinating to observe the process of putting the radio show together. The people involved interacted like perfectly fit pieces of a puzzle. Dan was the total package: talented, handsome, kind and considerate, loved his family and treated his wife like a princess. The producer was a warm, kind soul who carried a whip but never, to my knowledge, used it. The musical director and production assistant had the most infectious laughs I'd ever heard, and they were heard often because the comic material was so good. The band featured some of the area's best players. There were many others in this diverse group of people whose abilities and personalities blended so easily into the mix. The ego clashes and tantrums I had feared witnessing were not in evidence. Instead, there was mutual respect and camaraderie. There were some tense moments from time to time, but even those were handled with restraint and professionalism. I may not have been widely experienced in show business, but it was evident to me that this was truly a unique situation.

Once the intern arrived, there was nothing left for me to do. But the staff graciously invited me back every week to watch rehearsals. Every Thursday when the show taped, I would head straight from work to the theater and stayed until the show was over. It was worth skipping a meal for. The staff made sure I had free tickets to every show and also included me in many activities. They even listed me as part of the show's production staff, long after I stopped having anything "official" to do. They considered me part of their "inner circle". It was kind of them to feel that way about me, but I more appropriately placed myself in the "outer rim" of the inner circle. But, that was gravy to me. I even met the famous and soon to be famous, like folk legend Odetta and at the time up and coming artist Harry Connick, Jr.

Despite having an open invite, I felt a bit guilty about showing up every week and not doing anything constructive. So, I decided I would create my own job. I appointed myself the staff and cast morale booster. Audiences were small at first and there were at times more "comp" guests in the audience than paying ticketholders. But there were believers, not the least of which was me. I knew, as we all did, that there was something special and exciting going on here. My goal was to keep up the cast and crew's spirits and to give back the kindness they had shown me. I would sneak into their offices after work with baked goodies for their production meetings. At Christmas time, I showered them with treats and small gifts. Someone later told me that was the only holiday spirit they'd had.

Perhaps the one moment in which the entire experience washed over me was during one show as I stood backstage. I was in the wings standing next to Dan and Butch Thompson. Two people I listened to and admired from 1,000 miles away only a year before. Now I was here among them, laughing and joking. It couldn't get much better than this.

Then suddenly, one day, it was all over. The rug had been pulled out from under everyone and the show was cancelled. It was money, they said. The funding they had hoped for didn't come through. Now I understood why a staff member made such a point of telling me my support meant more to them than I realized. I thought it was more than just the usual kindness. I felt gratified that I was there for them at an important time, but I was also angry and confused. This show was something unique, creative and wonderful, the audience support was beginning to grow, and now it would all be ending. It didn't make sense.

The final show was, as Charles Dickens, put it, the best of times and the worst of times. The air was tinged with sadness, yet the love and affection poured forth. The cast and crew went out triumphantly, with a long standing ovation. The staff put me in the front row that night, and a cast member gave me a rose. My presence was demanded at an after-show party. I wouldn't have missed it for the world.

There are some things you don't learn until years later. I didn't know it at the time, but it was my first "gig" as an encourager. And it was a real job. I never got paid any money, but I doubt if all the world's gold would have been measured up to the value of what that experience was for me in that place and time.

--Wendy V

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