Where Have All the Flowers Gone?

One night, looking for something to read before bed I opened Bowling Alone: The Collapse and Revival of American Community, by Robert D. Putnam, 2000, published by Touchstone. I had noticed it on my wife’s night table for many weeks; puzzled because I knew that fiction was her usual choice of reading material. (I learned later that she had picked it up for me, knowing that my taste in reading leaned toward non-fiction.) Given the availability of another book, Bowling Alone might have languished on my night table too, but I always rely on reading to ease me into the sweet embrace of Morpheus.

What I encountered was a very readable, though sometimes academic, exploration of social change in America over the past century. The basic premise is that significant social interaction has decreased over the past century; most noticeably in the past forty years and that this is not a good thing for American society. Identified as social capital, what one could call the grease that oils the machine of community, its lack fragments families and communities and thereby isolates individuals from each other.

The author cites many civic and social activities that have declined including: bowling leagues, PTA membership, membership is fraternal organizations, entertaining at home, blood donation, voting and volunteerism in general. Among the reasons he offers for the recent decline in social capital, all without judgment, are: television, the internet, racial tensions, generational tensions and the stress caused by both parents having to work to support their families. Historical roots of this decline and its causes are presented along with future projections (if current trends continue.)

Over the past several years at various conventions, seminars and town halls; over dinner and at the hotel bar I have heard a constant concern voiced over declining attendance at venues that present the performing arts. Lack of attendance translates directly to whether you will be in the black or in the red and facility managers are under constant pressure to do “more with less.” One range of solutions targets the cost of supplies, materials, operating procedures and labor and how these can be reduced and the bottom line improved. Another range targets staff management, training and morale and how improved customer service will maintain current patrons and, hopefully, attract new ones. Both of these are valid ways to reduce costs and maintain customer satisfaction, although sometimes the pursuit of the first hinders pursuit of the second. If materials are scarce, salaries stagnant and work hours reduced; it can be difficult to motivate staff.

So, aside from the pandemic - - which has had a unique impact upon all aspects of life over the entire planet, why has attendance at performing arts venues declined over the past 10-20 years? Personally, I don’t believe it is the fault of facility managers or facility staff. My interactions with performing facility staff and administrators are uniformly warm, cordial and caring and these characteristics go to the heart of customer satisfaction. I don’t believe it is the fault of resident arts groups. They are equally invested in customer satisfaction and the presentation of events that will attract and engage an audience. The type and variety of product available has continued to increase and there appears to be “something for everyone” out there. Everyone seems to be doing all the right things; at the right times; but to no long-term avail.

Reading Bowling Alone made me think that perhaps we have been treating symptoms and not the disease. The book posits that American society, in general, has become more isolated over the past 40 (now 60) years and suggests that it may continue to do so in the future. If this is truly the case, then we can only expect attendance to continue to decrease, no matter what “fixes’ are undertaken at a given facility. The last chapter of Bowling Alone proposes six agendas to address the “decline of social capital.” The first addresses the performing arts directly.

To build bridging social capital requires that we transcend our social and political and professional identities to connect with people unlike ourselves. This is why team sports provide good venues for social-capital creation. Equally important and less exploited in this connection are the arts and cultural activities. Singing together (like bowling together) does not require shared ideology or shared social or ethnic provenance. For this reason, among others, I challenge America’s artists, the leaders and funders of our cultural institutions, as well as ordinary Americans: Let us find ways to ensure that by 2010 significantly more Americans will participate in (not merely consume or “appreciate”) cultural activities from group dancing to songfests to community theater to rap festivals. Let us discover new ways to use the arts as a vehicle for convening diverse groups of fellow citizens.

To me, this agenda suggests that we all extend ourselves, personally and professionally, to support, engage and participate in cultural activities. In other words, we must put our money where our mouths are. It is not enough to manage the facilities that house and present the performing arts; we must show, by our deeds, the inherent value of participation in and attendance at performing arts events as an integral part of daily life in all communities and across all income ranges.

I believe that performing arts facility managers, indeed anyone with an interest in the arts, can also reach out to create “social capital.” We can join community theater groups. We can work directly with students in schools. We can attend school board and town planning meetings as advocates for the performing arts. We can vote to ensure that our representatives will understand the value of the arts. In short, anything you can do to reach out beyond your customary network of friends and contacts will help. If we all extend ourselves in this manner we will not only return patrons to our facilities but will also enrich ourselves and our communities.

The Other Side of the Couch

Growing up in the 1960’s, I remember Sunday afternoons, visiting my grandparents at their apartment in the Inwood Park section of Manhattan. They and my mother emigrated to the United States from Germany before World War II and their apartment always had an exotic flavor for me. While not quite a visit through the wardrobe to Narnia, listening to their accented English, seeing the paintings and furniture they had brought with them and the scent of mothballs made me feel I was in a different world. In their living room were two chairs where my father and grandfather would sit and talk. Across the room was a long narrow couch. After lunch I would sit on one end with my mother next to me and my grandmother next to her.

Fast forward to 2005 and a Sunday visit to my parents house; the house I grew up in. Lunch is over and I am sitting on a similar narrow couch in the living room. My father is in a chair across from me and we are talking. Now, however, my youngest son is on one end, I am in the middle and my mother is on the other end. I looked at my son and had an out-of-body experience. The sensation was like being inside of a time-lapse film and in the space of a few seconds I was transported back 45-years and felt myself sliding, like a chess piece, across the couch. When I returned to reality I looked toward my mother and realized that, in the fullness of time, I would be sliding again.

Now this may seem a bit maudlin to some, but to readers of a certain age, it may resonate. The trip across the “couch of life” (sorry, I know it’s hokey, but I couldn’t help myself) is one that everyone makes and each “cushion” presents its own unique vantage point. From where I sit now, instead of sending out resumes; I am receiving them. Instead of waiting to be told what to do; I am doing what needs to be done. Instead of imagining how I could ever know as much as those around me; I am teaching those around me. As the Talking Heads sing, “How did I get here?”

Many of us get there via formal and informal apprenticeships. Apprenticeships, I believe, have three distinct components: perceived knowledge, ignorance and true knowledge. Perceived knowledge is bestowed upon all by the virtue of youth. Our years of education and experience pale against a young person’s fresh view of the world; a world where no one has gone before. The self-assurance that comes with perceived knowledge is very valuable. It provides energy, strength, optimism and fearlessness; which are useful traits that lead us into the next phase: ignorance.

An apocryphal statement by Albert Einstein is, “Anyone who has never made a mistake has never tried anything new.” It is good to allow new things, to make mistakes and to learn from them; even though those mistakes can be a pain in the *&#%* and occasionally expensive. On the other hand, artists of all stripes first train by learning “technique” and imitating the masters. It’s balancing between these poles is the tricky part. When ignorance is achieved (that is, when one realizes that maybe - - just maybe - - there are valid reasons for prescribed practices and procedures) it can replace the bravado of perceived knowledge with apprehension. “Anything you can do, I can do better . . .” can become “. . . if I only had a brain.” This is the point where one is receptive to a valuable lesson. It’s not that experienced persons don’t make mistakes - - lord knows we do - - but that we have learned how to fix them. This can be a very liberating concept.

From this point true knowledge can be accrued. Over the course of time, with new responsibilities and challenges, we can grow into capable professionals. This process is aided by training programs offered by many industry groups. Professional organizations and the Internet provide access to a wealth of information. All of these are necessary and useful. But ultimately it is time and the fundamental dynamic of people working with people; in different facilities; in different places; with different levels of experience that give us true knowledge. Working, teaching and mentoring enrich us all personally and professionally. So . . . who are you sitting next to?

Stop . . . You're Both Right!

In Daily Life in Ancient Rome, by Jerome Carcopino, I came across the following: “Any well-educated man who was moderately well-off cherished the ambition of having a room in his house, the auditorium, especially for readings.” (p.196) This triggered a long series of mental associations centering on the difference between an ‘auditorium’ and a ‘theater.’ I have never had a really good answer to this question until now; but first a little background and history.

Merriam-Webster Online cites the following definitions.

au·di·to·ri·um Etymology: Latin, literally, lecture room . Date: 1700 1: a room, hall, or building used for public gatherings 2: the part of a public building where an audience sits.

the·ater Etymology: Middle English theatre, from Middle French, from Latin theatrum, from Greek theatron, from theasthai to view, from thea act of seeing; akin to Greek thauma miracle. Date: 14th century, 1 a: an outdoor structure for dramatic performances or spectacles in ancient Greece and Rome b: a building or area for dramatic performances

In many people’s minds, I suspect the acts of seeing and hearing are inextricably linked when it comes to thinking about a live performance. Even in extreme cases where there may be no intentional sounds (spoken word, music, noise;) hearing the silence is a necessary component of the performance. Conversely, a performance in the dark requires that our seeing is ‘not’ seeing. I grant you that the foregoing distinction is a bit esoteric, but the fact that there are separate words for ‘places to hear’ and ‘places to see’ indicates that over 2,000 years ago there was a meaningful difference (at least to some Greeks and Romans.)

Carcopino describes these auditoria as being, literally, reading rooms, where the host would sit on stage in front of assembled friends to read poetry (which was a popular fashion at the time. pp. 196, 197) While some wealthier citizens could afford to build auditoriums as separate rooms; others might only invite as many listeners as could be accommodated around their dinning room tables. These forerunners of ‘home theater’ did not compete with larger venues of the time; nor were they meant to.

Auditorium of Maecenas (Rome, Italy)

Greek theater evolved from religious rites and festivals incorporating dancing and the spoken word. Originally occurring in separate facilities at different times; advances in acoustical design . . . meant that a dancing place and a speaking place could conveniently be one and the same, so theatres doubled as places of assembly. (Wiles, David, A Short History of Western Performance Space p.07). Unlike the Roman auditoria, Greek theaters of the first millennium BC, were intended to seat large numbers of people.

So, why do cities in the United States have buildings called auditoriums and buildings called theaters; which for all intents and purposes are the same thing? The short answer is, “I don’t know.” Research in my personal library (comprised of dozens of volumes) and the Internet (containing many more sources and references which were of no avail) did not lead me to any definitive answers - - or any indefinite ones for that matter. I have, however, formed some opinions.

Throughout the 18th century there was widespread opposition to theatrical performances in Britain and the US. In the puritanical climate of the time the theater was considered a "highway to hell". Theatrical performances were banned in most states during the American Revolutionary War. It is likely, however, that these ordinances were not strictly enforced, for there are records of performances in many cities during this time. (Wikipedia) Did this disdain for theatrical performance lead to the creation of auditoriums (which may have been a stand-in for theater) favoring speech and music presentations only?

In America, during the 18th and 19th centuries, most cities only had a single theater - - if they had any at all. Productions were much more rudimentary then, and sometimes plays would be staged in barns or large salons when no theater space was available. These early provincial theaters frequently lacked heat and even minimal props and scenery. Did this lead to auditoriums with their minimal to non-existent stage systems because such theatrical systems were not expected? On a practical note, they would be less expensive to build. Did converted buildings lead to auditoriums? How many of us have done summer stock in what is or once was a barn? When there was sufficient audience and money to build a dedicated space, was an auditorium the result of trying to fix the old problems in ad hoc spaces in the new space?

The school auditoriums I remember from the early 1960’s were clearly designed in the Latin manner: as a place where students were gathered to hear lectures or music presentations; with black stage draperies and borderlights the only theatrical accessories. There was, at this time, a sense that an auditorium was a lesser type of performance space; and not just because it lacked the technical systems. This may have been because they were architecturally speaking very boring spaces. They often served double duty as gym or cafeteria and lacked the backstage support spaces found in other venues.

The latter half of the 20th century has seen a greater incorporation of the performing arts into school curriculums. Starting in the 1970’s some new schools included fully outfitted spaces with lighting, rigging and sound systems. Today, it is rare to see a K-12 facility that does not offer theatrical systems that were previously only found in professional venues. These systems are sophisticated enough to stage Broadway sized productions and there are high school drama festivals to prove it. Sometimes they are called ‘auditoriums’ and other times ‘theaters.’ This has certainly blurred the distinction during present times.

Based upon my exhaustive research, I have come to the conclusion that at the dawn of the 21st century there is no meaningful distinction between the two. Auditorium is no longer a pejorative appellation: it is as Merriam-Webster says, “. . . the place where the audience sits.” Today, live performance, in all its guises can be found in formal and informal venues. A rose, is a rose, is a rose and it smells as sweet.