All stories about the Dome (that is, when it really was the Dome) begin and end with Bertrand A. Henry. And the stories . . .
Towards the end of my first year (part time) at the Dome there occurred one of those events which would grow to be common over the years –conflict over the choice of third year plays to be staged for the public (called Majors). In the early years there was no systematic, pre-planned season of shows. Directors were assigned by the Chair (Bert) and the coveted last show of the year assignment was made by the Chair (Bert) and it was always … Bert. Most directors chose their plays well in advance and informed the students about them but Bert always liked to keep his dramatic selection close to his vest. The third years had done – and here I am relying entirely on memory, so there may be some errors – an excellent Commedia dell’arte production of The Military Lover, by Carlo Goldoni and directed and translated by Perry Schniederman (a Canadian premiere). They had also done a production of Garcia Lorca’s Yerma directed by an outside director. Now, I am a fan of Lorca’s poetry and politics, but Yerma is a touch turgid and has very few parts for men – for anyone except for Yerma. (Footnote: my clearest memories of Yerma – and I built the set, designed the lights and sound and trained the Stage Management – were the wonderful solo dance number by Susan Gibson, the way the name of the play was pronounced, in not-so sotto voce, like sheep by various members of the cast and the wonderful designer’s frustrated comment: “I should have put in the fourth wall!”)
After that show was over, Bert presented the 3rdyear class with his play choice for the final Major, a choice that did very little to resolve the role distribution difficulties. Remember, please, that this was a powerhouse class, with a lot of actors that would go on to extended professional careers. Long story short, the class rejected Bert’s play and Bert, who always played hardball, said, in effect, ‘Ok, go and find another director in the faculty to direct you at this late date, I dare you!’ So, they said, “OK Bert”, and they asked me to find a play and direct them (members of that class who wish to amend this can go right ahead). Anyway, I had directed at the Saidye Bronfman Centre (second stage), Quebec Summer Stock, and Bishop’s University and working at Festival Lennoxville I had the chance to watch, in rehearsal, the work of John Hirsch, Douglas Rain, Frances Hyland, Bill Davis, Mia Anderson and many others. And I had the arrogance to say that I could do it.
When I had been Technical Director of The Centennial Theatre in Lennoxville, we had hosted a touring version Toronto Workshop Productions’ fabulous performance of Ten Lost Years. As soon as I saw that show I wanted to direct it, so I described it to the third year and they agreed. I managed to get the rights (there was a big fight over that) and off we went. Despite my lack of experience, I was sustained throughout the rehearsal process and performance run by the talent and commitment of the class and I still consider it to have been a great success. I enjoyed that show so much that I directed it twice more.
The most amazing thing about that experience (well, all of it was kind of amazing) was the fact that Bert held no grudge or rancor. He was supportive and friendly throughout, and I discovered at the end of the year that I was assigned to direct again the next year and pick up a couple of pre-University courses (I did, after all, have a Masters degree). And suddenly, I was fulltime. I had never been full time before. Contingency had been a way of life. I was so shocked, I got my driver’s license (another weird story), bought a used car and drove to Vancouver and back. Then I felt that I was ready for another year at the Dome. But no-one had warned me about Lagos.
