If You’re Ever Lost

Tonight, we bring you the first in a series of reflections on where we (company members of Apple Core) were on September 11th. First up is Producing Artistic Director Allison Taylor.

On September 11, 2001, I had just arrived to New York from Thomas Jefferson Land, in bucolic Virginia.  I was going to college outside the city, and the prospect of exploring the many interweaving villages of my future home was much higher on my list of to-dos than reading about 15th century Chinese underwater basket weaving.

I always wanted to live here.  I fell in love with New York through Woody Allen movies, the glitzy marquees of the Great White Way, through the very idea of its food, of its bagels.  I wanted to relive the free-spirited, rebellious journey of Bob Dylan, only without a guitar or talent, and with a Greenwich Village that had already been de-bohemianified.  I didn’t fully realize how much New York had changed from my romanticized idea yet.  I just wanted to be a New Yorker.
 
So it was with great glee that on Saturday September 8, I rode the Metro-North train to Grand Central and then the 6 train down to Astor Place to meet my high school friend, Henry, at his NYU dorm room, the Brittany Residence.  Henry had gone to some kind of summer film camp at NYU, so he already knew the lay of the land, which not only made him a good resource, but infinitely cool.  He was to be my tour guide.  When he took me down to the corner of Broadway and 10th, realizing that I still didn’t even know that “downtown” mean down in the street numbers,” Henry gave me one piece of advice.

 “See those two tall buildings there?” he said, pointing into the dimly purple sky at two rather ugly rectangular monoliths.  ”Those are the Twin Towers.  If you’re ever lost, just look for them.  That’s downtown.”  I don’t even remember what we did the rest of the night — probably got some pasta at Pepe Rosso To Go and explored the now nearly distinct record stores of downtown Manhattan.

That following Monday, I had my first college class, and on Tuesday morning, I was energized enough to wake up early and start reading my homework in bed so that later I could go into the city to buy Bob Dylan’s new record. I was in the midst of highlighting a passage when my suitemate, Emma, a senior with thick framed glasses and a permanent glossy-lipped smile, knocked tentatively and, not waiting for an answer, came in putting on her robe.

 “You guys,” she said to my roommate Liz and me, “the World Trade Center has been attacked.”
 
It’s strange to think back on this, but I honestly had no idea what the World Trade Center was.  Henry had off-handedly called it the “Twin Towers,” and while I had heard of the 1993 attack on the WTC, I had never connected it to an actual building that I could visualize. It wasn’t until Liz and I had hunched around Emma’s little fuzzy TV that I could see what the World Trade Center was.
 
The rest of the day remains a very blurry memory.  I know I freaked out about the possibility of Henry being hurt and frantically called him, but couldn’t connect.  I later found out that he was fine, but if memory serves, that he had watched from the roof of his building as the two towers fell.  Shortly after, I went to the nearby common area to watch the news on a larger screen.  I huddled in a bean bag in the back of the room, wearing my pajama pants and flip flops and an SLC sweatshirt, and I watched the terrifying footage in this room full of anonymous students, all of whom were crying, none of whom wanted to be there.  It seemed that everyone just wanted to go home.

But I didn’t. I knew then that I didn’t really know New York - just my romanticized version of it - but I still wanted to be in New York.                                                     

When Apple Core Theater Company decided on a production that would somehow reflect on the 10th anniversary of September 11, we were really, really nervous.  What could we give to the public that would be worth… well, anything?  Could we take on such a significant subject at such a young time in our development?  Could we say anything without it being political?  Is it too soon?  Would we be criticized?  Attacked?  And most importantly, would people view us as opportunistic?  This was our primary fear.  We knew we would do it for the right reasons, but would everyone else?

But after keeping our ear low to the ground, we realized that there were few theater companies who wanted to take this subject on during the time of the 10th anniversary.  Why?  Did they not think it important?  Or were they afraid too?  Perturbed that we hadn’t heard of any other theater exploring a similar project, resolute that the theater community should be doing something, and bolstered by the possibility of working with an up-and-coming, enormously talented playwright/actor, we pressed forward with our idea.

We’re thrilled with what Mel has come up with (and stay tuned for more blog posts about the production).  We’re thrilled not just because By the Dawn’s Early Light is comprised of two beautiful one-acts, but because they do what we sought to do all along (though we didn’t tell him as much).  Theater is the only art form to link narrative and the power of a live connection between the artist and the audience.  If it doesn’t have the power to help heal, to bring a community together, then I don’t know what does.

Eventually I learned how to get around New York, but without the Twin Towers, many New Yorkers are still lost.  With By the Dawn’s Early Light, we hope we can come together to remember the lives lost and reflect on the last ten years.  We hope you’ll join us.

15 June 2011 ·