By Timothy X. Troy, ’85
Associate professor of theatre arts and
the J. Thomas and Julie Esch Hurvis Professor of Theatre and Drama
Lawrence Today magazine, Summer 2006
Folks who work closely with me know that I like a bracing cup of coffee, pretty
much any time of the day. Imagine my delight when, after five hours of free
cocktails and hors devours in the Kodak Theatre, the Red Carpet was transformed
into an espresso bar. I asked for a single-shot Americano, smiled at Meryl
Streep (who smiled back), and took another, rather amazed, deep breath.
About three hours prior to that sobering cup, I thrilled at watching my college
friend, Eric Simonson, ’82, change his life (and mine) by winning the
Academy Award for his documentary short feature On a Note of Triumph: The
Golden Age of Norman Corwin.
During the exclusive party hosted by HBO the night before, and throughout the
gala ceremony, Eric adopted the charming habit of introducing me to his friends
and colleagues as follows: This is Tim Troy. He is a nominee in the category
of best supporting actor in a documentary short.
It was Oscar night, and I was in Los Angeles wearing a tux rented from Sears.
The early-spring evening felt warm to this Wisconsinite. The Kodak Theatre
was grand. Eric’s wife Susan was bright and lovely, nervous and proud.
Shortly after lunch it was clear that their nine-month-old son, Henry, had
no idea why we were dressed to the “nines,” toasting with champagne,
taking pictures, and pacing the living room. The coffee was a momentary pause
in an evening, long from over, that was beginning to feel surreal.
Norman Corwin, great American writer
How had I gotten myself here, sharing such prestigious company? In the fall
of 2004, I had lunch with Eric in Milwaukee while he was on a rehearsal break
from a show he was directing at Milwaukee Repertory Theater. At a certain point,
he mentioned that Norman Corwin had asked about me. I was stunned. I had suspected
that Mr. Corwin was still alive, but I had no idea why Eric knew him, nor could
I conceive that Corwin could possibly know who I was.
It turns out that both Eric and I had independently grown interested in Corwin’s
work and had both listened to a copy of the 1995 radio documentary celebrating
the 50th anniversary of Corwin’s famous broadcast, On a Note of Triumph. It was narrated by Charles Kuralt and was my introduction to the work of a
man I would come to regard as one of the great American writers.
Two years before that fateful meeting, in the spring of 2002, we had featured
the work of Norman Corwin for our Second Annual Lawrence Theatre of the Air
radio-drama festival, the Department of Theatre Arts’ annual salute to
old time radio that we hold in Cloak Theatre each spring.
To prepare for that production, I spent months listening to Corwin’s
work, learning to delight in the variety of dramatic worlds he created, and
deeply respecting his command of the medium. As a theatre and opera director,
I know that the best way to learn from the masters is to produce their work.
So, when we shared
our Corwin radio production with the campus community, we were thrilled that
the audience appreciated his work as much as we did.
We had a listing of our season on the Lawrence website. At 92 years young,
Mr. Corwin was surfing the net, and he found our announcement for the Corwin
Festival. That’s how it came to be that Mr. Corwin knew about Lawrence,
and why he asked Eric about me.
Terkel, Cronkite, Altman, Gilliland, and Troy
Going back even further in time, Eric was a senior when I was a freshman. And,
even though the years tend to level the age difference in any cohort of college
students, one doesn’t stop “looking up” to the older students.
I followed Eric’s career and was delighted by each success.
It was easy for me to keep track of his work as he went from Madison to Chicago,
when he joined the Steppenwolf company, and when I caught a glimpse of him
at the Tony Awards broadcast in 1990 when he was in the Frank Galati production
of Grapes of Wrath. I caught another glimpse of him in 1993 when he was nominated
as director for Song of Jacob Zulu and yet again when his first documentary,
On Tiptoe: Gentle Steps to Freedom, was nominated for an Oscar in 2003.
When Eric (pictured, left, with Oscar) mentioned that he was planning to make
a documentary about Corwin and that he wanted my help, I knew he was serious,
and I knew
that it
would
be a real privilege to work with him again and to help honor the work of an
American master.
I began by sharing my research with Eric. I had a good sense of Corwin’s
career and, as a director, I could talk about the expressive range, context,
and technical achievements Corwin brought to radio drama. I had cast lists
of Corwin’s productions in the 1940s and hoped to help Eric identify
people who might speak on camera. As the project evolved, we realized that
nearly 55 years had passed since his famous broadcast, and well…not many
people were left who remembered, firsthand, the power of Corwin’s work
.
Together with his collaborators, Corinne Marrinan and Mark Herzog, Eric managed
to get some important luminaries to speak for Corwin, including Studs Terkel,
Walter Cronkite, and Robert Altman. Norman Corwin, sharp as ever, charming
as can be, and articulate in ways to dazzle any mere user of English, would,
of course, speak for himself. Eric decided that my contextual and interpretive
work, along with Wisconsin Public Radio host Norman Gilliland’s command
of old time radio history, would round out the cast of experts in his film.
And so it came to be that I was sipping coffee with Meryl Streep (well, sort
of), my head spinning from excitement, and feeling very grateful for the opportunity
to help Eric cast a new spotlight on the career of Norman Corwin.
A 20th-century Walt Whitman
One moral of this story, as I told my acting students shortly after we learned
that Eric’s film was nominated for an Oscar, is that, as scholar and
as an artist, you must not only follow your mind and your heart wherever it
may lead, but you should also cling tightly
to the coattails of your college friends, because they just might invite you
to join them on Oscar night!
Perhaps
the more important moral is that great works of art gain meaning through time.
This moment in our history begs for us to learn from Norman Corwin (pictured).
His broadcast on CBS on VE Day, 1945, so captured the nation with the power
of
its poetry,
the skill with which music interlaced with the spoken word, and the sense of
citizenship and civic responsibility he espoused, that we continue to sense
his ability to speak through time from his day to
ours. Corwin’s vision of a democracy is one based on principle, not partisanship.
He is a 20th-century Walt Whitman. He reminds us in On a Note of Triumph:
… there is no discharge in the war.
You are on probation only — you and the faces you dreamed about,
and the rest of us.
Henceforward we must do a little civil thinking every day,
and not pass up the front page for the sports page as we did before.
Vigilance pays interest and compounds into peace….
Peace is never granted outright; it is lent and leased.
You can win a war today and lose a peace tomorrow
In Eric’s film, Studs Terkel speaks movingly about his experience of
listening to that broadcast. He talks about the closing moments in On a
Note of Triumph, where Corwin offers a kind of civic prayer, a petition for peace. Corwin writes, “Post proofs that brotherhood is not so wild
a dream as those who profit by postponing it pretend.” Terkel closes
the film by reading from this "prayer" and
says, “Every school
kid should know that.” And so should every Lawrence kid.
If by chance, you’d like to hear some more stories about hobnobbing with
the stars, you’ll have to buy me a cup of coffee.
Petition after Victory
From On a Note of Triumph by Norman Corwin
Lord God of trajectory and blast
Whose terrible sword has laid open the serpent
So it withers in the sun for the just to see.
Sheathe now the swift avenging blade with the name of nations writ on it.
And assist in the preparations of the plowshare.
Lord God of fresh bread and tranquil mornings,
Who walks in the circuit of heaven among the worthy,
Deliver notice to the fallen young men
That tokens of orange juice and a whole egg appear now before hungry children;
That night again falls cooling on the earth as quietly as when it leaves Your
hand;
That Freedom has withstood the tyrant like a Malta in a hostile sea
And that the soul of man is surely a Sevastopol which goes down hard and leaps
from ruin quickly.
Lord God of the topcoat and the living wage,
Who furred the fox against the time of winter
And stored provender of bees in the summer’s brightest places,
Do bring sweet influences to bear upon the assembly line.
Accept the smoke of the mill town among the accredited clouds of the sky:
Fend from the wind with a house and a hedge, him whom You made in Your image.
And permit him to pick of the tree and the flock
That he may eat today without fear of tomorrow
And clothe himself with dignity in December.
Lord God of test tube and blueprint,
Who jointed molecules of dust and shook them till their name was Adam,
Who taught worms and stars how they could live together,
Who loosed the apple over Newton’s head and organized the seasons:
Appear now among the parliaments of conquerors and give instruction to their
schemes:
Measure out new liberties so none shall suffer for his father’s color
or the credo of his choice:
Post proofs that brotherhood is not so wild a dream as those who profit by
postponing it pretend:
Sit at the treaty table and convoy the hopes of little peoples through expected
straits,
And press into the final seal a sign that peace will come for longer than
posterities can see ahead,
That man unto his fellow man shall be a friend forever.