David Wolber here.

So the other night (Wednesday, December 9) I was working in my office - cubicle, really - while we're getting ready for an evening performance. We don't usually have Wednesday performances - this is a special group that has bought all the seats in the house for their Holiday Party - a treat for their staff and clients. Its a packed house.

Charlyn Swarthout, our trusty Stage Manager for CHRISTMAS CAROL'D, pops in with a serious tone and informs me that BJ Love, one of our actors, has called to let her know he's stuck in a traffic standstill and hasn't moved for an hour. It is now about 7:15pm or so and the show is to start at 8pm.

I don't think too much about it, since BJ said he's on 94 near the Jackson Rd exit - only 10 minutes away, as soon as the traffic starts again.

Around 7:35, Char finds me again to let me know that he STILL hasn't moved. Sometime around now, I also hear that John and Terry's power went out before they left for the theatre, and I get a text from my partner, Wa, that our power is out as well, something to do with a transformer that exploded. hmmm.

I speak with the Manager of the group that has bought all the seats in the house, and explain that there may be a slight delay, as we're waiting on a performer stuck in traffic, etc. The group is lively and abuzz with holiday cheer and are enjoying hors d'oeuvres and wine, so they seem understanding and not bothered at all when he makes the announcement to let them all know why we're going to delay a few minutes. It's about 7:50pm.

Checking online, I see that there is a major shutdown of the power grid, and a possible power line down across I-94, and we hear from BJ at 8:05pm that hasn't moved an inch. 8:10pm.

The show should have started by now, and since we have no clue as to when the traffic will be clear, the cast and I are getting concerned. Char smiled and said quietly, "do you want me to get my script for you?" and the bottom of my stomach seemed to drop through the floor into the deep void that I hadn't noticed under my feet.

I know the show. I directed it. I know many of the lines, but I've certainly not been the understudy. I wonder if the costume will fit. I try on the shirt, then the pants. not quite my size, but the suspenders hide that. It'll do.

"Maybe a concert reading." suggests John Seibert, since the ensemble relies on each other to help with costume changes and there's no time to walk me through BJ's props. I kick into director mode for a second and say, "ok, we'll do the show - as a concert reading - I'll have a script on a music stand, and we'll stay in a semi-circle." the cast agrees, I think they're as freaked out as I am, maybe more. What about costumes, and props. Since I don't have time to figure out BJ's I say, we'll just keep it minimal - don't worry about them, I think if we try to do too much and it stops the flow, that's worse. The audience will go with us if we commit.

I go to tell the group's leader the plan. I'll fill in and we'll do a concert reading of the play. I'll explain it in the curtain speech. He gets a slight look of concern and tells me I'll have to explain it to the audience, since he's not quite sure how to. My Artistic Director side kicks in "Of course. It'll be fine. We'll do this. It'll be great." And then I go backstage to breathe.

John asks if he should move to the desk in the first scene. I hear myself say, "yes, I think we should move around for the scenes, but lets keep the narration still." Someone asks if I want help with the curtain speech. I laugh and say sure. The adrenaline has dried up my mouth and I'm pretty sure my ability to communicate effectively may have disappeared through the hole in my stomach from 10 minutes ago.

8:25. I walk out onstage. "Good evening. My plan tonight was to give a curtain speech and welcome you all and thank you for coming. However..." and I explain with helpful interjections from John that we'll be doing a concert reading, and I'll fill in for the delayed actor until he arrives.

The audience applauds with what feels like unsure, but sympathetic energy as I turn around to get the music stand and THAT'S when it hits me that I'll have to sing. In my time of considering whether I could step into the role, I was looking over the words. the lines. Not the songs.

Its not a solo. but it is harmony. I instantly commit and we're off. The first beat of the play is blocked to be the Carolers singing, then remaining in their caroling clump and introducing the story. When we get to, "Covetous" "Old" "Sinner," "Ebeneezer Scrooge" the action is for the carolers to turn and crouch as Scrooge enters. We all kind of hesitate, as the plan is to do a "concert reading" but we do turn, and the next thing I know, the concert reading idea flies out the window as the rest of the group moves about the stage as they normally do.

I pick up the music stand, and my body decides to follow. In my head, I've thought about the first scene. Cratchit and Scrooge. BJ is Cratchit. That's as much as I've given my conscious mind. But I find that I know all the actions. I've got the script in front of me, so I let most of that worry go, and just focus on listening and responding, with as much awareness I can muster about the characters I'm playing. Scrooge is asking me if I think him a fool. I'm stammering my explanations for the missing coal. After Fred arrives, then the two Gents, I realize that we're not doing a concert reading at all, but the full-fledged production, minus complete costume changes and light cues (since I have Char's script, and was concerned that I wouldn't be able to see the script if it was too dark).

Another song, this time no words, just "Lu Lu's" but there's only three of us and its definitely harmony now.

We're getting laughs (in a good way) and I'm flying high. Changing characters. I'm a spirit. I'm a part of Ghost of Christmas Past. Bits of narration. The pace and energy doesn't drop a bit, except one moment that I had no awareness that my caroler had a description. hmmm. Now I'm Scrooge's dad, and I call Young Scrooge to me and Terry Heck enters in full costume and I bark at her and the scene plays out - I feel connected - full of clear, in-the-moment energy and know that its working. We're not just "getting through it", we're really kicking.

I step off stage and Helena Byrne, our production assistant tells me BJ is here. My heart and stomach do another little flip, and I realize I don't want to stop. I want to do the whole show. I'm on a rush, feeling great and have seen the excited/relieved/charged looks on the cast, telling me that we're doing just fine. and it's actually fun, not terrifying, and the show is working. and how do I stop? I don't have time to give BJ his costume without stopping the show.

But my director side giggles and pulls me aside to say, "You've had your fun. Let's give the audience the show you promised them, not the one you're standing in for. However successful and fun it may be for you." and I'm still offstage and my mind races ahead, and I hear myself telling Helena to let Char know that I'm stopping the show after the Schoolmaster scene, just before Fezziwig's. My cue - i don't miss a beat and enter and finish the scene. Then I stop the show, announce to the audience that our actor has arrived and ask for a couple of minutes to give him the costume I'm wearing and ask them to remain seated.

As the cast is leaving the stage, the audience applauds. It feels good. BJ gets into costume. I tell the cast we're going back to the last exchange of the scene we just finished, and moving on. They go back out on stage and I sit in the far left seat in the front row. Char has her script again and the full show kicks in.

At intermission, I go backstage to thank everyone for a wonderful thrill, and for helping me get through it. John and Terry insist I go out for a curtain call after the show, and i cancel my plans to go home to check on the power outage situation.

After the show, I check in with the group leader, and every audience member I see tells me how much they loved the play, and as an afterthought - how impressed they were with me. (they tell me these as two different thoughts, almost as though they've forgotten that I was in the show, which comforts me.) They really have been back in the play, and my stepping in didn't diminish their experience. A few of them tell me how they felt it was an even more special performance that they saw. A treat.

I'm pretty sure adrenaline is contagious.

I know that Holiday Cheer is.

Pass it on.

See you at the theatre.