In in the late 1990s, 98-99 or thereabouts, key members of the Anatomical Theatre (a dance/theatre company I had been, and still am, associated with) found ourselves at a party of choreographers, dancers, and others in the scene here in Chicago. Eventually the discussion turned to what the Company should concentrate its efforts on next. I had recalled Kurt Vonnegut's
Harrison Bergeron, a story that my 7th grade literature teacher, Sue Hayworth, had assigned so many years ago. It's twisted tale of government imposed equality gone mad always stuck with me. I mentioned this to a young dancer, Robbie Cook, over a few drinks. He recalled the story and, before we knew it, we found ourselves pitching the idea to Robynne Gravenhorst, the Theatre's artistic director. I guess we sold the idea and eventually she read the story. The rest is history. We decided that this tale, with its physicality and bizarre systems/contraptions for regulating physical talent, was an excellent subject for the company to pursue. I believe this would have been the first time the Anatomical Theatre would set a living author's work. We began to wonder about getting the rights from Vonnegut's publishers to move ahead on the project.
About a month later, a good friend, Dr. John Grover invited me to attend a talk given by Vonnegut up on the northern shore, Wilmette, Winnetka, someplace like that. It was a wonderful evening, Vonnegut was in great form, biting, funny, sarcastic, etc. After the talk, the author gave freely of his time to chat with those in attendance at an after-talk reception. I sat down at a far table and when the man entered the room he came right over to my table and sat down next to me. I said hello and he shot me a glance I will never forget. The look said, "What the hell do you want?" and then he said, "Hiya," in a brisk voice and turned away toward the evening's hosts. OK, I thought, that was great, now what? A line was beginning to form on the other side of the table, across of him. This was the receiving line. So there was Vonnegut, being very generous with his time to everyone. I got up and got in line with Dr. Grover (who I always think of as Dr. John Grover or just Dr. John . . .) Dr. John was in front of me and had a little chat with Vonnegut and then turned to me and introduced me to Vonnegut saying something to the affect of 'this young man is a great musician and blah, blah, blah . . .' -- thanks for the introduction John, a bit over the top, but thanks.
I don't remember much of what we talked about, but I mentioned to Vonnegut that I was with the Anatomical Theatre and we wished to set
Harrison Bergeron . . . he was thrilled, mentioning that it had been done once before. He asked if I had a pen and paper (which I did, even though it was made perfectly clear that "Mr. Vonnegut will not be giving autographs this evening." Anyway, to cut to the chase, Vonnegut wrote in my little book the name and address of this publisher with a phone number. And that was it. What a neat guy.
So this weekend I am sitting down with a snifter of 16 year old Bushmills which I brought back from the recent Ireland trip and reading a well worn copy of
Slaughterhouse 5 which I pulled out of the Chicago library. He was something very special and I am happy to have had my few moment with him . . . but in print he will always be with all of us.
jg
