This is the second of two articles about Gary Gisselman, professor of theater at Saint Olaf College. The first article can be found
here.
On a spectacular Fall day I found myself on the campus of a little Minnesota college. Beautiful young people, books in hand, ambled singly and in pairs to morning class through the stained glass splendor of October sunlight streaming through the leaves. I asked a student for directions and discovered that I was at Carlton College and Saint Olaf was on the other side of the river. Who knew there were two colleges in Northfield, Minnesota? There should be a sign.
I hurried back across the river and arrived at Saint Olaf a little late but still in time to sit for a moment in Gary Gisselman’s office and talk. Although I hadn’t seen Gary in years, we quickly slid into the comfortable chatter of theater folk, complaining about the things we always complain about and chuckling over the things that always make us chuckle.
Gary escorted me to the basement of the building, to a little black box theater that serves as classroom for his Introduction to Directing class. I’m not sure what I was expecting from the students. I suppose I thought they’d all be tweeting and chewing gum and listening to vegan musicians on threateningly-colored iPads, but instead they sat politely in their chairs, clutching copies of
The Empty Space. I liked them immediately.
The Great Conversation
Class began with one student who had missed the day the others had presented two-minute stories from their lives. He told a funny, sweet, paranormal story about his grandmother. Then the group discussed their reactions to the assignment. They talked about telling stories, about how much can be fit into two minutes, the degree to which the stories reflected the personality of the story-tellers, the need to suit the story to the form of the telling. At this point I had some ideas about Aristotle which I kept to myself.
Gary was now sitting in front, the scenery for a student production flopping forward from a corner of the stage. He leaned back in his chair and started asking questions. Students raised their hands and spoke. Some more than others. Some not at all. Gary would listen, listen some more, and then ask more questions. “What would David Mamet say about that?” “Do you think he’s right?” (“No!” I shout in my head.)
This was a conversation. I’ve written
before about my own experience as a college student in a class taught by Fred Gaines and my introduction to the Great Conversation. Here I was again in a college classroom, being invited to be a part of that discussion. How do you live a decent life? What are our rights as human beings? What obligations do we owe ourselves and our families, neighbors, communities?
I was reminded of Gary’s statement many of his former students quoted: “theater isn’t about theater, it’s about everything else.” Through those questions he asks in class, he’s wiring the connections between his students and everything else. Between the theater department and other departments in the college. Between a university classroom and the professional theater in the Twin Cities (Gary has upcoming productions at Park Square and The Guthrie). Between the greatest minds the world has produced and the personal ambitions and longings of his students.
And at least three times during that ninety-minute class, Gary said something inspiring. The students would bump up against something that seemed wrong or unjust and Gary’s response was always, “you should change that.” He is deliberately challenging them to make better theater and make a better world.
Saving Civilization
This, I think, is the definition of civilization. Our barbaric gut wants what it wants and if you’re not part of my tribe you can go to hell. The civilized soul senses connections through time and space between all of us. And in defiance of our primal urges to destroy and devour those who are weaker or different, it reaches out to them.
This is our only hope.
So let’s all learn something from Gary. Let’s keep asking important connections. Let’s stay curious. And let’s say three inspiring things each day. I’m trying to think of something inspiring to say right here. It’s hard. On our walk this morning, I told my black lab, Lucy, that she could be the best dog in the whole world. That’s a start, right?
NOTES
Although my intention was to write about Gary and his influence on his students, I would be doing a disservice to the theater program at St. Olaf if i didn’t mention the work of Dona Freeman who teaches many of the acting classes there. Over and again, former students wrote to me enthusiastically about her and her classes.
My thanks to the Introduction to Directing class for letting me enjoy being a student again for a little while.
And thanks to the Saint Olaf graduates who generously and enthusiastically contributed to these articles.
