Yesterday I dropped out of a paid acting gig. For an actor who's just starting out, that's a very bold move.
An elderly man and his wife offered me a role in an old-fashioned musical melodrama they were writing in St. Louis and on Saturday they let me move into their house with them. I walked away five days later.
They seemed eccentric but harmless at first. The first morning there, I was eating honey puffs or something and one of them fell on the floor while I was pouring them. But before I could pick it up to throw it away, the old man was bending over to pick it up for me. I was too late I guess. But then without a word he plopped the honey puff right back into my bowl. I guess that's just sort of a funny thing I could live with. He later told me he was a little OCD.
He also told me with a laugh and a smile that he had quite a temper. This seemed like less of a joke when I was in my room one time and I heard him shouting at his wife. It sounded like spousal abuse. The context I soon realized was that he had just come home from work and he was complaining about a coworker. It was still scary to hear the man of the house talking so angrily to his wife like that.
As he was explaining to me some of the musical numbers that he was considering for the show, he mentioned something that was done in blackface. He assured me that this was not meant to be insulting to black people. It was just the style and the culture back then.
It first occurred to me that they were racist when I heard them complaining about customers that came into their store wanting refunds or something. They started referring to them as blacks, in a negative context. I was willing to let this slide, thinking "old people are just like that sometimes." Old people will use terms like "colored folk" because it's just what they're used to.
But then on Wednesday the old man got in a huff about a news story. A schoolteacher in Ferguson who was a former Olympic runner or something was afraid to go running in her neighborhood because of the catcalling. "Typical niggers," he said. "Typical niggers." And the old lady replied, "Yes, those ones aren't blacks, they're niggers."
I spoke to my mother over the phone that night. I told her I was planning to drop out. She didn't like the idea of me just walking away. She thought I should try to open negotiations and start by telling them that I was uncomfortable, because starting by saying I was quitting would be less likely to make them want to work something out. I'm still not sure what my mother thought we could possibly work out. Perhaps she thought that the old couple didn't realize how racist they were, and like all decent folk they don't actually want to be racist. She seemed to think that if we could come to an agreement where they wouldn't say racist things around me, it would at least get them thinking. She suggested that I tell them I'm uncomfortable because I have black friends, but I knew that all racist people say they have black friends too.
It seems that racism is fortunately no longer in power. It has been forced into the closets of society and is deeply stigmatized. Yet it still seems important to take a stand against racism by choosing to not associate with racists when presented with such an opportunity, not only because racism has fueled some of the greatest evils in history but also because we're still facing issues like racial profiling today. St. Louis seems to be at the center of this fight.
Yet despite how mainstream opposition to racism has become, it's not as easy to stand up to it as you might think. I was in a position where I had to confront someone about their behavior in their own house. Confrontations in general tend to be traumatizing and awkward for everyone involved, and here I was having to tell someone to their face that they're racist, and in this day and age that's one of the most grievous insults there is. To say that I was uncomfortable with the situation would be an understatement.
I had planned to be as polite as I possibly could be. I was going to thank them for their generosity and their hospitality and let them down gently by telling them I was going to be on my way. Since I always like to give people chances and never like to leave them with no options, I considered what conditions I'd have in case they asked me if there was anything they could do to change my mind. I figured I'd negotiate for more money. I had asked for $300 because small theaters tend to only offer $200 and they were a little too quick to agree which made me think I should've asked for more, especially considering the lengthy rehearsal process. But more importantly I would demand they stop saying blacks, certainly that they'd stop saying the n word, and that they'd tell me they understood that it doesn't matter what color or race a person is.
"Blacks?" my mother asked. "What are you supposed to say instead of blacks?"
"Black people," I replied.
Yesterday morning I told the old man that we needed to talk and he said "okay." Once we were both sitting down I told him I wasn't really comfortable working with him anymore, and he said "okay." But he said it inquisitively, as though to ask what I meant or what I was going to do about it. This was what I was afraid of. I couldn't open negotiations like my mother wanted, because what was I going to say? It would have been rude and presumptuous of me to ask him to ask me to stay or to make me an offer. So I just told him I was gonna go.
It seems I forgot the politeness. I forgot to thank them and all that. But I did offer to help them move the furniture back to the way it was and to take the 2% milk they had bought for me since they don't like it. They declined both offers. I finished packing my car and was worried that I would leave them thinking that I was just uncomfortable with how they ran rehearsals or something like that. But when I came back into the house one last time, the old lady gave me an opportunity by saying she hoped it wasn't because of anything they said or did.
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| I took this screenshot on my phone the day this all happened. |
"You said some things about black people that I did not like."
"Well, you haven't experienced the things we have," she said.
"You're right, I haven't," I said. "I have black friends."
As expected, she replied, "So do we." And she continued, "But some blacks don't deserve to be called blacks. Some blacks should be called something else." I noticed she was consciously stopping herself from using the n word in this conversation. "But if you want to turn down a job that pays you a lot of money, that's your choice."
"A lot of money?"
"We had decided to pay you more than $300," she said.
Out of curiosity, I asked, "How much?"
"I'm not gonna tell ya," she said. "It's a moot point now."
I don't imagine a poor old couple with poor advertising skills could possibly afford to pay one of their small-theatre actors "a lot of money." This woman should be retired and she's working five jobs. And we had already established that they couldn't pay me a living wage because otherwise I could've gotten my own place in St. Louis instead of staying with them. Of course it wouldn't have mattered even if they really were going to pay me a lot of money. Once the old lady demonstrated that she'd proudly defend her racism, that was it.
I do have to admit that there were many factors beyond just the racism that made my decision to leave easier. I showed up to find that they were starting rehearsals with barely ten pages of the script written and were still struggling to find actors. I asked for some money upfront because I was genuinely concerned that the show would have to be canceled and I wanted some guarantee that I'd get paid for the rehearsal process. And of course the whole style of the show didn't appeal to me at all, since it consisted of music that was so old it was free. And the old lady's voice was like nails on a chalkboard so I was looking forward to not having to hear it anymore. And of course, the low pay was also a factor.
But I actually feel like the more money I was walking away from, the more of a statement I was making. So even if it's true that I turned down a big offer, that's fine with me.
I suppose it should've been a red flag that a professional theatre group in a major city would have such a difficult time finding actors. Perhaps this old couple has a reputation. Even though St. Louis might not be the most liberal city, maybe the theatre community still condemns bigots. Or I suppose it's possible that the couple is just known for unprofessionalism.
They're right about one thing, though. I don't know what they've experienced. I imagine it's no accident that the Ferguson shooting happened in Ferguson. Animosity between black people and white people must be pretty prevalent in that region. It's a part of their everyday lives.
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