In boxing up some things (*sigh*), lovingly labelling them and preparing them for storage, I came across a small Rubbermaid bin that held, among other things, my bouquet and sash from Prom Princess 1995, pictures of powder puff football...and a newspaper clipping from my performance as Penny in You Can't Take It With You. I dug deeper and found my script, dog-eared, highlighted, abused as only a high school drama script can be abused, and then the program for the show; the cover illustrated by my papa, as most of them were during my four years at BV.
I thumbed through it, some names long forgotten, and came across the note from our director, Phil Kilbourne. This was the only year that the play was directed by someone not on faculty, and I had the extreme privelege of playing one of the leads. Before the curtain rose on me and my typewriter opening night, alone on the stage, he kissed my temple and whispered "This is your show." It was paternal and encouraging and something I will never forget. Reading his words tonight moved me, and I would like to share.
You Can't Take It With You is one of the greatest of all American comedies, indeed maybe the greatest. But don't let that scare you. I know when anyone says to me that such-and-such is the greatest anything, that usually is my cue to take a nap. Much as I love Gone With the Wind and Citizen Kane, I sometimes find it a bit difficult to remain awake by the time the credits roll. This is not the case with You Can't Take It With You. This is my fourth, or is it fifth, involvement with this gem, and I have yet to tire of it.
The first time I ever did this show was, like the actors tonight, in high school. (I think if you were to ask everybody at the Tony Awards, they would say the same thing.) This was the late sixties, and I found Grandpa's message in Act Three to be tremendously exhilarating, and I have endeavored to follow those precepts ever since. The idea that you could actually enjoy what you do for a living, that to pursue your dream instead of a wage, was I think the strongest single source of inspiration for me in entering a career in theater.
I could have been a doctor. I would have probably had a fine life, caring for the sick of New Jersey, and taoday have a lovely house and a lovely practice. This is what was expected of me, and who's to say I wouldn't have loved it. But I would have always known, deep in my heart, that I would not be living my real life, that the dream I had would only still be that...a dream.
Today I do not have a house, and I am working in an occupation with the highest unemployment rate of any unionized profession. I wouldn't trade a moment of it.
So to all of you out there, remember...there's still that saxophone in the back of your closet. It's never too late. After all...you can't take it with you. ----Phil Kilbourne
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