from VC Heidenreich (Sense & Sensibility, Sir John Middleton/Doctor)

I was born here.

My mother is from Chicago, my father from Crystal Lake.  My aunts, uncles, cousins, their kids, they are all still here.

My wife was born here, and began her acting career here.  Her dad was a professor of philosophy at the University of Chicago, and back in the day, he also ran the historic Compass Tavern.  Every day on the way to Northlight, I drive by his apartment and the hospital in which he passed last year.

But in thirty-six years of performing in theatres across America, I have never played Chicago.  I have visited family, been to weddings, birthdays and funerals.  I have even seen a Cubs game or two, but I have never played Chicago, and I have never been in the city more than a few days at a time.

So while playing here does not quite feel like coming home, it does feel like visiting family and paying homage to my roots.

There are things one can expect of playing any well-regarded, professional theatre: one can expect minimum levels of respect for time and for effort and for expertise; one can expect adequate levels of skill and commitment from administration, designers, staff and crew.  When one plays one of the great cities (the cities with a history, with a commitment to art and to the arts, to the pursuit of Truth and Beauty), one can expect more: one can expect the work will be appreciated, will be valued, will be understood, not merely literally but aesthetically, professionally, intellectually, socially, even (dare I say it?) ethically.  When one plays the great city that is Chicago, though, I have discovered one thing more: all the previous criteria are met with…what?…a minimum of fuss.

I could wax euphoric about the levels of artistry and technique at Northlight, the dedication of all the administration, staff and crew these past many weeks. I could sing the praises of the talent and skill of actors, designers, stage managers, house managers and volunteers. I could tell you that I have never been more comfortable as an artist, and I can tell you that I have never seen Jon Jory happier or more at ease on a project. I could do these things (just did, actually), but that is not my point.

My point is that Chicago has more than a history; it has a personality, its own personality, one that says to its inhabitants, “Yes, you may be good, you may be special, you may be one-of-a-kind-wunderkind kinda special, but don’t you get on your high horse.  Don’t you think being special makes you in any way special. You still gotta be nice to people.  Get it?”

And this has been my experience at Northlight.  It takes an enormous number of people, all working for far less than they deserve, working far harder than they should be asked, all held to expectations far higher than are reasonable,  to mount a production (an untried, world premiere production) under obstinate constraints, fiscal and temporal.  And everyone, everyone I have encountered here has performed their work without complaint, without grousing.  Not once, not ever, have I witnessed a single instance of misplaced entitlement, not one moment of disrespect.

The people here, it seems to me, create art because it is their vocation, their calling, but they never seem to forget it is their job.

And Chicago values work.  Chicago, it seems to me, respects workers.

So now, I am finally playing Chicago, and when I called my mother out west, and I said to her, “Ma, I’m doing a show in Chicago, a world premiere directed by Jon, and it has gotten great critical response, and the audience loves it (subtext: aren’t ya proud of me?), she replied, “That’s nice. And the people?  Are you getting along with them?  Are you treating each other right?”

“Yeah, Ma.  Of course. It’s Chicago.”

I guess maybe it does feel a little like coming home, after all.