{"id":1517,"date":"2019-11-04T11:10:13","date_gmt":"2019-11-04T16:10:13","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/sites.nd.edu\/shakespeare\/?p=1517"},"modified":"2019-11-04T11:10:13","modified_gmt":"2019-11-04T16:10:13","slug":"twelfth-night-fall-2019-tour-entry-13","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/sites.nd.edu\/shakespeare\/twelfth-night-fall-2019-tour-entry-13\/","title":{"rendered":"\u201cTwelfth Night\u201d Fall 2019 Tour: Entry #13"},"content":{"rendered":"

Week Thirteen: DePauw University, Greencastle, Indiana<\/strong>
\nBy Kaffe Keating<\/p>\n

\u201cWould you have a love song, or a song of good life?\u201d<\/em>
\n– Feste, Act 2 Scene 3<\/p>\n

Small town America. After the buzz and bustle of Silicon Valley, we couldn\u2019t be somewhere more different. DePauw University is situated in the town of Greencastle, about a 45 minute drive from the state capital of Indianapolis. It\u2019s small, and it\u2019s very pretty \u2013 both the town and the college.<\/p>\n

It\u2019s getting to the point now where we all need haircuts. Al\u2019s beard is now so long and thick that he\u2019s had to go and buy some frankincense-infused beard oil. Jono, who\u2019s let his hair grow out since day one of rehearsals (and who is capable of producing an enviable mane) went and got a trim on our first full day in Greencastle.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019ll never guess what his name was,\u201d he grins from under his slightly neater but still sweeping fringe. \u201cSweeney. Frank Sweeney. He even used a cut-throat razor.\u201d<\/p>\n

I\u2019ve been wanting a haircut for ages but just haven\u2019t found the time. When my hair gets too long it starts to sprout out at the sides, rendering me with a look more befitting of Doc Brown than Orsino, Duke of Illyria. So the following day I head off into Greencastle to seek the services of the Demon Barber of Indianapolis Street myself.<\/p>\n

The barbershop is a pretty simple affair, a line of mirrors down one side of the room with the classic revolving chairs, sat in one of which is a man in his late sixties or early seventies. There\u2019s also a full-size canoe mounted on the wall.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou need a haircut?\u201d the man asks. I respond in the affirmative. \u201cWell,\u201d he says, lifting himself out of the seat and offering it to me, \u201cwe have them here.\u201d I take my jacket off and sit down, and we get to chatting. His name is Wayne \u2013 Frank Sweeney isn\u2019t working today (I\u2019m oddly relieved) \u2013 and after hearing my accent he asks if I\u2019m Australian, which is a mistake that occurs more often than you\u2019d think. I reveal my English heritage and talk turns to visiting Europe. He tells me that he spent six months in Germany and Austria as part of the Marine Corps, and I tell him how we\u2019d recently visited USNA in Annapolis.<\/p>\n

\u201cAh, it\u2019s pretty there.\u201d He croons, over the chugging of a pair of clippers which I suspect have seen better days. It turns out that after his time in Europe, he was stationed in Vietnam for a year and a half. There\u2019s a beat. I\u2019m doing maths in my head.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat must have been difficult.\u201d He nods. He was there in 1968, during the Tet Offensive. I
\nremember learning about it in History GCSE. It was a series of surprise attacks by the Vietcong and North Vietnamese army on many cities, towns and villages in South Vietnam and is thought by many to be a turning point in the war. It must have been a horrific thing to experience. I don\u2019t push Wayne any further on the subject.<\/p>\n

\u201cThere\u2019s a student who comes in here, Tan,\u201d he says. \u201cHe\u2019s from Vietnam. From Da Nang. Now I haven\u2019t been there since 1968, and I was there for a different reason than cutting hair. But apparently it\u2019s very different now. It\u2019s like an American city, at least that\u2019s what he says.\u201d The irony hangs in the air.<\/p>\n

The bell above the door rings in the entrance of another customer, I\u2019m guessing in his fifties and powerfully built, after a haircut of his own. \u201cHello there, young man,\u201d says Wayne. \u201cThis is Roy. He\u2019s a good old boy, he\u2019s an ex-marine too.\u201d<\/p>\n

The three of us talk for a while. Roy, after his time in the Marines then transferred to the Army. After learning of the bitter rivalry (at least when it comes to football) between the two services at the Naval Academy, I remark that that must have been an interesting change.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, we\u2019re just the bastard son of the Navy,\u201d says Wayne.<\/p>\n

\u201cThey\u2019re our taxi-cab!\u201d adds Roy.<\/p>\n

The three of us chat away over the buzz of Wayne\u2019s clippers, (my previous concern completely evaporated; the man certainly knows how to cut a short back and sides) and I tell them about where we\u2019ve been so far and where we\u2019re going to. I\u2019m told Colorado Springs is lovely, but apparently Denver has become a \u2018pothead city\u2019 since the state legalised cannabis. Wayne tells me of a friend of his who works in Silicon Valley and hates it. We talk about Austin, and what a great city it is. I also learn a surprising amount about carp fishing. Roy\u2019s an avid carp fisherman, there are competitions apparently, and he thanks me on behalf of all Americans for the British system of fishing for carp by setting alarms and just waiting for them to go off. I know precisely nothing about fishing, but I accept his thanks on behalf of my people all the same.<\/p>\n

Wayne\u2019s taking off my apron. \u201cThat\u2019s twelve bucks,\u201d he says.<\/p>\n

\u201cSure thing. Do you take card?\u201d I ask, a Londoner through and through.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, we don\u2019t have a card machine here.\u201d<\/p>\n

Ah. I\u2019m concocting a plan wherein I can leave Wayne my phone or something as collateral while I run off into Greencastle to find an ATM, when Roy gets out of his chair.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ve gotcha.\u201d He says, smiling down at me as he pulls out his wallet.<\/p>\n

I protest wildly, but Roy\u2019s having none of it. He presses the notes into Wayne\u2019s hand, who\u2019s perfectly happy with the arrangement. \u201cAmerican hospitality.\u201d I sense that any further argument from me would now become ingratitude, so I thank them both and retrieve my jacket from the hook.<\/p>\n

I tell Roy that if I see him around, I\u2019ll buy him a beer (\u201cHe\u2019s a marine, he\u2019ll hold you to that,\u201d calls
\nWayne) and I leave the barbershop. The kindness of strangers.<\/p>\n

And that\u2019s the story of how a Marine bought me a haircut. It\u2019s not the only random act of kindness that occurred this week. Jono, an intrepid explorer to the end, after walking so far away from our hotel that he wouldn\u2019t be able to get back in time before dark approached two strangers in a parking lot. They happened to be heading not only the same direction as him, but to the hotel itself and offered him a ride. Not only that, but once they got arrived, they insisted on buying him a beer.<\/p>\n

People are just incredibly friendly in this state. We found this last time we were here at the very beginning of the tour but now, closer to the end, I have much more to compare it to. It\u2019s completely lovely and something I will miss dearly upon my return to London; we Londoners pride ourselves on our devotion to the avoidance of human eye contact.<\/p>\n

On Saturday night, after the week\u2019s teaching and performing was done, we were treated to tickets to see Post Modern Jukebox who were passing through on their national tour. Post Modern Jukebox are a band (whose total membership boasts over fifty different musicians) who perform covers of well-known songs with a jazzy or bluesy twist. They\u2019re excellent; have a gander on YouTube. Just stick it on in the background while you read this.<\/p>\n

The first half is great. The band are clearly exceptional musicians and the each of the singers could melt chocolate by singing at it. While we\u2019re waiting for the band to come back after their break, the lights in the auditorium in all go off at once and the interval music dies. We\u2019re now sitting under the stark half-light of emergency lighting, powered by the back-up generator. People in black t-shirts and headsets start running around, always a sign that something\u2019s gone wrong. Performances are like flights; you don\u2019t need to worry until the crew starts to look worried.<\/p>\n

We wait. The time when the show should have restarted comes and goes. People are moving things around on the stage. Are they packing up? Is that it? Are they going to tell us anything? It seems like the evening is over when the big electric piano the band was using is wheeled off. I guess they\u2019re giving up the ghost, how can they continue while the power\u2019s out?<\/p>\n

But, hang on. They\u2019re wheeling on a grand piano from the wings. An announcement is made, the band are going to perform an acoustic set for the second half. The singers are more than skilled enough to fill a room this size unamplified, especially as the band are trading their electric instruments for quieter, acoustic ones.<\/p>\n

They finish off the set like this, a pared-down but no less spectacular version of their show bathed in the light from the phone torches held up by the audience.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

It makes me wonder what we\u2019d do if that happened to us. Probably something similar, we\u2019ve got a couple of torches in the show, we\u2019re already contained in a square of fairy lights, we\u2019d figure it out. As Post Modern Jukebox\u2019s MC said as they began their unplanned unplugged second half: The show must go on.<\/p>\n

And go on we do, three hours upstate to Grace College in Warsaw Indiana. Our penultimate week. The days of staring at my shoes on the tube, valiantly ignoring anyone I remotely come into contact with, are creeping ever closer\u2026<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Week Thirteen: DePauw University, Greencastle, Indiana By Kaffe Keating \u201cWould you have a love song, or a song of good life?\u201d – Feste, Act 2 Scene 3 Small town America. After the buzz and bustle of Silicon Valley, we couldn\u2019t … Continue reading →<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2812,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[47489,361299],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-1517","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-actors-from-the-london-stage","category-twelfth-night-fall-2019"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/sites.nd.edu\/shakespeare\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1517","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/sites.nd.edu\/shakespeare\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/sites.nd.edu\/shakespeare\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/sites.nd.edu\/shakespeare\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2812"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/sites.nd.edu\/shakespeare\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1517"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/sites.nd.edu\/shakespeare\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1517\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1519,"href":"https:\/\/sites.nd.edu\/shakespeare\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1517\/revisions\/1519"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/sites.nd.edu\/shakespeare\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1517"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/sites.nd.edu\/shakespeare\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1517"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/sites.nd.edu\/shakespeare\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1517"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}