I was in a Georgia thrift shop when my friend Michelle texted me. The text said that Minnesota Public Radio was doing a story about sexual harassment in Minnesota Theaters and I should phone in, and she listed the 800 number. All you have to do with a smart phone is lightly touch the number displayed and the phone will automatically dial the number for you. Easy peasy. In a short time I was relaying on the air what happened to me in Minnesota circa 2001. I was told not to use names of people or the name of the theater.
In brief, I had been hired to appear in a long running farce, for a popular suburban lake side theater. What I hadn’t bargained for, was the owner of the theater demanding backstage that I hug him before every performance. If I was ever reluctant, or if he thought I wasn’t hugging him with enough enthusiasm, he would whisper in my ear “you know, I have a list of girls in my office who would love to do your part.” It was stage left, it was dark, and it was right before he went onstage to give his curtain speech to the audience. He would demand a hug from me, and then walk onstage to welcome the patrons to the theatre. I would be left backstage trying to not feel icky, trying to mentally prepare to make my entrance as the character in the show. It was hard to shake the ick.
It always rankled me that he that he referred to women as girls. My time in that show was demoralizing to say the least. I dreaded going there for 8 performances a week. The people around this person knew of his proclivities. The stage manager, the guy who built the sets, and most of the other people involved in that theater were enablers. The show ran for months, and as the weeks passed I started getting sick. Physically sick. Looking back, I think my body was responding to the stress of a situation I felt I had no control over. It became intolerable, and knowing there was a list of WOMEN who were eager to have my part, I handed in my notice.
My daughter was young at the time, and motherhood became a convenient excuse to step back from the career I had going. There are no do-overs in life, and I’m grateful I spent so much time with Mabel when she was little. We had a blast. But I’m angry at men. And I’m glad that so many revelations are coming out now, about how toxic and predatory men with a little bit of power can be.
Mabel is in the same business I am now, and I have a lot of trepidation about that. There’s been many revelations these last few weeks, with scores of icky men being called out for abusing their power. In the short term I think that’s great. It doesn’t feel like a witch hunt to me. It feels too little too late. There has been at least one incident perpetrated by a man, every few years, during my work history, that’s made me feel unsafe, harassed, or icky. Not only the theater, these incidents have happened in food service, television stations, retail, and when I worked as a security guard. There’s too many men enjoying too much privilege over women for them to be genuinely vested in changing how the system works.
It’s endemic. It’s frustrating. And today I did something that Mabel thinks I’ll regret. There are websites that list acting jobs. We can submit ourselves for consideration to the casting directors electronically. There was another film being cast today that listed character after character as being male. The ratio of male to female characters in movies these days is ridiculous. Go online and check the stats. In this particular movie there were male customers, shop workers, newscasters, waiters, patrons and a judge. Nary a woman in the bunch. So against all rules I submitted myself for the part of the judge. There’s a memo box where you can write a note to the casting director, and I wrote: Ruth Bader Ginsberg, Sandra Day O’Connor, Sonia Sotomayor and Judge Judy. Just sayin’. Respectfully, Sandra Lee-Oian Thomas.
Mabel thinks this last bit makes me sound self-righteous. Sigh #MeToo.