Voices: Protecting Our Cultural Greenspaces
This week's announcement that a bust of Scranton's own playwright/actor Jason Miller would soon be erected on Courthouse Square recalled an intense dream I had a few months ago after watching the Exorcist III.
Miller's ghost descended at great speed through the ceiling into my home in West Scranton. He urged me to round up the playwrights. "They ARE out there," he spoke, almost chidingly. "Bring them together. Help them tell our stories before the people arrive on the train from New York to do it for us." His voice was controlled with a tone simultaneously sad yet optimistic. He seemed to take this anticipated threat of invasion very seriously. "They will replace our memories with theirs, if we let them," he warned.
It was an extremely disconcerting vision, particularly because I can rarely recall my dreams. If we were living in biblical times you might have convinced me that the dream was prophetic. But once the surprise wore off, it became clear that the dream was merely a montage of thoughts that have been stewing in my brain for years.
Since moving back to Northeast Pennsylvania four years ago, I've been continually astounded by the pride held in our local guys and gals done good in the big bad arts and entertainment industry. Be it television, the movies, theatre, literature, what have you - if he's from Scranton and he's made a national name for himself, no one cheers louder than the folks here at home.
It's as if these celebrities are our spokespeople out there in the "real world" and we are counting on them to make us look good. To somehow elevate the status of what it means to be from Scranton. Does our worth really increase with each mention of "Scranton" Chris Barnes squeezes into "Life with Bonnie?" Maybe it does. Or maybe it's just that thrill of hearing our name in a song.
While witnessing this fanfare, I've been privileged by my work here at electric city to meet an endless armada of talented artists and entertainers who have selected to live and work in NEPA despite the terrible odds of achieving fame and fortune. In many cases, this detail has only added to my esteem. The fascinating Jim Warner, for example, who Gene Padden has interviewed in this week's issue is no less a great poet for choosing to live in Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania instead of the Big Apple or the City of Angels.
The gratitude these regional artists have expressed for e.c.'s taking them and their work seriously has made a sometimes frustrating, often stressful and always challenging occupation more rewarding than I could have ever imagined. For the most part, they've managed not to be bitter. Sure, they feel neglected for no better reason than their choice not to flee the region to practice their craft. But they shrug their shoulders, joke it off and continue contributing to the quality of life in NEPA.
Yes, the ghost of Jason Miller confronted me only with my own hopes and fears.
I've been as excited about the renaissance of Scranton as the next person. Growth is good and certainly due. It's already made life in NEPA notably more exciting and we've barely hit the gas. My fears, however, recall the stories of San Francisco and SoHo -- places that became so desirable that those who made them such fascinating and fabulous places to live could no longer afford to live there.
Will we save room on the stage for those who have stood by us?
As a theatre artist myself, I find it immensely satisfying that the figure of a great playwright will stand on the square next to the political, military and social leaders who improved life in Northeast Pennsylvania. Miller's choice to live in Scranton and his dedication to further the artistic life of NEPA is one that deserves countless curtain calls. But I'm also inclined to agree with my friend who while happy about the tribute also questioned, "Wouldn't the bust look better in the lobby of the new Jason Miller Playwright's Theatre?"
--alicia grega-pikul, 15 January 2004
