New Trier PAD Stories: The Funniest Moment of My Life

by Duane N. Burghard

© 2020

(Author’s note: This essay is part of a larger project I am currently working on about my experiences in the New Trier Performing Arts Department. Eventually, I hope to combine these stories into a larger collection as a sort of love letter/homage to this incredibly special time in my life, and the unbelievably talented and special people who shared it with me. My current plan is for the first two paragraphs of each essay (the introduction) to be largely the same, with the last sentence of the second paragraph leading into that particular essay’s specific story … so if you’ve read the previous essay on this topic, you can skip ahead.)

New Trier’s PAD (Performing Arts Department) is well known, and for good reason. It has been producing major Hollywood and Broadway stars since long before I was born. From classic era stars like Charlton Heston (Class of 41) and Anne Margaret (Class of 59) to modern era ones like Oscar nominee Virginia Madsen (Class of 79) and Emmy winner Rainn Wilson (Class of 84), New Trier has consistently been a talent incubator for actors, singers, dancers, musicians, and artists of all kind. The Performing Arts Department was THE reason I wanted to attend New Trier, and I have always felt VERY fortunate to have been a part of it from the fall of 1979 until the late spring of 1983. 

I am, of course, NOT one of those Oscar, Emmy, Tony et al winners. In fact, while Performing Arts consumed essentially ALL of my non-academic time during my four years at New Trier, after I graduated in June of 1983, I never acted on stage again (although I have, and still do, use many of the skills I learned … and in ways I never imagined at the time). I joined the US Navy that summer and, while that was a “dramatic” change in my life, it was a very different kind of drama (for those interested, see the Jan/Feb, 2015 section of this blog). In any case, I never became the household name that I had dreamed I might be back then, but there was a reason for that too; I wasn’t that good. Now, to be clear, I’m not intending to be unkind to myself when I make that observation. In fact, I think it’s fair to say that I was consistently thought of as having significant talent, but among the many important “life lessons” that New Trier’s PAD teaches all of its students are these two; first, show business is NOT, in ANY manner, shape, or form, a meritocracy; and second, simply having talent isn’t nearly enough to succeed. Those were hard lessons for me (and for many others who were far more talented than me), but I remain very grateful to have learned them so early in life. So what does it take to succeed? Well can’t just be good, you have to be very, very, very good … like top 1% good … AND then you have to be really lucky on top of that. I was good, but I wasn’t top 1% good … so yeah, no Oscars for me … but I did get a LOT out of my experience, including the single funniest moment of my life ……

It’s impossible to tell a story that involves New Trier AND Shakespeare (and this story centers on both) without starting with the late, great Dr. Robert Boyle. For THIRTY FOUR YEARS, Doctor Boyle (or “DB” as he was more informally known to us) served as one of the many, truly extraordinary teachers at New Trier, but he was also unique among them. In addition to teaching English and journalism, Doctor Boyle was a man on a personal mission: to bring his unique passion for and love of Shakespeare into the lives and experiences of as many people as possible. He did this in many ways, but none were as well known or impactful than his directing the annual Shakespeare play at New Trier.

Shakespeare was, of course, a truly unique and special playwright, and bringing his works properly and appropriately to life required significant interpretative skill and a unique vision. Doctor Boyle was the perfect man for that job.

Working with Doctor Boyle as a director was a VERY different experience from day one. Many productions at New Trier begin with a “table reading” of the script. Most of you have seen these sorts of things on TV; it involves the cast gathering around, usually in a circle of tables, and reading through the script … and the director maybe stops the action a few times to add a note or comment. It’s usually a “first day” activity and that’s it. Not in a DB Shakespeare production it isn’t. Table reads of Shakespeare plays with Doctor Boyle consume the entirety of the first WEEK of rehearsals and include the good Doctor rather constantly interrupting his performers to ask questions and make points. There was a very good reason for this practice: Shakespearean English is substantially more challenging to read and perform than what most actors are used to, and it’s basically impossible for an actor to convey the humor or the drama of a line if they don’t fully understand it and its broader context. Doctor Boyle’s relentless attention to detail and militant insistence that we get every nuance of every line not only made our performances infinitely more accurate and entertaining, they brought Shakespeare to life for generations of performers and audiences. As a teenage male, it was also great fun (you don’t realize how much sexual humor or how many fart jokes there are in a Shakespearean comedy until you’ve done a table read with Doctor Boyle).

Doctor Boyle was also a man who truly believed that Shakespeare was timeless … and by that, I mean that he believed that Shakespeare’s stories were relevant and could be told in any moment of human history. To prove this, in odd numbered years, the annual Shakespeare production was performed in a historical timeframe of Doctor Boyle’s choosing (in even numbered years, it was performed in the traditional time and place of the original work). As a result, in 1981, I had the opportunity to play Oliver as a post US Civil War, reconstruction era General, in the play As You Like It (you think performing Shakespearean dialog is challenging? Try doing it with a deep southern accent). And in 1983, I played Lord Longavile as a Roaring 20s New York City socialite, in Love’s Labour’s Lost. But regardless of the show’s temporal setting, Doctor Boyle also retained a deep and abiding respect for the original work, and following the last performance each year, he would gift all of his performers with copies of the play, printed in the original, Shakespearean English. I still have all of mine.

As director’s go, Doctor Boyle entered each production with a very specific vision of the final result (generally speaking, he was not a “collaborative” director, he knew what he wanted and your job was to learn and do it), but he was also extremely patient and tolerant with his performers … and with me, well, his patience would be tested. I had the incredible privilege of working with Doctor Boyle on 3 major productions in my four years at New Trier (I missed out Freshman year), and in each of those years, I was somewhat infamous for going into dress rehearsals with a script still in my back pocket (I may have even referred to that script once or twice in dress/tech rehearsals). I did NOT do this with the intention of stress testing either Doctor Boyle’s heart or any of the medication that he almost certainly needed to survive working with us … no, my penchant for memorization at the last minute had more to do with a childish adrenaline addiction and the fact that I was a young man whose primary focus in school was … well, girls. Also, in fairness to myself, I have always had a very powerful memory and the ability to capture anything I’m exposed to repetitively (like lines in a play) pretty instantly once I commit to doing so. In three years of working with Doctor Boyle, I blew exactly two lines in twelve performances. Once he knew this about me, we were fine … you know, mostly ….

One more general note about performing Shakespeare at New Trier before I get to my funniest moment ever: each year the show was performed “in the round” (audience on 3 sides) in the M182 theater. Unlike New Trier’s incredibly impressive Gaffney Auditorium, which seats over 3,000 people, has a roughly FIVE STORY TALL cyclorama, and was at the time run by Mr and Mrs. Gill (a couple who had run a theater on Broadway for many years and who were also responsible for teaching generations of students how to be professional backstage technicians), the M182 theater was essentially an old, converted, former double size classroom, with just 300 seats on removable risers and a small “traditional” stage on the north end (which we did not even use for the Shakespeare production). I did a number of shows other than Shakespeare in this theater, and while I came to New Trier dreaming of performing in Gaffney (and I did enjoy being on that stage in front of thousands when I was there), the fact is that I quickly grew to substantially prefer performing in M182. While much smaller, the audience was on three sides of the performance/stage area, and they were CLOSE to the actors. The level and type of feedback that you get from an audience, in a setting which is that intimate (the end of the stage was the first row of the audience), is VERY different, and frankly, the energy I got as a performer from those experiences was FAR greater than anything I ever felt on a larger stage.

So let’s tell my story now; OK, here we go, THE funniest moment of my life. It is the early months of 1982, and, because it is an even numbered year, we are performing Twelfth Night (which is, in my opinion, Shakespeare’s best and funniest comedy) as a “traditional” Shakespearean production (i.e. the play is set in Illyria at about the turn of the 17th century, and our costumes and accents etc. reflect this setting). Despite having worked with me the year before, Doctor Boyle showed either surprising confidence or terrible judgment in casting me in another major role, this time as Duke Orsino, but beyond this wonderful/curious decision, the play was also performed by nothing less than the best, most talented, most cohesive, and most fun overall cast that I would ever have the privilege of performing with, including some truly extraordinary performances from some incredibly talented people. Among them was my friend Laura Ebert (now Laura Brenner), who in addition to being a fine actress, was (and is) a very accomplished viola player (how good? she played professionally in an orchestra for Disney for many years … so … THAT good). At the time of the play, Laura is already a key figure in my high school experience due to her matchmaking skills (having introduced me to a truly wonderful young lady who I dated for some time) and is well known for her joyous nature. Also in the cast is John Sherman as the wonderfully bombastic Sir Toby Belch. John’s naturally booming stage voice was the only one at New Trier which I felt either rivaled or exceeded my own (I was many things as an actor, but the ability to project my voice was not EVER one of my problems). And then there was the wonderful Jon Lehman, a young British national who played Sebastian. Jon was probably the most universally liked member of the cast (and all the girls were in love with him because he was a relatively good looking guy ... plus the accent). We ALL enjoyed teasing Jon for weeks (if not months) after the show was over because of a rather idiotic review in a local newspaper (the Winnetka Talk … the (clearly inept) drama critic took significant exception to Jon’s performance because of his “obviously fake accent” … which we all thought was hilarious … no that’s NOT the funniest moment, keep reading). Finally, there was Tim Walsh as Malvolio. Tim was easily the purest and best actor among us. Already a dedicated and professional performer, his perfect Malvolio made it incredibly obvious to all of us that he was going to be one of the few to go on and make a living as a professional actor (which he did).

But let’s come back to Jon Lehman for a moment. In Act 5 of Twelfth Night, there is a moment when Lehman’s Sebastian comes … well, frankly, explosively bursting on to the stage and loudly addresses his friend, Antonio. Doctor Boyle made it clear to Jon that his character is supposed to be genuinely out of breath as he runs in from offstage (he literally races between sections of the audience and leaps into the stage area). As Jon is a sincere “method actor,” he takes this direction very seriously and spends his last moments before his entrance (in the area offstage) doing vigorous calisthenics. 

Each Shakespeare production at New Trier had four performances; Wednesday and Thursday evenings, and Friday and Saturday nights. It is now Friday night. As we begin Act 5, the performance has gone mostly flawlessly so far, but that is about to change … in a spectacular way. Evidently, Jon was unhappy with his efforts prior to his big entrance during the Wednesday and Thursday performances (clearly he felt inadequately exhausted), so before his entrance on Friday, he was apparently backstage giving himself a workout that would challenge Stallone (and not Stallone now, Stallone in 1982 ... Rocky 3 Stallone). The result is effective in that he is in fact red faced, sweating and actually out of breath as he quite literally flies into the scene with reckless abandon, leaps onto the stage, points at Antonio, and shouts … “SEBASTIAN!!! (long pause, as the realization of what he’s just done hits him, then he points again) … ANTONIO!!”

The entire audience (and this was a SOLD OUT show) … LOSES. THEIR. SHIT. The laughter is so loud that it is actually deafening for a moment. Now, as actors, we know what to do when an audience reaction is so awesome that it would drown out the scene … you freeze in place and give them a moment to settle down … except they don’t … in no small part because several of the cast members have also now lost it as well. Words like bedlam and pandemonium don't come close to describing the subsequent scene. The entire theater is in hysterics, but no one is “gone” quite like Laura (as Lady Olivia). It quickly becomes very clear to me that Laura (who I am nearest to on stage) is laughing so hard that she is literally having difficulty getting enough oxygen into her body to breathe. I lean in to look at her face (she has a parasol over her head on stage) … it is turning purple. As the laughter between the audience and the cast goes on, it becomes an infectious feedback loop; a massive, collective case of the giggles, and it is obvious to me that we are going to have great difficulty getting from here to the end of the play (which is, thank God, only a few pages away). I look up at Doctor Boyle, seated in the corner of the top row (nearest the main exit to the theater … this is where he sits for every performance and makes notes for us). He appears to be contemplating either how far his car is from where he’s sitting (and how quickly he might get to it) … or perhaps how many years he has until retirement is an option. Clearly there is nothing he can do to help me. I look back at Laura, she is still vibrating, shaking with laughter … her ability to speak much less deliver a line is gone. This is a BIG problem for me because, just at this particular moment in the play, she and I have quite a bit of dialog together. Knowing that the show must go on, I get an idea. In fairness to me, this really did seem like my only option at the time. I lean in to Laura and then loudly say something like, “what sayest thou Lady Olivia?” and then I deliver her lines for her, so that I may deliver my lines in response and that, maybe, somehow, we can reach the end of the play. My plan backfires spectacularly as the audience can obviously and plainly see Olivia’s current state and finds my solution just that much funnier because of it. The laughter, which had finally begun to subside, rises again, and I too am having some difficulty ignoring how ridiculously absurd and just plain hysterical the situation is.

We never did entirely get our composure back. My recollection is that Tim, ever the most professional and capable of us, was able to deliver Malvolio’s big speech at the end of Act 5 with enough of a straight face to return the cast and audience to the best level we were ever going to reach. After that speech, I have the last word, and the performance comes to merciful close … which included a rousing standing ovation from the crowd (many of whom are still wiping tears of laughter from their faces).

So, once again, no Oscars for me, but it’s been almost 40 years since that day, and I have never, before or since, laughed that hard, or for that long, in my life … not even close.

Author’s note: Dr. Robert Boyle sadly passed away on May 12, 2019, at age 86. I am overwhelmed with gratitude for everything he taught me, and I am especially grateful to have had two opportunities (in his last years) to thank him for all he did for so many of us, and to chat with him about this and other experiences he had in his more than THREE DECADES of directing Shakespeare productions at New Trier. I owe the entirety of my love and affection for Shakespeare to him, and I am FAR from alone.

New Trier PAD Stories: The Best I Ever Was

by Duane N. Burghard

© 2020

(Author’s note: This essay is part of a larger project I am currently working on about my experiences in the New Trier Performing Arts Department. Eventually, I hope to combine these stories into a larger collection as a tribute to this incredibly special time in my life, and to the unbelievably talented and special people who shared it with me.)

New Trier’s PAD (Performing Arts Department) is well known, and for good reason. It has been producing major Hollywood and Broadway stars since long before I was born. From classic era stars like Charlton Heston (Class of 41) and Anne Margaret (Class of 59) to modern era ones like Oscar nominee Virginia Madsen (Class of 79) and Emmy winner Rainn Wilson (Class of 84), New Trier has consistently been a talent incubator for actors, singers, dancers, musicians, and artists of all kind. The Performing Arts Department was THE reason I wanted to attend New Trier, and I have always felt VERY fortunate to have been a part of it from the fall of 1979 until the late spring of 1983. 

I am, of course, NOT one of those Oscar, Emmy, Tony et al winners. In fact, while Performing Arts consumed essentially ALL of my non-academic time during my four years at New Trier, after I graduated in June of 1983, I never acted on stage again (although I have, and still do, use many of the skills I learned … and in ways I never imagined at the time). I joined the US Navy that summer and, while that was a “dramatic” change in my life, it was a very different kind of drama. In any case, I never became the household name that I had dreamed I might be back then, but there was a reason for that too; I wasn’t that good. Now, to be clear, I’m not intending to be unkind to myself when I make that observation. In fact, I think it’s fair to say that I was consistently thought of as having significant talent, but among the many important “life lessons” that New Trier’s PAD teaches all of its students are these two; first, show business is NOT, in ANY manner, shape, or form, a meritocracy; and second, simply having talent isn’t nearly enough to succeed. Those were hard lessons for me (and for many others who were far more talented than me), but I remain very grateful to have learned them so early in life. So what does it take to succeed? Well can’t just be good, you have to be very, very, very good … like top 1% good … AND then you have to be really lucky on top of that. I was good, but I wasn’t top 1% good … wellll, except maybe once, and that’s where this story begins.

I owe my very best moment in Performing Arts to two people. The first is Suzanne Adams … aka “Mrs. A”.  It is impossible to overstate the influence that Mrs. Adams wielded in the PAD at New Trier. Despite her diminutive stature, she was a performing arts giant. She was a lot like Hepburn. Which one? Both! She had the looks of Audrey Hepburn (who she did actually somewhat resemble) and the talent of Katherine Hepburn … and that is exactly how I have always described her. Mrs. A’s many talents were RADICALLY broader than I can ever do justice to here (someone really does need to write an entire book about her), but her ability to recognize real talent and art was unparalleled. The world owes Mrs. Adams thanks because she was one of the key people who helped stars like Virginia Madsen and Rainn Wilson realize their incredible potential. WE (her former students), on the other hand, owe her thanks because she did the same for ALL of us … she made us into MUCH better artists, and better people, than we otherwise would have been. 

One of Mrs. A’s greatest gifts, however (and the one that’s particularly relevant to my story here), was her ability to cast the right people in the right roles at the right times. There is absolutely no question in my mind that, if she had wanted to live a different life, she could have been one of the most famous and successful casting directors of all time (for the record, I’m also convinced that she would have been bored to tears with such a life when compared to the truly extraordinary one she chose). She had the uncanny ability to observe a person, and then search through her encyclopedic mind of plays and roles and think, “this person would be great in this part,” … and she was NEVER wrong.

The second person I owe my best stage moment to is Carolyn Novak (now Carolyn Novak Rans). It’s hard to describe Carolyn in a way that you’re going to believe, but to describe her as merely beautiful would be like saying that the Pacific Ocean is a small pond that separates San Francisco from Tokyo. In a school with significantly more than its fair share of beautiful girls, Carolyn was WAY above and beyond the crowd. How beautiful was she? Let’s put 30 seconds on the clock shall we … and go! She was so beautiful, the police used her to stop traffic. She was so magnetic, even plastic was attracted to her. Her beauty was so shocking that every time she took a shower, she was a fire hazard. Get the picture? She was a walking, talking apex of human evolution, the most empirically attractive human being any of us had ever seen. 

But here’s the truly amazing thing about Carolyn; as incomparable as her beauty was, her outward appearance wasn’t what made her special. In fact, she was universally dismissive about her appearance. If someone walked up to her and said, “you’re the most beautiful person in the world,” she would graciously smile and say thank you, but that fact wasn’t a point of particular interest or value to her. It was one of many things that made her unique, but what made her special was that she was one of the most friendly and approachable people I’ve ever known.

A few months into our senior year, in year four of advanced acting classes at New Trier (side note: just getting in to Mrs. A’s senior class was a coveted thing), Mrs. A assigned Noel Coward’s Private Lives to me and Carolyn. I just about fainted. I had never read Private Lives, knew nothing about the play, and to this day have NO idea how Mrs. A knew we could play these roles (again, her abilities to pair people with roles was simply beyond the scope of mere humans), but I thought, “hey, worst case scenario, I get to hang out with Carolyn for several weeks.”

For those who don’t know, Private Lives centers on Elyot and Amanda, a divorced couple who have both remarried and find themselves in adjacent rooms (sharing a terrace), on their honeymoons … with their new spouses … only to discover that they’re still in love with each other. Now, not that I need to point this out here, but the fact is that Carolyn and I had never been married (either to each other or anyone else) … which shouldn’t be that surprising when you remember that we were both just 17. In fact, while we had been fairly instant friends, and had known each other for a couple of years, we had never even dated one another (which is a good thing because she would have been WAY out of my league AND I would never have approved of her dating someone like me at the time).  The point is that neither of us had ANY obvious frame of reference for playing these characters … so again, how Mrs. A saw that we could portray an older, divorced and remarried but still secretly in love with each other couple (i.e. people in a VERY complex relationship) is WAY beyond me … but it also became quite obvious, right away that, somehow, we did know these people and their relationship VERY well.

Of course, looking back on it now, at least part of our stage relationship isn’t THAT hard to understand. Actor Andrew Lincoln was once asked in an interview about his performance in the movie, “Love Actually.” His response to the question and his feeling about his performance in the film was quite dismissive. Essentially he said, “my role was to pretend to be secretly in love with Keira Knightley … which required absolutely no acting talent whatsoever.” So yeah, that part of my playing Elyot was pretty easy. But the rest of him? The angst, the passion mixed with frustration, the love mixed with irritation, I don’t really know how I knew so clearly how Elyot would feel, but I did. As for how Carolyn found her perfect and flawless Amanda … well, you’ll have to ask her where that came from, but however we did it, and wherever it came from, the chemistry we had on stage was pretty instant, and pretty obvious.

On one of our very first rehearsal days, Carolyn and I grabbed some stage time (our theater class had a raised and lit stage which the students would take turns using). We wanted to run a few lines, do some blocking, and basically just get a feel for performing together on the stage … but as we rehearsed, something happened. After several minutes, we realized that Mrs. A was standing a little ways off, quietly watching us … and she wasn’t alone. A number of the other students in the class had broken off their rehearsing and discussing in groups to watch us (probably at least in part because they had noticed that Mrs. Adams was standing there, watching us intently). When we realized this, we (rather self-consciously) stopped, and looked over at her. And she smiled “that” smile at us, and she had “that” look, and when she spoke she had “that” tone in her voice … and it was the smile and the look and the tone that every acting student at New Trier for generations craved and prayed for, the ones that she reserved only for when she REALLY liked something. And with that big smile, and that adoring look, and in that totally magical, slightly trembling tone she said, “ohhhhh! You two HAVE to do this for more than just this class.”

What she was referring to was called Forensics (for those who don’t know, it is essentially “acting competition” at the high school level). But performing Private Lives in competition meant performing significantly more of the play, which meant a lot more rehearsal time, and a lot of Saturdays (which started insanely early) traveling all over the region to compete. It was a fairly major commitment, but Mrs. Adams clearly thought it was “that good,” and it was more time hanging out with Carolyn, so I was in … and amazingly, so was she.

As we worked, we quickly got very comfortable with each other on stage. Carolyn had incredible instincts and a natural ability to improvise and/or play off of me. That last part (her ability to improvise and play off of me) wasn’t that much of a surprise because, about a year earlier, I had drafted her (in a very impromptu way) to do an audio promo for my radio show. I needed a voice actress and she was there (in the hall at that moment) and I thought she would be perfect for it … so I gave her about a 20 second overview of what I wanted, and then we recorded the 30 second spot, into my recordable Walkman, in one take, and she completely nailed it (it was perfect) … so I knew that she had innate ability and talent, but it was something else altogether to work with her on this level and see how easily her abilities “scaled up” (incidentally, we used that spot to promote my radio show for more than a year). Plus, everything she did just seemed logical to me. As we went on through the creative process, there were all kinds of bits and blocking that we didn’t even discuss, we just naturally did it, and it worked. We weren’t just playing characters, we were in a “zone” with them, and by the time we formally performed a scene for our class, we were already ready to take the larger and longer version “on the road” into competition … and Mrs. Adams agreed.

I participated in Forensics competitions every year I was at New Trier (performing in categories like one act plays, humorous interpretation, original comedy, etc.), so I knew what to expect in terms of the experience (generally, it’s a fun day of watching other kids perform, and then they watch you, while judges “grade” the performances, and at the end of the day, there are two categories of people; the kids who had fun, and the kids who had fun AND won). What I was unfamiliar with was the response we would get. From the very first performance, the judges ALL seemed to love us. And it wasn’t just the judges … other performers would stop in and watch us, or tell us later how much they liked it. I’d like to think that at least part of why people liked it had to do with our actual performances, but I suspect that a significant percentage of them were simply mesmerized by Carolyn and, when they saw me with her later, they just assumed that I must have been on stage with her or something. There is one important side note about all of the positive feedback which we got from our peers that I want be clear about: Carolyn was not only always very gracious in accepting praise, but she was very careful to make clear to others that we were a team … I specifically remember her (clearly and intentionally) going out of her way to do things like look at or gesture towards me, and using the word “we” a lot when responding to others … that made a real impact on me. In any case, we were performing, and winning … regularly. In fact, by the third or fourth weekend of performances, I remember walking into the competitions with almost a bit of a swagger. I had never known what it was like to walk in the door expecting to win, but I did now … and we did. I don’t think we ever finished worst than second in any competition, and the clear majority of the time, we won. We easily made the District finals. 

“Districts” were held at Niles North High School that year. There were over forty teams from all over the region. I remember our bus pulling in and joining the dozens of other school busses in the parking lot. It was the only time I remember feeling nervous/intimidated, and Carolyn noticed it. Minutes before our first performance of the day (there were usually at least two), Carolyn suggested that we duck into one of the classrooms and run through the last few minutes of the performance, a suggestion which included a rather tricky “spin” move (that was always good to practice first) … and, of course, “the big kiss” between Elyot and Amanda. As we approach this very dramatic moment, Carolyn/Amanda is moving away from me. I grab her arm and then aggressively pull her back towards me, spinning her back into my arms (something she consistently did with a magical elegance which truly showcased her training in dance) and then we kiss … and then the judges love it and then we win and .. yeah, you can kind of see why those are fun memories. Anyway, blocking out this move was actually one of the funnier memories I have of our experience together because, apparently, I was initially not “rough” enough in grabbing and pulling her (maybe I was concerned about dislocating her shoulder or something, I don’t know). In any case, I distinctly remember an early rehearsal when she made it clear to me that I needed to “go for it” a bit more so that she had the momentum necessary to (seemingly) effortlessly spin back into my arms. The move and the kiss were THE big moment of each performance and, by this time, we had obviously done it many times before, although, again, as we were not in a romantic relationship personally, in rehearsal she would usually spin into my arms and up to the moment of the kiss and then … we would pause, and then one of us would smile and say something silly like, “annnnd then we kiss,” or “annnnd scene” and then we’d release each other and step away. But not that morning. That morning she spun right in, grabbed my face and kissed me … and she definitely did it with a little more … oomf … and length, than normal. But here’s the funny part; what was weird about this totally unforgettable moment in my life is that she didn’t mean it to be a romantic thing … and stranger still, I understood that and didn’t take it that way (and this is odd because, under almost any other set of circumstances or with anyone else, I probably would have). No, this was clearly a, “let’s settle down, get centered, get into character, and go kick some ass” kind of kiss. I’ve literally not ever had another moment like that in my life. It was like in one of those movies, you know, the ones where the ridiculously beautiful girl kisses the slightly awkward guy and then, boom, all of sudden he completely has his shit together and he’s OK … well it turns out that this is actually a thing! This works! Who knew?! (I mean, other than the beautiful girls of course). And then, after that perfect moment, she slowly and gently let go of my face, relaxed in my arms, looked at me and said (in a completely normal voice), “you OK?” And amazingly, just like that, I was actually, completely OK. It was bizarre, but somehow, she had instantaneously wiped out all of whatever head trash I had going on in that moment … it was completely off my mental map … and it never came back, all day. “Yeah,” I replied. “OK, let’s go,” she said, and we did. 

We performed twice that day. And it was perfect, both times. And we won. 

It wasn’t the same kiss though …..

Winning at the District level includes the right to compete at the State Championship … if you decide you want to do that. We didn’t. Now, in fairness to us, I remember that there were LOTS of reasons for us to not go on and compete at the State level. First and foremost, it required an entire weekend, and a lengthy road trip to Champaign/Urbana (where the finals were held), which meant that there were parental permission forms, and there were significant costs … and those were just some of the logistical reasons. Personally, Carolyn (as I remember) also had some professional modeling commitments, and I had another show I was already doing (Shakespeare’s Love’s Labour’s Lost) plus another show that I was auditioning for. My recollection is that we had a very brief conversation about it where one of us said something like, “do you want to do state?” (with a tone that indicated “meh”) and the other replying, “ehh, not really, do you?” and the other saying, “not really,” and that was that. Ultimately, however, I think that the biggest reason we didn’t go was because neither of us felt like we needed any additional validation. Internally (in our own hearts and minds), we had already won. We knew that we had done GOOD work together, and that, combined with the feedback that we had already received to that point, well, that was good enough for us. We had already gotten all we needed/wanted from the experience (interestingly, that’s probably the ONLY time I can say that about a role or performance of mine). 

In retrospect, of course, I wish that we had gone because, win or lose, we would have gotten to perform together a couple more times. But as much as we liked each other and had enjoyed working together, it was clear, we were both kind of done with it after Districts. So that was it, and we were both totally OK with that. It also made that kiss before Districts a really special “this is it” moment for us … and as the years have gone by, I really like that.

Not long after that day, we both graduated, and went our separate ways in life. We never saw each other (in person) again. Of course, we see each other now on Facebook all the time, and I’m very proud to say that we BOTH remember this experience very fondly. To this day she still refers to me as her “stage hubby” or “stage husband” … and I still refer to her as my “stage wife” … and in those precious, beautiful, amazing moments, it really was like that too. Each and every time we performed together, from the moment the scene started until the moment it ended, there was this feeling that was very reminiscent to me of Vonnegut’s “Who Am I This Time?” … we were Elyot and Amanda … and as much as I enjoyed my many other acting experiences with many other VERY talented people, I never had another moment quite like that on stage, ever. It was the best I ever was. 

I never did get that Oscar … but then again, Oscar’s don’t kiss you ……

(Author’s Addendum: Prior to publishing this essay, I (somewhat nervously) shared it with Carolyn (to make sure that she was OK with my posting it here). Her response was as gracious and kind as I could have hoped for. Not surprisingly, she was quick to share the credit for our success (which, out of respect for her opinion, I will note that she felt was also due to my “comedic … commanding stage presence”). She also noted that she too had never experienced anything remotely like the stage chemistry that we had together. Finally, I was truly delighted to hear that she has the same fond memories of, and pride in, this experience as I do. And she really does still call me her stage hubby.)

Umbrellas, Spaghetti and Spacetime (Updated and Expanded)

Umbrellas, Spaghetti, and Spacetime 

Updated and Expanded version 2015

by Duane N. Burghard

©2015

The below essay is an updated and expanded version of what is, by far, the most popular piece I’ve written on my blog. I have been promising this update since the summer and I had originally planned to post it in November, but I felt it needed a final “once over” and I didn’t get to that until this weekend … so for those who have been waiting (and those who haven’t see it before), here is your mind-bending holiday gift for 2015.

How do space and time really work? How do they interact with our conscious minds? Why do we perceive the universe the way we do? Questions like these have always fascinated me, but I am especially fascinated by this one: why do some people seem to have as yet unexplainable oddities in their human experience as they relate to space and time? I don't know the answers to these questions, but I have spent no small amount of time thinking about them and looking for the answers and today, I'm going to share some thoughts on what I've found, what I think, and why.

I’m going to start by telling you some thing about me; I compulsively and (at least somewhat) involuntarily look for patterns in sets of data. It seems to literally be in my DNA. I catalog pretty much every input that goes into my brain and then, often subconsciously, I inter-relate it to other things and look for patterns. 

Here’s just one weird example of this tendency. Years ago, when I owned a small chain of retail stores, we were given a strong financial incentive by one of our product partners to attach a particular add on product to a main product of theirs. After several years of doing so, I began to notice that we seemed to have more failures attaching this extra product on Thursdays. At first I thought that I was simply imagining this relationship, but after a time I went into the software that we used to track our sales (which I wrote) and checked. It turned out that I was right. Thursdays were the worst day for selling this product. In fact, we were a staggering twenty percent less likely to attach this product on Thursdays. I checked all of our stores. The pattern held. I emailed other store owners in the industry, and while their numbers varied, the pattern held again. I contacted the product’s marketing director at the manufacturer and shared the data. A few weeks later he emailed me back and told me that he had done an increasing amount of research into my theory and had been shocked to discover that I had in fact identified a bizarre (and to this day unexplained) national trend. This was neither the first nor only time I have found a strange pattern like this simply through observation. Given the extraordinary number of inputs that I process (or that any of us processes) constantly, what made this particular set of inputs stand out?

Now hold that thought while I tell you about something I learned from Facebook. I discovered Facebook back in 2009 and, like many people my age (I am 50), I found it to be a great way to reunite with old friends. But as I reassembled my friends from elementary school in particular, I noticed a really interesting pattern (because, again, that’s what I do). In our early notes to one another, my friends and I often shared bits of things that we remembered about each other as children. What was interesting was that almost everyone remembered the same thing about me: my imagination. I agree that their recollections about me are accurate, I was and remain a pretty imaginative person, but the real question to me is why is that true, and is that characteristic (my imagination) somehow related to this weird tendency I have to find patterns in data, or is it something else entirely?

In order to explore the “something else entirely” option, I need to explain how I have come to see and understand the relationships between consciousness, space and time, and to do that I need to synthesize some pretty deep ideas. So, as incredible as this may sound, let's start by seeing if we can tackle the nature of consciousness, space and time in one paragraph.

When it comes to the nature of space and time and how and why we perceive it the way we do, my primary influence is a British astrophysicist from Cambridge named Julian Barbour. In 1999 Barbour wrote a book called The End of Time. Because my wife and Mother-In-Law were very well aware of my fascination with the subject, they bought Barbour’s book for me as a Christmas gift that year. The only down side to their decision (from their perspective) was then having to spend the next few days listening to me randomly exclaiming  "yes!" and "that's it!" as I sat and read it. Barbour argues that time doesn’t really exist at all. Time is essentially an illusion, a fictional construct of our consciousness. Fortunately, there is a relatively easy way to grasp this concept. Barbour argues that every single moment is a specific, single, contained reality, very much like a picture. We perceive “motion” (time) in the universe for the same reason we think we see motion when we watch television. When we watch TV or a movie, as most people know, what we’re really watching is a series of still photographs being flashed before our eyes at a very rapid pace (approximately 24-30 frames, or pictures, per second). Our brains take in all of those pictures and “stitch them together” creating the illusion that images move on the screen. Barbour argues that the universe is much the same way, and that our consciousness is traveling through these instantaneous moments and simply stitching the changes between them together and creating the illusion of motion and time. I believe that Barbour’s model is correct, but it’s also incomplete.

In order to effectively incorporate Barbour’s theory to my own, we need to add in some basic information about probability and multiverse theory. I am going to avoid getting distracted here and not take this opportunity to branch off into a detailed discussion of multiverse theory, however, if you want to get a grip on where I stand on the multiverse, I strongly recommend the article "Parallel Universes" by Max Tegmark in the May, 2003 issue of Scientific American. If you've done so, or if you just have a good understanding of the concepts, then you already know that, in a parallel universe, I've made the opposite decision at this point in the essay and I have gone ahead and taken a good deal of time to discuss multiverse theory, making this an even much longer essay ... so be grateful you're in this universe. The main point I want to make for the purposes of this essay is simply that all, or at least a sufficiently large set of different choices exist for each of us in each moment and that each of those choices can lead to a partially or entirely different set of choices in the next moment (or some later following moment), in the next parallel universe over (where you made a different choice than you did here … turning left instead of right leads to different choices for each “version” of you in the next moment, and so on). Now with respect to probability, I maintain that there are certain choices in each moment which, while technically possible, are so improbable that they don’t have a universe to represent them (this does not necessarily confine the total number of parallel universes to a finite number, however it probably does confine the number of parallel universes that each of us individually exists in to a finite (if also very VERY large) number.

So, to understand how I perceive the universe, think of the very first instant of your life as a drop of water falling down towards the very top of a single opened umbrella. Actually, it’s not just one drop and one umbrella, but LOTS of initial drops and umbrellas since the number of universes where you come to exist is probably quite large … however, I maintain that there is only ONE universe where this particularly unique version of you began, a singular set of “initial conditions.” In the next universe over where you also come to exist there is at least one difference in the initial conditions. That difference might be large (e.g. you could be a different sex) or it might be infinitesimally small … but let’s stick to the idea that the “you” who is in this hyper-specific universe started as one drop at the top of one umbrella. Each “moment event” is represented by the tip on the top of that umbrella and each spine on my metaphorical umbrella represents a choice you make or action you take (or don’t) … in any case the spines are potential paths that the drop of water (you) can take from that moment to the next. The number of spines (or paths or choices), is obviously variable based on the specifics of the moment in question, and again, some paths are more likely than others, so perhaps the umbrella is slightly tilted or misshapen in some way so that, more often than not, a drop would be more likely to go in one or several ways as opposed to one or several others). Now, I want you to envision the pathways from the tip top of the umbrella and along the spines like they are hollow strands of spaghetti (a tube), and once your drop of water (your consciousness) hits the top of the umbrella, you instantly “choose” and thus follow one of the strands along one of the spines of the umbrella (again, each spine representing a possible outcome for that moment event). The strand you follow is based on the choice made in that moment event. At the end of each spine of the umbrella, the spaghetti tube falls to the top of another umbrella (the next moment that proceeds from the path of the spine you followed based on your choice or action in the previous moment), and what we define as our lives is just an inconceivably hyper-specific trip down a very particular path of spaghetti tubes from one umbrella (moment) to the next … and, from the perspective of our individual consciousness, that’s what each individual universe in the multiverse is.

Basically what I'm saying is that our lives are akin to going down the tubes ... which should be easy for many of us to relate to.

Now here's where it gets a little weird (I know, only now?!). I believe that a very large number of the potential results of every moment event (particularly the probable ones) actually DO happen … which is to say that each of those potential paths does get followed (although obviously not in the same universe). Again, different choices in one moment can lead to a partially or entirely different set of choices in the next moment (or some later following moment) in the next universe over. Sometimes events may cause a “re-collision” of tubes (the same ultimate result with no other changes), other times they may get progressively farther apart. Additionally, different choices in one moment can lead to a different number of potential choices in the next moment in each of the parallel universes that the choice leads to (so umbrellas in the next level down would only coincidentally have the same number of spines).

My explanation so far would probably look like a rapidly expanding pyramid (or cone) of umbrellas proceeding downward from the moment of a person’s birth (well, the one “you” that we’re focused on … other versions of you (the ones with slightly or dramatically different initial conditions) have their own cone of umbrellas). But this cone would not have smooth edges, in fact it would only appear to be cone-like from a significant distance. The closer you got to the structure, the more “bumpy” looking it would be due to the variable nature of the number of choices at different moments. If you’re seeing it that way, you’re getting it so far. But the view we have so far only tells half of the story, and that’s because we are still humans, and thus, we all have an expiration date (or, according to me, we have lots and lots of expiration dates). What I mean by that statement is, as we proceed through life, many of us face a variety of NDEs or Near Death Experiences. I would argue that, by definition, for each moment where you have the possibility of dying, in at least one parallel universe, you actually do die and thus that tube/strand/path comes to an abrupt end. However, when you’re young, the number of options in the multiverse where you’re alive is expanding far more rapidly than it is contracting (put simply, you’re living through more versions of each given moment event than you’re not because there are simply that many more options where you live), thus your cone is getting bigger/wider. However, at some point in everyone’s multi-lives, there is a moment of maximum width, a maximum number of parallel “yous” that exist, after which, there are a decreasing total number of “yous” in existence until, somewhere, the very last you draws its last breath. So the most accurate way to visualize this representation of your life is not as an ever widening pyramid or cone, but rather as one that widens to a maximum width and then recedes again back to a single strand (picture two ice cream cones glued together at the opening … although again, technically the “shape” of the bottom of this structure is one I’ve suggested for easier visualization … which is to say that I’ve simply randomly decided that, as the number of universes where you’re still alive shrinks (as you age), visually speaking, the shape “centers” back to a midpoint … in actuality the bottom shape could look quite weird as the universe where you live the longest might extend downward from anywhere among the broadest point of the cone … although then again maybe not … perhaps the choices which are more likely to lead to your death push you out to the outer edges of the structure where the choices that lead to the longest life are “centered”).

If you're not confused yet, I'll help by adding another piece. My theory is that, for reasons I don't understand but accept based solely on perceived observation, the umbrellas (and more relevantly, the tubes of spaghetti) within this vast structure can twist and, as a result, the strands get intertwined in an occasionally quite messy way.

Which brings us to the really weird part. My theory is that the outside edges of the spaghetti tubes represent the borders of our conscious perception of our path/universe. It’s at this point that I start to rely more on observation than theory. It seems to me that, like many things in the universe, the “material” (or fabric) that the spaghetti strands (which contain our conscious perception) are made of is far from perfect. These imperfections do not allow the traveling drop of water that represents your consciousness to “leak” or escape but, at least for some of us, they do seem to allow us to occasionally see (with varying degrees of clarity and awareness) outside our “tube.” These cracks (or more accurately stretched out holes) may exist for everyone, but some of us clearly perceive them more readily than others. Given the nature of the universe as I already understand and accept it, it’s not difficult for me to imagine a universe where such imperfections exist (in my experience, the universe is hardly a perfect place).

Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on your point of view) the vast majority of the time, these holes don't allow our minds to perceive anything else (beyond our reality) because a given hole in our strand of spaghetti doesn't line up with anything other than the outer skin of one or several other strands of spaghetti (you don't see anything beyond the hole in your wall of consciousness because there's nothing to see but the outside surface of another wall/spaghetti strand). But every now and then, the holes line up, and every once in a great while they line up long enough for us to gain some perception of an alternate universe. Given the multiverse theory that I accept (which states that the very nearest parallel universe is no closer than 1 times 10 to the 10th to the 28th power meters away ... again, see Tegmark's article for the science behind this assertion) there are two possible ways that I could understand how information could be transferred between two strands. The first would be if the space between these holes were connected by wormholes that fold the vast distance in space between them. This seems unlikely to me because I can’t think of a reason why this would be the case (and yes, I’m very aware that I’m pretty out there already in terms of not having a “why” about much of what I’ve already written, but I would also note that cosmology is a science that doesn't answer the "why" question nearly as often or as well as many of us would like). The second possibility is, for whatever reason, more plausible and more likely to me; quantum entanglement. If we head over to Wikipedia, we find Quantum entanglement defined as, “a physical phenomenon that occurs when pairs or groups of particles are generated or interact in ways such that the quantum state of each particle cannot be described independently—instead, a quantum state may be given for the system as a whole.” It seems at least plausible to me that there might be enough particles in a given alternate universe version of our brain that are so similar that some level of entanglement exists and thus some amount of information sharing is possible (different subatomic structures of different versions of you might be sufficiently similar to allow for some kind of entanglement).

If my explanation is correct (or correct enough), the holes in a given person's spaghetti strand could occasionally line up with a variety of parallel worlds, some very similar and some pretty dis-similar. But the thing about spaghetti is that, once two strands are entangled, they often tend to stay that way, at least for a while. So, in theory, a person who is able to perceive these holes in the tubes that border our conscious perception of our universe would eventually get the chance to have multiple looks at the same parallel world. Imagine a parallel world, for example, where Archduke Franz Ferdinand is not assassinated and the July crisis of 1914 never happens (Princip either doesn't kill Ferdinand or is stopped). As a result, World War 1 either doesn't happen at all or plays out very differently. Without World War 1, Germany might not be punished to the degree that it was in our universe and, as a result, Adolph Hitler never becomes more than an agitated Austrian artist (meaning that World War 2 also doesn't happen or doesn't happen at all the same way). This doesn't mean that there aren't other conflicts and other results at all, but it does mean that such a parallel Earth would historically evolve quite differently. As many of you know, there is an entire genre of fiction literature that surrounds this concept called alternative history. I often wonder if the authors of alternative history books are actually making their stories up or if they've simply gained a small amount of awareness of and/or access to the world they write about. Suppose they just think that what they’re writing is merely their imagination but what’s actually happening is that they’re describing an actual parallel world, one that they’re not even consciously aware they have access to. Are my highly detailed dreams just a random compilations of inputs? Do I really have a great imagination, or am I “cheating”? Am I really simply reporting the results of occasional glimpses of other Earths?

I find the above theory a fascinating one, but I readily concede that it's just plain crazy to a lot of people, and there's not a lot of science to back it up, so let's ignore the holes in the strand thing for now (fair enough since most people obviously can't consciously see beyond the borders of their strand anyway … if they could then a lot more people would be talking and writing about this sort of thing and I’d seem a lot less crazy) and let's look at some of the truly bizarre oddities of life within our own individual strands.

So I am defining time as how we mentally interpret/explain the “travel” of our consciousness between moment event universes (my interpretation of Barbour), and I am doing that because that's at least plausibly consistent with our observation. But does the relationship between our conscious perception and the order of event universes have to be “chronological”? I doubt it. I am convinced (in no small part by my interpretation of Barbour’s theories) that all events are equally “real” and not happening “in order” but rather all happening at once (as I have often explained, your great grandmother is still very much alive, she’s just not alive here, she’s alive in all the moment events between her birth and death … to say that they are in the past is like the number 13 saying that the number 11 no longer exists). So each moment is as equally real and present as any other, they’re simply happening in different spaces (with time again simply being an artificial construct of our conscious mind that exists to keep us from the confusion that would ensue if we perceived everything happening at once or out of order). A number of modern physicists make a very effective argument for this explanation, and I recommend an episode from Season Two of “Through The Wormhole with Morgan Freeman” called "Does Time Really Exist?” for a much better explanation than I can give you (by the way, that episode also includes an interview with Julian Barbour). But if time isn’t real, if all events are equally real and happening in different spaces, then why does everything at least seem to happen in order? As noted above, I don't think it does. Obviously most of us perceive it that way most of the time, but it seems obvious to me that it's a “rule” that can be violated, maybe not at the Slaughterhouse Five level, but at least a little bit.

This past week (on December 22, 2015), I celebrated my 26th Wedding Anniversary with my wife. Because of our schedules that day, we had a private, celebratory lunch instead of our normal dinner. I arrived at the restaurant  (in a parking lot adjacent to the largest Mall in our city) a few minutes before her. As she and I met in the parking lot and walked towards the restaurant, I was suddenly overcome with the certainty that my possessions in my car were not safe. I told my wife that I would meet her in the restaurant and turned back towards my car. As I approached it (still several rows away), I saw a young man in a hooded sweatshirt walking along the row of cars that included mine. His head moved rapidly from side to side as he moved along the cars and it quickly became obvious to me that he was checking the trunks of each car to see if any were unlocked. My trunk was locked and my belongings were safe from this young man’s malicious intent, but the experience served as yet another example to me that some details of some events may “leak” through time.

Dean Radin, an engineer and faculty member at Sonoma State, did a somewhat controversial study a few years ago at the Institute for Noetic Science in which he attached skin conductors to individuals to measure their stress levels while showing them images, some emotionally charged, some not. The data from these experiments consistently showed that a statistically significant number of people began to biologically react to the emotionally charged images several seconds before they appeared. The implication of Radin's work is that at least some information is somehow “leaking” backwards in time. Many of us are familiar with the concept of intuition, and it seems rational to conclude that sometimes that sense is simply a random coincidence, but if time isn't real, then it makes perfect sense to me that some information about another event might find its way backward up my spaghetti strands, and we might perceive that information the way we hear the noise of something we're moving towards as we travel down a tube, like a train in the distance. Our inability to perceive it more clearly also makes sense since it is at a “distance” down the strand and, as a result, our conscious minds process the information as little more than a vague sensation that's rarely useful.

Somewhat similarly, Professor Darrell Bem at Cornell University did a study in which he asked subjects to choose between two curtains. In each case, one curtain had nothing behind it, and the other one had an image. Bem found there was no statistically significant difference in the choices made. But when he changed the experiment slightly and made one of the images in question erotic in nature, the results changed and a statistically significant number of people chose the curtain with the image more often. I should note that Bem's findings have been criticized by, among others, my former neighbor and good friend Jeff Rouder (who I've known for many years as our youngest daughters are best friends). Jeff is a nationally renowned Professor of Neuropsychology at the University of Missouri who applied something called a Bayes Filter to Bem's data. Rouder asserts that the application of the Bayes filter eliminates the statistical variance. However, whether Radin and Bem are entirely correct or not is less relevant to me than the fact that these studies and others seem to clearly indicate that our minds are processing more information than we are fully consciously aware of, and the degree to which we are aware of the information we are receiving does seem to vary significantly from person to person. As a result, it does seem reasonable to me that what some people might consider to be paranormal (with respect to the perception of space and time at any rate) is more likely to be merely a minute genetic mutation of some kind (probably a subatomic glitch in our brain, basically a defect). Again, I sadly lack the training and funding needed to spend years of my life in search of the empirical proof I would need to grab a Nobel Prize for proving my theory, but I can say that, for many years prior to the end of 2013, I felt as though I was being constantly bombarded with the very specific subconscious suggestion that I should shut down one of my businesses by the end of that year. I did not listen to that “little voice,” and the results were devastating. Was my “little voice” actually a stream of information leaking backwards to me in a form I just couldn’t quite hear strongly enough to act on? I can’t prove it, but convincing me that these regular feelings are just a random coincidence would be extremely difficult.

For those whose minds are not yet reeling, I will leave you with one more possibility. It is also possible that nothing I've written above is relevant to our universe, and that's because it, and our perception of it, is entirely the result of a computer program. For those who didn't see the movie "The Thirteenth Floor" several years ago, the idea is that our universe is a super massive computer simulation and we are simply programs in it. And what about the laws of physics? Well, they’re just programming too. I have often wondered about this idea. As I have now publicly admitted to friends, I remember vividly waking up on the morning of October 17th, 2000, and hearing about the death of Missouri Governor Mel Carnahan. I had two unshakeable sensations that entire day; first, that there was something very wrong with the universe, that something (Carnahan's death) had happened that didn't actually (“really”) happen; and second, that even though I could remember the previous day and every day prior to it for almost the whole of the 35 plus years I had been alive, somehow that day seemed like it was the very first day of the entire universe. Perhaps I was right. Perhaps our universe is nothing more than a computer simulation that was written to play out a “what if” scenario by historians FAR into the future. It's possible, but if so, the good news is that we may not have to wait long to find out. I'm referring to the Holometer Experiment, a highly specific investigation that’s just started at the Fermi National Accelerator Laboratory. The Experiment will attempt to determine whether our perception of a three-dimensional universe is just an illusion. The possibility that our universe may be basically a computer program (or hologram) is a pretty well accepted theory, but to me, the real question is this; if our universe is merely a simulation and we do figure it out, will our knowledge of that fact “ruin” the game and end our universe?

Who knows ... after all, it could just be my imagination.

Defending America

by Duane N. Burghard
©2015

I was having lunch with a relatively new friend of mine today. She’s from a Pacific Island nation and spent most of her life in New Zealand and Australia before moving here to the United States about 11 years ago. Now right away I need to make a confession: immigrants impress the hell out of me. They make me think about my paternal great grandfather. Sadly, I never met the man, but I think of him often. About 110 years ago, he decided that he didn’t like what he saw going on in Europe (did he see World War 1 that far off? Who knows) … so he picked up his family (including my grandfather and great uncle) and moved thousands of miles away from his home in Germany, across an ocean, to a place he’d never been, a place where he didn’t even speak the language, and with nothing, he started over. If you don’t think that takes incredible courage, well, I disagree.

As the conversation went on, my friend got more comfortable sharing some of her experiences (both good and bad) here in the US, but it was clear that there was something else that she wasn’t saying. Finally, she felt comfortable sharing some of the questions and concerns she had about what she had been observing in our country lately (specifically our political discourse … or lack thereof), and she asked me what I thought. Today’s essay is largely what I said to her, but as I thought about it for the rest of the day, I realized that what I said to her included many things that I also what I want to say to everyone … so here it is.

First, I told her that I thought that all of her questions and concerns about America today were legitimate, and I further admitted that I shared many of them. I told her that, in fairness to us, it really didn’t used to be this way. I explained that, some time ago, a group of individuals came to power in Washington who believed (I think mistakenly) that government should be intentionally broken so that it literally can’t do anything, even the things that everyone agrees it should do. They accomplished their goals through an intentional, long term effort to manipulate a segment of the population (which, with the help of one sympathetic media corporation in particular, they did quite effectively). They glorified ignorance, vilified science and did everything they could to polarize as much of the population as possible (separate and divide … and once they’re divided, they’re easier to conquer). In short, they created a monster whose only ultimate use was the destruction of our Republic itself (which, and not to defend them in any way, I don’t actually think was their original intention … but when you seek power for its own sake and believe that the ends justify the means and you fail to begin with the end in mind … well, that’s what happens).

But then something odd happened: the monster broke free of its masters, and took on quite a life of its own. Elements of their own movement which they had once so effectively manipulated and controlled began acting unpredictably and, ultimately, uncontrollably.

My friend said to me, “aren’t you worried?” I told her that while I am watchful, attentive and certainly quite concerned, no, I’m not worried. And then I told her why.

I told her about a comedian I remembered from the mid-1980s. His name is Yakov Smirnoff, and he used to end his shows in that era with an observation that I have always really loved. He noted that you could go to Italy, but you’ll never be Italian. You can go to Russia, but you’ll never be Russian. And then with a smile he said that you can go to France, but you will never, ever be French. But you can come to America, and you can be an American.

We are a nation of immigrants, and in that rich diversity is our GREAT power. I grew up in Chicago. My Dad’s wholesale foods business was on North California Avenue, just a couple of blocks north of Devon Avenue. That section of Devon Avenue has frequently been highlighted as one of the most ethnically diverse neighborhoods in the United States (I promise you that the vast majority of you have never seen so many different languages in store windows in a 5 or 6 block section anywhere else in the country). I grew up watching Arabs and Jews, Greeks and Turks, Indians and Pakistanis, all with businesses right next to each other. Many of them were our customers, and they all interacted with each other in a peaceful, harmonious and productive way, every day. Do you know why? Because while they were still Jews, Arabs, Indians, Pakistanis, Greeks, Turks and many other things, they were also something even more important: they were Americans.

Along the same lines, while it may disturb many of my friends to hear me say this, many of the people I disagree with on America’s radical right are correct about one thing: America IS a Christian nation. But it is also a Muslim nation, and a Jewish nation, and a Catholic nation, and a Protestant nation, and a Hindu nation, and a Buddhist nation AND an Atheist nation … and again, a BIG part of our greatness is in our ability to take all of those things and many more and pull them together into a unique whole that recognizes and respects everyone’s belief or non-belief. THAT is a big part of what makes us great.

Yes, there are politicians and media outlets that are literally selling fear, and an entire subculture of consumers who are buying that fear, but I refuse to believe that, when push comes to shove (and politically, and FAR too often actually, it is now), that we would choose to turn our backs on such a core principle of our nation. I believe that candidates for office who have nothing to offer but fear, who want to kick out immigrants, block others from coming, and worst yet force some to carry special identification to separate them … I believe that these ideas are so fundamentally far from the GREAT ideals of our nation, from the courageous and compassionate cry of

"Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"

… people who preach against this message are SO far from who we are that, given the choice, we will NOT turn away from the values that are so central to our strength.

I still fundamentally believe in the nation that I wore a uniform for and swore an oath to support and defend, and I believe that we will find our way through this challenge. We can (and will) see through the fear salesmen and choose to “fear not”. We can (and will) choose liberty over a false sense of security. We can (and will) come to terms with the fact that we may not ever be 100% safe from another terrorist attack, but knowing that we can still choose to not “let the terrorists win” by giving up the very things that are so central to what makes America great. And more. We ARE capable of creating and maintaining a state that can effectively provide and work for the people AND peacefully co-exist side by side with a vibrant and productive private sector. We can simultaneously act sensibly towards our environment AND profitably towards our economy. We can rid ourselves of the cancer of fear and the leprosy of division and again be Americans FIRST.

But I’m also a pragmatist and I love spreadsheets and databases, and the good news is that, when I look at the numbers, I see these things already happening (and I see the demographics of younger and “minority” voters in particular pointing in this direction). I see positive change as inevitable. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but slowly, inevitably, inexorably, I see a better future coming.

It won’t be easy, of course, but nothing worth having ever is. I told my new friend that I hope she sticks around for it, because America needs her too.

Duane's Bible Stories: Who Touched Me?

by Duane N. Burghard
©2015

My wife pointed out to me this morning that, many years ago, when I would spend time studying the Bible (usually in preparation for a sermon), I would indulge my rather bizarre sense of humor by humorously enhancing some of the stories. She mentioned this while quoting one this morning and, since I have been in search of something to write about (and really don't want to write the things I'm thinking about either politics or the horrific events in San Bernardino this week), an example of this part of my warped brain seems appropriate for the day.

This story is from both the 5th Chapter of the book of Mark and the 8th Chapter of the book of Luke (the former is my preferred version and the one I will expound on below, though for the sake of accuracy I will note that it was the latter that my wife was talking about this morning). Jesus and his disciples are on a road trip across the country side and have just encountered Jairus, the head of a synagogue, who has requested that Jesus come to his house to see his dying daughter. We'll pick up the story there (Mark 5:25).

And a certain woman, which had an issue of blood twelve years,

And had suffered many things of many physicians, and had spent all that she had, and was nothing bettered , but rather grew worse,

When she had heard of Jesus, came in the press behind, and touched his garment.

For she said, If I may touch his clothes, I shall be whole.

And straightway the fountain of her blood was dried up; and she felt in her body that she was healed of that plague.

And Jesus, immediately knowing in himself that virtue had gone out of him, turned him about in the press, and said, Who touched my clothes?

(and THIS is where Duane goes "off the reservation")

And the disciples looked one unto another and said, "Seriously?! Is he messing with us?"

And when the others were unwilling to speak, Peter (the impetuous) said, "Master, are you kidding? There's like ... thousands of people here all crowded up."

And when Jesus said nothing, Peter continued, "there's ... well there's a LOT of touching going on here. It's a crowd!"

And Peter, realizing that he wasn't getting it but also feeling a sense of urgency about getting the group going again, ran and stood on a nearby rock and shouted out to the multitude, "Umm, excuse me! Can I have your attention please? Listen, uhh, we're sorry to interrupt the trip here but we have kind of a situation. At some point, just a few minutes ago, umm, well, someone touched the Master ... and, well obviously there's a lot of people here and we don't know who it was and, well, it's ... apparently we need to know. So to make this go as quickly as possible, what we'd like to have everyone do right now is to number off one through twelve, and then gather in your groups according to your numbers, and we'll have one of the main disciples here join each group where we'll quickly interview each person, find out who the toucher was and, in theory, get this over with and then we can all get back on our way over to Jairus' house."

And Jesus facepalmed and quietly said unto himself, "seriously Dad, I have no idea how much longer I'm going to be able to do this."

And Peter, sensing that there was more, added, "also, I know that many of you are getting pretty hungry, and I just wanted to let you know that we're only about a chapter away from fish sandwiches for everyone so, if you'll just be patient a little longer, we'll take care of that too. So, thank you!"

And the woman, realizing that if the job was left to these men, they'd be here all day, raised her hand, stepped forward, explained, apologized, and begged forgiveness.

And Jesus, knowing that she misunderstood, smiled at her and said, "no, it's totally cool, I just wanted to meet you, that's all."

And Peter, still standing on the rock, rejoiced and said, "never mind! We're good!" And they continued on their journey.


Or, you know ... something like that .....

Where Basketball and Character Meet

by Duane N. Burghard
© 2015

Author's Note: First, a HUGE apology to all of my readers. I was shocked this evening to discover that it has literally been two days short of TWO MONTHS since my last post. I knew that I had been very busy with my new job and I knew that it had been a while  ...  but I swear that I didn't realize that it had been THIS long.

For the few fans who have written me asking about it, let me also add that the updated and expanded version of my most popular essay "Umbrellas, Spaghetti and Spacetime" is in fact finished (and has been for weeks). I haven't published it because I haven't decided whether or not to try to get it published as a Kindle Single yet (trying to make side money as a writer is important to me, and while my first novel is selling well, it's not doing that well).

Anyway, this week's essay is something of a cheat too in that I didn't just write it. In fact, I wrote the original version of this essay in early 2004 (the night after attending the Missouri Class 1A and 2A high school basketball championship games, which were, at that time, held at the Hearns Center on the University of Missouri campus in Columbia, Missouri ... which, of course, is where I lived at that time). Unfortunately, that original version has been lost to history. The version below is an edited one that I made for it to be published in 2010. I thought of it the other day when a coworker and I were discussing basketball, and I thought it was worth digging up and posting on my blog. I hope you like it ... and I promise to get my act together and start writing again.

The essay was originally called:

1A Sports

The night of the class 1A boys and girls basketball championships at the Hearnes Center has become one of my favorite nights of the year. You might find that odd coming from a man who grew up in a city of millions (Chicago), but the truth is that there is no more pure an experience of what is good and right in sports to be found on the planet.

Everyone from each of these little towns is here. Grandparents, parents, children, friends, relatives, the entire student body ... I have an image of four towns with just a lone policeman driving up and down their empty streets to make sure no one steals the whole town while everyone else attends the game.

There aren't any slam dunks, no shoe contracts and no showboating. But there's also no talking back to the officials (there was one technical foul all night), and the players always help each other off the floor when they fall. It means every bit as much to them as an NBA Championship (and indeed, for many, this is that moment for them), yet they still manage it with more grace and maturity than the vast majority of professional athletes.

There's something unique in these games, something abjectly pure, perhaps because there's nothing else here but the game. And they love it, and you can feel that they love it.

At halftime of the 1A girls championship, they brought out the 1984 1A final four girls. The girls from Lincoln High School all wore the same shirts. They huddled on the floor and cheered after they were announced. These ladies are all just a year or two younger than me. They're bankers, realtors and housewives now, held together forever by a few moments here on this floor two decades ago. And they still feel it. As the game continues I look over at them and I can see them, watching the game, watching themselves, remembering all the pain and joy, the winning and losing that seems to mean so much more in a smaller town.

As the end of the girls championship game gets closer, I start paying closer attention to a girl on the team that's going to lose. She's clearly one of their most talented players, and her attitude is easily understood by everyone in the building; she's going to lose over her dead body. As the game gets more "out of reach" (they will lose), she seems completely oblivious. I never once see her look up at the scoreboard. She doesn't know the score. She doesn't care. There is no score. She just wants to play as hard as she can for every second she has left on the court. I ask the person next to me with a program "who wears 14 for Walnut Grove?"

"Amber Blunt," he replies, "she's a Senior."

A Senior. These are her last moments in her last game in high school, and she gets to spend them losing the championship. And yet I see no fear or agony or disappointment or sadness in her eyes as the minutes become seconds. I see only drive, intensity and focus. It's impossible not to be amazed, humbled and inspired watching someone with such a focus on excellence, such a pure, unadulterated passion for the game. That's why I come here, every year.

When I was younger I wanted more than anything to be President, for a million reasons. Today when I think about it, I have fewer reasons, but there is still one thing I would do as President; I would come here on this night. And I would bring the media, and invite some big star to come in and sing the national anthem. And I'd congratulate the winners and the losers. And they might be excited by all that (certainly the fans would), but then the game would start, and we'd all see what I come for each year; a reminder that there's still a place in the world where sportsmanship and the love of the game still reigns.