experience
but it weirdly put me at ease.
I pulled up to the theater and walked into a
room of about 30 other people, some of whom I
knew. Many had traveled from hours away for the
audition, and the ages spanned from teenagers
to older adults. We were eventually ushered to
Derby Dinner’s rehearsal hall, where Associate
Producer Lee Buckholz and Director of Children’s
Theatre/Performing Arts Academy Tina Jo Wallac
were waiting for us.
Everything from there on was executed in the
most professional manner with all instructions
and information relayed in a manner that was both
clear and kind. With an affable smile, Buckholz
let us know that we would be coming in 10 at a
time to sing 16 bars (if auditionees had prepared a
full song, they now needed to select their best 16
bars) and then possibly perform their monologue
if he and Wallace wanted to see more. The first
group of 10 went in and, with almost no service
on my phone, I was left with only my thoughts
for 20 minutes or so.
I could’ve looked over my monologue or my
song but decided to just trust that I had prepared
all I could. I would go in and give it my best shot,
knowing all the while that there’s nothing I could
have done differently in advance. And even if I
was going to mess up and botch the audition
completely, the experience of auditioning for a
professional theatre and putting myself out there
would be gratifying enough.
They called the next 10, and in we went. We all
took a seat and handed in our resumes. With that
same genuine affability, Buckholz called us up
one by one to show the accompanist our music
cut and then do what we came here to do. I was
called maybe seventh or eighth, so I had plenty
of time to watch as several extremely talented
individuals performed their songs and, in some
cases, their monologues.
When he called my name, I handed my music
to the pianist and took my spot on the X in front of
Buckholz and Wallace. The room was massive with
mirrored walls and high ceilings, and there I was
alone in the middle of it with two people watching
from 15 feet away. My only hope in that moment
was that I wouldn’t mess my song up enough to not
get to do my monologue. Admittedly, as someone
who’s been in theatre for years, I understand
that not being asked for the monologue doesn’t
necessarily mean they don’t want you – it just
means they’ve seen “enough.” Nonetheless, I was
confident about my monologue and very much
wanted to be able to perform it.
The pianist gave me my starting note and off
we went. Bizarrely, I actually felt comfortable
singing the song. It went well, and – as far as
I could tell – my high note at the end was on
pitch. I finished, and by the grace of God heard
the words, “Do you have a monologue?” I sure
did and launched right into it. I thought I did it
justice, and I even got some laughs from the other
auditionees in the room. I finished that as well, sat