'You Will Never Be a Star!'

As my time at community college was coming to a close, I had done three acting classes, one improv class, three musicals, and one drama. To date, it is the only dramatic play I have ever done. It was Landford Wilson's Balm in Gilead; a very large cast, 20 or so characters, set in a NYC diner in the 60s (granted I could Google for accuracy but won't. Going off memory on this one). The diner was filled with hookers and drug addicts, and ME; the waitress. The story is not at all about the waitress, but of course it was. My director's name was Craig. He would be the first of many teachers I would look up to during my journey. He was never a creepy guy, but he did day-drink a lot, so that did color his overall approach a lot of times. After the show wrapped up, we had an exit professional survival audition where we would get direct, pointed feedback on what our teachers thought our next steps should be. I did a monologue I found from some soap opera. In my head, soaps were the first stop on a long road to a big career, so it would be important for me to get used to that style of performing. I finished my monologue, proud as punch, waiting to be told all the star power I hold inside of me.

Craig said, "You really don't know where you belong, do you? You're not a soap star, you're not a leading lady, you're never gonna be that. You’re the wacky neighbor. No one will ever look at you and put you in any other box. You aren't the small, thin type, you barely sing, and you don't have those classic Hollywood good looks. Don't get me wrong, there is nothing wrong with your looks or size, but in acting it is all about putting folks in boxes—types, if you will. You need to lean into your type. You are a comedian. So you better learn to be funny if you want a job in acting."

I was devastated. I was told flat out I would never be that leading lady. I would never be the love interest or the star of the show. It was a blow to the ego for sure, but, at the same time, it was exactly what I needed to hear. Up until that point, the most feedback I ever got was "Good job, keep going."

This set me on the path I am still floundering on today. The following year, I started at Columbia College Chicago, not as a dance major as I originally thought I would be, but as an acting major with a strong focus on comedy.

While at Columbia, I would dive into every aspect of what makes up an actor. Your voice lessons, body movement, and acting, breaking down scripts to understand even the smallest moment and what makes it feel real, what the intention was behind each crafted word, and when I finally got to my improv class, it changed everything for me.

I had taken an improv class at my community college, and it left a very bad taste in my mouth, so when I found out I had to take another one, I was less then enthusiastic. I walked into class and was met with who I would also later find out was my student advisor. His name was Martin DeMaat.

It was like nothing I had ever experienced before. Everything about the class was so playful, joyful, silly, freeing. Everything he said made perfect sense. Here are a few of my favorite quotes:

"Life is like the hokey pokey, you have to throw your whole self in and shake it all about."

"No one will follow you in a parade if you are holding a sign that says 'onward to mediocrity'."

"You need to feel something deeper than an ashtray."

He was full of fun sayings. I ended up taking every class I could from him: acting, improv, monologue deconstruction, anything. His energy was infectious. He took care of his students like no one else I know. He would call students if they didn't enroll in the semester, lend money, give rides, and give couches to crash on. His heart could never be full. I was once describing Marty to someone and they said "He sounds almost unbelievable."

He was, in every way.

In the next article, I will talk about how I started down the road of improv after meeting Marty.