The Dawning Of My Age of Aquarius

Twenty-five years ago, I wrote my very first play. It changed my life.

Me on opening night, embraced by my friend Saffron Henke, who would grow up to become my great friend and director.

Twenty-five years ago today, around 6PM, I walked into what was then known as Theatre B, a small, idiosyncratic theatre at the University of Iowa. I was intimately familiar with this space, having hosted the late-night student cabaret in it every Friday night for over a year. More than any dorm or apartment, I felt, as a college junior, that I lived here. I had slept here and ate here; uncovered my destiny here; showered in its dressing rooms; snuck around its catwalks; lived and died a thousand times within its walls. I felt big in this small 144-seat converted black box.

But that night, September 21, 1995, I walked onto the stage of Theatre B, wide-eyed with awe. I realized with a jolt how small I was, and how the theatre was, in comparison, enormous. It was the opening night of Calling Wanda, my very first play. This was the night I stopped pretending and became a playwright for real.

The play had a director, Jason Loete — Jay — and a cast and a designer and a stage manager. There were lights and costumes and set pieces. There were programs with all our names inside. Choreography had been learned for the dance break (for what is a first play without a dream ballet about how capitalism dehumanizes you?). It all felt…