From Inner Worlds to Outer Space: The Multimedia Performances of Dan Kwong

FROM INNER WORLDS TO OUTER SPACE

CRITICAL PERFORMANCES

Volumes in the Critical Performances series present key texts by contemporary theater and performance artists along with illuminating commentary by leading critics. Una Chaudhuri and Robert Vorlicky, Series Editors Lynda Hart and Paul Heritage, Founding Editors

TITLES IN THE SERIES

FROM THE UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN PRESS

From Inner Worlds to Outer Space: The Multimedia Performances of Dan Kwong edited by Robert Vorlicky FROM CONTINUUM PUBLISHERS

Of All the Nerve: Deb Margolin Solo edited by Lynda Hart Hardcore from the Heart: The Pleasures, Profits, and Politics of Sex in Performance by Annie Sprinkle, edited by Gabrielle Cody Rachel's Brain and Other Storms: The Performance Scripts of Rachel Rosenthal edited by Una Chaudhuri

From Inner Worlds to Outer Space The Multimedia Performances of Dan Kwong DAN KWONG

Edited by Robert Vorlicky

The University of Michigan Press

ANN ARBoR

Copyright © by the University of Michigan 2004 All rights reserved Published in the United States of America by The University of Michigan Press Manufactured in the United States of America @) Printed on acid-free paper 2007

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No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher. A CIP catalog record for this book is available from the British Library.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in­ Publication Data applied for I SBN o-472-09866-7 (cloth) I SBN 0-472-0 6866-o (paper)

A u t h o r's N ote/Ed ito r's N ote

Dear Reader, Please note that these texts were originally written for live theatrical per­ formance. The occasional sudden shifts and changes in emotion, mood, or attitude during spoken passages are difficult to communicate in print. I've included some notes indicating how I deliver the text onstage. I hope these notes aren't too intrusive. Many of these performances involve fairly elaborate multimedia compo­ nents. Often visual, aural, and physical elements occur simultaneously with text. In some cases, I have used a modified script form, which hopefully will help give you a sense of the what/where/when of things happening onstage. The book's photographs will convey some of the images (special thanks to Jenny San Angel for her computer expertise in capturing and processing still images from performance videotapes). The rest I leave to your imagination. This book is dedicated first and foremost to my family: my mother Momo Nagano, who shared with me her indomitable spirit, her delight in storytelling, her obsessive attention to detail, and who taught me that "growing up" doesn't mean you stop having fun; my father, Sam Kwong, who showed me how to work hard, to take care of those who work for you, and to always do the best you can; my three wonderful sisters, Maria, Didi, and Poppy, who have graciously tolerated being repeatedly referred to in my work and who are some of the most important landmarks in my life. This book is also dedicated to the late Harvey Jackins, who believed in me like no one else and whose brilliant thinking and generous heart continue to guide my work and allow my life to be ever more focused. No discussion of my performance work would be complete without men-

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tioning Highways Performance Space (Santa Monica, California) and the two people who founded it in 1989, Linda Frye Burnham and Tim Miller. These extraordinary individuals selflessly nurtured, encouraged, and sup­ ported my development as an artist. Although both have moved on, their spirit of bold, heartfelt, life-changing art still resonates within me, coloring my artistic conscience. I am forever grateful to them and to Highways itself, the place where I have given birth to most of my performance creations. Special acknowledgment and gratitude are due to Christine Sang, whose superb directorial and choreographic contributions on Monkhood in 3 Easy Lessons and The Dodo Vaccine were invaluable. Her wisdom and knowledge led me to profound levels as a performer. Finally, my deepest thanks go to Bob Vorlicky, whose thoughtful and ap­ preciative interest in my work has been an extraordinarily validating expe­ rience for me as an artist.

Dan Kwong My heartfelt gratitude goes to Molly Vaux, Chris Mills, Ellen Bialo, Scott Loane, Karen Casko, Agosto Machado, Roman Marin, and Jim Muzzi for their generous support. I profoundly thank my editor and friend LeAnn Fields of the University of Michigan Press for remaining steadfast in cham­ pioning publications in the field of theater studies and performance. Her counsel and professionalism have been invaluable. And special thanks are due, as always, to my son Sasha for his unconditional love. I am extremely grateful to the Tisch School of the Arts, New York Uni­ versity, for awarding me a Senior Faculty Development Grant, which par­ tially funded this proj ect. It has been a distinct pleasure and honor to collaborate with Dan Kwong. Thank you, Dan, for your patience, your unwavering cooperation, and the priceless gift-evident in your on- and offstage lives-of performing and living the "change." In loving memory of Lynda Myoun Hart (1953-2000).

Bob Vorlicky

Conte nts

1 . Introduction: "Flying Alone in Outer Spaces" 2. Secrets of The Samurai Centerfielder (1989) Tales from The Fractured Tao with Master Nice Guy (1991) C O M M E N TA RY :

((

CENTERING"

3· Monkhood in 3 Easy Lessons (1993) Correspondence of a Dangerous Enemy Alien (1995) C O M M E N TA R Y : " P E R F O R M I N G H I S T O R I E S "

4· The Dodo Vaccine (1996) The Night The Moon Landed on 391h Street (1999 )

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47 73 81 109 139

C O M M E N TA R Y : " I N S I D E O U T "

151 179 219

5. Excerpts from More Tales from the Locker Room (and other smelly places) The Sword and The Chrysanthemum (1997) Al the Barber (1997) Station Wagons of Life ( 2000)

229 229 231 234

6. Publicly Confidential: Conversations with Dan Kwong (1999-2003)

245

Appendix: Performance History

261

Selected Bibliography

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I n t rod u ct i o n : "Fl yi n g Al o n e 1 n O u ter S p aces "

Since the rise of second-wave feminism in the 1960s, one-person perform­ ance has proliferated on the U.S. theatrical stage. A variety of factors, in­ cluding the form's relatively inexpensive production costs and its appealing (albeit often fraught) relationship with identity politics, caused solo per­ formance to reach cultural popularity in the 1990s, and it continues to at­ tract actors and draw audiences. For nearly fifty years of documented per­ formance history, solo performance in all its fictional and nonfictional manifestations has remained a genre of theatrical engagement that cuts across differences of race, class, sex, and education. As the nation embraces technological advances that increasingly isolate individuals from their im­ mediate communities and thrust them into a global, virtual world of pseudoconnection and overexposure, it seems that many Americans yearn for storytelling rendered intimately by one person. Contemporary solo performance in the United States has its roots in the feminist, women-centered art of the 1960s and 1970s-from the multimedia body art of Carolee Schneemann (which incorporated visual images, writ­ ing, film, video, slides, and sound) to the durational life art (or "living art" ) of Linda Montano. This work rapidly evolved into cutting-edge perform­ ances that foregrounded other specific features of the performing body, most notably its race. In the 1970s and 1980s, race joined gender and sexu­ ality as the predominant subject matter for African American, Latino, Anglo-American, and gay and lesbian artists. Popular soloists who launched careers during this period include Rachel Rosenthal, Karen Finley, Robbie McCauley, Roger Guenveur Smith, Deb Margolin, Holly Hughes, Carmelita Tropicana, Marga Gomez, Luis Alfaro, Tim Miller, and Annie Sprinkle. By

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the 1990s, the solo voices of Asian American, and to a lesser extent Native American, artists also were finding in this theatrical genre a necessary out­ let for expressing the narratives of their culture-the stories of family, tra­ ditions, dreams, and "otherness" as experienced inside America's borders. Traversing all forms of solo performance during the past fifty years, one structure has remained a constant presence-autoperformance. Autoperfor­ mance, or what some call "self performance" (or "performing the self" or "self-scripted performance" ), is an artist-actor's live performance of material drawn from her or his life. The primary material for autoperformance is au­ tobiography. Many women artists in the United States-from Beatrice Roth and Leeny Sack to Rosenthal, McCauley, Margolin, Hughes, and Gomez­ embraced autoperformance as a viable mode of self-conscious theatrical presentation at least a decade before their male counterparts did so. It is easy to understand why this performance mode appealed to women artists. Alone, the autoperformer is free to fully occupy stage time and space and to express her self-her subjectivity-without interference. She is no longer the "object" that is created, conventionally, by a man's visible presence (or his "gaze") onstage. Autoperformance, therefore, serves to liberate the artist, em­ bodying, enlivening, and giving voice to the otherwise voiceless, within con­ ventional theatrical representation. Although stand-up comedians used self-referential material in their for­ mulaic, humorous sketches prior to the 1970s, Spalding Gray is considered the first commercially successful male autoperformer in the United States. In 1979, his Sex and Death to the Age 14 christened autoperformance as a the­ atrical form that would gradually appeal to male performers, and from the 1980s to the present male autoperformers have produced a revealing body of performance literature and history. This work captures the shift in male self­ identification that has occurred as a result of the civil rights, feminist, and gay liberation movements and their influence on culture. But male soloists, regardless of the specificities of their identities, are not particularly self-dis­ closing in public performance. Historically, many male soloists-regardless of their race-resist speaking candidly because personal information signals their vulnerability. They do not want their stage personae to jeopardize (through language, gesture, or behavior) the cultural privileges afforded their gender and sex as American men. For this reason, male autoperformers differ vastly in their relationships with intimate detail: from why they choose to convey personal material and how they theatricalize it to what it is they want to say and to what end. Not surprisingly, autoperformance has remained an attractive theatrical form for minority artists, particularly gay artists and men of color, who are

I N T R O D U CT I O N

already marginalized and therefore have less power to jeopardize. In general, white, straight male artists have not rushed to line up behind Spalding Gray to embrace the autoperformative mode of presentation; public perform­ ance of the personal is not a foundational feature of this group's theatrical engagement. While solo performance has been an appealing form for the majority of straight, white, male performers (from Eric Bogosian, Denis Leary, and Rob Becker to Bill Talen and Danny Hoch), these artists create and perform fictional characters rather than locating themselves and their autobiographies at the center of their work.1 Dan Kwong is a groundbreaking Asian American artist and one of the first men of color in the United States to embrace fully the autoperforma­ tive form for his creative expression. 2 Kwong, a Chinese Japanese American, was at the forefront of a new generation of Asian American male perform­ ers in the late 1980s and 199 0s who incorporated spoken language into their solo performances and chose to work within the autoperformative form. Several practitioners, including Chinese Filipino American Han Ong, Japanese American David Mura, and Chinese Welsh American multimedia artist Kip Fulbeck, drew on autobiographical material in some of their pieces, while others, such as Japanese American Lane Nishikawa and Chi­ nese American Laurence Yep, staged solo works that were completely fic­ tional. Kwong, however, adopted autobiography as the primary material for his creative projects. His work is highly personal, as he explores what it means to be a son, a brother, a grandson, a lover, a jock, a would-be astro­ naut, an artist, an American, an Asian American, a third-generation Asian American, an American Asian, a man, and a heterosexual man of color in America in the twenty-first century. These are the particulars-the outlines of an identification-that he chooses to focus on, alone, in performances that are filled with the ghosts and bodies of the family members, friends, and strangers who inhabit this and other worlds. Since the late 198os, Dan Kwong has been a central figure in the art scene of Southern California. The West Coast has generated most of the solo work by Asian Americans, with Highways Performance Space playing a leading role. Tim Miller and Linda Frye Burnham established Highways Perfor­ mance Space in Santa Monica in 1989 . True visionaries, they established in­ stitutional, supportive structures for alternative theater and attracted many exciting, underexposed talents searching for an artistic home. Dan Kwong was among the artists featured at Highways during its first year, performing his full-length Secrets of The Samurai Centerfielder, and Highways has been Kwong's personal and professional home ever since. In 1990, he became a member of the Highways board of directors, serving as its cochair from

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2000 to 2003. Also in 1990, he became a roster artist in Great Leap, an Asian American performing group founded by Nobuko Miyamoto.3 And since 1991 he has curated and produced Treasure in the House, an annual Asian American performance festival at Highways. He continues to teach highly acclaimed Asian American men's autoperformance workshops nationwide. His classes on solo performance techniques draw from the participants' au­ tobiographies and are now internationally recognized, especially in South­ east Asia. Kwong's rich commitment to the arts is grounded and self-evident in the body of work he has created since 1989. Likewise, numerous thematic foci, multimedia choices-which include the use of text projections, photo­ graphs, video, film, audio, choreography, and puppetry-and aesthetic, psy­ chological, and political trajectories characterize his solos and connect them to one another. While his work incorporates the realities of "dislocation, incarceration, and diaspora;' which are the general, reiterated "historical ex­ periences of Asian Americans;'4 Kwong actively scrambles time and place­ amid much humor, irony, paradox, pathos, and self-analysis-into a theatri­ cal playing space where such issues as identity, identification, community, citizenship, authenticity, sexuality, and masculinity converge, intersect, com­ plement, and contradict one another.S Kwong's autoperformances are glimpses into an ever-evolving self, which coexists in a wide variety of relationships with its own Others. He takes up a challenge set forth by James May for "playwrights to circumvent this im­ perative to reinscribe the [Asian or Asian American] stereotype while at­ tacking the representational apparatus of Anglo-America:'6 May pointedly criticizes U.S. playwrights for their failure to even aspire to this goal. In con­ trast to others' compromised, theatrical attempts to present Asian America onstage, Kwong's choice of autoperformative content and structure liberates him from representational constraints of conventional realist theater or multicharacter/multiactor productions. In Kwong's work, solo performance (re)establishes itself as a contemporaneously radical yet ancient form of storytelling, one in which the spectator's imagination is actively engaged through the artist's ability to situate the Other in relation to the (perform­ ing) Self. His autoperformances, along with those of other Asian American soloists starting in the 1990s, have begun to address May's legitimate con­ cerns about the nature of representation in live art. Occupying center stage, Kwong embodies and subsequently performs his own identity, his own subjectivity. His work is nonstereotypical (compared to conventional Western theatrical representations of Asianness) in its re­ fusal to exoticize and caricature either himself or the Asian and Asian Amer-

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ican characters he creates. In their most dynamic, penetrating moments, Kwong's autoperformances create a generous, inclusive relationship be­ tween his self and Others (i.e., the Others with whom he coexists in an inter­ subjective relationship as presented in the play) and actor and audience. In writing his life, performing his stories, and inviting us to look at, listen to, and "experience" his self through simultaneous, multimedia theatricality, Dan Kwong locates art within his inner selves and the world's outer spaces. In doing so, he offers his art, unselfishly, as a source through which the beauty of all our lives can be released and known for what it is. In Kwong's first full-length solo piece, Secrets of The Samurai Centerfielder (1989) , the performer creates an unforgettable image that will resonate the­ matically, theatrically, and politically throughout his canon. This stage pic­ ture is worth close attention, since its coarseness, ferocity, and immediacy are memorable. Midway through the performance, Kwong enters in casual clothes, wearing his baseball glove, and picks up a bucket of moist clay "baseballs" on his way to center stage. In a tight spotlight hangs a "trash can lid with [a] painted Asian face," about six feet off the floor, on a bungee cord. This lid has been hanging onstage since the start of the performance. Kwong begins to tell the story of his high school friend and baseball team­ mate Scott Miller and their relationship. He interrupts the story every now and then to throw balls, with increasing violence, at the trash can lid, so that the clay splatters all over the image of the Asian face. The story of Scott Miller is Kwong's teenage memory of a white friend, scouted by the California Angels, who threw the ball faster and faster at his terrified Asian American buddy in the parking lot of Anaheim Stadium. Un­ like Kwong, Miller dressed up when he went to the ballpark, since young­ sters in the past had mistakenly identified him as one of the game's stars. Miller looked like "one of them, " Kwong recalls: "Like [one] of the chosen ones. Like [he was] on the inside." Despite his deep desire to project himself into a comparable, heroic position, Kwong, "as if looking in a mirror;' real­ izes that "No one would ever mistake me for a big league baseball player." The artist punctuates his realization by hurling one last ball at the trash can lid. " WHAM! It smashes into the face, now completely obliterated." From Secrets of The Samurai Centerfielder to The Night The Moon Landed on 39th Street (1999) , Kwong's full-length solo performances comprise a sus­ tained tale of the marginalized "face" (or body) that moves from internal­ ized oppression and self-hatred to a liberating expression of free will, free­ dom, and self-knowledge. His performance embodies the struggles faced by a "colored" self in the United States. On seeing that his reflection is not that of Anglo-American Scott Miller, Kwong strikes out against his Asianness.

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He wipes out his image, captured in a mirror that contains refuse, the val­ ueless, and the disposable. Kwong's performances capture the artist's evolving, self-realized Asian American male image. His experience resonates with those of other Asian Americans of various generations whose autobiographies have captured the impact of socioeconomic, political, and historical events along with inter­ and intraracial and inter- and intrasexual exchanges on their lives. The past is embodied in the storytelling, letters, journals, and diaries of Kwong's an­ cestors, who immigrated to the United States from China and Japan. A third-generation Japanese American, or Sansei, Kwong's present is filtered primarily through personal and popular culture/ But the relationship between the personal (or autobiographical) and the theatrical is always complex. In plays with multiple characters and actors, there is a tendency to assume that Asian American drama illustrates "some offstage sociological reality."8 The relationship between lived experience and theatrical representation is more problematic than this. "Theater as theater," after all, plays with dramatic representation in ways that complicate the construction of characters in historical moments. Dramatic representation also "sustains essentialized racial categories;' which are socially constructed, through "human performance."9 This latter observation accounts for the impact of the actor and his or her body on the social construction of racial and ethnic categories, an impact that is uniquely performed and unsettled in autoperformance. The genre that can, and often does, challenge theatri­ calized assumptions and representations of race and ethnicity, as well as sex and gender, is solo performance. Dan Kwong's autoperformances deliberately confront racial and gender stereotypes through the multimedia presentation and representation of self as subject. When Kwong "performs" race, for instance, or gender, he often immediately deconstructs it through multimedia collages involving a si­ multaneous presentation of dialogue, song, movement, and images on film or video. He never fixes or stabilizes his self so that his solos can be critiqued through assumptions, categories, or social constructions of identity. His work requires reading on many levels-and in concert with the work of other high-profile Asian American autoperformers such as Korean Ameri­ can stand-up comic Margaret Cho (of I'm the One That I Want, the com­ mercial film and national performance tour) , Chinese American slam poet Beau Sia (of Russell Simmons' Def Poetry Jam on Broadway) , as well as auto­ performers Japanese American Denise Uyehara and Filipino American Alec Mapa, 10 all of whom are committed to dismantling onstage stereotypes of Asian Americans.

I N T R O D U CT I O N

Despite an active presence in U.S. theaters, clubs, and other performance venues, Asian American solo work is noticeably absent in print. Even the much anticipated Extreme Exposure: An Anthology of Solo Performance Texts from the Twentieth Century fell short of many readers' expectations. Despite its useful contribution in bringing together a range of solo voices (many of them excerpts from longer works), this anthology of forty-three artists in­ cludes the work of three Asian American women soloists but not one Asian American man.11 The commentaries in the present volume provide the first comprehen­ sive, close reading of Dan Kwong's canon of full-length plays and comple­ ment the artist's self-critique in the interviews ("Publicly Confidential" ) . The interviews include the artist's views on growing up Asian American in the often conflicted spaces of "America," his politicized dramaturgical ap­ proach to racialized and gendered heterosexual masculinity, an overview of his artistic activities on national and international stages, and his assess­ ment of solo performance as an enduring art form. This collection provides a foundation on which further scholarship on Kwong, and Asian American solo performance in general, can broaden and deepen our approach to this fertile material. From Inner Worlds to Outer Space is a step toward bringing the still mar­ ginalized voices of Asian American men to center stage. Asian American performance art, especially work created by men in solo form, currently has few practitioners, and they have received little to no sustained critique.12 Dan Kwong provides a possible explanation for this absence. My heritage is Japanese and Chinese, and both cultures place a high pri­ ority on blending in. To draw attention to one's self-to the individual­ is considered selfish, braggartly, and asking for trouble. Also, there is the legacy of anti-Asian racism in the United States. Being visible as an Asian has historically been a dangerous thing-from nineteenth-century Chinatown lynchings to race-based murders based on resentment of Asian economic competition. Racism has reinforced a common desire in many Asian communities to remain invisible. The closer one is to the immigrant generation the stronger [is] the emphasis on basic survival issues (varying with class status) and there­ fore the stronger the reality that an Asian American man will not choose a career in the arts. It is unthinkable-since he is not only expected to take care of his own immediate family but also his extended family if necessary. Traditionally, you owe this to your family; it is an unspoken law that we take care of each other. For a man to pursue a career in the

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arts would be considered an incredibly impractical-that is, nonlucra­ tive-and therefore selfish thing to do. Kwong posits the combination of cultural values and anti-Asian racism in the United States as a possible explanation for the delayed entry of Asian American men into the arena of solo performance, but he then complicates this scenario by identifying the impact of immigration and mainstream cul­ tural critics on the critique of Asian American male soloists: For the Asian American artists who do pursue a public career, another observation arises. How much of their invisibility is due to racism within mainstream culture, which leads to their simply being ignored and over­ looked? In the United States, Asians have tended to stay quiet. Yet, when their opinions are voiced, mainstream culture just does not seem to hear it, value it, or understand it. Unlike the African American community, we have not made quite as much progress in establishing a power base for combating racism. But it is slowly evolving, along with the recognition that building alliances with other communities of color (and progressive whites) to present a united front against racism is the most effective route. These posited features of Asian American identity as manifest within U.S. borders-silence, anti-individualism, group invisibility, and experience as targets of sustained racism-are named, challenged, and revised unapolo­ getically and forthrightly in Dan Kwong's autoperformances. His art is a tes­ tament to the dismantling of dominant cultural assumptions regarding Asian American manhood, especially as they pertain to heterosexual men. Robert H. Vorlicky

NOTES 1.

See Michael Peterson's Straight White Male: Performance Art Monologues

(Jackson: University Press of Mississippi, 1997), which focuses on the monodramas of "white" artists, including Eric Bogosian, Josh Kornbluth, Danny Hoch, and Spald­ ing Gray. In Peterson's analysis, white includes Armenian Americans (Bogosian) and Jewish Americans (Kornbluth and Hoch). Here heterosexuality and whiteness are conflated in such a way that the specificity of the artists' racial and ethnic ancestry (arguably) are erased, collapsed, and assimilated into a category of white heteronor­ mativity. Note that John O'Keefe (Shimmer, 1988) and Josh Kornbluth (Josh Korn­ bluth's Daily World, 1988; Red Diaper Baby, 1992; The Mathematics of Change, 1993;

I N T R O D U CT I O N

Love & Taxes, 2003) are also among the few straight white solo performers who focus

on autobiographical material in their stage pieces. 2. Ping Chong, born in Hong Kong and a pioneer in U. S. experimental, multi­ media theater making, performed in his own solo works in the 1970s and 1980s but did not use dialogue. Although Chinese American Winston Tong used dialogue in his 1976 Obie-winning Bound Feet, he used voice-overs, as he focused on Chinese women of the elite class, whose feet were bound. 3· Great Leap, as described by Dan Kwong, is "a non-profit performing arts or­ ganization that has been around for about twenty-three years. It was started by Nobuko Miyamoto, a former Broadway dancer (she was in the original West Side Story, The King and I, and Flower Drum Song) who got fed up with the stereotypical

(racist) portrayals of Asians and became a highly politicized folksinger/performer in the 1970s. When she started Great Leap, it was an Asian American performing group. I became one of their roster artists in 1990. We toured elementary schools all over Southern California and the occasional high school and college. After the Los Ange­ les riots in 1992, Nobuko felt it was time for Great Leap to become multicultural and several more artists were added to the roster. Now, we typically have an Asian, Latina, and Black artist in our touring shows, and often include a White woman who was raised by deaf parents. We all use personal stories to talk about cultural issues. For the last six years or so, we have had two 'teams; one that mainly does the ele­ mentary and high schools, and one that mainly does the college circuit and profes­ sional theatres. I've been on the latter and also serve as the touring tech coordinator. We each perform about twenty-five minutes of material. Lately I do the Baby Pup­ pet [from Monkhood in 3 Easy Lessons] and Station Wagons of Life.

. . .

The appeal of

a multicultural show is obviously very strong to presenters who seek to address di­ versity issues. . . . It's very much like a family. Our artists are based in L. A., Seattle, and Chicago, and we are constantly rendezvousing in airports around America" (Dan Kwong, e-mail to Robert Vorlicky, October 26, 20 02). 4. Dorinne Kondo, "The Narrative Production of'Home; Community, and Po­ litical Identity in Asian American Theater," in Displacement, Diaspora, and Geogra­ phies of Identity, edited by Smadar Lavie and Ted Sedenburg (Durham: Duke Uni­

versity Press, 1996), n6. s.

See David Eng, Racial Castration: Managing Masculinity in Asian America

(Durham: Duke University Press, 2001), for an illuminating theorization of Asian American male subjectivity as revealed through the role of sexuality in racial for­ mation and the place of race in sexual identity. 6. James S. Moy, Marginal Sights: Staging the Chinese in America (Iowa City: Uni­ versity of Iowa Press, 1993), 139. 7. See Kondo, "Narrative Production;' for a discussion of the term Asian Ameri­ can (as opposed to Oriental) and its "increasing approbation" of all peoples of''Asian

descent [who] are lumped together regardless of national origin" (98). 8. Elaine Kim, Asian American Literature: An Introduction to the Writings and Their Social Context (Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1982),

xv.

9· Josephine Lee, Performing Asian America: Race and Ethnicity on the Contem­ porary Stage (Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1997), 6. For a useful overview

of U. S. ethnic theaters in general since the nineteenth century, see Yuko Kurahashi's "Ethnic Theatres in the United States: A Forgotten Aspect of the Alternative Theatre

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Movement;' in "The Development of Asian American Theatre: The Case of the East West Players;' Ph.D. diss. , Indiana University, 1996, 25-55. 10.

See Uyehara's autoperformance Headless Turtleneck Relatives, in Maps of City

and Body: Shedding Light on the Performances of Denise Uyehara (New York: Kaya

Press, 20 03); and Mapa's autoperformance I Remember Mapa, in 0 Solo Homo: The New Queer Performance, edited by Holly Hughes and David Roman (New York:

Grove Press, 1998), 199-228. Additional Asian American artists who frame (to vary­ ing degrees) their solo work through autoperformance include Brenda Wong Aoki, Dan Bacalzo, Amy Hill, Shishir Kurup, Sandra Tsing Loh, Alex Luu, Nobuko Miya­ moto, and Jude Narita. 11. Jo Bonney, ed. , Extreme Exposure: An Anthology of Solo Performance Texts from the Twentieth Century (New York: Theatre Communications Group, 2000 ). An

earlier anthology of historical significance in its documentation of solo performance is Mark Russell, ed. , Out of Character: Rants, Raves, and Monologues from Today's Tbp Performance Artists (New York: Bantam, 1997), which includes one Asian American

soloist (Nicky Paraiso, a Filipino American) among its thirty-one artists. 12. When considering the work of Dan Kwong, for example, a notable, recent ex­ ception to this trend is Meiling Cheng's critique of Kwong's Monkhood in 3 Easy Lessons in her In Other Los Angeleses: Multicentric Performance Art (Berkeley: Uni­

versity of California Press, 2002), 216-21. Regarding Kwong's autoperformances, see also Robert H. Vorlicky, "The 'American' Voice in Asian American Male Autoperfor­ mance;' in Asian American Literature in the International Context: Readings on Fic­ tion, Poetry, and Performance, edited by Rocio G. Davis and Sami Ludwig (London:

Lit Verlag, 20 02), 203-11; and "Marking Change, Marking America: Contemporary Performance and Men's Autobiographical Selves," in Performing America: Cultural Nationalism in American Theater, edited by J. Ellen Gainor and Jeffrey D. Mason

( Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1999 ) 193-209. ,

Sec rets of T h e S a m u ra i Cente rne l d e r (1989)

(The stage is covered with a very large piece offake grass [outdoor carpeting] in the fanlike shape of a baseball field. Home plate lays at the tip of the field closest to the audience. Spanning the width of the stage, a turquoise blue "out­ field fence," made of felt cloth and approximately five feet high, stands at the far edge of the grass away from the audience. Huge white numerals 390 on the fence note the distance in feet from home plate to the centerfield fence. A large projection screen is just above and behind the centerfield fence. On the far left side of the ''field," a metal trash can lid is suspended verti­ cally in the air by red and white bungee cords about six feet off the floor. Painted on the inside of the trash can lid (in a loose, sketchy style) is the face of an Asian man. Sitting on the "grass" below the trash can lid is a red metal pail filled with moist clay "baseballs." On the far right side of the stage stands a tall, black, wooden "weapons rack" holding a Japanese sword in its black scabbard. Near the weapons rack is a large television on a tall stand. The stage is dark. We hear suspenseful pizzicato strings plucking a tentative rhythm. They stop. A text slide is projected, written in cartoonish cutout letters: ove r b l ow n p ro d . p resents:

Text slide fades out and strings begin again. Building in momentum, they sus­ tain their rhythm like the ticking of a clock. A faint back light barely reveals the

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S E C R ETS O F T H E SA M U RA I C E N T E R F I E L D E R

silhouette of the S A M UR A I C E N T E R F I E L D E R seated cross- legged on the grass at center stage, head bowed. The S A M UR A I C E N T E R F I E L D E R is dressed in elaborate costume-a base­ ball uniform covered with samurai "armor" and helmet. His armor skirt is made from strips ofgrayish carpet padding hanging from a red waistband; his orange shoulder guards are slabs of thin foam rubber with bands of shiny decorative braiding glued on; shin guards of foam rubber wrapped in blue lame fabric; forearm guards made from the same foam padding decorated with black, yellow, and red electrical tape. His headgear is a modified black bicycle helmet: a glistening metallic cres­ cent moon shape is attached above the forehead area, looking like horns and anchored to the center of the helmet with a cutout baseball image; sharp an­ gular black cheek guards frame his face, and a fringe of purple metallic cloth dangles around the back edges of the helmet. On the back of the helmet is the number 12 in small white numerals (in the baseball player's style of identifying equipment). Beneath his armor, he wears snug-fitting gray baseball pants and a navy blue baseball jersey with the team name Giants and a small number 12 in red and white emblazoned on his chest. There is a large number 12 in red and white numerals on his back. A red long-sleeved undershirt and black Chinese shoes complete his colorful outfit. As the next slide appears (in the same cartoonish lettering), we hear loud, low, ominous horns blaring out-like when the mighty overlord appears in an old samurai movie . . . S EC R ETS of t h e SAM U RAI C E N T E R F I E L D E R

During this, a tight spotlight comes up, illuminating the S A M UR A I C E N T E R ­ He lifts his face and slowly scans the horizon, searching for potential danger. Slide fades out as music continues in swirling, mysterious tones. S A M UR A I C E N T E R FIE L D E R lowers his face into the darkness again. Final text slide ap­ pears, same style: FIE L D E R .

-ta l e s to u n boggle t h e m i n d . . .

Text slide and music fade out. In silence, the S A M UR A I C E N T E R FIEL D E R sits in formal cross-legged samurai fashion, his right leg folded under him and his left leg folded in front. He is oblivious to the audience throughout this movement section.

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He gradually reaches his right hand across his left thigh and grasps the han­ dle of a baseball bat, hidden by his side. Very slowly he begins to slide it for­ ward, the knob end towards the audience. He leans forward, preparing to rise. Suddenly he springs to his feet, drawing the bat like a sword and pointing it to the sky. Back to the rhythm of slow tai chi, he gracefully lowers it and extends it forward to the audience again. He begins taking very slow, meditative prac­ tice swings like a batter waiting for the pitch. Breathing deeply in rhythm with his movement, he repeats it twice then sets himself in a left-handed batter's stance, poised for action. He waits for an imaginary pitch. Suddenly his eyes widen, as if seeing the approaching ball. (All in super slow motion.) He coils like a spring, then extends his right foot to stride into the pitch. Shifting his weight forward onto the front foot, he begins powerfully uncoiling as he swings the bat around. An explosive moment as he connects with the imaginary ball. He follows through on his swing, eyes watching the ball soar into space. Still in slow motion, he begins to run in place-long, powerful strides that slowly begin to speed up until finally in a burst of actual running he charges at the audience. He stops in front of them, shocked. Embarrassed at being caught in the middle of his self-gratifying fantasy, the S A M U R A I C E N ­ T E R FI E L D E R speaks. ) Oh. It's you. Uh-nice to see you . . . !

(He composes himself, quickly turning provocative and cagey. ) I suppose you heard there would be some secrets revealed here tonight? My secrets . . .

(He turns on some Tashiro Mifune-arrogant-charm.) What kind of secrets do you want to know, hmm? I have many kinds. Some of them you may like! Some of them you may not. S O M E OF T H E M Y O U M AY A L R E A D Y K N O W ! All o f them come from inside. Let US pro­ ceed.

(He walks to the weapons rack, holds the bat up as if making an offering, gives a ceremonial bow, then places it in the rack above the Japanese sword. He turns around and whispers conspiratorially to the audience.) Secret Number One!

(He gestures to the technician's booth and pompously requests.) Slide, please . . .

S E C R ETS O F T H E SA M U RA I C E N T E R F I E L D E R

(A text slide appears.) To p of t h e fi rst i n n i n g: By n atu re, h u m a n s a re good.

(He parades across the stage, reciting the text aloud to himself) "By nature, humans are good."

(Slide goes out. He stops and addresses the audience, making sure they heard him.) By nature-humans-are-good!

(This aphorism tickles him. He approaches the audience and repeats it directly to different people, taking more giddy, goofy delight each time. Suddenly he stops, wary of nonresponsive audience members. He turns belligerent and bel­ lows at them.) What? Y O U WA N T S O M E T H I N G A L I T T L E M O RE O B S C U R E? ! Took me a long time to learn this one. Y O U M U S T S T U D Y T H I S W E L L ! Next slide, please.

(Another text slide appears.) Two outs, r u n n e r o n th i rd base: T h e Ce nterfle l d e r m u st e m b race the Vo i d . D o th i s l ovi n gly.

(He parades across the stage again as he recites, striking a dramatic pose with eyes closed and arms raised to the heavens.) "Two outs, runner on third base! The Centerfielder must embrace the Void . . ."

(He screams the last word of this secret with bloodlust in his voice.) "Do this LOVINGLYfff"

(A moment of reflection, then with quiet dignity.) This cannot be explained. Next slide . . .

(Text slide out. Suddenly he rushes forward, holding up his hands to halt the proceedings.) No! Wait! Stop! This is too much too soon. I cannot successfully com­ municate these secrets to you without proper conditioning. You all know

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how important "conditioning" is, don't you? Where would we be with­ out-C O N D I T I O N I N G ? ! ! ! Let us continue . . .

(He turns on his heel and marches offstage. Lights fade to black. We hear the sound of a heavy thunderstorm. ) Slide Images

Dan's Recorded Voiceover

Illustration of an old storm-tossed

"May 7th, 1843. Manjiro Nakahama is rescued at sea by Captain William vVhitfield and brought to New Bedford, Massachusetts. There he lived for over five years, eventually becoming a key figure in the earli­ est exchanges between the governments of Japan and the United States.

schooner at sea.

Old historical photograph of five Japanese Samurai posing with American officials.

"In this later photo, he is seated far left, with a visit­ ing delegation from Japan. Manj iro is credited as being the first Japanese in America.

(Storm sound effects fade out. We hear a lonely guitar strumming.) Close-up of Manjiro from previ­ ous image.

Slide and music fade out.

"One Sunday, Manjiro accompanied the Captain to church services. One of the deacons of the church, horrified, came to see the Captain later and told him that the Japanese boy would have to sit in the Negro section of the church, as some of the white church members objected to his presence. And thus Manjiro Nakahama also became the first Japanese to experi­ ence racism in America:'

(We hear a Japanese shakuhachi flute playing a melancholy melody. A text slide appears.) o p p res s i o n , n . T h e syste m atic, i n stitut i o n a l ized, o n e-way, soci a l ly co n d o n e d m i streatment of m e m bers of o n e gro u p b y mem bers o f a n oth er gro u p o r b y soci ety a s a w h o l e . (s ex i s m , raci s m , g a y o p p re s s i o n , etc.)

S E C R ETS O F T H E SA M U RA I C E N T E R F I E L D E R

1]

(Slide and music fade out. We hear a Wurlitzer organ playing "Take Me Out to the Ball Game." Lights up and Dan briskly jogs onstage in baseball uniform with glove and ball. He repeatedly tosses the ball in the air and catches it, as if warming up. Brimming with energy, he takes his position at center stage. We hear a recorded voiceover accompanied by a slide sequence with comi­ cal music. Throughout, Dan punctuates the voiceover with typical jock-shouts and gestures as if playing in an actual game.) Dan's Recorded Voiceover

Slide Images

"Baseball, America's National Pastime. A game which includes running, throwing, catching, hitting, strategy, and a wonderfully high-strung intensity. A game played with a little white ball . . ."

A huge image of a major league

DA N L I VE :

Slide fades out.

Hey whaddaya say! Let's play some ball now!

Voiceover Continues

"I began my baseball career very early. Morning feedings were typically followed by vigorous work­ outs to perfect fundamental techniques such as Basic Screaming and Crying." DA N L I VE :

baseball.

Slide Images Dan as two month old infant in crib.

Woooo! Yeah baby! One down, now!

Voiceover Continues

Slide Images

"By the time I was six years old, I had my first real leather baseball glove. Soon after, it became clear to me that my true calling in life was to play major league baseball. Not an unusual wish for your typical Chinese­ Japanese-American city boy.

A funky old baseball glove.

"As I had no brothers, my three sisters were drafted as teammates, usually against their will. The gruel­ ing conditions of year-round training eventually led to the first Free-Agent Sisterhood Arbitrations.

Sisters posing with bat and ball.

"My childhood career was one full of controversy, both on and off the field. One of the biggest prob­ lems seemed to be determining just where the playing field ended.

7-year-old Dan holding a baseball bat in front yard. g-year-old Dan in summer camp, eyes crossed for the camera.

Kwong children dressed as cow­ boy and indians. Dan holds a peace pipe. Close-up of actual note from schoolteacher, complaining that "Danny plays and talks a lot."

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Sandy Koufax in action.

Sandy's autograph on a faded old piece of paper.

Willie at bat.

Willie making an amazing leaping catch.

Dodger team photo with Dan's head pasted onto a player's body.

Dan in the outfield.

High school team photo.

Close-up of Dan's auto license plate frame-" I'd rather be in centerfield."

"Since I grew up in Los Angeles, my baseball heroes were members of the Los Angeles Dodgers. Of course, there were many different ones over the years. Guys like the great pitcher Sandy Koufax, who once signed an autograph for me while standing stark naked in the Dodger locker room. "But for many years, my main man on the Dodgers was Willie Davis. Willie played centerfield, like me. He was left-handed, like me. He could run as fast as the wind, like me. And he was never more splen­ did than when he was chasing down a long fly ball to the outfield. Every season I would faithfully troop out to Dodger Stadium to watch him perform on the perfectly manicured grass in centerfield, dream­ ing of someday wearing a Dodger uniform myself and of someday being just like them. "By the time I got to high school, I was a pretty good player. I made the varsity team my freshman year and got to wear this really cool pinstripe uni­ form! It rarely got dirty, since I sat on the bench most of that year-but I did look cool. "One problem was, my coaches were always trying to make a pitcher out of me, even though there was only one position I really wanted to play . . . "

(Blackout as Dan runs offstage chasing an imaginary fly ball. Slides and music end. A few moments in blackness, then lights come up bright. A baseball comes flying onstage and bounces across the grass. With a wild whoop, Dan comes charging back onstage chasing after the ball. He gloves it and tiptoes delight­ edly back to center stage. Tucking his glove under one arm, he holds the pris­ tine baseball close to his face as if it were a delicious ripe fruit. Throughout the monologue, his delivery is very stylized and formal, often changing attitudes and moods quickly and radically.) Oh, I love a brand new baseball! Mmmm!

(He sensuously rubs the ball all over his face, eyes rolling up into his head.) I've loved them for a long time, ever since I was just a boy!

S E C R ETS O F T H E SA M U RA I C E N T E R F I E L D E R

(He rubs the ball between his hands like a magic lamp, then holds it aloft.) Ooooh! Look! Look at it! It's perfect! This little globe, wrapped in smooth white leather, tightly stitched with crimson red string-I love it! I LOVE IT!

(He holds it up to his nose and takes a long, drawn-out sniff) Oooo . . . it even has a smell that gets me excited!

(He sets the ball down before him and quickly jumps back, staring obsessively.) And when I see a baseball, I get this tingling feeling in my stomach . . . . My nostrils flare, my palms itch, and all I wanna do is-(He snatches up the ball in painful ecstasy. )-hold it in my hands and feel its hard, well­ defined seams in every position and angle . . .

(He demonstrates the hand grip and flight path of each pitch, complete with exaggerated vocal sound effects.) Fastball-Zzzzz! Curveball-N eeeeeerrrrrrr! Screwball-Eeeeeyoit! Change-up-Huhhhhhhh! Knuckleball-Whububububububub!

(He stops to suspiciously survey the audience.) Say-tell me who in the house really loves baseball? I mean, really? (A smattering of hands. Dan eagerly selects someone in audience.) What is your favorite position? (They answer.) And what do you love about it? (Whatever they answer, Dan gets very excited for them.) Anybody else here who has any other sportlike activity that they love? (More hands. Dan selects someone.) What is your favorite? (The person answers.) And what do you love about it? (Dan gets equally excited about it.) And anybody here who couldn't care less about sports, least of all base­ ball, and in fact thinks it's one of the stupidest, most boring, and point­ less activities ever devised for human participation? (Usually a large number of hands.) Thank you! Perhaps by the end of the evening your opinions may be al­ tered somewhat. But probably not.

(He returns to the business at hand.)

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Baseball. Centerfield. Now, there are a few things about centerfield I just have to tell you! Every player's position is important. Each has its own unique character, challenges, and special situations, but oh, centerfield, centerfield, C E N T E R F I E L D ! ! ! Center . . .

(Standing in horse stance-feet spread wide, knees bent, torso upright-Dan inhales deeply as he reaches to the sky, clasping his hands together. Exhaling, he draws his hands down to his belly, sinking deeper into his stance-a martial arts "chi" [energy] gathering exercise. He stands balanced, relaxed.) Standing in alignment with the pitcher and the catcher, the centerfielder is in excellent position to follow the flight of every single pitch-thus tun­ ing into the very pulse of this game. (Getting excited again.) Yet at the same time, he (or she) stands afar, taking in the big picture. A perfect view of the entire game before him, like being in some sort of planetary obser­ vation post. Standing in a broad expanse of green grass, flanked on both sides by the left and right fielders, you are the balance point. Center.

(He repeats the meditative chi-gathering exercise, then picks up his ball and glove. As the monologue continues, he gestures exuberantly, illustrating his points with animated intensity.) The basic task of the outfielder-center, left and right-is: To catch the bali-in the air-before it touches the ground. This is "Space Patrol." And there's something about pursuing a ball in flight, some quality of purity that elevates the spirit. "Ball" and "air." A spinning planet, zipping through space guided by the laws of physics! Mass, inertia, gravity, tra­ jectory, velocity, rotation, angles of intersection. . . . This is about a union. A divine union. A cosmic union. A time-space continuum union! Yes, it is a union of ball and glove-this is its essential physical manifes­ tation, BUT-it is also a union of spirit-and the flesh. The potential and the actual. Dreams and reality! Fear meets courage! Hope faces de­ spair! Hoohoooo! The first time I ever played with a real leather glove and a real baseball was when I was six. Me and Dad walked down to Silverlake Playground one hot summer L.A. afternoon with my new mitt, new bat, and a pearly white new baseball. We stood at opposite ends of the field and began my initiation into an American ritual of fathers and sons. He hit me-lots of little ground balls. Lots of little pop flies. You know, easy stuff-stuff a six year old could handle. Well, after a good while of this the vintage 1960s

S E C R ETS O F T H E SA M U RA I C E N T E R F I E L D E R

Los Angeles smog started to get to us. Finally Dad called out, "Okay, that's it! Let's go!" Believe me, I was feeling pretty whipped myself. But in true spirit I gave the only appropriate response: "J U S T O N E M O R E ! J U S T ONE M O R E ! J U S T O N E M O RE ! " Down at the other end o f the field, I could see my father heave a sigh. A moment of still concentration. He tossed the ball up and-c RAC K ! He hit a towering fly ball that was higher and farther than anything I'd ever seen in my six years of life! Hoo­ hoooo! And my first reaction was, "Oh come on. What is that? What am I supposed to do with that?" This ball was going over my head, past the swings, clear over by the tetherball court! I mean, it was outtasight! And I started to run. After the ball. And as I ran looking up at the ball, an interesting thing happened. After my first few steps, something exhil­ arating came over me! My little moment of despair was washed away, and in its place was an electrifying sensation of-challenge. Coupled with a certain mad glee. "Grrrrrrr . . . You-watch-me-catch-this-ball!"

(He begins running in place, filled with newfound vigor and passion.) I could feel my father's eyes watching me as I ran faster and faster! I tore past the kids on the swings! As I raced over by the tetherball court, I, for the first time in my life, spontaneously uttered the holy mantra of the outfielder: " I I I I I I I I - G O T-I T ! " I reached out my glove and-I CAU G H T I T ! I CAU G H T I T !

(He celebrates wildly, leaping up and down and yelling with childlike delight. Suddenly he stops. Gravely. ) That was incredible.

(He goes wild again.) How did I do that? "Hey Dad, did you see that? Did I blow your mind or what?" I didn't even need any acknowledgment. I knew what I had done, and I knew it was good! And it seemed obvious to me: "I can do any­ thing." Dad walked home that day with a very proud son.

(He proudly struts upstage, drops his glove, and turns around.) You know, my father being Chinese and my mother being Japanese, I al­ ways used to feel "in the middle." I mean as far as I was concerned it was great being Japanese and it was pretty cool being Chinese too-inari sushi and cha shew bao! Yeah! But in elementary school when the Chi­ nese kids found out I was Japanese too, they'd go, "Ugh! " And when my

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Japanese buddies found out I was Chinese too they'd go, "Ohhhhh . . ." So as a young boy I got a very dear sense that somehow I and my three sisters stood in between worlds. Or maybe in two worlds . . . or was it a "third world"? But compared to my Chinese and Japanese American peers I had a perspective on this "racist" stuff that seemed just a little broader. I mean, not only did I know how stupid white racism was, I was also in good position to see how equally stupid racism was acted out be­ tween fellow victims. What a wonderful learning opportunity! What a drag. Unfortunately, understanding it didn't make it hurt any less. Got a little lonely out in centerfield sometimes . . .

(He runs to the centerfield wall, his back to the audience, and shouts to the heavens.) C E N T E R F I E L D I S T H E D E E P E S T PART O F T H E F I E L D !

(He whips around, keeping his distance.) The place farthest away from home plate. "Home" is waaaaaay over there, and the centerfielder is waaaay out here! This develops one's sense of con­ nection with that which is "other." A sense of connection with events hap­ pening far from oneself-whether it be three hundred ninety feet away or seven thousand miles away! A sense of connection with the universe and its most distant stars and planets. Playing so far from home requires a great faith. One's concept of "home" must be expanded and redefined . . . When the first Chinese began coming to this country in the mid-18oos, they weren't planning on staying. They knew where "home" was. They weren't exactly welcome anyways. The Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882, the Scott Act of 1888, the Geary Act of 1892, the Exclusion Act of 1902-all laws specifically designed to prevent and discourage Asian people from making a home in America. The country they helped to build . . . "Yeah sure-we'll take your labor. We'll take your backbreaking, relent­ less, bone-weary hard labor, but just remember: you're the visiting team."

(He turns away from the audience and jumps up and down as if calling for the ball.) HOME! HOME! HOME!

(He turns to the audience and approaches with a drunken swagger.) My home was a curious variation on the standard version. With three brilliant sisters and a nuclear reactor for a mother, I knew full well how

S E C R ETS O F T H E SA M U RA I C E N T E R F I E L D E R

powerful and influential females could be. So my boyhood was not only throwing rocks, climbing trees, building model airplanes, and playing baseball, I was baking brownies, sewing clothes for my stuffed animals, playing "Queen of the Prom" with Barbie dolls (and often winning) , and knitting-things. And even though I got all the basic American male programming, somehow these traditional sex roles seemed just a little too tight around the gonads, if you know what I mean. So once again there I was-"Boy do this, and girls do this. " "Boys are like this, and girls are like this." "Boys don't do this, boys do do this." "Boys-"

(He stops abruptly as the beauty of this revelation strikes him.) Centerfield seemed like such a smart position. Maybe that's why the centerfielder is the captain of the outfield. He calls the shots. He has priority. He goes after anything he thinks he can reach, and when he calls out, "Mine! Mine! I got it! "-the other fielders back off and give him room: "Take it, take it, it's yours!" And there is no place the centerfielder does not belong. It's a lovely position to be in.

(He picks up his glove and puts it back on.) Oh, but it's not all cosmic bliss in the outfield. No way. Lemme tell you­ there are many things that can distract you in the midst of play! Basically, every negative thought or feeling you ever had about yourself. Questions about your goodness, your intelligence, your competence, your power, your self-worth, your trustworthiness, your ability to perform under pressure, your fear of failure . . .

(The following passage gradually escalates into total hysteria.) "What if I fuck up? I've fucked up before. (I know, because everyone pointed it out to me.) Eeuuugh. I'll probably fuck it up again . . . . Oh, please don't hit it to me! Please don't hit it to me! I'll just screw it up, I know. I'll probably do something really lame like drop the most crucial ball of the game or something. I always wanna be the hero, but it never seems to work out that way. I'm just no good at this game-I've never B E E N any good at it-I'll never B E any good at it! In fact, I don't know why I even bother coming out to P L AY this stupid game. I mean, it's really just a big pain in the ass as far as I'm concerned. Why did my father have to teach me this game? I mean, I could think of a whole lot better things to be doing than coming out here week after week and going through this whole angst trip. Like, how many times do I have to prove

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to the world? ' I ' M N O G O O D ! I ' M N O G O O D ! I ' M N O G O O D ! ' It's really kinda stupid when you think about it, y'know? Yeah! ' H E Y G U Y S ! P RE T T Y S T U P I D G A M E W E ' R E P L AY I N G H E R E ! YE A H , A N D Y O U ' R E P RE T T Y S T U P I D T O B E P L AY I N G I T ! A N D I ' M T H E S T U P I D E S T O F A L L T O E V E N B E H E R E ! YE A H , W E ' R E A L L S T U P I D , S O W H Y D O N ' T W E J U S T- " '

(He freezes as he notices something that interrupts his freak-out. He slowly shifts to joyful, zestful excitement.) What a beautiful sky . . . Oh, what green grass! The sun is shining! I'm here-in this moment on earth. And I'm playing- baseball . . . I'm play­ ing a game. The game I love more than any other! I ' M A L I V E A N D WELL! ! !

(Now he notices the imaginary game situation again-quickly the wilting self­ doubt begins to creep back into his brain.) Ughhh. The other team has the bases loaded. This is a crucial situation . . . We face possible disaster! All could be lost! A mistake here would crush our efforts! And-I'm playing baseball . . .

(The joyous delight surges back into him.) Heh-heh-heh . . . Yeah . . . Yeah!

Y E A H ! c ' M O N M A N ! Y O U H I T T H AT

F U C K I N ' B A L L TO M E , JAC K ! I WA N T I T ! ! !

(Blackout. Dan exits.) (We hear background sound effects of baseball game crowd noise and organ music. A slide appears of a brightly colored watercolor painting-the image of a large baseball glove with a baseball player standing next to it. Instead of a head, a large baseball sprouts from the player's neck.) (Dan's recorded voiceover.) "So-like I was saying, practically all of my baseball heroes back then were Dodgers, and there was absolutely nothing I wanted more than to be like them in every way possible. Yeah . . . "

(Sound effects and slide fade out. We hear slow steady gamelan music. Two text slides appear in sequence.) Fu l l cou nt, d o u b l e stea l : Co nfu s i o n j o i n s t h e n u m b­ H ow q u ickly t h e w i s e grow stu p i d .

S E C R ETS O F T H E SA M U RA I C E N T E R F I E L D E R

Strike th ree c a l l e d : G l i m m eri n gs o f l i fe a m i ss­ H e a l i n g yet awa its.

(A tight spotlight comes up on the hanging trash can lid with its painted Asian face. From behind the trash can lid, Dan enters dressed in black slacks, a light blue pinstripe dress shirt, and black shoes. On his right hand, he wears his base­ ball glove. He picks up the red metal bucket of balls and takes it to center stage. He sets down the pail, plucks a ball from it, and addresses the audience.) When I was playing baseball in high school, I spent one summer hang­ ing out with one of our pitchers, a guy named Scott Miller. Scott was the only guy I knew who had actually been scouted by a major league team­ the California Angels. And Scott took his baseball very seriously. This one summer he'd call me up and say, "Hey Danny, you wanna go work out?" Well, you never had to ask me twice to go play baseball, so he'd drive over and we'd throw our bats and gloves and balls into the back of his funky old station wagon, drive for miles out into the desert area of Sunland. There, on an empty barren stretch of highway, was an old abandoned baseball field, which we had all to ourselves! And there we would pitch batting practice to each other-

(Dan turns and casually throws the ball at the trash can lid. The ball is made of wet clay and splatters onto the face. He quickly bends and picks up another ball, seamlessly continuing his story.) -we'd hit ground balls to each other, we'd hit fly balls to each other, and we'd do this all day long under a blazing hot sun until we were ready to drop from heat stroke and dehydration. We loved it. Naturally Scott was a big Angels fan, and when we'd go down to Ana­ heim Stadium to watch them play we didn't just go early, we went E A R LY . I mean, Scott liked to get there at least three or four hours before the game started-just to make sure we didn't miss anything. And of course we'd bring our gloves and a ball and stand out in the parking lot playing catch.

(Dan turns and throws another clay ball at the trash can lid. It splatters on the face, further covering it. He grabs another ball.) Now, there was something about being that close to major league action that used to get Scott really pumped up. Pretty soon he'd be firing 85 miles an hour fastballs at my head-

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(Dan throws the ball at the trash can lid-Splat!) -while I tried to figure out ways to distract him and get him to slow down, without letting him know how terrified I was. There was one funny thing about Scott. When we'd go to these Angels games, he'd be all dressed up! He'd come wearing a nice button-down collar shirt, pair of dress slacks with a leather belt, dress shoes-looking really nice and neat. Which I thought was pretty weird. I mean, you go to a baseball game to have fun, right? So why would you want to wear any­ thing other than a t -shirt and jeans? But hey, I didn't say anything-I just figured he was more mature than me.

(Dan throws another ball-Splat!) Until one day I finally found out why Scott dressed the way he did. It seems that Scott had gone to an Angels game by himself at his usual four hours before the gates even opened. This was the time when many of the professional players themselves would be arriving at the stadium for their day's work.

(He throws-Splat!) And as Scott was walking up through the parking lot-dressed as he was- a group of young kids came running up to him and A S K E D H I M F O R H I S AU T O G R A P H ! Hal ! They thought h e was a major league player! Can you imagine? Being mistaken for one of your own heroes? Being looked at with the same admiration and respect with which you looked at the pros? Like, you were one of them. Like you were one of the chosen ones. Like you were on the inside. Like you were there! Yeah! This idea got me soooo excited! ! !

(He gleefully throws another ball-Splat!) Immediately I started thinking, "Okay, what shirt should I wear? What pants should I wear? How should I comb my-"

(Dan freezes as if looking in a mirror and suddenly noticing his reflection. His excitement evaporates as it dawns on him.) And then I realized-it didn't matter what clothes I wore or how I walked or how I combed my hair. No one would ever mistake me for a big league baseball player.

(He turns and fires one last ball at the trash can lid. WHAM! It smashes into the face, now completely obliterated. Blackout on Dan. He exits, leaving the

S E C R ETS O F T H E SA M U RA I C E N T E R F I E L D E R

2]

obliterated face lit, still swaying from the impact of the ball. Spotlight slowly fades out on the face. We hear murky, creepy electronic music. Two text slides appear in sequence.) i ntern a l ized o p p re s s i o n , n . A co n d ition i n w h i c h a n y h u m a n , d u e t o accu m u l ated p a i n fu l e m oti o n , fi n a l ly agrees with t h e i nva l i d at i o n a n d d e h u m a n izati o n o f s e l f a n d gro u p . . . (h oweve r a ga i n st t h e i r w i l l ) . . . o p p re s s i o n beco m e s s e l f- p e rpetuat i n g as fu n cti o n i n g i s i n react i o n t o o l d pa i n .

(Text slide and music fade out. In the dark, we hear Dan's recorded voice with lots of echo effect, sounding like a ghostly radio announcer.) "It's a fly ball, deep in time . . . . Back, back, awaaaaaaay back!"

(We hear traditional Japanese koto music. A documentary slide sequence be­ gins with Dan's recorded narration and various period music. Old family snap­ shots from Japan and America along with historical images are projected onto the large screen. Dan enters dressed in traditional Japanese white gi jacket and black hakama pants/skirt, with Japanese sword in his belt. During the follow­ ing, he executes a series of traditional sword techniques in stop-action, period­ ically moving and stopping as the voiceover progresses.) Dan's Recorded Voiceover

Slide Images

"Kiro Nagano was my Japanese grandfather's name, but to everyone in America he was simply known as 'Papa.' Papa was born in 1896 in Hokkaido, the northernmost island of Japan. His father owned a prosperous papermaking business in the capital city of Sapporo, where he and his wife raised their family of seven by the strict Presbyterian values adopted by the mother.

My grandfather in his sixties,

"As a boy, Papa was unusually strong and well coor­ dinated. He took up the sport of judo, and by age fifteen he had won first place in the Sapporo city­ wide tournament in which he competed against men much older and more experienced.

smiling. Map of Hokkaido Island.

Papa as a boy with his large family.

Teenage papa wearing judo gi, looking quite formidable.

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F R O M I N N E R W O R L D S T O O U T E R S PA C E

Papa in his early twenties, posing with father.

G randmother as young woman in formal kimono.

G randmother with her family.

Mama's sister performing tradi­ tional tea ceremony.

"In traditional Japanese culture, the eldest son inher­ its virtually all of the family's wealth, leaving little to nothing for any other descendants. Papa was the sec­ ond son, and so his future was to be of his own mak­ ing. After attending college in Tokyo, he chose to seek a life in the land of opportunity across the Pacific­ America. He first went to Seattle, Washington, where he spent a year doing farm work and saving money. Returning to Japan in 1919, he married my grand­ mother, Ai Enoki, the eldest daughter of a kimono merchant in Hokkaido. The very next day after the wedding, they prepared to sail for America. "This photo was taken that day, outside the Enoki family home. Papa stands far left, while my grand­ mother-who came to be known as 'Mama'-stands on the far right behind her older brother. It was a sad farewell for my grandmother, who left behind a family and a way of life she loved dearly.

(We hear scratchy old recording of 1920s "Charleston" music.)

Papa wearing straw hat, pinstripe suit, Mama in long dress-nei­ ther is smiling.

Papa looking seriously studious in a western suit.

Papa happily working in the garden. Papa and family pose by his new American car.

Three young N agano children sit­ ting on the grass.

"While Papa wasted no time adapting to American ways, it was a much slower, more painful transition for Mama. Here they pose for a formal portrait shortly after arriving in Seattle. The dress Mama wears was once her favorite kimono, which she had reconstructed into Western style. "Papa's original intention had been to attend the University of Washington, but apparently, upon see­ ing Japanese students partying and carousing on campus, it so offended his strict Christian upbring­ ing that, with disgust, he decided instead to go to Los Angeles. There he began working in the pro­ duce-farming business, as did many Asians in Cali­ fornia, where his long hours of hard work slowly began to pay off. "Mama and Papa raised three children, my mother the second born. It was around this time he received

S E C R ETS O F T H E SA M U RA I C E N T E R F I E L D E R

29

the nickname of 'Papa' from his fellow workers in the produce market, and soon he was known by no other name.

(We hear "Tin Pan Alley" music.) "The name 'Papa' not only referred to his relatively young parenthood, it also symbolized his reputation within the Japanese American community of Los Angeles-that of a warm, kind, honest, and power­ ful man of integrity to whom many people turned for support. "In coming to America, Papa had made it his coun­ try by choice, and even though discriminatory laws made it impossible for him to become a citizen (be­ cause of his race), he and Mama raised a very Amer­ ican family. "Living a lifestyle that was a blend of Japanese tradi­ tion and Southern California style, my mother and her two brothers were typical of many 'Nisei,' or sec­ ond-generation, American-born Japanese.

Papa tenderly holds his eldest son.

Papa and family having a picnic on the beach. Papa and family and friends on a leisurely drive.

My mother as a young girl dressed in kimono.

(More swingin: upbeat, and jazzy music.) ''As is common for children of immigrants, there were generational clashes as the values from the par­ ents' homeland ran head-on into those of the new host culture of the children. For the Nisei, the pres­ sure to assimilate into white American society, how­ ever subliminal or blatant, was so successful that within a single generation, many Nisei had lost touch with any sense of connection with their cul­ tural heritage.

Mom and brothers, pre-teen years. Papa and family gathered around a Christmas tree.

(Old nostalgic sentimental tune, "When My Dream­ boat Comes Home.") "Papa's success in the downtown Los Angeles pro­ duce market continued, as did his rise in the judo world. By the late 1930s, Papa was on his way to becoming one of the highest-ranking judo men in the United States. He now had his own wholesale

Downtown L.A. produce market, circa 1 93 5-a mob of activity. Papa posing in his judo gi, throw­ ing an opponent.

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F R0 M I N N E R W0 R L D S T0 0 U T E R S P A C E

Papa's handsome youngest son leans against a stack of produce crates. Logo image.

produce market, 'Nagano Produce; and in Novem­ ber of 1941 he had bought a new fleet of trucks and new office equipment. His eldest son Daisuke had just designed a new company logo, and Papa's American Dream was becoming reality.

(Dan finishes sword movements, places sword in weapons rack, and exits.) Papa and family standing in front of their L.A. house.

A thoughtful-looking Papa sits on the front porch wearing fedora and coat.

Slide fades to black.

"On the night of December 6th, 1941, Papa and the family were out for dinner with a family friend, a Caucasian man. In uncharacteristic fashion, Papa spoke to him openly about his deepest desires as a Japanese American. Papa hoped that, through his positions of leadership in the community and the sport of judo, he might serve as a bridge between the country of his birth and the country of his choice. As an ambassador of goodwill between Japan and America."

(Music and slide fade out. We hear a huge explosion. Slide image of the Pearl Harbor attack appears, then fades to black. Recorded voiceover continues.) "Early the next morning, December 7, 1941, Japanese air and naval forces attacked Pearl Harbor. Japan and the United States were at war. With cruel irony, Papa's dream and the lives of his American family were sud­ denly torn apart.

(We hear ominous, droning electronic music, like distant airplanes.) "My mother and two of her girlfriends had ditched Sunday school that day, and when they heard of the Japanese attack their first reaction was, 'Where's Pearl Harbor?' Several of the neighborhood kids came over to the Nagano home and sat together in the living room all afternoon, nerv­ ously listening to radio news reports. "Papa arrived home. He had been returning from his morning game of golf and couldn't understand why so many people glared at him angrily as he drove by. He knew something was very wrong. Upon hearing the news, Papa went into the dining room and silently sat down, his elbows on the table and his head down in his hands. He sat there like that the rest of the day. At nine o'clock that night, the doorbell rang.

S E C R ETS O F T H E SA M U RA I C E N T E R F I E L D E R

31

(Stage glows in a dark blue light. Dan slowly enters draped with an American flag, which covers his head and upper torso. He holds a lit candle as he wan­ ders about, blinded by the flag.) "My mother and her younger brother Aiji went to answer. Two men standing on the darkened porch identified themselves as F B I agents, flashed their badges and pushed their way into the house. One of them began searching the house, asking for anything written in Japanese, any cameras, weapons, or two-way radios. The other agent asked for my grandfather and immediately went into his bedroom. Papa was ordered out of bed and got dressed as the F B I man stood by watching his every move. 'You'd better take a coat with you-it'll get pretty cold where you're going; he warned Papa. "My mother watched as the F B I agents took Papa away, walking down the darkened street, disappearing into the night. It was the last time she saw him for two years."

(F L A G

MAN

exits.)

Voiceover Continues

"The next day my uncle Daisuke and a neighbor drove all over Los Angeles County, visiting different jails in search of Papa. For two weeks, his where­ abouts were completely unknown to the family. Fi­ nally a telegram arrived saying he was being held in Terminal Island Federal Penitentiary and was about to be transferred to a special concentration camp for 'highly dangerous enemy aliens.' ''As a community leader and acting president of the Southern California Judo Federation, Papa was one of many Japanese Americans who had been under surveillance by the F B I , Navy, and Army Intelli­ gence for years prior to the actual outbreak of war. His name was on a list of those to be arrested im­ mediately should war ever be declared against Japan. This was in spite of the fact that none of these intelligence agencies had ever turned up a single case of espionage or sabotage by any Japa­ nese American.

Slide Images

Federal prison interior.

Papa proudly officiating at a judo tournament.

Karl Bendetson, a vociferous pro­ ponent of imprisoning JAs.

Four imprisoned N isei men in camp.

32

F R0 M I N N E R W0 R L D S T0 0 U T E R S P A C E

Racist anti-Chinese cartoon from an 1 878 California newspaper. Hotel sign: "New Management­ White Americans."

Japanese farming woman and her N isei soldier son standing in a strawberry field.

N ewspaper headline: "Removal of all Japs to interior planned." N ewspaper headline: "Ouster of all Japs in California near!"

U . S. soldier tacks up a poster: "Instructions to all Japanese." Anxious JA mother holds her in­ fant, preparing to leave. Little girl sits by her family's be­ longings piled in the street. Weeping woman aboard a train. An elderly JA man being photo­ graphed for a police "mug shot." A dozen people walk from a train, their arms full of luggage. A hand-painted sign by a mailbox: "Evacuation Sale." A storefront with huge sign in window: "Closing Out-Evacua­

''Anti-Asian racism has a long history in the United States, especially California. By this time, it was a well-organized force, ready to spring into action at this golden opportunity to get rid of the Japanese Americans. "Fear of economic competition has been a tradi­ tional excuse for oppression. The economic success of Japanese Americans in California's farming in­ dustry was no small factor in motivating the racist activity against them. "Within a month and a half of the Pearl Harbor attack, the sensationalist press, various economic interest groups, and exploitive politicians had fanned the flames of racism and hysteria on the West Coast into an inferno of hatred and paranoia. The move to imprison all West Coast Japanese Americans began to look like an inevitability. "When President Roosevelt signed Executive Order 9066 in February of 1942, it gave the Secretary of War the authority to remove not only Japanese aliens but Japanese American citizens as well from all West Coast areas. Over 110,ooo Americans of Japanese ancestry, 75% of them citizens, were up­ rooted from their homes and communities and placed in twelve different concentration camps throughout the U.S. There they were held without being convicted of any crime, without trial, and without any charges being filed against them. "People were allowed to bring only what they could carry. Homes, businesses, and entire communities were wiped out. "Papa's produce market was closed down by the government immediately. He lost everything."

tion Sale."

(A faint blue back light comes up. Dan enters dressed as the SAMURAI CEN­ TER FIELDER, carrying a tray of ten small votive candles. He begins to ceremo­ nially place the votive candles along the edges of the grass "field.")

S E C R ETS O F T H E SA M U RA I C E N T E R F I E L D E R

33

Voiceover Continues

Slide Images

"Japanese Americans were ordered to report to vari­ ous designated assembly centers in California. There they were tagged for identification and initially as­ signed to one of ten major relocation centers in different states, from eastern California to Wyoming to Arkansas."

A young Nisei boy looks at the feet of a soldier. A small Nisei child with an I. D. tag hanging from her coat. Rows of soldiers stand guard as JAs disembark from train.

(SAM URAI CENTER FIELDER exits.) "Upon arrival, they found hastily and partially con­ structed tar-paper barracks buildings awaiting them in some of the most remote and desolate areas avail­ able. A telling irony was that several of these loca­ tions were on land the federal government had once upon a time used to relocate another group of people-the Native Americans. "One common justification for the relocation of the Japanese Americans was that 'it was necessary for their own protection.' Looking up at the guard tow­ ers, more than one Nisei remarked, 'If we're here for our protection, how come the machine guns are pointed at us?' ''Another boy gazes out on the barren, dusty, barbed-wire enclosure in the middle of desert noth­ ingness and thinks to himself' 'Gee-they must really hate us."'

Wide angle shot of camp-end­ less rows of barracks.

Muddy, barren camp scene.

Two soldiers stand atop a guard tower, a machine gun between them.

View through the fence at the dis­ tant mountains.

(Slide and lights fade to black. The stage glows in the flickering light of the can­ dles. We hear low, solemn chimes ringing out. A lone trumpet in the distance sounds a faint call to rise up. A text slide appears.) Two outs , botto m of the n i n t h : H u m a n s p i rit e n d u re s fa r beyo n d o utwa rd a p pearances.

(Slide and music fade out. SAMURAI CENTER FIELDER enters and goes up­ stage center. He kneels with his back to the audience, head bowed.

34

F R O M I N N E R W O R L D S T O O U T E R S PA C E

We hear cheerful, happy, upbeat music-like you might imagine as back­ ground for a children's show about a frolic in the park. A slide sequence be­ gins. Dan's voiceover is equally upbeat-the juxtaposition with the images is deeply sarcastic. ) Slide Images

Dan's Recorded Voiceovers

A smiling Dillon Myer posing in

"Dillon S. Myer-the man appointed to direct the operation of America's World War II concentration camps. According to Mr. Myer, these so-called relo­ cation camps were merely innocent way-stations, places the Japanese-American people regarded as 'havens of rest and security.'

his office. Two grinning camp guards drag away a downcast N isei man. Two other guards carry a beaten JA man like a sack of cement. Smiling Dillon Myer posing by a large sign on the side of a barrack: "Welcome Great White Father."

"One can only wonder with whom Mr. Myer con­ sulted in reaching such a benign conclusion. Just whom did he ask?"

(A test slide appears in same cartoonish lettering as main title slides.) " H O W ' S CAM P?"

(The cheery music is suddenly interrupted by the sound of a record player needle scratching across a record. SAMURAI CENTER FIELDER jerks his head up as music suddenly shifts to a hard, funky, hip-hop beat. Text slide appears.) W i l d p itch , ru n n e r on seco n d base: O l d pain u n reco g n i zed re s u lts in r i g i d , co p i n g b e h av i o r.

(His back to the audience, SAM URAI CENTER FIELDER rises, gesturing his arms towards the text slide as if to embrace it. The vocals begin, and SAM URAI CENTER FIELDER suddenly whips around to face the audience. He begins to dance-athletically, aggressively, goofily-as we hear Dan's recorded voice singing the caustic lyrics, some of which are flashed on-screen as text slides [in bold] along with other visual images.) (Dan's recorded singing.) Tell me who in the house know about the camps? (We do ! ) I mean really. Really . . . If you know what I mean, say yeah! Yeah If you know what I'm talkin' say oh yeah! Oh yeah But if you ain't hip to the relocation, S H U T U P already! Damn! H OW'S CAMP?

S E C R ETS O F T H E SA M U RA I C E N T E R F I E L D E R

Everybody jump up and down-H ow's C A M P? Well there's some brand new shit goin' down-H ow's In your funky town . . . In camp And the Man say it's your faultWe gonna lock your mother up !

C A M P?

' HOW s CAMP?

We gonna knock your brother down ' HOW S CAMP?

We gonna tell you-what to do We gonna put you-in the zoo You fuck up and you're done-are we havin' fun? Huh! Tell us' H ow s C A M P ?

Heyyyy-Question:

Does anybody know the reason why? Bullshit. You won't get outUntil we feed you more lies Now everybody hate your race, c'mon! Your turn now-don't laugh. Go ask any Indian-gonna get the shaft! Goin' to a camp . . .

There's some brand new shit goin' down In your city, in your town-IN CAMP And the folks say it's your fault ' HOW S CAMP? ' HOW s CAMP?

We gonna take your father . . .

'

HOW S CAMP? ' HOW S CAMP?

We gonna take your brother down, c'mon!

Now lemme tell you gonna bend your mind A little bit harder 'til you learn to hate your kind A little bit deeper 'til you see who runs the show A military need was a lie, you know Come on now, you got to choose­ Your country or your race? You might talk white but Can't change your face-Yeah!

35

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F R O M I N N E R W O R L D S T O O U T E R S PA C E

Can't do nothing while you watch your dreams GO D OWN.

CA M P ! CA M P ! CA M P ! CA M P ! CA M P ! CA M P !

(MANZANAR- P O S T O N ) ( H E A R T M O U N TA I N - T O PA Z ) (T U L E L A K E - J E R O M E ) (G I L A - M I N I D O KA ) (GRANADA - R O H W E R ) (LE U P P - M OA B )

Everybody-everybody jump up and down H ow's C A M P ? It's the same old shit that's gain' down How's CAMP? In this country, in this funky town How's CAMP? Do you really think it's your fault? C H E C K IT

H o w ' s CAM P ?

I f you can't forget it, shut up already! Damn! You got to get out You know we don't want your kind When the Congress say, " H o w 's C A M P ? "

Talkin' about it, let m e hear you shout, say Ya-da . . . How's camp? Dah-meh . . . How's camp? Bullshit! Louder, say it! How's camp? Ooo-eee! How's camp?

Shocka -locka- boom! What was that? AT O M I C B L A S T !

Hiroshima Nagasaki

Teriyaki I gotta talk,

c'mon!

You're gonna fry, you're gonna die' Cause we don't like your color or the shape of your eyes So take a look now, you're never comin' back This is a rape, an A-1 stabbing in the back-and that's a fact H o w ' s CAM P ? Come on, tell it! Whoooo! Come on! You can't swallow it?

ouT

S E C R ETS O F T H E SA M U RA I C E N T E R F I E L D E R

We got another scam in the plans­ Everybody shut up ! Listen to the man! HOW 'S CAMP?

(Song ends, and last slide fades to black. SAMURAI CENTER FIELDER freezes, hand cupped to his listening ear. He slowly spirals down to the floor, back to his seated position. Lights fade to black and we hear cold, repetitive, electronic mustc. Two text slides appear in sequence.) It i s trad it i o n a l t o b l a m e t h e v i ct i m s fo r t h e i r o p p res s i o n , as we l l a s fo r h av i n g i ntern a l ized it. This itself i s p a rt of the o p p res s i o n .

(Text slide and music fade out. The television monitor flickers to life with the opening credits and theme song from The Donna Reed Show, a classic 1960s TV show about an all-American family. SAM URAI CENTER FIELDER sinks down to the floor and goes to sleep. The episode begins with the all-American family sitting in their kitchen discussing some superficial nonsense. After a couple vapid minutes, the video ends and the screen goes black. We hear eerie music. The stage is awash in blue light. SAMURAI CENTER FIELDER slowly rises from the floor, eyes wide with wonder. He staggers to his feet and groggily begins removing his velcroed samurai armor, piece by piece, as we hear Dan's recorded voiceover with lots of reverb, sounding hypnotic and surreal.) "I dreamt I was on The Donna Reed Show-with Orel Hershiser, star pitcher for the Los Angeles Dodgers. It was 1961. We were standing in a quiet, cozy, upstairs bedroom of the Donna Reed home, and there was an­ other young fellow with us. The two of them were quietly talking, and I could tell by the intent expression on Orel's face it was something serious. They seemed to be discussing a specific task. Something of considerable complexity. Something requiring precise and exact coordination between many people. Something with broad and far-reaching implications for everyone-and I had no idea what they were talking about. There was a slight uneasiness in the room. An awkward tension. And as the three of us stood there, a peculiar feeling began to come over me. Like, maybe I was in the wrong place . . . Like, maybe I wasn't supposed to be in this quiet, cozy, middle-class, suburban, white-bread upstairs bedroom with Orel and his friend. Somehow I didn't belong here, maybe wasn't even wel­ come here, and maybe-M AY B E-it had something to do with-my race? Eeuuuugh. This feeling was an old feeling. An old, old feeling . . . . "

37

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F R0 M I N N E R W0 R L D S T0 0 U T E R S P A C E

(Dan sinks to the floor, going back to sleep as lights fade to black. We hear the Donna Reed theme song again as a slide sequence begins. Throughout, Dan twitches in his sleep, as if having a bad dream.) (Image slide.)

An American fa m i ly s its i n fro nt of a TV set, ci rca 1 9 5 5 .

(Text slide.)

1 8 97 ca m p a i g n poster: The Ch i n e s e M u st G o-Vote fo r O ' D o n n e l l 1 9 07 c a m p a i g n poster: T h e J a p a n e s e M u st G o-Vote fo r O ' Do n n e l l

(Image slide.)

Ca rtoon o f a lynch m o b h a n g i n g a C h i n e s e m a n .

(Text slide.)

"The C h i nese a n d J a p a n e s e are not b o n afi d e citize n s . They a re n o t m a d e o f t h e stuff o f w h i c h American citize n s a re m a d e . . . " - M ayo r J a m e s P h e l a n S a n Fra n c i sco, CA, 1 9 00

(Image slide.)

A ste rn-faced wh ite wo m a n sta n d s p ro u d l y i n front of h e r h o m e

poi nti n g t o a l a rge s i gn read i n g: "J a p s keep m ov i n g-th i s i s a w h ite m a n ' s n e i g h borhood . "

(Text slide.)

"We can not m a ke a h o m o ge n e o u s p o p u l at i o n o u t of a peo p l e w h o do not b l e n d with t h e Ca u ca s i a n race . " -Wood row W i l s o n 1 9 1 2 pres i d e n t i a l ca m pa i g n

(Image slide.) (Text slide.)

Ca rtoon of a m o n stro u s m u lti-armed Ch i n e s e m e rc h a nt. "A J a p ' s a J a p . I t m a ke s n o d iffe re n ce whether h e i s a n American citizen . . . " - Lt. Co l . J o h n L. Dewitt We ste rn Defe n s e Co m m a n d , 1 943

(Image slide.)

A gri n n i n g wh ite m e rch a n t poi nts to a s i g n on h i s ca s h re gi ster:

"We d o n ' t want any J a p s back h e re-eve r ! "

(Text slide.)

" Ca l ifo r n i a s h o u l d re m a i n w h at it h a s a l ways been a n d w h at God h i m s e l f i nte n d e d it s h a l l a l ways be­ the Wh ite M a n ' s Pa rad i s e . " -T h e N ative S o n s of T h e G o l d e n West (1 920)

(Image slide.)

J a p a n e s e American b u s i n e s s storefro nt with a l a rge s i g n i n t h e

w i n d ow: " I a m a n America n . "

S E C R ETS O F T H E SA M U RA I C E N T E R F I E L D E R

(Music and slide fade out. A light comes up on Dan, and he wakes up, startled. He staggers to his feet again and begins to speak.) Oh. Yeah . . . so me and Orel and his buddy, we're standing in this up­ stairs bedroom. Yeah. And they're still talking, and I still have no idea what the fuck is going on. When suddenly-! start to get another funny feeling . . . a different feeling . . . like, this guy Orel was related to me! Like, I was part of this household and that maybe even-we were cousins! Yeah, that's it! That's how I wanted it to be in this dream! After all it was my dream. He was actually MY c o u s i N -" Orel Hershimoto" ! And this was my bedroom . . . in my house! And yes, I belong here! Yes, I belong here! I belong here!!!

(Suddenly the stage lights come up bright. We hear the sound of a roaring sta­ dium crowd and an A NN O UNCER 's voice over the public address system.) "G O O D

EVE N I N G

LADIES AND " D O D G E R S TA D I U M .

GENTLEMEN, AND

WELCOME

TO

(Dan is shocked, looking around with amazement. ANNO UNCER continues.) "A N D N O W, H E R E I S T O N I G H T ' s S TA R T I N G L I N E - U P : L E A D I N G O F F A N D P L AY I N G R I G H T F I E L D , N U M B E R 1-MA N J I R O N A K A H A M A . "

(Image slide of Manjiro Nakahma appears with his name beneath his face.) Manjiro Nakahama? The first Japanese in America! Hey Manjiro baby, let's play some ball, dude! ! !

(Slide fades out.

A NN O U N C E R

continues.)

" I N L E F T F I E L D , N U M B E R 2-KWO N G F U N KWO N G ."

(Image slide of my great-grandfather appears, also with his name.) Great-grandfather! Hal Back in 1920 he was ready to buy a piece of prop­ erty in Los Angeles called Bunker Hill-in the shadow of Dodger Sta­ dium! But in those days they didn't sell to Chinese . . . Hey Kwong Fun, we gonna play some "D" now!

(Image slide fades out.

A NN O UNCER

continues.)

"A N D I N C E N T E R F I E L D , N U M B E R 1 2 - D A N KWO N G . "

(Crowd noise gets louder. Dan is stunned, then goes wild with excitement-it's his dream come true. He runs around blowing kisses to the crowd. He looks at his bare hands and has an awful realization-he freaks out.)

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Hey! Hey, wait a minute! Stop! Stop this dream! S TO P ! ! !

(The crowd noise suddenly disappears. He sadly whimpers.) I don't have a glove.

(A baseball glove is thrown onstage. It lands at Dan's feet with a plop. He glee­ fully picks it up and puts it on.) Oooo, I like this dream!

(The roaring crowd noise instantly returns. Dan exuberantly pounds his glove in eager anticipation of the game.) Okay! Yeah! Here we go! Here we Go! Here we-

(Dan grows vaguely uneasy as he looks around.) Hey. There's something funny about this scene . . .

(Suddenly he realizes-) It's the crowd! Everywhere I look I see Asian faces . . . Thousands of them! How come there's so many of 'em here? I think I recognize-hey! Over there! It's Vincent Chin! The Chinese American who was murdered by two unemployed Detroit autoworkers who thought he was Japanese. Like a Toyota. Hey Vincent! It's a good thing you were a member of the Model Minority! Otherwise, people might've thought racism had something to do with it. Nahhh . . .

(Dan looks to his left and is shocked again by what he sees.) Hey! Over there behind the barbed wire-all those Nisei men and women! Must be the "reserved relocation section." And they're all look­ ing at something behind centerfield-the flag! The American flag! And every face has a different expression. Some of them look proud. Others, bitter. Some of them look ashamed! Others just look determined. Like a plumber facing a seriously plugged up toilet. And one voice cries out, "Go F O R B R O K E ! ! ! "

(The crowd noise swells as we hear the sharp "crack" of bat hitting ball.) Hey! It's a fly ball! Wow, that ball is a rocket! Hey, put a stewardess on that baby! Man, that ball is headed for deep centerfield- (Shocked, he • . . . ) To M E I. .! .! Hv v71..uoaaa sh It. ' I rea l tzes

(Dan turns and starts running in place, chasing after the fly ball.)

S E C R ETS O F T H E SA M U RA I C E N T E R F I E L D E R

I can hear Manjiro and Kwong Fun yelling, "Take it! Take it, it's yours!" I know, I know . . . My god, I've never seen a ball hit so high and so far! It just keeps climbing higher and higher into the sky! I G O T I T ! I G O T I T !

(He turns and slowly circles underneath it, pounding his glove as he looks sky­ ward, muttering to himself with determination.) I have got to catch this ball . . . This ain't just a ball . . . it's something more. It's everything! Everything I've ever dreamed of doing with my life is riding on that little white ball! God, am I ever gonna catch this thing???

(Something is wrong. He slowly stops circling, looking puzzled.) But the ball is disappearing. Up into the blackness. And I see-a face . . . It's Papa's face! It's Papa, looking down from the heavens! And he's smil­ ing. He's laughing! He's cheering, "Get it Danny! Get it! It's yours! " Yeah, Papa, you watch me! I'm gonna catch this thing! I will!

(Suddenly he stops.) He's gone! And the ball . . . I can't see-

THE BALL!

I lost it! Where is it? Where is it!

(He desperately searches the sky. Suddenly he freezes with his back to the audi­ ence. He slowly turns around.) The entire left field bleachers are full of Chinese people! Thousands of Chinese faces. Faces of young men and women. And they're not making a sound.

(We hear the A NN O U N C E R 's voice over the PA . ) "LADIES

AND

GENTLEMEN, D O D G E R S TA D I U M . "

TONIGHT

IS

'sTUDENT

NIGHT'

AT

The ghosts of the Beijing students are here! And as they all rise en masse, the entire stadium falls silent-as if 56,ooo breaths were being held in UniSOn.

(The crowd noise fades out.) All these Chinese spirits stand silently, and slowly they point up into the sky. Pointing at-the ball! T H E B A L L ! ! !

(Dan steps forward and points commandingly up at the ball.) H E Y ! H O L D I T R I G H T T H E RE !

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(Lighting suddenly changes to a tight spotlight o n Dan. He drops his glove to the ground. We hear the sound of eerie, echoing, weirdly distorted piano notes. ) Up on on the giant video screen they're flashing tonight's Trivia Quiz:

(Text slide appears. ) Tu esday M ay 23, 1 9 8 9

Tuesday May 23rd, 1989. Do you remember? Ancient history! Before Hungary. Before Czechoslovakia. Before Poland, Berlin, Rumania, Bul­ garia, the Philippines. Tuesday, May 23rd, 1989.

(Image slide appears: M a s s ive c rowd of d e m o n strators i n Ti a n a n m e n (We hear sounds of the protest-chanting, cheering, singing.)

S q u a re.)

The Beijing students had been occupying Tiananmen Square for ten days since their hunger strike began, and they weren't budging. The govern­ ment had tried ordering them out, asking them out, threatening them out. Yet tens of thousands of them were holding fast.

(Image slide:

A yo u n g m a n gives t h e peace s i gn to a l i n e of yo u n g s o l d i e rs .)

But as the tension mounted, most of us had a pretty good idea of what was coming down the road. Yeah, we all know what happened . . .

(A slow, marching bolero begins faintly in the background. It builds quietly, heroically, under Dan's monologue.) Where were you that day-Tuesday May 23rd, 1989-when the news re­ port came out of Beij ing about a letter written by ex-generals of the Peo­ ples' Liberation Army and signed by hundreds of military officials? A let­ ter in open defiance of the government's "hard-liners." A letter stating that, "The Peoples' Army belongs to the people, and it must not stand against them . . .

(Image slide:

A C h i n e s e s o l d i e r fl a s h e s the peace s i g n .)

"The Peoples' Army will not shoot the people." Do you remember when you first heard that? I do.

(Image slide:

A truckload of h a p py, ch eeri n g students.)

All week long, friends had been telling me that, as they followed the news reports of the student protests-at times they would think of me. Be­ cause I'm Chinese . . . And what did I think about it all? Most of the time

S E C R ETS O F T H E SA M U RA I C E N T E R F I E L D E R

it was sort of hard for me to answer that. But on that day something in me rang loud and clear.

(Image slide:

The god d e s s of d e m ocracy stat u e .)

That day I was just arriving home from work with the car radio on when I heard the news report: "The Peoples' Army belongs to the people. We will not shoot the people." When I heard that, something erupted deep inside me . . . YES ! ! ! Oh, there is hope for this world! And Chinese people were showing the world!

(Image slide:

A p e n s ive yo u n g s o l d i e r s its i n t h e back of an army tru ck.)

Something about the truth in human beings. Something about love. Something about real power. Something I had almost forgotten I could feel. I screamed, "YE s ! " I screamed as if they could hear me seven thou­ sand miles away! I wanted them to know I was proud of the Chinese people. I wanted to thank them for reminding me what it feels like to have hope. I G O T I T ! ! ! I GOT I T ! ! !

(Music and slide cut out and Dan's euphoric high deflates-he grows somber and melancholy. A Japanese shakuhachi flute plays a slow, sad melody.) I've got this crust of despair wrapped around my heart. And it's made of layers and layers of disappointment and discouragement. From every time I ever tried to stand up and make a difference-and failed. From every time I ever tried to reach for peace-and got stepped on for it. For every time I was ever humiliated for feeling pain. And with no place to go where tears and rage could wash away that pain, that crust grew thicker and harder. I buried my pain and with it my hope. And I became numb.

(Silence.) "The Peoples' Army belongs to the people. We will not shoot the people." That crust buckled. Cracked. And " H O PE" came up gasping for air! Along with all the pain that lay buried with it . . . M I N E ! M I N E ! M I NE ! ! !

(Dan, semi-delirious, begins laughing cynically. He staggers downstage to home plate, bends to pick it up. He tucks it under his arm and backs away from the audience.) Oh yeah, I have a little bit of despair. Just a teeny tiny little bit! Yeah. I mean, hey-what can you do, y'know? What am I? I'm nothing! A

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crummy, insignificant little cipher against an overwhelming machinery of cold-blooded, murderous, global insanity! Hey, take this granite boul­ der apart with a toothpick, will ya?

(Suddenly Dan flips home plate over, revealing an image on the other side-the famous newswire photograph of a young Chinese man standing in front of a column of army tanks. Dan refers to the image as he speaks.) See this? This is a picture of something very special. This is a picture you probably remember. This is a picture for you to carry in your hearts. Here we have tank number one, tank number two, tank number three, number four, number five, six, seven, eight, nine, and ten. And here, way down in the corner (you can barely see this little guy) , we have one Chi­ nese student. "Tank." Soviet model T- 69, the updated version of the old T-54, featur­ ing improved armor plating for protection against attacks of reason and human intimacy; 105 millimeter cannon and 12.7 millimeter automatic machine gun, capable of blasting through the toughest cotton t-shirts; laser rangefinder and infrared searchlights for locating those elusive liv­ ing targets that move; top speed of 74 kilometers per hour and a gross weight of 36 tons, enough to catch and squash any non-Olympic bicycle riders. T H i s -is not power. This is the physical manifestation of terror and pain. Conceptualized, engineered, mass produced, and marketed as a profit-making product! Hah! "Student:'

(Image slide appears:

The student sta n d s a l o n e i n fro nt of a l l the tan ks.)

One young Chinese man. One person. As this long convoy of tanks was headed for Tiananmen Square just two days after the massacre, this lone student on Changan Avenue calmly stepped directly in their path, raised his hand, and stopped them all.

(Image slide:

Close- u p of t h e s a m e i m age.)

All 720 , 0 0 0 pounds of armor-plated steel. Stopped them dead in their tracks. He walked up to the lead tank and called out to the crew mem­ bers inside: "Why are you here? You have done nothing but create mis­ ery. My city is in chaos because of you!" He tried to reason with the sol­ diers to get them to turn around and leave.

(Image slide:

Eve n t i ghte r clos e u p of t h e s a m e i m age.)

S E C R ETS O F T H E SA M U RA I C E N T E R F I E L D E R

He tried to reach out to the humans inside the terror. That is real power. Look at it, let it burn into your brain so you never forget: T H I S-is real power!

(Image slide:

Extre m e close- u p of t h e l o n e stude nt.)

"I can do anything."

(Dan becomes the young boy who once chased an impossibly high fly ball.) " wATCH

ME

CATCH T H I S-! ! !

(A burst of machine gun fire erupts-Dan is blasted to the ground and the slide cuts to black. He lays motionless for a few awful moments. Suddenly he sits up.) You want a positive ending? You get to choose for yourself . . . (Rises to his feet.) Did they all die for nothing? Did that crust of despair around your heart grow another layer thicker? Did that bitter pain get shoved down into the cellar with all the rest? Did you fall another ten steps deeper into powerlessness? Then, yes-they died for nothing. But if the Chinese students at any time reminded you of how much hope, courage, and power are still alive somewhere in your heart, too-then they've done something no tank can crush. No bullets can destroy.

(Dan slowly goes over and picks up his glove, cradling it like a baby. He puts it on, then looks up into the sky at that elusive ball. He calls out-) HEY! ! ! I've been chasing you long enough.

(A real baseball drops down from above-Dan catches it. He slowly takes it from his glove, examining it like a precious gem. He brings it to his face, taking in its smell, his eyes closed in satisfaction. Slowly he extends his arm, holding the ball out towards the audience.) Take it. It's yours.

(He tosses the ball to an audience member and jogs offstage.)

45

Ta l es fro m T h e Fract u red Tao with M a ste r N i ce G u y (1991 )

(There are two large screens onstage: a six-foot-square shadow screen [black frame stretched with a white bed sheet} stands on the floor to the left; a four­ teen-foot-wide projection screen for slides is on the wall to the right. The stage is dark. We hear music-like a mystical calling from some ancient land, as a series of text slides are projected onto the upstage screen. Ta l e s Fro m The Fractu red Tao with M a ste r N i ce G uy

Slide of a photo collage. A s m i l i n g boy on a tricycle m e r r i l y c ra s h e s t h ro u g h a broken y i n -ya n g sym b o l .

Text slides and music fade out. We hear spare, haunting music, as if distant memories were slowly emerging from the haze. The shadow screen on the left is illuminated from behind. We see the silhouette of a seated couple-it's Dan with a crudely shaped, stuffed dummy on his lap. They act out the following voiceover.) (Dan's recorded voiceover with music underneath.) "I was playing on the living room floor one night. Mom and Dad were snuggled up together in one of our living room chairs. They were­ happy. I was three. Looking up from my toys, I saw them there, so warm

47

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and tender with each other-and immediately I knew just what to do. Clearly and carefully, I instructed them further: 'Mommy,' I said, 'You give Daddy a hug.' She did. (The two silhouettes hug.) 'Daddy, you give Mommy a kiss.' He did. (The silhouettes kiss.) I was pleased. They were pleased."

(Music and lights slowly fade out. We hear upbeat 1960s rock 'n' roll music, loud and lively. A text slide appears. ) " H av i n g a fa m i l y i s l i ke h avi n g a bowl i n g a l l ey i n sta l l e d i n yo u r b ra i n . " - M a rt i n M u l l

(Music and slide fade out.) (A tight spotlight comes on at center stage. Dan is seated at a card table wearing blue and white striped t-shirt, raggedy cutoffjeans, old-fashioned low­ top sneakers and a blue schoolboy cap. He is deeply engrossed in building a balsa wood model airplane. He holds it up, admiring his work.) Awright! Okay, that part's done. Now let's see . . . (Reading instructions. ) "Holding sub-assemblies A and B in position, carefully cement cross­ member struts into place, taking care to avoid any binding between control-rod linkage and bell crank." Okay.

(He attempts to follow the instructions but can't do it-he drops the part.) Oops.

(He tries more intently this time-and drops it again. Annoyed.) Shit. C'mon.

(He tries again-still can't do it. Increasingly irritated.) Damn it!

(Muttering angrily under his breath, he fails again. He's mad.) C'mon, you fucking piece of shit!

(He tries even harder, repeatedly failing, growing furiously agitated until finally-) G O D DA M M I T ! ! !

TA L E S F R O M T H E F R A C T U R E D TA O W I T H M A S T E R N I C E G U Y

49

(In a fit of rage he smashes the plane with his fist. A trembling moment as he calms down. He picks up the broken pieces, realizing what he's done. Lights fade to black. A sequence of text slides appear.) " M ay yo u r love gra nt t h e m w i n g s t o fly. M ay t h e m e m o ry of t h at l ove s o m e d ay g u i d e t h e m h o m e . " -An o n y m o u s " Ch i l d re n need m o d e l s m o re t h a n t h e y n e e d criti c s . " -J o s e p h J o u bert

(We hear music: a solo piano playing a gentle waltz for a carefree stroll down memory lane. A tight spotlight comes up far right. Dan stands at a micro­ phone. He narrates the following slide image sequence of old family snapshots with good-natured humor.) Dan's Live Narration

Slide Images

This was my first bicycle. It's still in pretty decent shape considering it's been in storage for the last few decades. For years, I begged and pleaded with my mother to have my own bike, and finally on my eighth birthday my wish came true. It was a modest, single-speed, coaster-brake model with a basket on the handlebars. Seen here in its glory days, my bicycle was a gleaming vehicle of liberation-and I rode that thing everywhere and anywhere. Learning to ride a bike was an important ritual in our neighborhood. It marked one's transition from pedestrian toddler to "mobile-kid -on-the-block."

A battered old red bicycle.

This picture was taken in front of our old house on 39th Street in central Los Angeles, where I first learned to ride a bike. My father Sam is in his mid­ twenties, my mother Momo thirty, Maria three and a half, and me fourteen months. My two younger sisters hadn't made the scene yet in 1956.

A happy young Kwong family in

Now, I know all these statistics because my mother always took care to write such facts on the back of EVERY snapshot ever taken of our young family.

Bike detail.

Old snapshot of bike when it was new.

the front yard.

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F R0 M I N N E R W0 R L D S T0 0 U T E R S P A C E

Copious and detailed documentation has been a long tradition in my gene pool-and with my mother's loving and obsessive devotion it was ele­ vated to new heights. Momo's college grad picture. Momo and siblings.

Momo with teenage girlfriends.

Momo in WW II Internment camp.

My mother was born and raised in Los Angeles-a "home-girl" all the way. The only daughter of immi­ grant Japanese parents, she and her two brothers were raised with the prototypical West Coast Japa­ nese American cultural influences: football, inari sushi, Glenn Miller, chicken teriyaki, 7-Up, neigh­ borhood dances, and American concentration camps-Oh, I mean, "relocation" camps. Excuse me.

(Music changes to classical Chinese.) Sam as a teenager in China.

Grandma and Grandpa's wedding.

G randpa wearing a neat suit.

A huge Lee family gathering.

Close-up of young Sam.

My father's upbringing was a bit more, uh, "exotic." Born in Canton, China, he was the third of seven children, the eldest son. As was the custom in those days, his parents were married by prior arrangement between the two families. Grandma was born and raised in Hong Kong to a wealthy owning-class family, while Grandpa was ac­ tually born in Los Angeles, growing up in the old Chinatown district now occupied by the downtown train station. He returned to Hong Kong to be married and start a family. However, by the time the youngest child was born Grandpa had returned to America, with Grandma and the family remaining in the Hong Kong region. During this period, my father often left his family to go stay with Grandma's father, Lee Sing Kwei, a successful Hong Kong businessman. In this formal family portrait, Lee Sing Kwei sits in the center flanked by five of his eight wives, their children, and their children's children. My father stands second from the right, center row, at about age ten.

TA L E S F R O M T H E F R A C T U R E D TA O W I T H M A S T E R N I C E G U Y

In such an enormous household, aunts and uncles were identified by number and according to their ranking within the polygamous system: Number Three Uncle, Number Seven Aunt (always a favorite) . Certainly a much wider selection of adult male role models could be found in an environment such as this . . .

51

Slide fades out.

(Music suddenly changes to melodramatic "danger" theme. Dan talks in fake Walter Cronkite-voice, as if narrating a WWII documentary.) "However, by that time the Japanese invasion of China was well underway. From Manchuria in the north, Japanese ground forces were advancing steadily through southern China, crushing all oppo­ sition in their path. Canton was the last major port city to fall to the Japanese, and with the ensuing Occupation came the separation and scattering of the Kwong family to various neighboring provinces. "The close of World War II saw a brief period of reunification for the family, although by that time plans for emigration were already taking shape. Again separated into small groups, the Kwongs even­ tually settled in San Francisco, leaving China shortly before the end of the Communist Revolution."

Japanese tanks in streets of a Chinese city. Japanese soldiers march through China. Occupied Canton harbor. Street battle scene.

Teenage Sam on ocean liner with three of his sisters.

(Dramatic music fades out, Dan goes back to normal speaking voice.) Uh-of course, my father being the family renegade, he soon splits for Los Angeles, where he would meet my mother working in an Asian import company. After a courtship period of a few months, the two decided to marry.

A grinning young man Sam on the streets of L.A. Slide fades to black.

(Music changes to a gentle Chinese flute melody.) Now, for a Chinese and a Japanese to marry each other at all has never been considered-kosher. And to do so just a few years after World War II was quite outrageous. I mean, we're talking about two different cultures

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with a long and often painful history of conflict, warring, oppression. Lots of negative energy. The end result being that Chinese and Japanese people have tended to mix like oil and water. Not surprisingly, my folks married without parental consent, dashing off to Las Vegas to get hitched. A very pregnant Momo.

Sam in army uniform.

Momo holding infant Maria.

Shortly thereafter Mom became pregnant with Maria. Dad was drafted into the Army and sent to Korea where he served as an interpreter for captured Chinese soldiers. During this time Maria was born-(fake Cronkite voice) "and the onslaught of loving documentation escalated further."

(Cool 1950s jazz music.) Soldier Sam aboard ship. Humorous portrait of the Kwong children. Another funny portrait. Five-year-old sister in a stiff pose.

After the war, Dad came back home and our family continued to grow. My father began to pursue a ca­ reer in photography, which meant we kids soon grew accustomed to numerous photo opportunities. For a while, I toyed with the idea of following in my father's footsteps. Here, youngest sister Poppy poses for some of my early character studies:

(In sleazy Hollywood-hipster voice. ) Poppy in another stiff pose. Another pose. Yet another.

Poppy's award certificate.

Didi's graduation photo. Her trophy. Another trophy.

''All right! Poppy-Gimme some action . . . Yeah! Beau­ tiful! I love it! Okay, now gimme some more relaxed, kinda mellow . . . Beautiful! Love it! Yeah, okay, now something introspective, kinda moody, you know . . . Beautiful! Love it! That's great! Love it! Yeah!" Later on, Poppy (whose real name is Barbara) was determined to be the bonafide "genius" amongst the Kwongs. According to those who test for such things . . . Hey, every Asian American family should have at least one. We, however, seemed to be some­ what overrepresented in the "genius" category. While Poppy kept on taking these 1 Q tests that put her in the top two percentile of the nation, middle sister Didi was doing things like winning the California state championship in "Latin Grammar." Two years m a row.

TA L E S F R O M T H E F R A C T U R E D TA O W I T H M A S T E R N I C E G U Y

By the time older sister Maria was in high school, she had given up looking at her report cards out of sheer boredom. They were like, all the same! I tell ya, it was enough to warm the heart of any overachieving Asian American parent. I myself was an outstanding rock-thrower, showing early promise in shoplifting. Now, I don't wanna give you the wrong impression about my sisters-they were far from "bookworms." In fact, we kids really knew how to have a good time. For example, here we are rehearsing one of my favorite scenes from Lord of the Flies.

Maria's graduation photo. Straight 'A' report card. Another one. Yet another. One more. Dan looking like a tough seven· year-old James Dean.

Dan and sisters clowning around.

Happy Kwong kids playing at Lake Tahoe.

(Dan speaks with fake British accents, portraying each child in photo.) (Didi) "I don't think we'll ever get off this island!" (Poppy) "Oh, buck up Piggy! I've got enough stored fat to live for weeks!" (Maria) "That's right! And if we all work together, we're sure to be rescued!" (Danny) "Who wants to join my tribe? We'll all wear checkered shorts, shave our heads, and listen to jazz records at the wrong speed! Bleuuughh! "

53

Slide fades to black.

Ah, but we were not only good at playing, we were trained to be fierce competitors as well. "All or nothing! Victory or shame! Perfection or death! " Your typical Asian American family value system. We were typical Ameri­ cans too-we celebrated many traditional holidays in many of the tradi­ tional ways: birthday cakes, Christmas trees, turkey dinners. English was the language of our household since my father spoke no Japanese and my mother no Chinese-although we kids did learn a few basic Japanese terms from Mom.

(Mimicking an annoyed, disgusted mother.) "Kitanai! " "Yakamashii!" "Abunai, yo ! " "Urusai!" Translated that means: "Dirty! " "Noisy! " "That's dangerous!" and "You're buggin' me." Very handy vocabulary for those impromptu luncheons with the Emperor and his wife:

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F R O M I N N E R W O R L D S T O O U T E R S PA C E

(As noble Emperor.) "Hai dozo, omeshi agarimasenka?" (As Dan, crudely.) " u G H ! K I T AN A I , Yo ! ! ! " (Makes farting sound. ) While I do regret not learning the language of my heritages as a child, I have always been deeply grateful for one thing: my parents believed in giving us generous exposure to all forms of culture. Our home grew to be filled with literature, art, and music. They regularly took us on outings to museums of natural history and fine art, places of natural beauty, hos­ pital emergency rooms-well, actually it was me they kept taking to the hospital. I seemed to have this knack for falling out of trees, down moun­ tains, and off of bicycles. Bicycles! The best thing about having my own bike was riding to and from elementary school. That three-quarters of a mile just zipped by! There were two basic routes between Micheltorena Street School and our house, with various sub-routes along the way. One particular day in the fourth grade, I chose to return home via Route "B." This one originated at the corner of Micheltorena Street and Sunset Boulevard-which also happened to be the location of the most fan-fucking-tastic candy store around: "Soo-Hoo's." It was really just a typical little neighborhood gro­ cery store except that Soo -Hoo, an elderly Hong Kong immigrant, kept his shelves stocked with an awesome variety of American and Chinese sweets and edibles. Every day after school dozens of kids would come swarming in like lemmings, wide-eyed and salivating. We'd all cram into the narrow space between the ice cream freezer and the cash box counter, squished shoulder to shoulder and yelling at Soo-Hoo to fill our orders. A junior version of the Chicago Board of Trade trading pit. But instead of screaming for hog bellies and soybean options, we waved and hollered for Milk Duds and Abba Zabbas.

"Hey Soo-Hoo! Gimme two red licorice and some beefjerky!" "Soo-Hoo! Five Bazooka bubble gums, a Good 'n' Plenty, and some salty mays!" "Hey Soo-Hoo! Gimme a dill pickle and two packs of dried shrimp!" Man, it was a fucking jungle in there. The meek never even made it in the front door. Soo-Hoo would stand behind the counter, orchestrating this manic scene with a certain annoyed resignation.

"Wha you wan? Hah ? Wha you wan? Pi cent! Fitty cent! Twenny fi cent!" Somehow I always managed to get what I wanted in there. This particu­ lar day being no different, I wormed my way out of the mob, tossed my

TA L E S F R O M T H E F R A C T U R E D TA O W I T H M A S T E R N I C E G U Y

sack of goodies into the bike basket, and pedaled out onto Sunset Boule­ vard, heading for home.

(Dan suddenly shifts off-microphone for a conspiratorial aside to the audience, a devilish gleam in his eyes.) Who knows why certain things happen when they do? Do you believe in "cause and effect"? Or do you go for "pre-destiny"? "Karmic return"? Or do you think things just happen? Anything bad ever happen to you? Any­ thing bad that was better than something worse? Anything you didn't understand but somehow you knew your life was changing in a deep and profound way? Ever been desperate? Enough? How did you get through it? What gets you by? Have you ever looked in the eyes of a child and wondered what was really going on in there?

(Lights black out. We hear weird outer space sound effects. Colored lights begin to flash all over stage. Then a woman's recorded voiceover like an airport announcement.) ''Attention, attention please. The Twilight Zone is for immediate loading and unloading of dilemmas only. No obsessing."

(Other women's voices repeat the announcement in Cantonese and Japanese. We hear a loud gong, and Dan comes stumbling onstage wearing the same t-shirt and cutoffjeans-except now they are ripped and tattered like some dis­ aster survivor. On the verge of hysteria, he falls to his knees, desperately im­ ploring to the heavens.) DAN: Oh, Master! Oh, Great and Powerful One of Divine Wisdom, In­ finite Compassion, and Brute Force-please hear the woeful tale of a boy in distress! Master, I need your help ! Please! Waaahhh! ! ! (etc.)

(Slide image appears of an old, white-haired, bearded man in a silver robe­ it's Dan wearing a cheap wig and fake beard, scowling fiercely. He speaks in a disdainful, pretentious voice like the Wizard of Oz.) M A S T E R N I C E GUY (Dan's recorded voice) : Silence! Little worm. Get up off your knees and address me with proper dignity and respect! Nothing sickens me more than to see such wretched groveling. Look at me, boy! Ugh. You disgust me, you little shit! Well then-(graciously) how can I help you? DAN: Oh, Master Nice Guy! Your O dious Omnipotence! Your Super­ Wonderfulness! I'm-I'm-I'M IN T R O U B LE ! ! ! ! Waaaaaahhhh! (Wild sobbing.)

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(voiceover) : E N O U G H ! Now, would you care to pro­ vide a little detail? Or am I supposed to read your scrambled little brain? Tell me, boy-what sort of "trouble"? MASTER N I C E GUY

(Dan slowly rises, composing himself He speaks in a pathetic little voice.) Well Master-it's my family. You see, we have much strife in our home. There is often a great unhappiness and a violent gnashing of teeth. My father, my mother, my sisters, mwaaaaaahhh! ! ! DAN:

(He falls apart again.) (voiceover): All right already, all right! Gawd. It is clear you are in no condition to provide the relevant facts necessary to handle your case. Very well then-I shall have to read your mind after all. Stand up boy! We will now begin the "Mongolian Mental Fax Procedure." Close your eyes and begin to breathe deeply. Relax. In a moment, your thoughts will begin to speak through me. (Joyfully) Here we go! MASTER N I C E GUY

(A large wok strainer lowers in on a string. Dan looks puzzled. We hear the fe­ male flight attendant's voice again. ) "Please pull the Mental Fax Headset toward you, place it on your crown chakra, and begin breathing normally."

(Dan follows instructions. We hear a burst of more weird space sound effects, and he begins jerking around spastically like a laboratory test animal hooked up to some nefarious device. Throughout the following slide sequence, images ofMA S TER NICE G UY create a crude animated effect as he reads Dan's mind.) M N G's Slide Images

Master Nice Guy Voiceover

Hand to chin, he muses.

''Ahhh! Mmmm! Ohhhhh! You live in one of those 'Model Minority' families! They don't have any problems, do they? Hahahahahaha!

He grins leeringly. Slide fades to black.

He's serious again.

He's impressed. A pleased smile.

(Dan gives him a dirty look.) Sorry, just a little humor. Oh, dear. I see. I seeeeee. Mm-hmm. Chinese father, Japanese mother-you're one of those hybrid types! Huh. No wonder things get a little confusing in your head! Oh. My, yes. Mm­ hm. Lots of yelling, lots of fighting, fighting, every­ body fighting! Mother, father, sisters-ah, and I see you're the only son! Lucky guy! Oh, but I see you are

TA L E S F R O M T H E F R A C T U R E D TA O W I T H M A S T E R N I C E G U Y

also primary punching bag for some frustrated but well-meaning adults-your parents. Hmm.

He looks concerned.

You do realize of course that they are doing the very best they can, given the available resources? That they themselves have experienced even harsher mis­ treatment at the hands of their parents? That they are doing their best to pass on as few of their hurts as possible? That they love you deeply, and the only thing that keeps them from being there for you are the areas where they themselves have been hurt and unable to heal yet? Listen, you think it's easy being a parent?! They have their own oppression to deal with, you know! I mean, it's only the most impor­ tant job in society to raise a new human being, and do they get any respect? ! ? N o o o o o ! ! ! Look kid, you didn't come with an owner's manual you know, and if you think you-!

A bit annoyed.

57

More annoyed.

Downright indignant.

Now he's pissed off.

He's snarling mad.

Slide cuts to black.

(Silence. Dan cowers as MA S TER NICE GUY regains his composure.) Sorry. Sorry, I get a little touchy around that one. (To himself) Knew I should've gone to that last sup­ port group meeting. Now-where were we? Ah, yes, "abused child." Oh. And not only that-no one must know about this pain! You must save face and not embarrass the family-it's a secret! Well, listen kid, I hate to tell ya this, but you blew that part as soon as you called on M A S T E R N I CE G U Y ! 'Cause I got a big mouth!!! Hahahaha! Any­ ways, you can't keep that stuff locked up inside you too long. It's bad for you, makes you crazy, gives you ulcers. That's old-country stuff, boy. You're an Amer­ ican Asian. Might as well take advantage of it . . .

Master N ice Guy reappears, contrite. Trying to look concerned. A look of surprised realization.

Laughing gleefully.

Gravely thoughtful. Slide fades out.

(Weird electronic s F x signals the end of the mind-reading session. Dan stag­ gers away from the wok strainer, drained of energy.) M A S T E R N I C E G U Y (voiceover) : Okay, I've seen enough. Upon reviewing the matter, I have decided to take your case. You definitely need some

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help. I shall assume an earthly form to come down there and see what I can do for your situation. D A N : Oh, Master Nice Guy! I knew I could count on you for help ! Oh, thank you! Thank you-thank you-thank you-thank you-thank you! ! !

(Slide of a n imperious MA S TER NICE GUY appears one last time just to shut him up.) (voiceover): S I L E N C E , B O Y ! Return to your world and your earthly matters. I shall be observing things incognito. This will be our final contact for now. You can leave messages on my machine. MASTER NICE GUY

(MA S TER NICE G UY vanishes, leaving behind an awestruck and grateful Dan.) (Flight attendant's voiceover.) "Please return the Mental Fax Headset to the location in front of you, where one of our attendants will pick it up. Thank you and have a pleas­ ant day." (Voice repeats in Cantonese and Japanese. The wok strainer is hoisted up into the heavens, and Dan scrambles offstage. We hear a loud gong, and lights come up, filling the stage with a warm, natural light. Dan enters, leisurely riding the same bicycle seen in earlier slides. He slowly circles around the stage as he tells the following story.) The late afternoon sun was dropping behind the hills along Sunset, throwing long shadows across the boulevard. As I leisurely bicycled homeward, my attention shifted back and forth between the surround­ ing traffic and that bag of candy in my basket. Yeah. Out of school for the day, a nice little sugar-fix in the bag, and cruising along on my trusty bike. No rush to get home. Nothing but more hell waiting for me there. It was getting worse every week. Something had to give. I didn't know what, but I was in no hurry. I pedalled along like this for several blocks, and I was just approaching the intersection of Sunset Boulevard and Westerly Avenue when it happened . . .

(Dan stops his bike, facing the audience.) Hey. Hey. One moment I was looking down at my bike basket-and when I looked up, everything was-different.

(We hear ominous, creepy, vocal sounds, getting louder and louder. A floor light comes on in front of Dan as he straddles his bike, casting a huge looming shadow onto the wall behind him. Dan's puzzlement slowly turns to fear.)

TA L E S F R O M T H E F R A C T U R E D TA O W I T H M A S T E R N I C E G U Y

Hey . . . What's going on? How come everything looks so far away? Cars, buildings, trees, even my bike basket-they all seemed to be behind this thick wall of glass, moving further and further away from me. What's happening? It looked like everything around me was fading away into the distance-or like I was sinking deeper and deeper into my own brain. I didn't know! What is this?! Something's wrong. I shook my head-it wouldn't go away! I wasn't dreaming! Hey!

(Dan slowly walks his bike backwards as he grows more and more terrified.) I began to panic inside! Everything was slipping away from me, out of reach, behind this glass! I looked at my hand-it was like someone else's! What happened? Why is this happening to me? Did I do this? Did I do something? What's wrong? !? What's happening? !? Hey! H E Y s o M E B O D Y ! SOMEBODY HELP! HELP ! ! !

(Dan freezes in mid-panic attack. Then, softly.) But who to help me? No. I called out to no one. No cry for help came from my lips. Every pulse of that terror lay tightly bound and muffled in my veins. No clues. No signs.

(He resumes riding in slow circles around stage, rigid with fear.) "Keep pedalling," I told myself. "Just keep pedalling. You'll make it home. Just keep going. You'll make it. Just keep going. You'll make it. Keep going. You'll make it. You'll make it."

(He stops his bike at center stage. He is in a brittle state, as if ready to crack apart at the seams.) By the time I got home, it went away. But from that day on it began to happen again and again, for longer periods of time. And by age ten I was convinced I was "mentally ill:' Funny, the things you get used to.

(Lights fade to black. We hear a pop love song from the 1960s, "Breaking Up Is Hard to Do." The shadow screen lights up. We see the silhouette of a man. He is ferociously screaming at an imaginary child-first gesturing threateningly, then spanking. Gradually the movements of the yelling, flailing man transform into those of a cringing, screaming child. Shadow screen fades to black as music continues. A text slide appears.) " S h ut up o r I ' l l rea l l y give yo u s o meth i n g to c ry a b o u t . " - Traditional offer

(Music and slide fade out. A slide appears.)

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Dan's Recorded Voiceover

Slide Image Snapshot of Dan as a young boy, lying in bed holding a teddy bear. A cartoon "thought balloon" floats above his head.

"Maria, Maria! Mom told me her and Dad are gonna get a divorce! What are we gonna do? This is bad, this is really bad! There must be something we can do! I don't want them to get a divorce! I want our family to stay together! I want our family . . ."

(Slide fades to black, and lights come up onstage. Dan saunters out from be­ hind the shadow screen.) No way I ever would've said anything that lame to my older sister. Totally uncool. Besides, I knew better than to let my family know I cared. I mean, that's how you get hurt-and I'd had my fill of it, thank you. But in my gut, that's exactly how I felt. I knew I had to do something. By the time I got word of the impending divorce, my father had already moved out of the house and was rapidly becoming history. My mother now had the monumental task of raising four young children single­ handedly and working full-time. So one day when she was at work I crept into her bedroom unnoticed by my sisters. Taking a scrap of paper from the wastebasket, I carefully cut it into a dozen little pieces, each about the size of a fortune cookie paper. And on each piece I wrote my subliminal message, one that I was sure would make the crucial difference. On each piece I wrote: "Don't get a di­ vorce." I then hid them all over her bedroom! Under the pillow, inside her shoes, by the lamp, in the desk-everywhere! So that no matter where she turned or what she was doing in that room she would repeatedly find my message staring her in the face.

(We hear Dan's booming voiceover, as if echoing in one's brain.) "D o N' T GET A D I VORCE ! D I VO R C E ! "

D ON'T GET A DIVORCE!

D O N'T GET A

What a brilliant idea! And so discreet. Surely it would make a difference once my mother found out how much I cared about our family-fucked up though it was at times. And surely my parents' hearts would open up and surrender to love once they found out what was inside mine. (Sigh.) I was confident I had saved the family.

(Dan stands proudly, looking deeply satisfied. Suddenly we hear an irate woman's voice.)

TA L E S F R O M T H E F R A C T U R E D TA O W I T H M A S T E R N I C E G U Y

" W H AT I S T H I S? !? D I D Y O U D O T H I S? H U H? T E L L M E , D I D YO U D O T H I S? D O N ' T Y O U E V E R L E T M E F I N D T H I S S T U P I D K I N D O F N O T E H E R E A G A I N ! I H AV E E N O U G H T O D E A L W I T H W I T H O U T T H I S , Y O U K N O W ! Y O U G O P I C K U P A L L T H O S E P I E C E S O F PA P E R I N T H E RE A N D S TAY O U T O F MY R O O M ! "

(We hear a gong-dozens of little pieces of paper come fluttering down on Dan's head, a frozen smile on his face. Lights fade to black. We hear a Japanese flute playing a slow, mournful melody. A corridor of light appears, crossing the stage from left to right. Dan slowly walks along the narrow shaft of light as a series of text slides is projected above his head, one at a time.) It was t h e n i nt h i n n i ng. I was p itch i n g fo r my fi rst tea m , t h e H o l lywood Dodge rs. We needed th ree q u i c k outs. Dad was in t h e sta n d s watch i n g. I th rew th ree stra i g h t " b a l l s " to t h e fi rst batte r. Th i n gs d i d n ot look goo d . Dad ca l l ed o u t t o m e , j u st l o u d e n o u gh t o h e a r: "C' m o n D a n ny. " I struck o u t t h e fi rst batte r with th ree p itch e s . I struck o u t t h e next batte r-th ree p itch e s . A n d t h e n ext-th ree p itch e s . We d rove h o m e i n s i l e nce. As I was gett i n g out of the car, h e tu rned and p ro u d ly s a i d , "That w a s s o m e fa ntastic p itch i n g."

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M y fat h e r d rove away. And I t h o u ght my h e a rt wo u l d b u rst fro m joy o r l o n e l i n e s s .

(Music and lights slowly fade out. Stage lights up. We hear traffic sound effects. A s TAGEHAND enters with broom and begins sweeping up little pieces ofpaper from previous scene. MA S TER NICE GUY [Dan in costume] comes driving on­ stage in a child's pedal car. He is pissed off. He yells at S TAGEHAND for getting in his way; cursing, muttering, grumbling, etc. A phone rings. MA S TER NICE G UY stops and answers his cellular phone, snarling into it.) "Hello, Mobile Earth Unit One, Master Nice Guy here. Oh. It's you. Lis­ ten, I've been driving around this planet for days-I CANNOT F I N D T H I S s o y ' s H O U S E ! Just how the hell am I supposed to file a field report when you people in the office give me fucked up directions like this?!? Shit! I hate being lost . . . O F C O U R S E I WROTE I T D OW N ! You think I don't know how to take directions? Idiot!"

(He hangs up phone and drives offstage in a huff. Lights fade to black. A se­ quence of text slides appear with music.) " I n the Vo i d i s v i rt u e , a n d no evi l . W i s d o m h a s existence, Pri n c i p l e has existence, the Way has existence, -s p i rit is n oth i n g n e s s . " -Musashi Miya moto

" Ki d s do t h e d a rnedest t h i n gs . " -Master Nice Guy

(Slide and music fade out. We faintly hear "God Bless America" in the back­ ground as lights slowly come up. Dan wearily enters, carrying a short stool under his arm. He speaks in woeful resignation.) I tried. I tried. I tried soooo hard. I just was not-a "good boy." (Sets down stool.) I got good enough grades in school. I was a "B" student­ and for an Asian American, that meant you were a failure with potential! But the competition for "goodness" was tough. I mean, you had guys like Dale Minami, Frank Lee, Marty Amimoto-Michael Fukumoto ! Man, they were so good. In every way. They were straight ''1\.' students. They

TA L E S F R O M T H E F R A C T U R E D TA O W I T H M A S T E R N I C E G U Y

were popular, well-respected, trustworthy, responsible boys. Yeah. Re­ sponsible. You could trust them. To follow the rules. The prescribed path. The way of the world. (Music fades out.) Me? I knew a lot. I knew I was "bad". Yeah, I knew I was a troublemaker. I knew I was a liar, a cheat, a thief, a mean, sick, disappointing boy. I knew about domestic violence, I knew about divorce-I knew about all this by the fourth grade. Knew it from my teachers, knew it from my family, I knew it from the boys who met my fists. Yeah, I knew a lot. But never did I stop trying. Never did I stop reaching out for acceptance. For redemption. For some way to prove to the world-and myself-that I was good. That I was not my pain. It's a little hard to articulate that when you're nine years old, so I did the next best thing. From the fourth grade on, just after the divorce, I began to develop a voracious appetite for lead­ ership and responsibility at school. I regularly volunteered to play auto­ harp for our daily songs of patriotism- "From the Halls of Monte-zuuu­ uma!" I became Class Vice-President in the fourth grade. I was Honorary Battalion Fire Chief in the fifth grade. And finally, in the sixth grade, at the pinnacle of my elementary school career, I was chosen to be "Official Flag Monitor" ! Now, Flag Monitor was not your run of the mill, rinky-dink student job like "Pencil Sharpener Monitor." No way. Flag Monitor had real respon­ sibility-and, as I was to later discover, real opportunity. First of all, you got your flags: United States Stars and Stripes and the California Golden Bear. U.S. goes up here, California down here. Here's the first thing they teach you: " T H E A M E R I C A N F L A G M U S T NEVER T O U C H T H E G R O U N D / NEVER !" If that happens, that flag has been dis­ graced. Sullied. Defiled. And if that happens you are supposed to destroy that flag. To like, put it out of its misery. And you know how? You are sup­ posed to burn it! Swear to god, that was the official protocol. As if some kind of holy magical vibe was invested in this musty-smelling piece of linen, and boy you better watch out! This is a symbol. And you're touch­ ing it! So don't fuck it up. Every morning I'd bicycle to school, arriving a half hour early, sacrificing a precious thirty minutes of my sleep to do my job. I'd go into the prin­ cipal's office, walk up to the secretary's desk, hold out my hand and say, "Mrs. Yee, can I have the keys?" Mrs. Yee would reach into her desk drawer, pull out an enormous wad of keys and hand them over without a word.

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(Dan reenacts the following scenario a t frantic high speed.) First: I'd run upstairs to Room n; unlock the door; open the window; and lower down the ropes. Then I'd run back downstairs; unlock the spe­ cial closet; take out the neatly folded flags in their triangular bundles and run outside to the flag pole in front of the school. There I'd carefully fas­ ten each flag to its appropriate snap hooks on the rope and hoist them up to the top, where they'd unfurl magnificently in the smog. Then I'd go back inside; lock the closet; run upstairs to Room u; close the window; lock the door; run back downstairs and return the keys to Mrs. Yee. At the end of the day, I'd repeat the entire process in reverse.

(He briefly begins to reenact in reverse but stumbles to a stop. He dolefully continues.) Well, after several months of doing this job, it began to lose some of its initial thrill. I started to get pretty casual about it. I'd arrive at school maybe fifteen minutes early instead of thirty. Couple times I accidentally put up the flags upside-down. And more than once they did touch the ground! Big deal.

(With sudden purpose, he turns to the audience.) I'll tell you what was a big deal in elementary

school-B E I N G A B O Y

This was a big deal for two reasons. Reason number one: the toilet stalls in every boys' bathroom had no doors on them. No doors on the toilet stalls meant, if you dared to drop your drawers and sit down to evacuate your bowels, you could plan on having an eager audience of laughing, jeering boys gathered before you in your most vulnerable position and taunting you without mercy. A N D WA N T I N G T O E L I M I NAT E S O L I D WA S T E F R O M T H E B O D Y.

(Dan becomes viciously obnoxious, pointing at his imaginary victim.) " H E Y G U Y S , c ' M ' E R E , L O O K ! B I L LY ' s G O T H I S PA N T S D O W N ! H E ' s TA K I N G A S H I T ! H A H A H A H A H A H A H A ! ! ! "

Reason number two: institutional toilet paper-as many of you know­ is fabricated primarily with economy in mind, not efficiency. We had these ridiculously little squares of slick waxlike paper. Came out of a dis­ penser one at a time. (Demonstrates.) Took about twenty of 'em before your hand felt safe. And mainly this paper served to smear the fecal mat­ ter around-rather than actually wipe it off. (Looks at his hand with dis­ gust.) None of the guys would be caught dead taking a shit at school.

TA L E S F R O M T H E F R A C T U R E D TA O W I T H M A S T E R N I C E G U Y

(Proudly, verging on pomposity.) I, however, came up with a brilliant so­ lution to this problem! One which would ultimately serve to align me with certain cosmic principles of the universe, shaping my destiny to this very day. (He runs over to the stool and sits down.) I was sitting in class one afternoon. We had just come in from PE, and now we were getting down with some arithmetic. The air was hot and smoggy as usual, and after playing out on the schoolyard my lungs burned whenever I breathed deeply. I fidgeted uneasily in my chair. Then, it came"Oh . . ." My lower intestines shifted, and suddenly there came a familiar tugging sensation at my sphincter: "I gotta go-bad!" I tried to make it go away-(He makes a tortured face.) No use! "Damn! This never happens to me! I always have such good control! What am I going to do? I gotta go, I gotta go! "

(He is desperate, near panic.) Oh, the thought of pulling my pants down in those smelly, doorless stalls with their stupid little squares of wax paper repulsed me! No way would I submit myself to that indignity! "Ohhh, I gotta go ! " My little brain raced feverishly for an answer . . . "r G O T r T ! ! ! The auditorium!" I remembered there was a toilet backstage in the auditorium-where I could have complete privacy! And real toilet paper. And I, the Official Flag Monitor, knew just how to get in there.

(He raises his hand to get the teacher's attention.) "Um-1 have to go to the bathroom."

(He jumps up and begins stiffly pacing back and forth, trying not to shit in his pants.) I went straight down to the principal's office, and in my most casual, nonchalant, Flag Monitor voice said, "Can I have the keys please?"

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(He grabs an imaginary fistful of keys and continues his urgent journey, leav­ ing the stage and heading for the exit of the theater. A spotlight follows him down the aisle as he speaks.) I marched out of there down the hallway to the auditorium, clutching that huge bunch of keys in my hand-keys that gave me access to any­ where in the school! At the double doors of the auditorium, I fumbled nervously, trying key after key in the lock, praying that no teachers would come into view. Finally- "click"-the doors opened! And I was inside! Quickly I closed the doors behind me-KA - CH UNG!

(The entire theater goes dead black.) -and found myself in complete blackness! No lights! I stumbled down the aisle, groping along the drapes until I reached the backstage area.

(Dan clumsily makes his way back to the stage in the dark.) There I switched on a light (tight spotlight up on Dan), found the toilet, and sat down for a peaceful, meditative dump. (Squats on imaginary toilet.) Unnghhh! (Tense grunting, straining sounds as if he were in labor-then sudden, blessed release.) Oh god . . . being Flag Monitor was never more gratifying.

(His eyes widen as he sees something. He reaches out and unwinds a huge amount of imaginary toilet paper, wipes, flushes. We hear sound effects of flushing. He continues to stare at the toilet. He reaches out and flushes it again. He turns to leave.) Whew. I was pleased and relieved. I was just about to leave the backstage area when out of nowhere I heard a voice. Inside my head. It said:

(We hear a low, booming voiceover. ) " D A N NY. D O Y O U K N O W W H E R E Y O U A R E ? "

(Dan is puzzled.) Yeah, I'm in the auditorium. So wha(Voiceover.) " n A N NY. L O O K A R O U N D YO U . W H AT D O Y O U S E E ? "

(Still puzzled, he looks around in the darkness.) What? It's an empty auditorium! There's nobody here. I'm all-alone. In the auditorium . . . (It slowly dawns on him.) And nobody knows I'm here.

TA L E S F R O M T H E F R A C T U R E D TA O W I T H M A S T E R N I C E G U Y

(The toilet light goes out and a tight spotlight comes up center stage. Dan rushes over to it and begins his "disclaimer of innocence.") Now, as I said before, I tried to be good. Really, I did! Whatever I thought people expected of me-whether or not I truly believed in it, whether it seemed to be in my best interests or not-I tried like hell to measure up ! I tried not to think those thoughts, I tried not to feel those feelings, I tried to do it their way, I T R I E D ! ! !

(A beat. He takes on a regal, noble bearing, like some Shakespearean actor.) But there comes a time when all that is cast aside. When all striving and struggling to reconcile the perpetual conflict between indomitable hu­ man spirit and social convention-simply become too much. One can only bear so much pressure before the sphincter of the soul must be re­ leased, the useless stool of social conformity flushed into oblivion, and all desire for worldly acceptance is wiped away like so much ca-ca! Un­ leashing the triumphant spirit within-the one that longs to soar with eagles! To call out its love song to mountains and valleys! To dance care­ free through fields of golden poppies!

(He pauses-a decisive moment of truth. He turns away and stalks upstage with fierce determination.) I went over to the lighting panel-switched on all the stage lights­ (lights up) and walked out in front of those velvet curtains. Stage left. I then proceeded to take off all my clothes (begins to strip) until I was as naked as a prepubescent jaybird!

(He takes off his hat, t-shirt, and shoes, finally dropping his shorts to reveal­ a flesh-colored jockstrap with a cloth prepubescent penis and scrotum sewn onto the pouch. With utmost dignity, he crosses the stage.) I paraded in front of the empty 300-seat auditorium as if I owned it!

(He demonstrates the following sequence with total abandon and delight.) Running over to the curtains I wrapped myself up in them, cool velvet caressing my skin! I danced fake ballet across the stage, enraptured by the cool auditorium air rushing past my naked limbs! (Leaving the stage.) I ran up and down the aisles, arms waving, as if somehow this uninhibited ecstasy might free me from gravity itself!

(He becomes dignified and sophisticated and approaches the front row.)

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I strolled casually over to the front row of seats (to audience member) and sat down- (in his/her lap) as if it were the most natural way in the world to visit theater! (Springing to his feet.) And finally, in what seemed to me the ultimate act of Emancipation Proclamation, I confronted-the piano.

(Enter PIANO-a square card table draped with a black vinyl plastic covering, cartoonishly painted to look like a piano. It scuttles out to center stage via stage­ hand hidden underneath. Like a lion on the hunt, Dan leaps back onstage. He slowly approaches the PIANO as if stalking his prey. There's no turning back for this boy.) Oh, that huge, magnificent, gleaming black grand piano that sat regally ensconced in the orchestra pit! Ooooh . . . Dragging myself onto its top, I sprawled my hot, naked, young body across it, rolling in sensual delirium.

(Dan climbs on the PIANo-lights crossfade to a dark green spotlight. We hear a wild, passionate piano solo. To the music, Dan flops around like a frantic, or­ gasmic, dying fish atop the PIANO. The song ends, and he goes limp. Lights slowly come back on as Dan recovers and rolls over on his belly, ''post-coital.") And then, I was done.

(He leaps off PIANO and quickly gets dressed, terrified of being discovered. ) I killed the stagelights and stumbled out of the auditorium, into the glare of afternoon.

(He dashes offstage. Lights change to a tight center spot. Dan sheepishly re­ enters. He speaks conspiratorially to audience.) Over the course of my last year at Micheltorena Street School, I contin­ ued to make these clandestine forays into the auditorium. Not often, mind you. No, that would have been-inappropriate. This was no mere exercise in defiance or "experimental children's theater." No. This was my self-created ritual of passage. One which indelibly marked my path in life-a path which followed no path. Which was neither inside nor out­ side; which understood nothing yet knew everything. Which separated me from the world and in return gave me-the universe.

(Lights slowly fade to black. Two text slides appear in sequence.) " B etwee n w h at i s seen a n d what i s u n seen­ t h e re i n l i es t h e d e l i ghtfu l puzzle of w h o yo u a re to m e . " -A nonym ous

TA L E S F R O M T H E F R A C T U R E D TA O W I T H M A S T E R N I C E G U Y

" M a n rises out of t h e d a r k n e s s , l a u g h s i n t h e gl i m m e ri n g l i g ht, a n d d i s a p pe a rs . " -Lao Tzu

(Music and slide fade out. We hear the sound of cars whizzing by on the highway. Three slides ofL.A. city map details are projected, showing Dan's route from el­ ementary school to home. A tight blue downspot reveals MA S TER NICE G UY standing by his toy car, flipping through a Thomas Brothers map book-the Angeleno's bible of navigation. He is hopelessly lost. Music, slides, and lights fade out. We hear the gentle opening notes of "Amazing Grace" on a clarinet. Two text slides appear in sequence.) "Yo u may a s k yo u rs e l f, 'We l l-how d i d I get h e re ? "' -Da vid Byrne

"Th e re i n o u r s i l e n ce, betwee n fat h e r a n d son­ A h i story of As i a n m e n . "

(Slides and music fade out. We hear the sound of cars in a busy parking lot. A text slide.) TO M YS E L F J u ly 1 9 8 1

(Slide fades out. Lights come up, bathing the stage in a dreamy blue light. We see Dan sitting in the child's pedal car, his back to audience. He reenacts the fol­ lowing scene.) (Dan's recorded voiceover.) "Traffic is heavy in the parking lot of Savon Drugstore, and I'm ready to back my car out of the parking space. Just then a large grey sedan whips up behind me, poised to take my space. I stop. He's blocking the way-I can't get out. At the same time, the driver is really pissed off. He's impa­ tient, and he wants my space now. He starts honking and yelling angrily out his window at me: 'C'mon goddammit! Hurry up and get the hell outta the way!' I cringe at the sound of that angry voice-an old reflex of terror jerks through my body, and suddenly I feel as if on eggshells. I know that voice. From long ago . . . I knowDad! It's Dad! Hal He doesn't recognize me! He thinks it's just some dorky stranger! Wait'll he-(Voice grows cold.) No. No, he does know it's me . . . He's yelling at me like that-his own son! His grown son . . . "

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(Something comes over Dan-a lifetime of being fearful of his father's wrath is finally overwhelmed by outrage. Blood boiling, Dan leaps out of the car and turns to face his imaginary father.) P U C K YO U , M A N ! D O N ' T Y O U T A L K T O M E L I KE T H AT ! I ' M N O T YO U R L I T T L E B O Y A NY M O R E ! Y O U S H U T Y O U R F U C K I N G F A C E A N D B A C K O F F, A S S H O L E ! ! !

(An alarm clock rings. Lights cut to a dark red spotlight on Dan as he spirals down to the ground. In a daze, he stares wide-eyed into the darkness.) (Dan's voiceover.) "Drenched in sweat, I woke up." (Lights fade to black. Text slides appear in sequence.) " M y fat h e r was fri ghte ned of h i s fat h e r, I was frightened of my fat h e r, a n d I am d a m n e d we l l go i n g to see to it t h at my ch i l d re n a re fri g htened of m e . " - King George V

"Th u n d e r a n d Ra i n a rrive with the i m a ge of D e l ivera nce. Th u s the S u pe r i o r Act i o n Pard o n s m i stakes a n d fo rgive s m i s deed s . " -Lao Nai-hsuan

(We hear the sound of a distant thunderstorm. It gradually builds in intensity throughout the next story. The narrow corridor of light appears again, crossing the stage from left to right. A text slide.) At age 1 9 I left h o m e fo r t h e fi rst t i m e a n d m oved t o C h i cago t o atte n d a rt s c h oo l .

(Slide fades out, and Dan runs across the stage i n the corridor of light from left to right, disappearing into the wings offstage. A series of text slides appear in sequence.) (Slide.)

N ot l o n g after arrivi n g , I rece ived a p h o n e ca l l o n e n i ght.

(Slide.)

I t was my fat h e r.

(Slide.)

We exc h a n ged t h e u s u a l :

(Dan's voice, offstage.) How's school? How's work?

TA L E S F R O M T H E F R A C T U R E D TA O W I T H M A S T E R N I C E G U Y

(Slide.)

Fine. Fi ne.

(Dan runs across stage from right to left and disappears offstage.) (Slide.)

Afte r a wh i l e he c l e a red h i s th roat a n d s a i d ,

(Dan.) Well, the reason I called is because I just wanted to tell you(Slide.)

H i s voice fa lte red .

(Dan.) I just wanted to tell you(Slide.)

T h e re we re tears com i n g u p i n h i s wo rd s .

(Dan.) I just wanted to tell you-I'm sorry. (Dan runs across stage from left to right and disappears offs tage.) (Slide.)

H e bega n to c ry, re peati n g t h o s e word s :

(Dan.) I'm sorry. (Slide.)

T h ey s p o ke fo r m a n y ye a r s .

(Dan.) I'm sorry. (Slide.)

I h a d n ever h e a rd my fat h e r cry a n d t h o u ght I s h o u l d get h i m to sto p .

(Dan runs across stage from right to left, disappears. ) (Slide.)

So I kept re peati n g to h i m ,

(Dan.) It's okay, Dad. It's okay. (Slide.)

B ut he we nt o n a s i f h e h a d t o fi n i s h e m ptyi n g h i s h e a rt.

(Slide.)

Befo re we h u n g u p we to l d each oth e r,

(Dan starts to run across the stage-but stops at center.) (Dan.) I love you. (Slide.)

Th i s was n ot typ i c a l p h o n e ta l k fo r u s .

(Dan slowly walks offstage, disappearing into the wings.) (Slide.)

Afte rwa rd s I went to my bed roo m

(Slide.)

And I cried fo r the fi rst t i m e i n e i ght yea r s .

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(Slide.)

I cried l i ke a you n g c h i l d w h o s e b roken h e a rt h a s fi n a l ly b e e n s ee n .

(The thunderstorm cracks open, and we hear the sound of a heavy downpour. Lights fade to black with final slide. Thunderstorm fades out. We hear a heav­ enly vibraphone arpeggio, shimmering like sunlit leaves fluttering in a soft breeze. Two text slides appear.) "There i s a sacred n e s s i n tea r s . They a re n ot t h e m a r k o f wea k n e s s , but of powe r. They s pe a k m o re e l o q u e ntly t h a n ten t h o u s a n d tong u e s . " - Washington Irving

"Wh at i s th i s l ove t h at so e n d u re s ? G iv i n g voice t o w i s d o m a n d beauty, L i ke t h e a n cient Seq u o i a tree Beari n g witn e s s to o u r p a s s a ge . "

(Slide and music fade out. We hear Satie's "Trois Gymnopedie:' A text slide appears.) "To My Fat h e r"

(Slide fades out, and the shadow screen light comes up. We see Dan's silhouette. He begins slow, graceful, tai chi movements. We hear a very young child's voice reciting the following poem, the music underneath the dialogue.) "To My Father May the sun shine in his heart. May the stars smile in his eyes. May rabbits sleep in his bed. May his clothes glow in the air­ like a bee wandering for honey; like a butterfly going up and down a tuxedo of black and white. May his mustache crawl up his chair. May his hair melt like ice cream:'

(The child hiccups and breaks into uncontrollable giggling. Dan's silhouette gently finishes the tai chi movements as lights, music, and giggling slowly fade out.)

Co m m e nta ry: �� cente ri n g "

Since childhood, Dan Kwong has been madly in love with baseball. His fa­ ther took him out to catch batted balls when he was six years old, and, a dedicated athlete, Dan has played ball ever since. He joined the Li'l Tokio Giants in 1971, when he was a junior in high school, and he recently began his fourth decade with the team. The Giants were founded in 1954 as part of the Nisei Athletic Union (NAU), an organized Japanese American sports league in California. Throughout his life, Kwong has exhibited a deeply felt desire to be a member of groups (or teams or communities) without sacri­ ficing his hard-won individualism. The dynamic connections between the two-on the one hand, an awareness of the individual's contribution to the group's overall achievement; and, on the other, the need for an individual not to be marked solely through group identification-are central motifs firmly grounded in his personal life and artistic output. The baseball diamond is the setting for Kwong's first solo piece, Secrets of The Samurai Centerfielder (1989 ). Within this familiar space, a kind of second home that he occupies seemingly effortlessly, Kwong takes the audience on a transformative journey through his life-a panorama that incorporates his ancestry, his youthful adventures, and the outer worlds beyond himself. The performer has secrets to tell, and he wants us to know them. For him to re­ veal secrets is a crucial step toward self-knowledge; in turn, the audience gets to know him more intimately, which is also his wish. But to feel comfortable releasing secrets he must be in a "center" position, as close as possible to the exact location of insight that resides at the heart of a story, at the soul of a history. In order to accomplish this, Kwong places himself on a baseball field, ready to play the defensive position of center fielder-the position between 73

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home plate and the home run wall, between the batter and the spectator. He is the mediator, the one at the center of it all, the one who can see, hear, and feel everything. The performer soon realizes that the central position can be a deceiving one. While it reveals insights, it also demonstrates that many centers coexist at any given moment. Stories overlap, histories collide, identities blur-no one story can capture it all. For there is no "all," after all. The best one can do is to tell his or her own story, to experience-however briefly-the cen­ trality of that phenomenon and be aware, ever so vigilantly, that multiple stories with their fluid foci coexist alongside one's own. In the United States, the floating centers that characterize one's multiple stories, and those of others, are among the most vivid manifestations of a living democracy. A pertinent, repeated secret, or center, critical to Dan Kwong and his budding self-consciousness is his pleasure and dismay at what it means to be a boy and then a man in the United States. At the age of nine, he became the unofficial head of a household after his father divorced his mother and left Dan with his mother and three sisters in central Los Angeles. Dan's nar­ rative in Secrets of The Samurai Centerfielder begins with the variety of every­ day activities that he shared with his sisters. In his world, sewing, cooking, and playing with dolls were not considered emasculating activities. Indeed, it was as common for him to engage in them as it was for him to play base­ ball. But Secrets of The Samurai Centerfielder is not a play about the women in his life. While they contribute to the composite picture, in this perform­ ance they are far from its center. In his first solo, Kwong is compelled to speak about men-especially the dreams he shares with many men, juxta­ posed with the marginalization that he and his ancestors have experienced within white-dominated social and cultural institutions. In revealing ways, Secrets of The Samurai Centerfielder provides a gener­ ational portrait of some of the males who have affected Kwong. Whereas his Chinese American father put a baseball mitt and ball in his hands, men other than his father are the source of his inspiration and storytelling. These boys and men evoke strong memories in the artist. As a teenager, he was in awe of Scott Miller, his high school buddy, soon to be a college ballplayer. He idolizes Los Angeles Dodgers greats Sandy Koufax and Willie Davis, whom he faithfully follows at Dodger Stadium. He even imagines his own "field of dreams" in a dream in which all the ballplayers and the roaring crowd are Asians. Shifting perspective, Kwong relishes thoughts about Manjiro Nakahama, the first Japanese to settle in the United States in 1843; he speaks admiringly of his great-grandfather, Kwong Fun Kwong; and he memorializes Vincent

C O M M E N TA R Y

Chin, the Asian American who was brutally murdered in 1982. From within his immediate family, the solo performer weaves an elaborate historical ac­ count of his grandfather, Kiro Nagana-his mother's father-a prominent Japanese American community leader in Los Angeles and a recognized ath­ lete in his own right as a titleholder in judo. It is Kiro Nagano who becomes the lens through which the artist confronts the complexities of what it means to be Asian American in the United States. Kwong has placed his war­ rior "samurai"-in some ways, his Kiro Nagana-inspired alter ego-in the center field of his performance/text. The history of Asians in America is forever marked by the internment of Japanese Americans in western states soon after the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor and the United States' subsequent declaration of war against Japan. Kwong's grandfather, despite his widely recognized contributions as a highly respected citizen, was among the thousands of Japanese to be interned and was held prisoner against his will for over four years. The existence of these Japanese American concentration camps is one of the most horrific epi­ sodes in America's history. As a secret now made public, it is a raw, open wound on both Dan Kwong's marked (ancestral) body and the body of the United States. Importantly, Kwong's first solo performance moves from his desired identification with the all American male persona as mythic cultural "hero" to his recollection of racist America's injustice to his family and racial community-captured through the artist's focus on an older Japanese American man. Using a dramaturgical feature that is not practiced by many other solo performers, Dan's narrative reaches from the past of his grandfather into the immediate present of the day's headlines, extending the borders of his story beyond the personal, local, and national to the global. Fashioning a politics that roots racism in inhumane institutional structures that work to­ ward obliterating difference by forcing assimilation, Kwong heightens and complicates Kiro Nagano's story of interracial injustice by complementing it with an account of one of recent history's most vivid incidents of in­ traracial combat-the moments when a lone Chinese student faced a flank of Chinese military tanks in 1989 during the pro-democracy demonstra­ tions in Beijing's Tiananmen Square. This action is destined to remain for many in the United States one of the indelible images from the twentieth century, capturing the formidable axis of authoritarian power in confronta­ tion with the individual will to pursue freedom. The inherent courage, elemental horror, and sheer might of this real event are a source of potent analogy for Kwong. No one-not Kiro Nagano, Vin­ cent Chin, the Beijing student, Dan Kwong, or the spectator-ever escapes

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confrontation with forces that are determined to crush one's spirit, one's hope, one's visions of a harmonious life among others. This insight does not obliterate race in racist America. Nor does it minimize the immensely pow­ erful political hold that communism maintains over China. Rather, it serves as a transformative agent-a link between narrative and image of past and present-through which one imagines how to "reach out to the human in­ side the terror" in order to come closer to manifesting one's own soulfulness and to understanding the depth of one's connection to communities outside the self. For Kwong, performance is a process of "centering" (or locating or positioning) his stories and images within a history that is constantly un­ earthed and under revision as connections are made, unmade, remade, and solidified, only to unravel again as time passes and the process begins anew. Kwong asks spectators to witness a rise in the consciousness of the protago­ nist and thereby couple their judgment with compassion in order to see the links between the personal and the political: to understand how the individ­ ual bears some responsibility to the members of the various communities of which he or she is a part-not least of which is the human community. Baseballs-real, imaginary, metaphoric, and symbolic-abound in Se­ crets of The Samurai Centerfielder. At the end of the performance, Kwong hands a baseball, a single "perfect . . . little white globe;' to the audience. He does so, anticipating that through his storytelling he has generated some catharsis, some knowledge, some vital links between this Chinese Japanese American boy/man and his spectator by expressing and embodying his per­ ception of American baseball, the Japanese internment camps, the Chinese students in Tiananmen Square, and his own selfhood. Here the perform­ ance shows itself as a revelatory journey through which the actor comes to terms with the various meanings of the ball as suggested by its use in sport, as the object of his erotic desires, as a reminder of (white "glob [ al] ") racism, and finally as the world. Kwong flirts with the temptation and attraction of white assimilation, as he sees, smells, and comes to know the white globe for what it is. But he freely chooses, in the end, to toss the baseball to the spec­ tator-for the audience to examine, discuss, and meditate on. He chooses to live in his own skin and to play a game that involves two (or more) players, not a solo engagement. It is a choice that he encourages others to recognize and contemplate. Secrets of The Samurai Centerfielder begins with a sustained movement section, demonstrating much skill, poise, and coordination, as Kwong trans­ forms the rhythms of the Japanese warrior into those of the American base­ ball player. Kwong himself is an accomplished athlete, with a toned, lean, muscular body; his movements are sculptured, balletic, and visually engag-

C O M M E N TA R Y

ing in their grace and control. He complements the wide variety of move­ ment choices he makes in this piece (and throughout his canon) with a per­ formance aesthetic varied in its use of layered, multimedia techniques and production features, from choreographed, physical movements (including jogging and "meditative tai chi-gathering exercise" ) to text and image slides (ranging from family snapshots taken in Japan and Los Angeles to intern­ ment camp photos), props ( Japanese sword, baseball glove, baseball, home plate, television monitor) , prerecorded music (including guitar, shakuhachi flute, koto music, chimes, and "cold, repetitive electronic" sounds), re­ corded voice-overs, sound effects (such as thunderstorms, machine gun fire, and roaring stadium crowds) , lighting (from baby spots to full stage lights, candlelight, and total darkness), and costumes (including a baseball uniform, a samurai outfit, and a traditional white gi jacket with black hakama pants/skirt) . Physical movement is a central feature in all of Kwong's solos. Within his body, the artist locates alternative stage languages to spoken and written texts for dramatic expression. Whereas Secrets of The Samurai Centerfielder opens with full bodily movement, Tales from The Fractured Tao with Master Nice Guy (1991) builds toward a conclusion of "slow, graceful tai chi move­ ments." It is as though all of Tales from The Fractured Tao with Master Nice Guy anticipates the liberation of the narrator's body from the piece's initial onstage image of Kwong sitting intensely, dutifully, at a card table, where he eventually flies into a fury and smashes a model airplane he cannot com­ plete. Moving through restriction and rage to flexibility and assuredness, Kwong submits to the languages of his body to convey what he calls the "self-created ritual of passage" that grounds his profound, deeply autobio­ graphical performance. The ritual, one that Kwong engaged in while a stu­ dent at the Micheltorena Street School (discussed in detail later in this essay) , is "one which indelibly marked [ Kwong's] path in life-a path which followed no path. Which was neither inside nor outside; which understood nothing yet knew everything. Which separated [Kwong] from the world and in return gave [him] -the universe." Tales from The Fractured Tao with Master Nice Guy is, in fact, Kwong's per­ formance of passage into the heart of auto performance. The secrets that re­ side at the core of Secrets of The Samurai Centerfielder are most often re­ vealed through the stories of those "outside" Dan Kwong-that is, those who are not Dan Kwong. These secrets, in turn, are presented as resonating fibers that have contributed to the narrator's maturation. Yet not until his second solo work does Kwong the actor confidently tell the "tales" from his "frac­ tured Tao," while occasionally relying on an "old, white-haired, bearded"

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sage/character who can read his mind, Master Nice Guy. Master Nice Guy is a surrogate for Kwong's unconscious who speaks with the authority of an inconsistently reliable therapist; he suggests possible meanings for feelings the narrator experiences. This fantasy figure is captured onstage through a handy visual, aural, filmic device. In Master Nice Guy's presence, Kwong revisits specific relationships in­ troduced in Secrets of The Samurai Centerfielder, most notably the one he shared with his mother when he was a child. Unlike his three sisters, he was not the "model minority" Asian American child. While his siblings were A students, Dan was a solid B; while they embraced feminine behaviors, he was a tough guy jerk. To a greater extent, he addresses his lifelong, compli­ cated relationship with his father. To explore the roots of his own feelings of inadequacy, which in Tales from The Fractured Tao with Master Nice Guy are centered in his "fractured;' dysfunctional family, the failure of his parents' marriage, and the physical abuse he suffered as a child, Kwong chooses not to speak about the pain he lived with until he turned nineteen and left Los Angeles for Chicago. Master Nice Guy reiterates the fact that Kwong grew up with the restriction that "no one must know about this pain! You must save face and not embarrass the family-it's a secret! " But, of course, the auto­ performance itself might be viewed as the most horrific embarrassment of all for the Asian American performer, since it publicly reveals the family's secret. Yet shame is not the outcome of Tales from The Fractured Tao with Master Nice Guy; on the other side of the release of secrets, vis-a-vis the per­ formance of one's history, is a kind of personal freedom and spiritual ac­ ceptance of Dan Kwong by Dan Kwong. Kwong's fractured tales, first performed when the artist was thirty-six years old, span remembrances from his childhood to the end of his teen years. The spectator witnesses Dan's secular "ritual of passage," during which the ancient Chinese philosophy and texts of his ancestors' Tao are rendered useless to the young Chinese Japanese American in navigating his way through postmodern fissures and fractures of daily life in the United States. Kwong experiences his racial identity as incoherent in its fusion of three na­ tional cultures (commenting about his parents, the soloist remarks, "a Japa­ nese and Chinese married [in the United States] -you've got to be kidding" ) . H e sees his family life as smashed t o pieces, a direct correlation with his own selfhood. Following his parents' divorce, the author remarks in his solo, "never did I stop reaching out for acceptance. For redemption. For some way to prove to the world-and myself-that I was good." He experiences his re­ lationship with his father as hostile, a betrayal, and filled with deliberate de­ nial on the parent's part. Kwong makes sense of the absence of visible signs

C O M M E N TA R Y

of family normalcy and racial equality through the creation of his own pri­ vate rituals. Most of them are simple acts. He rides his bike, hoists the flags at his elementary school, plays baseball, and assumes a leadership role among his classmates. The young boy individualizes his own journey. Eventually in the piece (after telling stories of his parents' personal history and their court­ ship) , he places his own body in motion in the world, and through these ac­ tions he finds an easing of psychic, familial, and cultural pains. At an early age, he learns the significance of being able to control one's own choices, if one has a choice at all. In performance, he also realizes that Master Nice Guy is a powerless entity. While he voices his opinions, he cannot change Dan, nor does he desire to. Only Dan himself can exercise his free will to activate and articulate the desired change. Kwong concludes Tales from The Fractured Tao with Master Nice Guy with text slides, voice-overs, and in-the-moment speaking that capture an un­ expected telephone conversation that he had with his father shortly after he moved to Chicago to study art. In the course of their halting talk, the father repeatedly tells his son that he is sorry-without identifying specifically what he is sorry for but rather "as if he had to finish emptying his heart." Once the heart is emptied, it fills again with the capacity for the men to tell one another "I love you." This is an extremely rare moment on the U.S. stage. What marks this double portrait as dramatically unique is that two heterosexual men, albeit a father and son, voice their love for one another. Such expression between and among American men onstage is still uncom­ mon. Kwong builds his performance to this precise moment of articulation, for without the words one can deny to both the "inside [ and] outside" world(s) that this emotion, this bond, this recognition of one's Other, ever existed. Kwong leaves us with the knowledge that we risk the loss of power when truth is spoken, but through truth, as the narrator concludes, "the broken heart [is] finally seen." Only then, can healing begin and, quite pos­ sibly, hope be restored. Theatrically, however, Kwong centers Tales from The Fractured Tao with Master Nice Guy in an amazing stage image slightly past the midpoint in his piece. This image, which precedes the articulation of love between father and son at the conclusion of the work, captures the activation of a self­ created journey, one that necessitates not self-love as much as it does the embodiment of self-recognition and pleasure gained through this recogni­ tion. Recalling a vivid memory of an incident that occurred when he was in the fourth grade at Micheltorena Street School and was overcome by an ur­ gent bowel movement (which, if done in the school bathroom, would hu­ miliate any boy under similar circumstances) , Kwong used his authority as

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the "official flag monitor" to secure keys from a staff member, which, with­ out her knowing it, gained him access to the school auditorium, where a private bathroom, with a door and decent toilet paper, was located. After an extremely gratifying expulsion of waste (a hilarious, priceless story in and of itself) , nine-year-old Danny Kwong found himself at the site where he could fulfill a strong fantasy: to strip naked, wrap himself in the cool, velvet stage curtain, and finally slither his nubile body along the top of the lacquered grand piano. And so, with full stage lights up, he fulfilled his dream. That which had previously only been imagined was now realized:

Who knows why certain things happen when they do?. . . . [Something] you didn't understand but somehow you knew your life was changing in a deep and profound way? Naked except for a "flesh- colored jockstrap with a cloth pre-pubescent penis and scrotum sewn onto the pouch," Kwong climbs onto the piano, "flops around with the music," telling the spectator how he "sprawled [his] hot naked young body across [the piano] , rolling in sensual delirium." In this clever, telling moment of metatheatrical fun, Kwong's adult enactment of his childhood memory before the audience centers the solo piece. Kwong's hybrid body, vulnerable and open to and on the stage, is the entity from which all else emanates. Words will follow, Kwong seems to suggest, once the self can live with its own body, within its own skin. For Kwong, the stage is the site for retelling this most ancient of knowledges. In the theater one must know nakedness if one is to tell stories truthfully.

M o n k h ood 1 n 3 Easy Les s o n s (l 993)

(A bare stage with a projection screen upstage left. In blackout, we hear the sound of mysterious gongs and gentle bells tolling. The stage is lit with a deep blue glow. A hooded, robed M O NK enters from the left carrying an antique lantern. He slowly crosses the stage during the following voiceover, pausing after each line to turn towards the audience, as if checking for their obedience. We hear slow, deep, breathing sounds, then a hypnotic, recorded, whisper­ ing voiceover.) "Breathe in. Breathe in, and experience the oneness of the unknowable void." (More breathing sounds.) ''Allow your mind to detach itself from all worldly concerns." (More breathing.) "Let your hand resist all desire to touch that dial. We'll be right back, after a word from our sponsor." (Breathing fades out.) (M O NK exits, lights fade to black. We hear the NBC news theme. A large video projection appears of a Tv news anchorman at his desk. It's Dan in a suit, wearing a cheap gray wig. On-screen title reads " T H E EV E N I N G N E W S W I T H B I L L O N I G I R r . " Looks like a cheesy, homemade version of a typical news show. Theme fades out. Bill speaks in typical authoritative, overly confident news re­ porter style.)

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(on videotape) : "Hello, I'm Bill Onigiri. Coming up next on Chan­ nel 4 News Sports, Tracy Toobright reporting live from Queen of Angels Hospital maternity ward. Tracy?" B I LL

(We hear the sound of many crying babies; it's the nursery from hell. A very tight spotlight comes up downstage right. We see DAN 's face at a microphone. Hang­ ing from his neck is a cloth muppet-style baby body. His real body is hidden be­ hind a black cloth; his arms and hands are cloaked in black and manipulate the baby's arms throughout the scene. BA B Y DAN looks a bit bewildered . . . ) (recorded voice) : That's right, Bill-I'm here with newborn Asian American baby boy Daniel Kit Kwong, who's just been delivered at "Queen of Angels Hospital" in Los Angeles. Daniel, welcome to the human race. Tell us, how was the delivery? T R ACY

(B A B Y hesitates, looking around with uncertainty. He answers in a low mono­ tone voice, very flat and emotionless, like a typical athlete in the postgame locker room interview.) (live): Uh, thanks Tracy. Uh, delivery went pretty smooth. Mom had a "saddle-block;' so I wasn't all drugged up when I came out. Uh, I been working real hard preparing for this and, uh, I'm just really glad to be here. DAN

(B A B Y makes faces and wild arm movements-not quite in control of his body. This continues throughout the interview.) T R ACY (recorded voice) : You've been training for this for nine months now, and now that you've made it to the pros can you tell us what your hopes are for this new phase of your career? DAN (live) : Well, Tracy, my goal is just to contribute to the family any way I can. I have a latta faith in management to do their best as my primary caregivers, although, y'know, it's no secret they've had less than adequate preparation for the job.

(B A B Y starts flapping his arms up and down in front of him, beating his tummy.) T R ACY (recorded voice) : You had a very strong showing in your last trimester. How do you think this will help you going into the 1954 season?

(live) : Uh, that's right Tracy, my intrauterine kicking was coming along real well, I was getting good extension, and, uh, I was very much in touch with my inherent sense of power. But, uh, initially I expect I'll be DAN

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coerced into playing the position of "puny, powerless cog"-in a desper­ ately oppressive social structure. But, uh, I think we've got some really outstanding talent in the gene pool, and, uh, I'm looking forward to a long career with this typically dysfunctional family.

(B A B Y starts chewing his left hand.) (recorded voice) : What about your position as the only son with three sisters? Any thoughts about the upcoming series with oppressive attitudes directed specifically towards males? T R ACY

DAN (live) : Well, uh, being the only son, I know I'll be expected to drive in a lot of sexism on my sisters. But, uh, I'm really confident I'll get used to the special mistreatment and brutality reserved for us males. Coach­ ing staff here is really excellent at developing numbness, which, y'know, will really help me deal with all the homophobia, violence, and isolation. But, uh, y'know, I think the human beings here are just the greatest and, uh, I'm really looking forward to being part of this sub- species.

(B A B Y waggles his arms up next to his head, yawning.) (recorded voice) : Dan, one last question: What about the insidi­ ous effects of racism in conjunction with the oppression of males? How do you anticipate handling that challenge? T R ACY

(B A B Y punctuates this last answer with wild, spastic, jerky arm movements. ) (live) : Well, Tracy, I know it won't be easy. Uh, probably get pretty confusing at times. Uh, I'll probably have to endure some feelings of shame and humiliation about this exquisite Asian male body of mine­ primarily in regard to secondary sexual characteristics as defined by northern European male standards . . . As well as having to deal with an ugly history of sexless, dehumanizing stereotypes of Asian men, propa­ gated by racist attitudes in popular culture and institutions. But, uh, I'm really confident I can ultimately overcome any racist emasculation as an Asian man in this country and uh-uh-uh-contribute. DAN

(recorded voice): Well, Dan, congratulations on your post-partum debut, good luck to ya, and I hope we'll be seeing a lot more of you in the coming lifetime. T R ACY

DAN

(live) : Uh, thank you very much.

(recorded voice) : This is Tracy Toobright reporting live from Queen of Angels Hospital in Los Angeles. Back to you, Bill.

T R ACY

M O N K H OO D I N 3 EASY LESSO N S

(Spotlight blacks out on D A N . Videotape begins again as crying babies fade out.) (on videotape) : Thanks, Tracy. Sounds like a pretty weird baby. Well, that's it for Channel 4 News. Coming up next: more performance art. Stay tuned . . . B I LL

(NB C news theme returns. B I L L shuffles papers on his desk as video fades to black. News theme segues into a fast, high-energy, percussion jam. D A N enters to upstage center dressed in a gray tie-dye t-shirt with a large yin­ yang symbol on the front, cutoffjeans, and black high-top sneakers. The stage is lit with a bright overall wash. DA N begins a high-energy stylized dance/ poem-running, leaping, spinning all around the stage with wild enthusiasm as he proclaims his poem. His physical gestures plus live percussion from an off­ stage musician accent various lines of the dance/poem.)

DAN: I was a boy born in the winter-deeply loved-in a hurry to play! I was a boy with a brown skin body. I was a boy who liked to sweat! I was a boy on a mission from Mars: find the earthlings, initiate talks . . . I was a boy with a smart mouth attitude-I was a boy W H O BACKED I T U P. I was a boy who played with fire-I was a boy who played with himself! I was a boy who played the fool. I was a boy who thought he was white. I was a boy who watched Tv-who watched Tv-who watched TVwho watched Tv-and still read books. I was a boy who liked to throw rocks, who broke your window and stole your fruit! I was a boy who tortured bugs. I was a boy who tortured himself. I was a boy who played with babies. I was a boy who never ate mochi gashi. I was a boy who never cried-except for kittens. I was a boy who often lied-under pressure. I was a boy who loved dried shrimp, salty moys, and cuttlefish sticks! I was a boy who went for the throat-ready to strike, quick to kill! I was a boy NO O N E c o u L D C RU S H ! I was a boy no one could touch. I was a boy with gentle hands. I was a boy with one sad eye. I was a boy who just said "yes" ! I was a boy who lived downstairs, under the kitchen, stereo L O U D .

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I was a boy proud to be numb! I was a boy proud to be weird! I was a boy with Olympic dreams! I was a boy with so much "potential." I was a boy trying too hard. I was a boy nobody knew-nobody knew-nobody knew-nobody knew-nobody knew. I WA S A B O Y I N E V E RY WAY !

(On his final words, he leaps in the air; the stage goes black as he lands. Music begins: a slow, steady, ascending, three-note marimba phrase repeats through­ out. Faint blue backlight comes up. Two s TA G E H A N D S enter carrying a free­ standing, vertical, ten-foot-square metal frame, stretched with heavy netting. It is placed to the left, facing the audience. S TA G E HAND enters with basket of baseballs and kneels behind netting. DA N enters wearing red tank top, loose black pants, Chinese shoes, and carrying a baseball bat. He stands behind the netting near S TA G EHA ND and baseballs. He whacks the bat on the floor three times, and a spotlight comes up on D A N as he swings the bat in preparation. A large video projection appears to the right of the netting, roughly the same size as the netting frame. We see three separate actors, each telling a different story and intercut with each other. Where indicated by an X, a baseball is tossed up and D A N sharply bats it into the net. The netting is illuminated with a white light when a ball strikes it, creating a flashing, strobe effect. As the three stories progress, his swings become increasingly violent. Videotape continually cuts between actors.) A C T O R 1 (a storyteller) : Long, long ago, in a time when anything could happenACTOR

2 (a boy) : It was 1958, and kindergarten was getting weirder all the

time.

(a female news reporter) : Now it was just a week before his wedding. On June 18, 1982, he and a friend were headed for a topless bar in East Detroit. A C T RE S S 3

1: There, in a small fishing village at the base of a great volcano, lived a naive but spirited young monk. ACTOR

ACTOR

2: At age four, there were still a few things I didn't understand yet.

He wouldn't listen to his mother when she said, "Vincent, you will be married soon. You shouldn't go to those places." A C T RE S S 3:

X

-

-

M O N K H OO D I N 3 EASY LESSO N S

Everyone who lived there knew they did so at great risk, as the volcano often shook the earth, sending clouds of foul gas into the air.

A C T O R 1:

Like central Los Angeles-! never saw so many kids in my life! Playing on the schoolyard was usually the best part, but I'll never forget this one day . . . A C T O R 2:

"Don't worry, Mother," he said. "It's the last time." They were out for one final celebration.

A C T R E S S 3:

-XA C T O R 1 : It was the end of the monk's training, and he was given a spe­ cial task: "Go to the Sea Spirit and ask for protection for our village:' The young monk went down to the ocean, trembling with anticipation.

I was all by myself when I saw two boys walking by the school­ yard outside the fence. They saw me and stopped. A C T O R 2:

In the bar, they sat down near two other men, both recently unemployed Detroit autoworkers.

A C T R E S S 3:

-X-

"We must have proof of your manhood, and this will be your final test!" His heart was filled with dread as he called out loud over the roar of the pounding sea:

A C T O R 1:

"Ching chong Chinaman sittin' on a fence-Trying to make a dollar outa fifteen cents! "

A C T O R 2:

Unpleasant words were exchanged: "It's because o f you little motherfuckers that we're out of work." Chinese, Japanese, they all look­ y'know. A C T R E S s 3:

-X-

"One and Only Sea Spirit! I have come to ask you to protect our village. We will make the usual offering." A C T O R 1:

A C T O R 2:

Fifteen cents? What? I don't get it. I'm not sitting on any fence.

A fight broke out. Afterwards, the two men tracked him down at a nearby McDonald's. Following are police eyewitness accounts: A C T R E S S 3:

-XA C T O R 1: Up from the depths of the ocean appeared the Sea Spirit: "You must gather the bones of ten thousand men and with them construct a

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dam at the end of the valley. Then you must wave this magic staff, and you will be protected." With that, the Sea Spirit descended, a strange smile on its face. X

-

A C T O R 2:

-

Why are you laughing at me like that? What does that mean?

"They cornered him up in the phone booth here. Mr. Nitz grabbed him in a bear hug while Mr. Ebens swung a bat, repeatedly strik­ ing Mr. Chin."

A C T RE S S 3:

X

-

-

Again and again he practiced waving the magic staff, and just as instructed he built a huge dam from the bones of their men.

A C T O R 1:

X

-

-

Sure enough, soon came an eruption bigger than any he had ever felt. Down below, he could hear the frightened voices of the village people.

A C T O R 1:

X

-

-

"Ching chong Chinaman, beat that rat! Hit 'im on the head with a baseball bat!" A C T O R 2:

X

-

-

"Mr. Chin broke loose and ran out here to the middle of the street. He stopped and slipped."

A C T R E S S 3:

-XA C T O R 1: He knew he didn't have much time left. Lava began to ooze from cracks in the earth, flowing down to the dam. Frantically he waved the magic staff, but nothing seemed to happen.

-X-

I don't understand-it's something about being Chinese. They walked away, laughing to each other. Where was the teacher? A C T O R 2:

-X-

"Mr. Ebens was standing over him with a baseball bat. He had it in both his hands, and he was hitting him on top of his head." A C T RE S S 3 :

-X-

M O N K H OO D I N 3 EASY LESSO N S

Again and again he did as he was told, praying the Sea Spirit's words were true. But the lava continued to flow, causing the dam to buckle and groan under the strain. ACTOR I:

X

-

A C T O R I:

-

Tears of frustration welled up in his eyes from the futility of his

efforts. X

-

-

What could I do? There were two of them. They were bigger, and older. And the way they said that-like "Chinese" was something stupid to be laughed at. A C T O R 2:

-X-

3: "He swung the bat as if a baseball player were swinging for a home run-full contact, full swing."

ACTRESS

-X-X-X-

With a sickening "crack" the dam burst, and out poured a river of molten lava heading straight for the village. People began to panic.

A C T O R I:

-X-

Nothing like this had ever happened to me before! Why did they do that? My face was hot. My head hurt . . . A C T O R 2:

-X-

3: "His skull was obviously fractured . . . there were brains lay­ ing on the street. He wasn't dead yet, but the man was a goner."

ACTRESS

-X-

In anguish, they watched as everything they had was destroyed in a single firestorm. The poor people wept and wailed, shaking angry fists towards the sea. A C T O R I:

-XA C T O R 2:

I was crying. "You're not going to get away with this!"

3: Four days later he was dead. In a plea-bargaining decision, both Ronald Ebens and Michael Nitz received three years probation and a $3,000 fine. ACTRESS

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go

F R0 M I N N E R W0 R L D S T0 0 U T E R S P A C E

X

-

-

1: In bitterness, the young monk vowed never again to be fooled by such misplaced faith. "The bones of our manhood will never again be sacrificed like this!" ACTOR

X

-

-

2: Someone should stop things like this from happening! But when I told the teacher about it, she acted like it was nothing. ACTOR

A C T RE S S

3: In fact, neither man ever served a day in prison. X

-

-

1: And never again did the village people make offerings to the Sea Spirit. Instead they gathered up what was left of their lives, and set­ ting out for the unknown . . . ACTOR

ACTOR

2:-They just walked away.

A C T RE S S ACTOR

3:-They just walked away.

1:-They just walked away. -X-

(No swing.)

(The final baseball drops to the floor and rolls away. D A N drops the bat and stands motionless. We hear a single, sustained organ chord as S TA G EHAND S hang a white sheet over the entire netting frame, hiding DA N behind it. The sustained chord slowly fades out. D A N walks around in front of netting over to a small nearby platform where an old tan-colored suitcase sits draped with an indigo blue hapi coat. He picks up the hapi coat and puts it on, then softly speaks.) From the early 1930s on, my Japanese grandfather was well known as a leader in the Japanese American community of Los Angeles. He was one of many immigrants in the produce market who ran their small busi­ nesses like extended family operations. Everyone called him "Papa;' and he was known as a man of impeccable character and integrity. But you knew he'd really made it big in the community when Papa found out he made the "/\' list. For the F B I . He discovered this honor the night of December 7th, 1941. The F B I didn't just mail him an invitation; they sent him a private escort right over to the family house on West 31st Street, corner of Jefferson and Western. His F B I chauffeurs took Papa down to the "/\' list beach party being held on Terminal Island, in the fed-

M O N K H OO D I N 3 EASY LESSO N S

eral penitentiary. Over the next two years, he was sent on an all-expenses­ paid prison tour to Fort Missoula, Montana; Fort Sill, Oklahoma; Camp Livingston, Louisiana; and Santa Fe Detention Station in New Mexico.

(Dan picks up the suitcase.) Contained in this old family suitcase are Papa's neatly kept journals and notebooks, with nearly every piece of mail received or written by him during this period-correspondence with family, friends, business asso­ ciates, and federal government officials. Every single letter he received WaS rubber-stamped, " D E TA I N E D A L I E N E N E M Y M A I L ," to certify its examination by government censors. Anything suspected as possible es­ pionage, even cartoon drawings, was thoroughly blotted out with gov­ ernment ink. -

(He kneels with suitcase, opens it, and removes a two-page letter. He slowly rises.) But there is one document in particular, the carbon copy of a letter from Papa to a Los Angeles friend, which expresses most eloquently this ''Amer­ ican" situation. Spoken by Papa, it was typewritten by my mother, trans­ lating his thoughts into English. ''August 25,

1944.

Manzanar, California."

(Begin music: a gentle, slow, repeating harp phrase with strings softly playing steady chords. Throughout next section, slides are rear-projected onto the white sheet: constantly shifting images ofPapa, ofactual ww n correspondence show­ ing government-censored letters, postmarks from prisons and internment camps, letters from family, friends, etc. As DA N begins reading, he slowly be­ comes his grandfather.) "Dear Mr. Gallagher, Please excuse my not writing you for a long time. I have not even thanked you yet for the diary too. Nowadays I am an enemy alien, but I think about old times. I often recall my many happy years in Los Ange­ les. Eight months have already passed since I have rejoined my family here at Manzanar Relocation Center after being released-or rather, paroled-from Santa Fe Detention Station. As you know, considered a dangerous enemy alien, I was interned at the outbreak of the war and separated from my family for about two years until, with the help of some friends, I was cleared and released by the F. B . I . A 'dangerous' enemy alien though I was once considered, I am now tendering my only two

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sons-one a draftee, and one a volunteer-to fight for the United States: to fight side by side with more than 10,000 of their fellow citizens of Japanese ancestry. More than s,ooo of them are across already, and I am sure you have read or heard of the unparalleled gallant actions of the 1ooth Infantry Battalion and the 442nd Combat Team, as they march up Italy. "We Japanese have been taught to return favors, from childhood. I have lived in this country for twenty-eight years, did business, made money, and maintained a happy home. I have always appreciated the country's favors, but I have never been able to do anything much in return. But now, when America is in this crisis, I am tendering two of my dearest possessions, my sons, to the United States. Could anyone give more? "When the war began, as you know, I lost my business which took me many years to build. Nagano Produce was one of the financially­ strongest stores in the Los Angeles Market. But now, although I am financially broke, my wife and I still have three jewels-our children. I still have a happy home, and that means more to me than any amount of money. Money is only important as a means to keep alive and not much more than that. "I truly feel that the Japanese were doing well in California not at the ex­ pense of the Caucasians, but were doing well because they worked hard to succeed. I firmly believe that the Japanese have proven the democratic principle that all people are created equal: equal in every sense to develop to their fullest capacity. They had combined initiative and hard work to do well, maybe to some persons' envy. Is this being attacked, and is it the cause for racial prejudice and discrimination? ''Also, was our evacuation really for reasons of national defense and se­ curity, or was it caused by the aforementioned racial discrimination? It could not be caused by cases of espionage nor sabotage, for there has been no such case, then nor now. If it was for the latter reason, I certainly feel we were treated unjustly. ''As I wrote before, I have lived here for twenty-eight years. Before that, I lived in Japan for twenty years. And of the twenty-eight years I have lived in the United States, twenty-five have been spent in Los Angeles. My hometown is not Tokyo nor Nagasaki. It is Los Angeles. "During the twenty-five years here, I made friends all over the city. I still have a place to live in Los Angeles. No matter how broke I am now, I am

M O N K H OO D I N 3 EASY LESSO N S

confident that I will be able to support my family there. Is there anyone who does not want to return to their hometown? I want to return to my home. I know Seattle, San Francisco, and many other places in this coun­ try, but I dream only of L . A . " I have lived in this country all these years because I like it, and my wish is to remain here until I die. But if there are people who do not want me to return to Los Angeles, I will be like a sheep who has no place to graze nor to lie down. I am hoping I have not bothered you by writing such a long letter, and am wishing the best of regards to your wife and my old friends. Take care of yourself during the present hot spell. Sincerely yours, Kiro Nagano."

(He extends his hands out, holding the letter. It falls from his hands as lights fade to black. We see a final slide image-a grim-looking PA PA-slowly fade to black. The sound of chimes blowing in the wind. Video projection appears of the same suitcase, sitting open in the empty California desert at present-day Manzanar.) (Video fades to black. In the dark, we hear a low, pounding sound, like heavy industrial machinery whomping away. Two text slides appear in sequence on the white sheet.) S o u n d o f t h e a o rta, T h e m a i n a rte ry of t h e h e a rtRecorded i n t h e ute rus of A wo m a n 8 m o n t h s pregna nt.

(Slide fades out, the netting frame is moved offstage, and we hear another grinding mechanical sound. Upstage center, the black curtain splits open. Spot­ light on DAN, walking on a treadmill, wearing a white Japanese fundoshi loin­ cloth. His voice is amplified above the sound of the heartbeat and treadmill.) Listen! You heard this. Long, long ago. In a time when anything could happen. You heard it. I heard it. The sound of our mothers' lifeblood, pumping to the womb. Listen! It's the sound of history. Before we were born. I was born in the year of the Horse. I'm a Horse Man, and I am built for speed. "Don't look back; something might be gaining on you." I heard Satchel Paige say that.

(A S TAGEHAND slowly pushes treadmill and DAN to downstage center. The heartbeat sound fades out as DAN continues walking and talking.)

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So I keep moving onwards, trying to get somewhere, trying to make some progress. Return to the womb? It's good reference material. But history has a way of becoming so distorted and so invisible, who knows whose womb I might end up in?

(Treadmill is in position.

DA N

speeds up the treadmill to a small jog.)

Listen! I heard all about "relocation." From my mother. Outside the womb. Me, eight years old, and I did the classic Sansei thing. Eight years old, did the classic Sansei thing! I attacked her. Not physically, mind you-she could still kick my ass back then. But I let her have it. Because I couldn't stand to hear we were rejected by our own country. The same country I pledged allegiance to every morning in school? I was royally pissed off when I heard that story! Pissed off at her and her whole gen­ eration- "How could you let them do that shit to you?!?" As if the Nisei were personally responsible for America's ongoing legacy of racism. And I got hung up on this image of wimpy JAS, meekly shuffling off to camp like sheep. Talk about emasculation.

(Speeds up treadmill.) Oh, but hey-I'm moving onwards. Yeah, I'm leav­ ing it all behind! Come on now, let's pick it up ! (More speed.) Hey, how'm I doin'? How's my form? How do I measure up? I'll show you. (More speed.) Hey! Uh, am I assertive enough for you? Am I sensitive enough for you? Am I angry enough for you? (Treadmill is up to brisk jogging speed.) wo o o o o o ! I raged at my mother! Because F D R and John J. McCloy and Karl Bendetsen and Gen. John L. DeWitt were already dead. They were the real architects of relocation; they would've made much more appro­ priate targets for my neophyte political outrage. But I didn't know enough to conjure them up on the living room sofa that night. And Mom was so handy. Talk about blaming the victims.

(More speed.) Hey, how'm I doin', huh? How'm I doin'? Am I ethnic enough for you? Am I inscrutable enough for you? Am I Japanese enough for you? Am I Chinese enough for you? Am I authentic enough for you? How'm I doin', huh? (Treadmill is now up to a fast pace.) Listen! I heard about the 442. Oh yeah. They were some bad- ass Nisei men! The Four Forty-Second Regimental Combat Team. All Nisei, they chose to prove their loyalty in war. Not something I would personally recommend. But they fought World War II like it was a personal grudge match, while their families sat in American chicken coops eating dust.

M O N K H OO D I N 3 EASY LESSO N S

Over 18,ooo individual decorations for valor, the Japanese American men of the 442 were the most highly decorated combat unit in U.S. military history. HEAR T H AT, MARGE S C H O T T ? The most highly decorated. H E A R T H AT, G I L F E R G U S O N ? In U.S. military history. H E A R T H AT, M I C H A E L C R I C H T O N ? They proved with their blood something they never should've had to prove: "We are not 'the enemy' -so don't lay that shit on us." Oh yeah, I heard about the 442!

(DA N is running faster and faster. Monologue begins to build to an orgasmic climax.) (More speed.) C'mon, let's turn it on! Time to cook! Time to fly! Turn me loose! Show 'em what you're made of! Show 'em how it's done! Oh yeah! H E Y ! AM I B U F F E N O U G H F O R YO U? AM I E S O T E R I C E N O U G H F O R YOU? AM I M T V E N O U G H FOR YO U? H OW'M I D O I N', HUH? (More speed.) Oh yeah! We're lookin' good! We're gonna win this race! We're gonna make this grade! (More speed.) Oh yeah! C'mon baby, LET I T ALLLLL HANG O U T ! (Treadmill going full speed. ) O h yeah! O h yeah! O H YEA H ! O H ! O H ! O H ! OHHHHHHHHHHHH ! ! ! (Spent and exhausted, D A N suddenly slows down treadmill. A few moments to catch his breath, then:) Oh, but hey-I never heard about Min Yasui. I never heard about Gor­ don Hirabayashi. I never heard about Fred Korematsu. They fought against American concentration camps all the way to the United States Supreme Court. Wound up doing prison time in solitary confinement. But I never heard. I never heard. (Slows down treadmill.) I never heard about the Heart Mountain Fair Play Committee: the 85 Nisei men who refused to be drafted out of a Wyoming camp? Theirs was the largest mass trial in the history of the state of Wyoming. They did prison time too. But I never heard. I never heard. (Slows down more.) I never heard about the "No-No Boys". Questions number 27 and 28? A 1943 U.S. government questionnaire had the nerve to ask them to swear allegiance to a government which denied them equal rights as citizens. Asked them to fight for a country which considered them genetically dis­ loyal. Had the nerve to ask them through barbed wire. And the No-No Boys answered: "Excuse me, but fuck off . . . " And they were segregated, isolated, repatriated, thoroughly hated. Cursed and spit upon by their own community because they wouldn't jump through the hoop. But they were just as courageous as the men of the 442. (DA N is delirious with fatigue.)

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But I never heard. I never heard. I never heard. I never heard.

(Treadmill is now back to original slow walking speed. Heartbeat sound re­ turns. DAN looks up in a daze.) Hey, Hey, how was I? How was I?

(He suddenly steps off the treadmill belt, his feet straddling it. It grinds away between his legs as he slowly staggers backwards, stepping off the machine and walking upstage, leaving the treadmill behind. His weariness is from the idea as much as the exertion, as he continues to ask:) How was I? Was I good? Was I good enough? Good enough for you? How was it? Was it good? Was it good for you? Was it good for you? Was I good enough? Good enough for you? Enough for you? How was I? Was I good? Good enough? Enough for you? How was I?

(DAN walks back through curtain split. Curtain closes, leaving the empty treadmill running by itself Lights fade to black. Heartbeat sound fades out. Treadmill stops. We hear DAN's recorded voice echoing in the dark, as the treadmill is moved offstage.) "During adolescence, I found myself on a quest for truth regarding the nature of sexual relations between men and women. Naturally, I sought out the most reliable sources available to me: Playboy and Penthouse magazines. Penthouse had a regular advice column on sexual matters, written by a woman named Xaviera Hollander-also known as 'The Happy Hooker.' One day I read one of her columns on the subject of male organ size. She went to great lengths reassuring her male readership that quite probably their genitals were okay. But at the very end she had this comment: 'The only men I find unsatisfying as lovers are Oriental men. Their penises are generally too small to provide the necessary friction to get me off' "I was a virgin at the time. I pulled out a ruler. And I became very concerned."

(We hear happy, jaunty, pizzicato music like a T v game show theme. Projected video images appear of various newspaper ads for penis enlargement, with DAN's voiceover sounding like newsman BILL ONIGIRI. ) "Perhaps you've noticed their ads popping up recently in your local news­ papers. Some companies advertise to men with the offer to 'enhance self­ esteem, confidence, and performance,' charging thousands and thousands

M O N K H OO D I N 3 EASY LESSO N S

of dollars for their services. Yet how much is really known about the prac­ tice of 'penis enlargement'? Are there any hidden dangers being kept from the public? And what does this say about the direction of our society in its attitudes regarding sex, beauty, and the human body? "Here in the studio with us is Doctor Richard Bonus, renowned surgeon, whose shocking revelations about this increasingly popular form of cos­ metic surgery have rocked the trade. Doctor?"

(Enter D O C T O R B o N u s [Dan] wearing white lab coat, thick glasses, and blood­ stained rubber gloves. He talks kind of nerdy.) Thank you. (Snaps off his rubber gloves.) Living in a culture which re­ lentlessly bombards females with pressure to conform to so-called stan­ dards of beauty and sexual attractiveness, cosmetic surgery has long been considered a viable option for the modern American woman. Thus, it is not surprising that the surgical alteration of natural, healthy female bod­ ies has become a billion dollar business-one which primarily benefits men, who in fact make up the vast majority of these surgeons.

(Music changes to funky, sexy, ]ames Bond-like theme.) Traditionally, men have been able to consider themselves exempt from these particular societal pressures. However, it seems that those days are no longer . . . (He chuckles at his lame joke.) Nowadays one can find advertisements for pectoral and calf implants for men-along with those ads which offer a larger organ. A more prodi­ gious member. A heftier tool. A wider load! A prouder piston! A fuller frank! And a deeper dingus.

(D o c T o R demonstrates with graphic gestures.) "Penile enlargement" involves the extraction of lipo cells (i.e., fat cells) taken from the patient's own abdominal region and injected into the pe­ nile shaft, providing the desired increase in shaft diameter. A second pro­ cedure, known as "penile advancement;' involves severing the suspen­ sory ligament (sawing motion on his shoulder), which attaches the base of the penis to the pubic bone, thus allowing the penile shaft to drop down from the pelvis, adding length. This procedure does tend to make the penis more pivotal at the base, with less of an upward thrust to the erec­ tion . . . (He waves a rigid arm wildly in the air, simulating a directionless erection.)

(Theme changes to melodramatic soap opera organ [no pun] music.)

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However, recent studies have turned up some shocking side effects to these procedures. The following case studies are not pleasant viewing, but we feel the American public should be properly informed as to just what can happen when you fool with Mother Nature. Slide, please. Image Slides

Dan's Live N arration

Cartoon drawing of a penis

Excessively fluid lipo cells led to this unexpected condition. This man's penis now functions as a barometer, with sudden changes in atmospheric pressure frequently leading to embarrassing social situations. Next slide, please.

swollen like a water balloon.

Cartoon of a penis rippling with bodybuilder muscles.

Cartoon of penis with shark-fin­ like protrusion on one side.

Cartoon of penis with a grumpy old man's face on shaft.

In a laboratory mixup, lipo cells were contaminated by anabolic steroids. This man's penis was once mis­ taken for Arnold Schwarzenegger. Hounded by rabid fans for weeks on end, it was deeply traumatic for this man and his entire family. Next slide. Uneven lipo dispersion and hardening resulted in what has been called the "Dorsal Fin Reaction." In a truly ironic case, this man was once an Olympic caliber breaststroker who now has great difficulty simply swimming in a straight line. Tragic, indeed. Next slide. Finally, in perhaps the most mysterious and fright­ ening case of unexpected side effects this man had the face of Jimmy Hoffa appear on his member, leading to a massive lawsuit by the A F L - C I O later settled out of court. Thank you.

(Slide gone, music changes back to happy pizzicato.) In conclusion, perhaps this simple presentation will encourage people to appreciate the body parts they do have. And remember: it matters less the size of your wok than the meal you cook with it. Thank you.

(DOC TOR exits. Blackout.) (A videotape is projected. We see a friendly THERAPIS T in her office. In the lower-right corner of the screen, we see DAN's head, as if he were laying on the therapist's couch. Both actors are on the videotape.)

M O N K H OO D I N 3 EASY LESSO N S

So, Dan-what's your earliest memory in any way con­ nected with your penis? THERAPIST:

D A N : Uh, well, sometimes I get these really weird sexual feelings, and I think they must be connected to some old memories of being circumcised. THERAPIST: DAN:

Oh. Well, that's not SO weird.

Whaddaya mean?

Well, I mean it's not unusual for old memories which in­ volve some kind of traumatic experience with the genitals to contain sex­ ual feelings. One theory is that the mind makes a very complete and lit­ eral recording of any distressful experience, including the physical and sensory elements as well as the emotions. This "distress recording" can then become reactivated any time the present situation is similar enough to the old memory. Oftentimes a person will feel compelled to reenact the old distress experience in the present, thus re-creating the old sensations and emotions. One assumption is that this compulsion to reenact is an in­ tuitive attempt to somehow resolve the old trauma. However, the contin­ ued repetition of the compulsion tends to have the reverse effect, driving the distress recording in even deeper. THERAPIST:

DAN:

So?

THERAPIST: DAN:

Well, shall we take a look at your old memory?

You mean my circumcision?

Yeah! Just tell me how you remember it. And if you can't re­ member, then tell me how you imagine it might have happened. THERAPIST:

DAN:

You mean just make it up?

THERAPIST:

Yeah!

(Camera holds on close-up of DAN's face. As he talks, camera slowly zooms out, revealing more of DAN until we can see he has the same baby body from the birth interview puppet scene. At the same time, various objects begin to lower down on strings from above the stage: a large stone, a fake plastic stone, a giant latex scrotum, a faceless rag doll, three large books-all suspended waist high and spread around the stage. As DAN recounts his memory, the baby puppet arms are moving around.) D A N : Okay. (Harp glissando.) Well-I'm naked. Lying on my back. The room is very warm and bright. I'm relaxed. I'm being gently touched.

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Then someone is wiping the tip of my penis with a cotton ball dipped in alcohol. It feels cool as the alcohol evaporates, and I start to get an erec­ tion. It feels really good! Then, someone is holding my penis very firmly. Then I feel something pinch . . . And then-

(A piercing scream as DA N charges onstage wielding his Japanese sword. Lights up. He wears a traditional Japanese white judo gi jacket and black hakama pants/skirt. Video image freezes and fades out. DA N stops upstage center. He turns to audience, re-sheaths sword and strides towards them. His manner is very formal and ceremonial. The following movement/poem is punctuated by various sword techniques tightly choreographed to the text. He approaches the hanging stone.) The first lesson. In the beginning was harmony. Connection. We were to­ gether, in perfect union of spirit and flesh. (He draws sword.) "Mom, will you come tuck me in?" (He cuts down stone. Clunk.) The original state of mind is peace. (Re-sheaths sword.)

(He moves to the fake stone.) The second lesson. Falling from grace. (Draws sword, cuts down fake stone. It bounces.) Strange talk intrudes. (Second cut.) "Go back where you came from!" "Teach me Chinese, Dad-I come from here." Scorn your tears. Ridicule your fears. Become a good liar. Kiss my melting pot. I begin to forget who I am. (Re-sheaths sword.)

(He moves to the giant latex scrotum. It's as big as a large shopping bag.) The third lesson. Confusion blooms in isolation. (Half-drawn sword.) "Step aside son, this is a job for a real-" (Full drawn sword.) "Is it true what they say about Asian men?" "Don't take it personal, it's just a movie! " (Cuts down giant scrotum.) "I broadcast, therefore I am." Soon I have forgotten who you are. (Re-sheaths sword.)

(He moves on to rag doll.) The bonus lesson. "Sorry I get into so many fights at school! " (Draws sword, cuts down doll.) I am so ashamed-but I never lose. "How's that for achievement?" No schoolboy could match my rage. (Stab move.) You taught me rage. I taught myself how to be alone. It sure beat "trying to get along."

(Re-sheaths sword, then sudden quick draw of sword, facing audience. He shifts into a more wacky, wild, freewheeling attitude.)

M O N K H OO D I N 3 EASY LESSO N S

"I wonder, ooom badoom-boom-boom-who wrote 'the book'?"

(He moves to the three hanging books. Each has a title on its front and back: Q UICK & EA S Y IDENTIT Y/NO BRAINS REQ UIRED; BIG BOYS DON'T CRY/ IT ONLY H UR TS WHEN I LIVE; BE ALL THAT YOU CAN BE/KILL OR BE KILLED . ) And what would happen if we just threw it out the window? What would it be like if we could cut out all the bullshit and start over again, from scratch? I'm talking about subtractive measures, I'm talking about back to the bone, I'm talking about carving out new identities! (Cuts down first book-it makes him slightly giddy.) Oooooh, I feel better already! Just a little bit of relief! Some enchanted evening!!! Everybody just sit tight. 'Cause this is your lucky night! I wanna point us in some new directions, I wanna open up some minds here among us. I wanna dump all the marbles on the table, sort 'em out all over again. But this time we choose for ourselves. Choose what kind of a "you" and "me" we want to be. See, I just wanna look at-I wanna ask you to look at-I want to ask you to ask-one simple question: What would it mean to really be free? No one can answer that question for you. But can you imagine? Free. Free from toxic nostalgia. Free from victim mentality. Free to fuck up and try again, free from endlessly cutting each other to pieces and saving the worst for ourselves. F R E E F R O M A L L P E R ­ S O NA L H YG I E N E C O M M E R C I A L S !

(He cuts down second book. Another rush-he's getting high from it.) Oooh that's much better! Yeah, what a load offa my mind! See, I'm talk­ ing about "free" ! Imagine. What would it be like? What would happen? What would happen to me and you and a dog named Roo? What would happen to all of us? All of this? (Like an affected simpleton.) Gee . . . I guess we'd have to completely transform ourselves and society as a whole. Well- (He becomes demonic.) W H AT T H E H E L L !

(He cuts down the last book-suddenly we hear the ominous rumblings of an earthquake, growing in intensity until it becomes a horrendous roar. DAN is terrified and begins running about the stage shouting apologetic warnings.) "Oh shit! Wait-I didn't mean it! This is the big one! Quick, find a doorway! "

(Large foam chunks fall down onto the stage, like debris from a collapsing build­ ing. A video projection appears of a "Richter scale," a giant cartoonishly-painted

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cardboard ''gauge" with a needle that spins around and around the face. The image shakes and shudders, like those scenes in Star Trek when everyone gets thrown around the bridge of the Enterprise. At the peak of the earthquake, the stage goes black. Finally the rumbling dies down. Silence. Then we hear DAN's haggard voice in the dark.) In my last semester of high school, I discovered marij uana.

(A tight red spotlight comes up, and we see DAN lying on the floor, buried under a pile of debris, telephone books, the giant scrotum. With great effort, he slowly sits up, like a hung-over drunk, phone books spilling from his chest.) And I got stoned after school on a regular basis.

(He staggers to his feet and begins removing the sword costume while talking, revealing a blue tank top and red sweat pants.) I was looking for escape from the miserable loneliness of my petrified so­ cial life, and there was no alternative I could see. As with many Asians, for me alcohol produced a mild allergic reaction, turning my face bright crimson and filling me with a strong desire to sleep. So I got stoned.

(DAN gathers armfuls of costume and debris and unsteadily walks offstage to dump it. He walks briskly back onstage. Full stage lights up.) Later on I remember hearing a story about my Chinese grandfather, Kwong Kwok Hing. Born and raised in Los Angeles, just like me. Seems he had the same after school routine as me-except he got stoned in the biblical sense, white boys pelting him with rocks as he ran home to Chi­ natown. No student of martial arts, he. Could've used Bruce Lee! Even Brandon would've been nice to have around. He was a lonely one, too, my Grandpa. I must've been about five years old when he came to live with us. He was the kind of man who could sit in his room all day long reading newspapers or autobiographies of fa­ mous people. Scarcely a sound ever came out of that room, except for maybe an occasional soft belch. Grandpa tried to make himself useful every morning at breakfast time.

(In old Chinese man voice.) GRANDPA : ''Ah-Danny! Ah-Danny! You go brush yo teeth, an' come eat yo oh-meal!" Now, this did not make sense to me. "I brush my teeth now and then I eat the oatmeal???"

M O N K H OO D I N 3 EASY LESSO N S

G R A ND PA :

" D A N NY, Y O U GO B RU S H YO T E E T H RYE NAW ! ! ! "

Grandpa could get in your face. Used to drive me nuts that he pro­ nounced margarine with a hard g: G R A ND PA :

"Naw Danny, you pass the marGarine to Maria."

He was a classic "Chinaman": a thin, wiry, round-shouldered man wear­ ing cardigan sweaters, round horn- rimmed glasses, and a wispy goatee. Kinda looked like Mahatma Gandhi waking up from a bad dream. Peri­ odically Grandpa would emerge from his bedroom for trips to the kitchen or bathroom-his spindly body barely disturbing the air as he shuffled along in his plain brown leather grandpa slippers. He would pause along the way to dispense lectures on his latest reading material. His long slender hand-like a spider monkey's, I thought-his hand would point an endlessly bony finger at you, jabbing at some invisible el­ evator call button as he talked: G R A ND PA : "Naw, dit yoo know haw much money he was making when he was only twenty fi yeers of age? Ahhh!"

What kind of man was he? Growing up in Los Angeles, Grandpa's En­ glish was quite well formed. He was sent back to China for an arranged marriage, fathered seven children, came right back to America, almost never lived with his family-alone for most of his adult life. Believed everything he read. What was it that lay deepest in this man's heart? No­ body knew- and nobody asked. There was an emptiness in his life that I could sense even as a child. Not the kind of meditative emptiness that brings "enlightened peace" or "freedom from worldly desire" but an emptiness born of dislocation of the spirit, of bent mental framework and too many rocks upside the head. We used to laugh at my Chinese grandfather. My three sisters and I found him genuinely amusing-he used to sing for us! Yeah, Grandpa used to sing the white pages of the phone book. He would sing The Golden Book Encyclopedia, especially volume 6, "Erosion to Geysers." This is the one my two younger sisters would specifically request because it contained "Fruits," "Flowers," and "Flags"-lots of pretty, colorful illustrations.

(He implores like an excited little kid.) D I D I : "Grandpa! Grandpa! Sing the encyclopedia!" Didi and Poppy would parade into Grandpa's bedroom brandishing vol­ ume 6, in preparation for the Sacred Ritual of the Tome of Knowledge . . .

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(Like a slick Hollywood announcer.) "Yes, America has long marveled at the Oriental People's long tradition of educational achievement: 'Those academic whiz kids! How do they do it?"' (Back to normal voice.) Well, for the first time, one of our most closely guarded ethnic secrets will be revealed here tonight. That's right! You want a class valedictorian in your home? Pay close attention, America! GRANDPA : "Ha-ha! Awright, Grandpa sing for you!" Before he even uttered a note, we'd be giddy with anticipation, because Grandpa was gonna get weird. He'd open his mouth, and suddenly that wheezy, tentative voice of his transformed into a rich, resonant sound­ heavy on vibrato-filling the room.

(GRANDPA sings in a big, full- throated voice.) GRANDPA : "Watermelon! Pineapple! Pomegranate! Cherry, apple, coconut!" DAN: Then he'd turn to the page of flowersGRANDPA : "Dandelion! Goldenrod! Poppy, tulip, daffodil!" DAN: Then on to the national flagsGRANDPA : "Denmark! Sweden! France! Ha-ha! Canada, Peru!" And no matter what he sang it always came out like Chinese music. "Grandpa, sing the phone book! Sing the phone book! "

GRANDPA : "Smith, Mariann! Smith, Martin R. ! Smith, Max and Judy! Smith, Monica . . ." And we laughed. We laughed so hard we'd be falling on the floor. We al­ most peed in our pants it was so funny to us! "He thinks he's actually singing!" Hal Grandpa would laugh, too, from the contagion of our hys­ teria, but he sang on unperturbed, even though I wasn't laughing with him, I was laughing at him!

(DAN's hilarity suddenly takes on a derisive, scornful edge.) Because that's what Grandpa was. Something to be laughed at! A kooky old man. An oddball eccentric. The "yellow sheep" of the family! Lost in some sorry-ass world of sensational tabloid delusion. He was a Chinese version of Don Knotts! Grandpa!

M O N K H OO D I N 3 EASY LESSO N S

(DA N steps closer to the audience. In a complete shift in tone, he speaks sincerely.) I believe, no matter how contradictory outward appearances may seem, everyone has something of the heroic inside them. Somewhere in every­ one there is courage. There is dignity. There is spirit. A voice that says, "Yes, I am somebody. I am alive and my life has meaning." And looking back I wanted so much to find that something in my Grandpa. My oldest personal link to Kwong men. To find that in us, my family, because his life looked so pathetically empty through and through. And I thought surely this must reflect on the rest of us Kwong men-my father, my uncles, my cousins, and I.

(Ashamed, he tries to discretely plead with his grandfather.) "Please-give me something manly to be proud of! Isn't there anything, anywhere in my Chinese blood? Somewhere?

(His pleading turns resentful, eventually erupting into rage.) "Give me something. Father of my father, be a man. Be a hero. Be a stud. Be something, anything, but don't be some wimpy C H I N K ! Don't be E V E RY T H I N G they say is WEAK about US ! D O N ' T BE E V E RY T H I N G T H E Y S AY W E A R E ! Everything they say.

(Bitterly sarcastic and despairing.) " 'Cause when you're young it gets under your skin, Grandpa. Gets under your skin and into your brain. I think you know. It's real gradual and sneaky, it oozes into your consciousness like some kind of slime mold­ and then one day you suddenly find yourself incredibly uncomfortable around any Asians who even remotely resemble the stereotypes. Hating not only them but all the ones trying so hard not to be like them."

(Dan becomes a cool tough guy, referring to an imaginary nerd with disgust.) Oh, wow, man. Hey, check it out! The dude actually has one of those plastic pen holders in his shirt pocket! Oh jeezus! (He calls out to his imaginary peers.) "Hey, man, like, I'm not like these nerd types, okay? Like, I'm a real guy, y'know? I'm a jock, man. I'm a dude! Yeah. Uh . . . I H AT E M AT H ! Yeah. Uh . . . I G E T L A I D , R E G U L A R ! " (Suddenly he turns sneeringly hostile to the imaginary nerd.) "Hey creep-you stay the fuck away from me, okay? I don't wanna get hit by any shrapnel when they blow your sorry little yellow ass away! "

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(He turns away from audience and screams to the heavens.) G R A N D PA !

(He quickly turns back, enraged with venom and scorn.) "Grandpa, what was it like for you when those rocks were bouncing offa your head? I'm sorry I couldn't be there to stand by your side, Grandpa. I was a helluva good rock thrower. Arm like a bazooka. I would've fired on those punks so hard and fast they'd never know what hit 'em. We would've fought 'em off Grandpa! We would've kicked ass and stood tall, and I would've told you how proud of you I was! I would've helped you find your COUrage and K E E P Y O U R S E L F - R E S P E C T !

(As his anger vents, the underlying sadness begins to reveal itself He is on the verge of tears.) "I would've helped you. I would've held you when you felt scared and alone, let you shake and cry, and I would've told you how brave and strong you were, and no one would laugh at you, Grandpa . . . No one would laugh at us. They would treat us right. They would see our humanity.

(Begins to grow fierce again.) And they would respect us. 'Cause we got nothing to prove to anyone. And we don't take any shit." (Pause. His fierceness breaks. ) Nah.

(Gently, to audience. He is defeated. ) My Grandpa lived a strange and lonely life. He died a strange and lonely man. I couldn't find any hero in him. No "right stuff" to make him more studly. (DA N picks up a phone book left on the floor. As he speaks, he slowly opens up with hope.) I finished high school. Went to college, art school. Got a degree, got a job. Traveled to Asia. Hong Kong, China, and Japan, every year for five years. Began to explore the unknown, the forgotten, the ignored. Listening to unheard voices of culture, family, self. And around that time I finally de­ cided to try and deal with my "feelings."

(He drops the phone book.) And I quit getting stoned.

M O N K H OO D I N 3 EASY LESSO N S

(Music begins very softly, barely audible: clear, slowly ascending harp notes ac­ cented by a delicate bell, as if a veil were being lifted revealing a most simple and beautiful truth. The lights slowly dim until DA N stands in a single warm spotlight surrounded by a deep purple glow.) And I remembered my Grandpa's singing. Now, I remember a man who delighted in the sound of his own spirited voice, completely uninhibited. A man who, though he knew we were laughing at him, allowed himself to sing out loud, said "Yes!" to a song-songs that had never been sung before and would never again be repeated. And I thought, "How many could do that very same thing? How many of us willing to sing our song-even in the face of ridicule?" Because the simple delight of singing is too great to be denied. Because the moment calls for a song. Because your life is a song. And what a rich and wise lesson from a funny old man.

(DA N looks to the sky, searching for his Grandpa's spirit. He smiles gratefully and sings out in a full and joyous voice.) "Watermelon! Pineapple! Pomegranate! Cherry, apple, coconut!"

(Lights and music slowly fade to black.)

1 0]

Co r res po n d e n ce of a D a n ge ro u s E n e m y A I i e n (l 995)

The stage design describes the piece as performed at Japan America Theater in Los Angeles, a large proscenium space with a hydraulic orchestra pit. This enabled scenes to rise up and disappear magically.

NOTE:

(In blackout. We hear peaceful sounds of crickets and distant coyotes with ethe­ real "space music." A huge slide image of stars and galaxies is projected all over the ceiling above audience and performing area. A tight spotlight comes on downstage center. We see DAN laying in a red mummy sleeping bag, reclining on a hidden slant board [45° angle] facing the audience. Looking up toward the stars, he ruminates dreamily.) Mmm, there's nothing like camping out in the desert. Sleeping under an open sky, alone but for coyotes, crickets, and stars. Ah, the stars! I love it when the night is thick with them, covering me in a blanket of milky lu­ minescence. Tiny glittering diamonds sprinkled endlessly across a heav­ enly black astro-dome. I love the desert. It's a place of great extremes, where life persists in spite of harsh conditions. Plants and animals survive here through com­ binations of strength, clever adaptability, and "natural intelligence." There is no excess. And yet great beauty can be found in the desert-if you know where to look. The desert is one of my homes. I mean, it's a place where I feel at home. And I've always felt that way. See, I come from a family of desert dwellers-a legacy of desert living. To be at one with hot, dry winds blowing down the eastern slope of a mountain range, far from Pacific moisture; to be still and allow the desert sun to bake my body to the 1 09

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bone; to gaze into a night sky so heavy-loaded with constellations I can feel the depth of space. And know my place in the Milky Way. Mmm. The desert's good for that, you know. Some of those stars out there could be anywhere from four to four million light years away. Take Capella, for example. Binary star system, roughly fifty light years away. Which means the starlight we see tonight left Capella fifty years ago. We're seeing the way it looked back in-1945. And conversely, if you were standing on that star (wearing asbestos zoris*) and looking back here at Earth through some super telescope, you would see scenes from-huh . . .

(He chuckles at the irony.) ''I'll take 'World History and Events' for four hundred dollars, please."t And beneath these same stars my grandfather and his family slept, under another desert sky. And these stars will be here long after we humans have returned to dust. Will they remember us? They help me remember where I come from. They remind me where I am. The desert's good for that, you know.

(Lights, sound, and slide fade out. Slant board and sleeping bag disappear below stage.) (A pool of orange light appears downstage center. A small stack of 4 " X 6" yel­ low cards sits on the stage. DA N enters, kneels down, and begins to carefully construct a house of cards. Documentary slide sequence begins-Dan's recorded narration and period music, old family photos from Japan and U. S., plus historical images, are pro­ jected onto a large screen upstage as DAN builds house of cards. N O T E : portions of this section are excerpted from Samurai Centerfielder.) (We hear traditional Japanese koto music.) Slide Images

Dan's Recorded Voiceover

My grandfather in his sixties,

"Kiro Nagano was my Japanese grandfather's name, but to everyone in America he was simply known as 'Papa.' Papa was born in 1896 in Hokkaido, the northernmost island of Japan. His father owned a

smiling. Map of Hokkaido Island.

*Japanese sandals. tphrase from

Jeopardy, a popular American

Tv

game show.

CO R R E S PO N D E N C E O F A D A N G E R O U S E N E M Y A L I E N

prosperous papermaking business in the capital city of Sapporo, where he and his wife raised their family of seven by the strict Presbyterian values adopted by the mother. ''As a boy, Papa was unusually strong and well coor­ dinated. He took up the sport of judo, and by age fifteen he had won first place in the Sapporo city­ wide tournament in which he competed against men much older and more experienced. "In traditional Japanese culture, the eldest son inher­ its virtually all of the family's wealth, leaving little-to­ nothing for any other descendants. Papa was the sec­ ond son, and so his future was to be of his own making. After attending college in Tokyo, he chose to seek a life in the land of opportunity across the Pacific-America. He first went to Seattle, Washing­ ton, where he spent a year doing farm work and sav­ ing money. Returning to Japan in 1919, he married my grandmother, Ai Enoki, the eldest daughter of a kimono merchant in Hokkaido. The very next day after the wedding, they prepared to sail for America. "This photo was taken that day, outside the Enoki family home. Papa stands far left while my grand­ mother-who came to be known as 'Mama' -stands on the far right behind her older brother. It was a sad farewell for my grandmother, who left behind a family and a way of life she loved dearly.

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Papa as a boy with his large family.

Seven-year old Papa with his older sister and parents. Teenage Papa wearing judo gi, looking quite formidable.

Papa in his early twenties, posing with father.

Grandmother as young woman in formal kimono.

Grandmother with her family.

Mama's sister performing tradi­ tional tea ceremony.

(We hear scratchy old recording of 1920s "Charleston" music.) "While Papa wasted no time adapting to American ways, it was a much slower, more painful transition for Mama. Here they pose for a formal portrait shortly after arriving in Seattle. The dress Mama wears was once her favorite kimono, which she had reconstructed into Western style. "Papa's original intention had been to attend the University of Washington, but apparently, upon

Papa wearing straw hat, pinstripe suit, Mama in long dress-nei­ ther is smiling.

Papa looking seriously studious in a western suit.

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Papa happily working in the garden. Papa and family pose by his new American car.

Three young N agano children sit­ ting on the grass.

seeing Japanese students partying and carousing on campus, it so offended his strict Christian upbring­ ing that, with disgust, he decided instead to go to Los Angeles. There he began working in the produce­ farming business, as did many Asians in California, where his long hours of hard work slowly began to pay off. "Mama and Papa raised three children, my mother the second born. It was around this time he received the nickname of 'Papa' from his fellow workers in the produce market, and soon he was known by no other name_

(We hear "Tin Pan Alley" music.)

Papa tenderly holds his eldest son.

Papa and family having a picnic on the beach. Papa, family, and friends on a leisure drive. Papa and family gathered around a Christmas tree. Mom and brothers, pre-teen years.

"The name 'Papa' not only referred to his relatively young parenthood; it also symbolized his reputation within the Japanese American community of Los Angeles-that of a warm, kind, honest, and power­ ful man of integrity to whom many people turned for support. "In coming to America, Papa had made it his coun­ try by choice, and even though discriminatory laws made it impossible for him to become a citizen (be­ cause of his race) he and Mama raised a very Ameri­ can family. Living a lifestyle that was a blend of Japanese tradi­ tion and Southern California style, my mother and her two brothers were typical of many 'Nisei; or sec­ ond-generation American-born Japanese.

(Old nostalgic sentimental tune, "When My Dream­ boat Comes Home.") Downtown L.A. produce market, circa 1 935-a mob of activity. Papa posing in his judo gi, throw­ ing an opponent.

"Papa's success in the downtown Los Angeles pro­ duce market continued, as did his rise in the judo world. By the late 1930s, Papa was on his way to be­ coming one of the highest-ranking judo men in the United States. He now had his own wholesale pro­ duce market, 'Nagano Produce,' and in November of

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he had bought a new fleet of trucks and new office equipment. His eldest son Daisuke had just designed a new company logo, and Papa's American Dream was becoming reality.

1941

On the night of December 6th, 1941, Papa and the family were out for dinner with a family friend, a Caucasian man. In uncharacteristic fashion, Papa spoke to him openly about his deepest desires as a Japanese American. Papa hoped that, through his positions of leadership in the community and the sport of judo, he might serve as a bridge between the country of his birth and the country of his choice. As an ambassador of goodwill between Japan and America:'

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Papa's handsome youngest son leans against a stack of produce crates. Logo image. Papa and family standing in front of their L.A. house.

A thoughtful-looking Papa sits on the front porch wearing fedora and coat.

Slide fades to black.

(Music fades out. We hear a huge explosion. Slide image of the Pearl Harbor attack appears, then fades to black. DAN freezes. We hear ominous, droning, electronic music, like distant airplanes. A text slide appears.) Dece m b e r 7 , 1 941 Yo u - k n ow-w h o does yo u - k n ow-wh at at yo u - k n ow-w h e re

(Text slide fades out. From below the stage, the orchestra pit slowly rises. Lit from below, three large, gray rectangular shapes [8 foot long, 6 foot high scaf­ folds wrapped in heavy paper] appear, spanning the stage like horizontal monoliths. When the pit reaches stage level, they slowly begin to roll upstage. DAN stands and slowly walks upstage, like a doomed man. As the central monolith follows him it crushes the house of cards. The other two monoliths slowly roll to stage left and upstage center and stop there.) (DAN's recorded voiceover continues with ominous music underneath the dialogue. ) "My mother and two of her girlfriends had ditched Sunday school that day, and when they heard of the Japanese attack their first reaction was, 'Where's Pearl Harbor?' Many of the neighborhood kids came over to the Nagano home and sat together in the living room all afternoon, nerv­ ously listening to radio news reports.

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(DA N walks in a large circle around stage, the monolith following.) "Papa arrived home. He had been returning from his morning game of golf and couldn't understand why so many people glared at him angrily as he drove by. He knew something was very wrong. Upon hearing the news, Papa went into the dining room and silently sat down, his elbows on the table and his head down in his hands. He sat there like that the rest of the day. ''At nine o' dock that night the doorbell rang. My mother and her younger brother Aiji went to answer. Two men standing on the darkened porch identified themselves as F B I agents, flashed their badges, and pushed their way into the house. One of them began searching the house, asking for anything written in Japanese, any cameras, weapons, or two-way radios. The other agent asked for my grandfather and immediately went into his bedroom. Papa was ordered out of bed and got dressed as the F B I man stood by watching his every move. 'You'd better take a coat with you-it'll get pretty cold where you're going,' he warned Papa. "My mother watched as the F B I agents took Papa away, walking down the darkened street and disappearing into the night."

(D A N exits. The monolith stops stage right. Lights fade to black. Text slide appears. ) With i n a week after Pearl H a rbor, the F B I a rrests 1 , 500 j a p a n e s e natio n a l s

(Text slide fades out, slide image offederal penitentiary appears.) (Voiceover continues.) "The next day my uncle Daisuke and a neighbor drove all over Los An­ geles County, visiting different jails in search of Papa. For two weeks, his whereabouts were completely unknown to the family. Finally a telegram arrived saying he was being held in Terminal Island Federal Penitentiary and was about to be transferred to a special camp for 'highly dangerous enemy aliens."' (Slide and ominous music fade out. We hear a Japanese flute, like a breeze of spring air. A small tan-colored suitcase slowly lowers on a slender rope from high above, landing on the stage left scaffold. DA N climbs up onto scaffold, un­ fastens rope, and opens suitcase. He takes out a stack of old papers, examining them with care.)

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(Voiceover continues.) "Contained in this old family suitcase are Papa's neatly kept journals and notebooks with nearly every piece of mail received or written by him during this period of isolation: correspondence with family, friends, business associates, and federal government officials. Pages and pages of letters bearing the rubber stamp: ' D E TA I N E D / E X A M I N E D / C E N S O R E D : A L I E N E N E M Y M A I L' to certify Uncle Sam's approval. Anything sus­ pected as possible espionage was thoroughly blotted out with govern­ ment ink or surgically removed by the censor's blade."

(Two text slides appear in sequence with koto music.) T h e Lege n d o f Prote st The F B I swooped in early ta k i n g o u r e l d e rs in t h e p roce s s fo r s u bve rsive t h at a n d t h i s . Peo p l e a s k: "Why d i d n ' t yo u p rotest?" We l l , you m i ght s ay, "Th ey h a d h o stage s . " -Laws o n Fu sao l n a d a

(We hear a gong-slide and music fade out. We hear a military drum march.) (DA N stands up and narrates live.) December 15, 1941. Secretary of the Navy Frank Knox returns from his in­ spection of Pearl Harbor damage. Reporting to the major news bureaus, he blames Japanese American "treachery" and "fifth column work"­ that's sneaky spy stuff-for the success of the attack.

(Text slide.)

Th i s was a d e l i b e rate l i e .

(Slide fades out, he continues.) At the time, Knox had in his possession military intelligence reports which completely excluded any Japanese American espionage.

(Text slide.) (Slide fades out.

The myth of " m i l ita ry n ecess ity" i s born. DA N

takes a letter from the suitcase. He continues.)

Excerpts from a letter to Papa from Eddie Meyers. Dated December 22, 1941, Los Angeles. It was fifteen days after the attack on Pearl Harbor and Papa's arrest by the F B I . Eddie had worked for Nagano Produce as "floor boss," and he and his Chinese wife were devoted friends of Papa.

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(Giant slide projections of the actual letter appear on-screen behind Dan as he reads. We hear a sentimental 1940s song, "We'll Meet Again," in the background. ) (DAN reads live.) "Dear Mr. Nagano, How are you? Hope you are okay. So sorry everything happened the way it did. We all miss you so much. Also, we know you are loyal. Take good care of yourself. Everything will be all right. Your family is all right so don't worry, we will do all we can to comfort them . . . . Things are a lot different now. Market is opening at 7 A . M . on ac­ count of blackout precautions. Sure hope war comes to a close soon with a grand victory for our America. We are all fighting for our free­ dom and freedom for our children in years to come. But Nagano, we will do it sure as hell. All the boys are working hard and they are all loyal to this country. After all, that is the main thing in our life. All the people in the market are doing business as usual. All were surprised that you were taken away. Everyone believes in you as a grand man. Everybody I talk to, talks about how good you have been to all your friends and fam­ ily. I, for one, think of you as a great man. You have been so good to me and my family. Well that's all for this time-answer soon as possible. Your friend, Eddie Meyers." (We hear a military snare drum-slides and music fade out. Lights up on a 15 foot tall ''guard tower" (constructed of pipe scaffolding) at extreme stage left. VIDEO TECHNICIAN dressed in military uniform sits atop the tower at his desk with video camera set up to show close-ups of letters. DAN approaches tower, salutes, then yells.) Sir! Request additional electronic enhancement of documentation! Sir!

(Giant live video projection offollowing letter appears on-screen, showing de­ tails. We hear the sound of someone struggling to practice scales on a piano. DAN's live narration.) Excerpts from a letter from daughter Momo. Dated December 19, 1941, Los Angeles: "Dear Papa, How are you? I am fine and so is Mama, Daisuke and Aiji. I am writing to you in my piano class. Today is the last day of school and we get two weeks vacation for Christmas and New Year's Day. Is there any snow in

CO R R E S PO N D E N C E O F A D A N G E R O U S E N E M Y A L I E N

Montana yet? I hope it isn't too cold. It is getting colder at nights here . . . . Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. Yours truly, Momo. P.S. I am (trying to be) very good. I am 16 yrs. old, 5 'f' tall, 99� pounds."

(Live video fades out. We heard the sound of a ticking clock. A text slide appears.) I n it i a l ly, the p u b l i c in ge n e ra l i s b a s i ca l ly s u p p o rtive o f J a p a n e s e A m e r i ca n s a s " l oya l , u p sta n d i n g America n s . "

(Slide and sound effects fade out. DAN's recorded voiceover with sound of tele­ type in background.) "January 25, 1942. The Roberts Commission Report is released to Con­ gress. It correctly reports that incompetence was a major factor in Pearl Harbor disaster. It incorrectly reports that Japanese American espionage aided the attack and implies that F B I counter-intelligence was inhibited by paying too much attention to the Constitution. "The release of this report, along with more false testimony by Frank Knox, marks a decided shifting of public sentiment."

(We hear ticking clock again. Another text slide.) T h e o utcry fro m t h e press a n d p o l i t i ci a n s fo r " re m ovi ng" J a p a n e s e America n s fro m the We st Coast i n crea s e s d ra m atical ly.

(Slide and sound effects fade out. Cut to live video projection of next letter. DAN stands stage right and reads the next letter live.) Excerpts from a letter from eldest son Daisuke, age twenty. Dated Febru­ ary 15, 1941, Los Angeles: "Dear Father, How are you? I hope you are getting enough exercise! I suppose you know already that we have moved: 3201 West 27th Street. Lou, Dick and Techy are living with us . . . . Everybody is in the best of health, we eat enormous meals and our house interior is always sunny. Today I went to register for the draft at 36th Street School. . . .

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Nagano Produce Company will open in one or two weeks and I will be one of the employees. Mr. Quinn will take your place in the office and Eddie will take care of the floor. I am very glad to see Mr. Quinn in your store, for I believe there could be no better man to take your place . . . . I understand that your hearing is coming up. I know you'll come through all right, we're not worried. In closing let's hope for an early vic­ tory! For U.S.A. ! Your son, Dike."

(Live video and lights fade out. We hear DAN's recorded voiceover.) "Daisuke 'Dike' Nagano wrote to his father up to four times a week for over two years. He was Papa's most prolific correspondent by far. Daisuke developed the habit of ending all his letters with the same basic expres­ sion of confident patriotism, 'Hoping for a quick American victory:"

(We see five slides of different letters, all with the same ending: "Hoping for a quick American victory." Text slide appears with military marching music ac­ companying its presentation.) Fe b ru a ry 1 9 , 1 942: Yo u - k n ow-w h o s i g n s yo u - k n ow-w h at.>'<

(Text slide and music fade out. Cut to live video projection of next letter. DAN sits at center stage-live narration.) Letter from Lily Ota, former office worker at Nagano Produce. Dated February 25 , 1942: "Dear Mr. Nagano, Thank you for your letter which I received some time ago. I expected you home this month so I didn't know whether to answer or not. How are you getting along? According to newspapers the interns are being treated well so I hope you are best in health. Since the store closed I haven't been doing anything except to stay home. Occasionally I go out always expecting the worst but returning home safely. The newspapers and radio commentators are very disheartening or discouraging. I now wish I had more American friends. According to hearsay there are many pathetic situations among the Japanese. But so far, the Americans are very nice considering. Maybe it's because I'm expecting them to throw *The date President Franklin D. Roosevelt signed Executive Order 9066, authorizing the imprisonment of West Coast Japanese Americans.

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stones at me or spit at me like I experienced in Japan. Well this is Amer­ ica. The very thing we're fighting for-a democracy-I hope the Cau­ casians don't forget . . . ."

(Live video fades out. We hear the sound ofgusting wind blowing in the desert. DA N and stage crew tear off paper coverings from the three monoliths, reveal­ ing barbed wire strung over each scaffold frame. A text slide appears.) M a rch 2 1 , 1 942: 1 00 JAs a rrive at M a n za n a r, Owe n s Va l l ey, CA to begi n b u i l d i n g b a rracks.

(Text slide and wind sound effects fade out. Cut to live video projection of next letter. DA N stands by stage right scaffold and reads next letter.) Letter from Momo dated March 24, 1942, Los Angeles: "Dear Papa, How are you? I'm sorry I have not written for a long time. Today I found out we have to move Saturday for sure to Owens Valley. Do not worry about us. Tomorrow is only Wednesday but I am checking out of school because we still have lots of packing to do. I know all my friends are going to be surprised when I leave school tomorrow . . ." For whatever reason, the censor was wielding a hot pen that day and didn't care much for Morna's artistry.

(Video projection shows Morna's cartoon drawings on the letter-labelled "Ele­ phant," "Lion," "Cat," etc., vigorously scratched out with ink. D A N goes to cen­ ter stage scaffold to read the next letter. Live video projection of letter.) On that same day Papa's youngest son, Aiji, age fifteen, wrote: "Bonj our mon pere-that's French for 'Hiya Pop; I hope you and all the men there are feeling fine. Are you getting fed well? Well, be sure and eat a lot so you won't become too skinny. We ex­ pect to move to Owens Valley in a few days. I just found that out today and I'll have to check out of school tomorrow. I sure will be sorry to leave Dorsey High School. I'm going to miss a lot of my friends there. I hear that Owens Valley is much nicer than the place you're in. Owens Valley is right up in the mountains where there's a lot of snow, and that refreshing mountain air there sure is healthy. Your son, Aiji."

(DA N moves on to read next letter. Live video projection continues.)

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Letter from Daisuke, March 23, 1942, Los Angeles: "Dear Father, I hope you are in the best of spirits. Quite a few things have happened since I last wrote you. I am now working in the market at Tashima Broth­ ers . . . . However I expect to quit in about a week in order to prepare for evacuation. Evacuation will be easy for us; since we have just moved we have thrown away all unnecessary junk. There is no excitement or hurry. When we move out an American friend of Dick's will take care of the house. Well, the deal on your store is finished. Price $4150. Sure tough! Mama's still the same Mama. In fact, we're all the same as before the war-we can take it. Couple days ago I saw a picture of Owens Valley in the L. A . Times. It's located at the foot of Mt. Whitney. It sure looks like a beautiful place."

(Live video fades out. More sound effects of windblown dust. Text slide appears.) M a rc h 28, 1 942: M i n Ya s u i h a s h i m s e l f a r rested in Port l a n d to contest t h e d i s cri m i n atory cu rfew o rd e r fo r J a p a n e s e America n s .

(Text slide and sound effects fade out. We hear music, "Don't Fence M e In," with DAN's recorded voiceover and slide image of next letter.) "Letter from Mitsuko Kinoshita, former office worker at Nagano Pro­ duce. Dated April 7, 1942, Los Angeles: "Dear Mr. Nagano, I was very happy to hear from you. My, but how well you write your English; you can be justly proud of your accomplishment. Anyway, Nagana-san, the camp life has got around to educating you. Who knows, you may come out as a scholar, one of these days! I hope everything is well with you. I guess we all have to bear what­ ever is allotted to each one of us. In your case, you have been unjustly de­ tained, but as long as you yourself know that you are in the clear, other people's opinions do not matter. We all talk of how nice it would be if you were here to join us in our little excitement of evacuating. Your family and Dick left on the 2nd for Owens. Reports from Manzanar Center are all highly favorable. I think we should all go with the thought that we are going on a sort of a vaca­ tion. It should be fun for us all . . ."

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(Music and slide fade out. We hear tense koto music. Text slide.) Fro m M a rch to M ay 1 942 3 ,750 J a p a n e s e A m e r i ca n s a d ay a re moved out fro m t h e We st Coast.

(Text slide and music fade out. S TAGEHAND S slowly roll stage right scaffold to center stage-with DAN walking along inside it, as if enclosed in a barbed-wire cage. The scaffold stops at center. DAN turns to face the audience, gazing out through the barbed wire. He reads the next letter in the eldest son's usual up­ beat tone. Live video projection of letter as DAN reads.) Letter from Daisuke dated April 4, 1942, Saturday: "Dear Father, Take good care of yourself. Well, we are now in Manzanar, Owens Val­ ley, Calif. The weather is very fine today, sky is dear and the wind is scarcely noticeable. The scenery is perfect. By Tuesday March 30th our house was all dear, though we left furniture, stove, refrigerator, and car. We were extremely busy moving and packing for quite awhile. On April 1st, we left for Manzanar. We started at 8:30 A . M . Thursday and arrived in Lone Pine at 6:oo P. M . after a hot, jolting ride through the Mojave Desert. From Lone Pine we got off the train and rode on buses to Man­ zanar ten miles away. About I,ooo Japanese came up on Thursday. At present there are 2,300 people, approximately. . . . We have been here only a few days but we are rapidly becoming acclimatized. We are waiting for better conditions when the workmen complete the numerous additions. Day by day conditions are being bettered . . . . Everybody healthy, happy, and all are waiting to hear from you again. Awaiting your return as always, I remain, Your son, Dike. Write: NAGANO, 6-9-2 Manzanar, Owens Valley, California."

(Live video fades out. Text slide appears with Japanese shakuhachi flute music.) M ay 1 942: G o rd o n H i ra baya s h i i s held i n K i n g Co u n ty j a i l fo r refu s i n g t o register fo r evac u at i o n .

(Text slide fades out. We hear desert winds blowing in the background. DAN's recorded voiceover with slide image of letter.)

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"Letter from Momo dated May 11, 1942. Papa had just been transferred to Fort Sill, Oklahoma: 'Dear Papa, How are you? Did Aiji tell you about Manzanar? We are all very fine here and everything's okay except for the wind and the dust. Daisuke is down in Block 7 where his Planning Department is. He is head of the ar­ chitectural and landscape workers. Aiji has a job now as messenger for the Housing Department. I want a job too, but school is going to begin soon, so I guess I can't get one . . . . Well, I hope you don't have to go to Japan. I'll write again soon. Your daughter, Momo."'

(Slide images and sound effects fade out. Text slide appears.) M ay 1 942: Fred Kore m at s u is a rrested i n S a n Lea n d ro, CA after e l u d i n g evacuat i o n .

(Slide and music fade out. Cut to live video of next letter. DAN's live narration.) Letter from youngest son Aiji dated May 19, 1942, six weeks after the fam­ ily's arrival in Manzanar. Meanwhile Papa was now being held in Camp Livingston, Louisiana. "Dear Papa, How you gettin' along in your new place? Did you say it was hot there? Boy, I guess it's pretty hot there, but I'm not sure if it's as hot as it is here. Boy o' boy, today it was 110 ° in the room. I thought it was hot outside but when I stepped in a room, whooey, it sure was hot. One good thing is happening-the dust storms are getting less and less. Boy, but we sure had some bad ones last week. . . . Well, it's about 10:oo at night so I have to go to sleep. I'll write to you more soon. Your son, Aiji."

(Live video fades out. We hear big band swing music. During following text slide sequence, DAN stands underneath stage left scaffold enclosed by barbed wire.) Ral p h Lazo was a M exican American stu dent at B e l m o nt H i gh in 1 942.

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M a ny of h i s good fri e n d s i n t h e com m u n ity we re J a p a n e s e A m e r i ca n . W h e n re l ocat i o n c a m e d own a n d h i s fri e n d s were s e n t off to M a n z a n a r,

(Another young man-RALPH-sneaks across stage from stage right towards DAN.) he d i d n 't want to be s o fa r away fro m t h e m . So-

(RALPH climbs into the barbed-wire enclosure and joins DAN.) Ral p h Lazo s n u ck i nto c a m p

(RALPH and DAN shake hands.) -a n d staye d .

(The

r wo

stand smiling with arms around shoulders, like old pals.) H e was P u b l i city M a n ager a n d Associ ate S p o rts E d i to r fo r the s c h o o l p a p e r.

(We see four more slide images of RALPH LAZO from the camp high school yearbook. Slide images, music, and lights fade out.) (Lights up under the sentry's tower. DAN stands in a yellow-orange twilight scene. He reads the next letter as it is video projected live on-screen.) Letter from Daisuke dated June 16, 1942: "Dear Father, I am very happy to hear that you are keeping your health up to par. I received your letter asking Aiji and me to visit you. I have sent a letter to the authorities requesting a permit for a temporary leave of absence from this camp. However, much as we wish to, I don't believe that they will issue a permit. We would like very much to visit you but you must understand that this camp has boundary lines with sentries. The only way we can get out­ side the camp is thru the Camp Director or thru Army headquarters in

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San Francisco. All of your information about a whirlwind and people getting killed is rumour and should be treated so. All your friends say 'hello' and always waiting for an early American Victory I remain, Your son, Dike."

(Live video fades out. We hear the sound of a vacuum cleaner. Two text slides appear in sequence.) J u n e 1 , 1 942: V i rt u a l ly a l l J a p a n e se h a d been re m oved fro m t h e We st Coast " M i l itary Area #1 . " Esti m ated va l u e o f fa r m s :

73 m i l l i o n d o l l a rs

(Text slide fades out with sound of vacuum cleaner being switched off We hear gamelan music-dark and mysterious. A huge 9 ' X 12 ' piece of paper is low­ ered in, upstage right. A slide is projected onto it ofJapanese handwriting-it's a gigantic letter. DAN climbs up onto a scaffold behind it. During the following voiceover, DAN begins cutting out portions of the letter with a razor blade from behind, leaving holes in various places on the "letter.") (DAN's recorded voiceover.) "Of all the letters Papa received, perhaps the most interesting were those written by his wife. Unlike the rest of the family, Mama's letters were writ­ ten in Japanese. But more significantly she ignored the unspoken rule of rigid cheerfulness and positivity and occasionally wrote what she really felt about the whole rotten deal. She complained bitterly about the miser­ able situation in which she found herself, and her letters were openly crit­ ical of the U.S. government and its policies-'How dare the government separate families: etc. ''All this was, of course, diligently edited out by the government cen­ sor with his relentless razor and indigo ink long before it would ever reach Papa. And because Mama wrote on both sides of the paper, this meant that by the time the censor had finished cutting out all the objec­ tionable passages of Mama's letters, front and back, they arrived looking something like rectangular doilies. "Mama died in 1979. All of her letters disappeared from the suitcase." (Music and slide fade out. We hear a gong, and the giant letter rises up and dis­ appears, leaving DAN standing on the scaffold. Cut to live video of next letter as DAN reads.)

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Letter from Eddie Meyers dated July 17, 1942: "Dear Mr. Nagano, Please excuse me not writing sooner, but I have not forgotten my best friend. I am so busy and tired, just can't get around to write you. How are you feeling? Hope you are in the best of health and happy. Do you re­ member the good times we had together? Am pulling hard for the day we can do it over again. Well Nagano, how have you been feeling? I guess you are being treated real good. After all, America doesn't do things like other countries. Justice for all is the foundation of our country. Up at Manza­ nar it is wonderful-all people happy and contented. It is a nice place­ we were there two days a month ago. Wouldn't mind being there myself. People don't mind. I don't think they will want to leave after the war."

(Live video fades out. We hear cold, robotic electronic music. Text slides appear in sequence.) Dece m be r 5, 1 942: Fred Toya m a is beate n by fe l l ow M a n za n a r i nte rnees fo r h i s co l l a bo rati o n i st act i o n s . A s u s pect i s a rreste d . T h e n ext day a h u ge crowd gat h e rs outs i d e t h e j a i l , p rote sti n g fo r h i s re lease. V i o l e n ce e r u pts. M Ps re s po n d with m ac h i n e gun fi re, ki l l i n g two and wo u n d i n g e i ght.

(Slide images of a hastily scrawled letter with DAN's recorded voiceover.) "Letter from Daisuke dated December n , 1942. Five days after the Man­ zanar upnsmg. 'Dear Father, Everybody-your family and friends all okay! We have nothing, ab­ solutely, to do with this incident, no participation nor recognition. Am sending this out with a friend who will post it outside of Manzanar. Don't worry as everything is now normal as can be. Will write again as soon as possible. Hoping for a quick American Victory, I remain, Your son, Dike."

(Electronic music fades out, we hear a solemn version of "My Country 'Tis of Thee." Four text slides.)

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Fe b r u a ry 1 94l " Loya lty q u esti o n n a i re " g i v e n t o i nte rnees, with a s s u ra n ce s of n o co n s e q u e nces. Segregat i o n of " d i s loya l s " fro m " l oya l s " begi n s , based u po n a n swers to q u esti o n n a i re . Tu l e L a k e , C A becomes t h e d e s i g n ated ca m p fo r segregated " d i s l oya l s . " I t wo u l d b e t h e s ite o f t h e m o st o p press ive co n d iti o n s , vocife ro u s p rote sts, a n d v i o l e n t u p ri s i n gs .

(Text slides and music fade out. Cut to live video of next letter. the stage left scaffold and reads the next letter.)

DAN

sits atop

Letter from Morna dated April 3, 1943. "Dear Papa, How are you? We are all in good health. It is quite hot nowadays, so Aiji and I are getting our tan color back. Gee, yesterday was exactly one year from the time we came to Manzanar. When you look back, it doesn't seem so bad. I've made many swell friends, and I think the change was good for me. I've learned many little things like how to weave camouflage nets, how to stand in line, to like drinking milk (I eat carrots sometimes too) , how to fix my own hair, and how t o dance pretty good . . ."

(Live video fades out, stage goes black. We hear a rousing march, "The Wash­ ington Post March." Text slides appear in sequence. ) T h e o n l y F D R Cab i n et m e m be r con s i stently aga i n st raci a l i nte r n m e n t was I nte r i o r S ecty. H a ro l d L. I c ke s . I n Ca b i n et d e b ates, h e w a s s h a rp l y critical of i ntern m e n t a s bei n g gro s s l y u n co n stituti o n a l .

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H e was co n s i ste ntly u n d e r attack b y t h e De pt. of Wa r fo r be i n g " s oft o n j a p s . "

(Text slides and music fade out. A videotape image of a real guard tower is pro­ jected center stage. DAN stands on a scaffold as it is rolled into position just be­ neath image. He is dressed as a soldier with rifle slung over shoulder. Pacing back and forth on scaffold, it looks as if he were in the guard tower on duty. We hear a snippet of the slow, lazy intra to Grand Canyon Suite playing over and over under DAN's recorded sentry voiceover.) "Geez, it is hot today! Boy. You know, I'm proud to be serving my country in its time of need. I mean, sure, Manzanar ain't the same as being in Italy or Guadalcanal fightin' Krauts 'n' Taps. But in a way I think this is just as important-taking care of things right here at home. And you know, dealing with the Jap problem in America is long overdue. But now they're lettin' some of these Taps out! Lettin' 'em go relocate some­ place else besides the West Coast. Colorado, Chicago, y'know, kinda spread 'em around. Probably be better for 'em anyways. Lotta folks on the West Coast, they don't want 'em back, y'know. You read stuff in the newspapers all the time about how people gonna make it hard for 'em to come back. And hey, you heard what the Governor of Wyoming said, didn't you? 'If you bring any Japanese into my state, I promise you they will be hanging from every tree! ' (Chuckles. ) I dunno, if it was me I sure wouldn't wanna go someplace they don't want me. And you know what? Don't nobody want 'em. Kinda feel sorry for some of these poor Japs. "You know, a latta people think we'd be better off shippin' the whole gawdam lot of 'em back to Nippon. Hell, there's five or six thousand of 'em over in that Tule Lake camp says they wanna go back anyways. But there's this lawyer, this ACLU guy, Wayne Collins-some kinda Tap-lover whose makin' it hard for us to do that. He's tryin' to hold up deportation of thousands of American Japs who said they want to renounce their cit­ izenship ! Can you beat that? They wanna leave! But now this Collins guy is trying to say 'they renounced citizenship under pressure: some bullshit like that. So we can't get rid of ' em."

(Voiceover continues while sentry stops pacing and takes rifle from his shoul­ der, as if he sees something in the distance. Slowly, carefully, he takes aim, fol­ lowing his target.) "Man, this Wayne Collins is a real Class-A pain in the ass. Says it's going to be held up in the courts for years. Jeezus, you'd think the guy was part­ Jap or something."

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(A gunshot. Lights and video black out. We hear lonely koto music. Text slides appear in sequence. Scaffold is rolled offstage.) A p r i l 1 1 , 1 943: J a m e s Wa s a ka is s h ot a n d k i l led b y s e n t ry a t To paz Rel ocat i o n Ce nter, Uta h . I n t h e U . S . S u p re m e Co u rt, Ya s u i , l
(Text slides and music fade out. Live video projection offollowing letter. stands stage right and reads the next letter.)

DAN

Letter from Daisuke dated April 18, 1943, Chicago, Illinois. He had been released from Manzanar and was working in preparation for attending Yale University in the fall. "Dear Dad, I went to Judo last Thursday. What a workout. First thing I got on the mat, the instructor, Jack Smith 210 lbs., 6' 2" wanted to show the students how an experienced contestant falls. He threw me around 'til I could barely stand. Then another Japanese fellow and I did judo with the twelve students. They were all greenhorns but huge in size, and well-versed in the free-fall style of wrestling. It was difficult as they kept trying to choke me while standing up. I am proud to say I got in a few clean shoulder throws. Unfortunately I cannot go again as Prof. Kuwashima wants ten dollars a month. As you wish, a quick American Victory. Your son, Dike."

(Live video fades out. We hear the sound of a toilet being flushed. Text slide.) J u n e 1 943/ Dece m be r 1 944: Ya s u i , H i ra b aya s h i , a n d l
(Slide and sound effects fade out. Live video projection of letters as DA N stands by stage left scaffold and reads.) Letter from Momo dated June 20, 1943. Papa had just been transferred again, this time to Santa Fe Detention Station in New Mexico.

CO R R E S PO N D E N C E O F A D A N G E R O U S E N E M Y A L I E N

"Dear Papa, Happy Father's Day! How are you? I hope everything is fine. I'm so glad you moved closer. I am graduating on July 3, so maybe I can come to visit you this summer. You know Papa, I have a pretty good chance of getting a scholarship to Smith, Vassar, Mt. Holyoke, Radcliffe or Welles­ ley, but I don't know whether I'll go or not. When it comes to actually leaving camp soon, I don't know whether I want to or not. I guess I'm getting too used to living here. Anyhow, if I don't take a scholarship, I know I'll be missing a swell opportunity. What do you think I should do? I don't especially care to think about leaving my friends again like I did when I came to Manzanar."

(We hear a strange gong, and next letter.)

DAN

moves under the guard tower to read the

Letter to Honorable Charles H. Carr, United States Attorney, Southern District of California, Los Angeles. Dated July 22, 1943, from Kiro Nagano, Barrack 9, Santa Fe Detection Station, Santa Fe, New Mexico. Regarding: Petition for Rehearing of the case of Kiro Nagano. "Honorable Sir: I, Kiro Nagano, the undersigned, being detained at the above place, do hereby venture to state the following facts before you. The purpose of the statement is to request your favor in granting me a chance of rehearing of my affair. On December 7, 1941 I was taken from my home at about 9 P. M . to Jef­ ferson Street Police Station, Los Angeles, California where I was kept 'til about 4 A . M . Then I was taken to Los Angeles County Jail and kept there 'til about 3 P. M . of December 8, 1941. The same afternoon I was ordered to go to Federal Prison located in Los Angeles County ( Terminal Island) where I was kept 'til morning of the 15th of the month. On the 16th of December, 1941 I was ordered to go someplace and taken to a train which arrived in Fort Missoula, Montana on December 19, 1941. On or about April 1o, 1942 I was transferred for Fort Sill, Oklahoma, spending about three nights on the train. I stayed there forty-six days. I was again transferred to Camp Livingston, Louisiana, arriving there May 30, 1942. I stayed there 'til June 6, 1943. On the 7th day of June 1943 I finally transferred to the present place, Santa Fe Detention Station. Having been transferred seven times within a period of eighteen

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months, I did not know what to do but wondering why I should be kept confined for such a long time without knowledge why I should be. But I did not have any choice but obey whatever supervising officers wanted me to do. Honorable Sir: If I am permitted to state before you, I am one of the most innocent persons ever detained in this country as an Enemy Alien; and all I wish to state by this chance is to beseech you a favorable recon­ sideration not only for my own sake but for the sake of future citizens of the United States of America, or my only daughter and two sons, whom I devote my entire life so that my family member as one unit could prove to be loyal citizens of this country for ever and ever."

(Live video fades out. DAN's recorded voiceover with slides offollowing letter. We hear "When Johnny Comes Marching Home Again" under voiceover.) "Letter from Papa to Mrs. Lou Izuno. Dated October 7 , 1943 . 'My dear Lou, Thanks. The good news you wrote on the 30th reached here on the sth. Longed for order for two years has finally came to me and I could not sleep well for I was so excited. No direct official notice received by me yet but they notified my family that I was paroled. It is now the matter of time. I believe I could be at home in the near future so that I can see you all again."'

(Text slide appears. ) N ove m be r 1 943: Ki ro N a g a n o is re u n ited with fa m i l y m e m bers in M a n za n a r.

(Text slide and music fade out. We hear loud surfer-rock music. A tight spot­ light reveals DAN atop stage left scaffold. He does a brief spastic dance number, as the following text slide sequence is projected.) "A n d w h at d i d you l e a r n i n U . S . H i story c l a s s tod ay, J o h n ny?" "The J a p s b o m bed Pearl H a rbor, so we h a d to lock ' e m u p . " " U h-ye a h , right . . . So wh at' s o n TV to n i gh t ? "

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(Text slides and music fade out. Catching his breath, He finally speaks his own words.)

DAN

drops to his knees.

Dear Papa, it's 1995 and I'm still trying to find my way home. Everyday I scan the horizon, inside and out, trying to set a true course for myself­ for us. And I want maps, I want documents. I have this hunger for knowledge of where I come from, this need to touch some source. And all that's left for my hands to hold are these pieces of paper with words and images.

(DA N jumps down from scaffolding carrying letters and goes to downstage cen­ ter. The stage is lit in a bright wash.) Mom and I were looking through all those old letters of yours, and I was trying to sort them all out, put them into perfect chronological order. We cross-referenced different letters with each other, piecing together this puzzle of communication, of time, place, and movement. Comparing her memory with the documentation before us and filling in the blanks with our guesses until we thought we knew something about how it all went down for you some fifty years ago. And it seems that history is far more detailed and complex than nostalgia. And Papa, when we finally quit at 1:30 in the morning, Mom said she felt as if she had been with you, as if she had been listening to her father's voice. We tried to guess whether those typewritten words, those sen­ tences, those phrases were actually constructed by you or whether some­ one else helped you craft such literary gems as: "I beseech you a favorable reconsideration . . . The English is clumsy and stilted at times, in other places eloquent, but always poignant. Was that your voice, Papa? Or was it some other Issei family man telling you how to say what was in your heart? Someone who knew how to talk the talk-the proper methodology of presenting oneself before Big Brother, how to appear appropriately humble and therefore desirable. This is my constant question: Where are you? Where is your essence? Where is your true voice? Because even in 1995 a piece of paper still cannot carry on a conversation; it cannot sigh with resignation nor stare at you in silent desperation. And as Mom and I sat there on the living room floor in the old house I grew up in, surrounded by even older letters and documents, I, too, could feel the presence of a man. Of a family bound together by a great love for one another. Of a people trying with such heartfelt and naive sincerity to be accepted as equals. I say "naive" not to discredit their intelligence but to "

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note with privileged hindsight how terribly they underestimated the depth of white racism in their beloved home, the us of A. I wanted to ask Mom, "When you wrote all these letters some fifty­ odd years ago wasn't there something deep down in your teenage-gut that never made it to the page? Maybe some seething anger and resent­ ment? Some red-hot ingot of rage, dense and fierce, buried deep beneath that JA stoicism, far from the noses of white people? I mean, how can you expect me to take these innocuous-sounding documents at mere face value? "Dear Papa, How are you ? We are all fine. Happy as can be." How can you, when each letter was written with full knowledge that it would first pass before the eyes of a government censor? Each letter written with the understanding that this was a hostage situation; each letter written with implicit understanding of the family strategy-to make everything sound as normal and uneventful as possible so that Papa, great benign patriarch, would not worry about his family. So that this family and thousands of others like it would not have to face the massive mindfuck of what was really going down for them-they who bought into the American Dream of equal opportunity and participation only to be sucker-punched and hung out to dry. "Hello Koreatown: this is your bullying cousin in Little Tokyo speaking. We got our wake up call in 1942, you got yours in '92. * Can you believe it? Just when you think you're playing the game the way you're supposed to, all the rules change!" And Mom said after a while it got pretty hard to write those innocuous­ sounding letters because it was tough to keep up an endless series of cheery pronouncements about life in the California dustbowl day after day after day. "Dear Papa I am being a good girl." Huh. And what would I have written???

(As DA N speaks, another giant sheet ofpaper flies in, upstage left. A scaffold is rolled behind it. DA N gets increasingly sarcastic and self-deprecating.) Yeah, Dan-what would you have said, Mister post-Civil Rights Act San­ sei? Mister Born-Again-Asian/Model Minority anti-Christ? Mister Lance Ito/Hideo Nomo/Chan Ho Park wannabe? What would you have written back in 1943?

* L . A . riots of 1992, in which the Korean American community received little protec­ tion from police.

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(We hear an innocent-sounding children's nursery song. DAN runs over and climbs onto the scaffold and picks up a Japanese sword. The following letter is projected onto the giant piece of paper a sentence at a time. DAN's recorded voice recites the letter-initially cheerful but suddenly turning angry and bit­ terly sarcastic. Simultaneously, the accompanying music changes from chil­ dren's song to an extremely harsh, raspy, screaming electric guitar solo. During this, DAN is on the scaffold behind the letter and uses the sword to slice out a large section from the center of the paper-"censoring" the entire letter.) (Recorded voiceover with text slides.) "J u l y 8, 1 943 , M a n za n a r, Ca l i forn i a Dear Papa; H ow a re yo u ? Th i n gs h e re a re . . . . . . fu cked u p beyo n d be l i ef. M a n z a n a r s u cks b i gti m e . I h ate th i s p l ace . . . . I t ' s obvi o u s we a re b e i n g roya l ly fu cked ove r by o u r own country, . . . a n d if s o m e body d o e s n ' t d e c l a re t h i s b u l l s h i t u n co n stitut i o n a l pronto,

. . . I ' m go n n a s h oot t h at s c u m bag State Atty. G e n . Earl Wa rre n , . . . t h at betrayi n g a s s h o l e Rooseve lt, . . . S u p re m e Co u rt J u stice and ex- I< K I< m e m be r H u go B l ack, . . . the Secretary of Wa r and a l l h i s fu cked up advisors l i ke M aj . G e n . Al l e n G u l l ion and Karl B e n d ets e n , t h o s e p re-evo l ut i o n a ry d i c k b ra i n s . . . . O n e by o n e , right t h ro u g h t h e i r wh ite s u p re m a c i st p i n h e a d s . . . . I n fa ct I ' m go n n a m a ke it my own perso n a l m i s s i o n to term i n ate eve ry racist fu ckhead I can fi n d .

(Music suddenly changes back to children's nursery song. DAN's voice becomes friendly and upbeat again.) . . . We l l , j u st t h o u ght I ' d l et yo u kn ow. Love, yo u r u n bo r n gra n d s o n D a n . "

(Slide and music fade out as sliced section ofpaper falls out of the "letter." DAN stands in the open space where the sliced section was, framed by what remains of the giant letter. He speaks, answering his own defiant rage.) Yeah, right. 1943? I don't think so. There was no Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. , no Malcolm, no Congressman Mineta, no Senator Inouye to blaze a

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trail of resistance and cover your ass with some political clout. No sir! You had Min Yasui and Gordon Hirabayashi sitting in the fucking clink while the Supreme Court just said "yes" to racism. That's right, an Amer­ ican Tap had no rights in 1943, and they'd slam dunk your ass faster than you could say "Minneapolis Lakers'' !

(Lights black out. Text slides appear with spooky music.) M ay 24, 1 944: S h o i c h i J a m e s O k a m oto i s s h ot dead at Tu l e La ke by Pvt. B e r n a rd G oe-w h o i s l ater acq u i tted after bei n g fi ned $1 fo r " u n a u t h o rized u s e of govt. p ro p e rty" -a b u l l et.

(We hear "Pomp and Circumstance." Another text slide appears, with high school yearbook images.) Ral p h Lazo grad u ates from M a n z a n a r H i gh S c h oo l ,

'

C l a s s o f 44·

(Text slide and music fade out. DA N takes the suitcase down from the scaffold and walks to downstage center, close to the audience. He places suitcase on the stage, kneels, and removes one last letter. As he begins to read, his charac­ ter slowly changes-instead ofjust reading Papa's letter, he becomes PAPA . His sincere, heartfelt tone is in marked contrast to the sarcasm of the previous sec­ tion. Throughout the monologue, slides are projected behind him of many dif­ ferent letters, showing scratched-out writing and drawings, postmarks from different prisons, etc. N O T E : This letter is excerpted from Monkhood in 3 Easy Lessons.) August 23, 1944. Manzanar, California. "Dear Mr. Gallagher, Please excuse my not writing you for a long time. I have not even thanked you yet for the diary too. Nowadays I am an enemy alien, but I think about old times. I often recall my many happy years in Los Ange­ les. Eight months have already passed since I have rejoined my family after being released from Santa Fe Detention Station. As you know, con­ sidered a dangerous enemy alien, I was interned at the outbreak of the

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war and separated from my family for about two years, until with the help of some friends I was cleared and released by the F B I . A 'dangerous' enemy alien, though I was once considered, I am now tendering my only two sons-one, a draftee, and one a volunteer-to fight for the United States: to fight side by side with more than 1o,ooo of their fellow citizens of Japanese ancestry who are already in the Armed Forces. More than 5,ooo of them are across already, and I am sure you have read or heard of the unparalleled gallant actions of the woth In­ fantry Battalion and the 442nd Combat Team as they march up Italy. We Japanese have been taught to return favors, from childhood. I have lived in this country for twenty-eight years, did business, made money and maintained a happy home. I have always appreciated the country's favors, but I have never been able to do anything much in return. But now, when America is in this crisis, I am tendering two of my dearest possessions, my sons, to the United States. Could anyone give more? When the war began, as you know, I lost my business which took me many years to build. Nagano Produce was one of the financially-strongest stores in the Los Angeles Market. But now, although I am financially broke, my wife and I still have three jewels-our children. I still have a happy home, and that means more to me than any amount of money. Money is only important as a means to keep alive and not much more than that. I truly feel that the Japanese were doing well in California not at the expense of the Caucasians, but were doing well because they worked hard to succeed. I firmly believe that the Japanese have proven the democratic principle that all people are created equal. Equal in every sense, to develop to their fullest capacity. They had combined initiative and hard work to do well-maybe to some persons' envy? Is this being at­ tacked, and is it the cause for racial prejudice and discrimination? Also, was our evacuation really for reasons of national defense and se­ curity, or was it caused by the aforementioned racial discrimination? It could not be caused by cases of espionage nor sabotage, for there has been no such case, then nor now. If it was for the latter reason, I certainly feel we were treated unjustly. As I wrote before, I have lived here for twenty-eight years; before that I lived in Japan for twenty years. And of the twenty-eight years I have lived in the United States, twenty-five have been spent in Los Angeles. My hometown is not Tokyo nor Nagasaki. It is Los Angeles. During the twenty-five years here, I made friends all over the city. I still have a place to live in Los Angeles. No matter how broke I am now, I am confident I will be able to support my family there. Is there anyone who does not

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want to return to their hometown? I want to return to my home. I know Seattle, San Francisco, and many other places in this country. But I dream only of L . A . I have lived in this country all these years because I like it, and my wish is to remain here until I die. But if there are people who do not want me to return to Los Angeles, I will be like a sheep who has no place to graze nor to lie down. I am hoping I have not bothered you by writing such a long letter, and am wishing the best of regards to your wife and my old friends. Take care of yourself during the present hot spell. Sincerely yours, Kiro Nagano"

(PA PA holds the letter out to the audience. It falls from his hands, fluttering to the ground as lights, slides, and music fade out.) (DAN's recorded voiceover.) "December 18, 1944. In the case 'Ex parte Endo,' the Supreme Court finally declares the imprisonment of 'loyal' Japanese Americans to be il­ legal. The court case had been successfully delayed by U.S. attorneys until after the 1944 elections, to avoid angering anti-Japanese voters."

(Text slides appear in sequence as DAN goes around stage with bolt cutters and cuts barbed wire off all the scaffolds.) The day befo re t h e deci s i o n i s h a nded d ow n , t h e Army a n n o u n ces it i s clos i n g down t h e ca m p s . A l l re locat i o n centers a re to be closed with i n 6 to 12 m o nth s . J u n e 1 945: N a ga n o fa m i l y i s c l e a red fo r re l e a s e to resett l e i n Denver, Co l o rado.

(Text slides fade out. We hear desert winds blowing as slides are projected of Papa's diary pages written in Japanese. DAN's recorded voiceover.) "Journal entry, Wednesday June 13, 1945. Today is finally the last day. I got up a little past 5 A . M . I just couldn't stay asleep. This was a very busy morning. Met with the white people in the

CO R R E S PO N D E N C E O F A D A N G E R O U S E N E M Y A L I E N

office and said goodbye to them. In the afternoon took the car with Mama to pay respects to six or seven people. After dinner we both called on every family in the block to thank them and say farewell. It was hard to say goodbye because we have been together for a long time. Thursday June 14th. Left Manzanar."

(DAN closes the suitcase and begins to walk across the orchestra pit from left to right. The pit slowly lowers, lights fade to black, and DAN disappears into the darkness. We hear a young Japanese boy singing a children's song. Suddenly a flash of white light floods the stage. The singing stops. In blackness, a lone trumpet begins playing "Taps." Then a text slide.) August 6 , 1 945: Litt l e Boy, H i ro s h i m a .

(Another blinding flash of light, then blackness. Another text slide:) August 9, 1 945: Fat M a n , N a g a s a k i . A u g u st 1 5 , 1 945: J a p a n s u rre n d e r s .

(Text slide and music fade out. We hear the sound of a shakuhachi playing a mournful melody. More slide images of Papa's diary written in Japanese with DAN's recorded voiceover.) "Papa's journal entry dated Tuesday August 14, 1945 . Because of the time difference, it was already the 15th in Japan. 'It was about s:os P. M . when suddenly I heard loud whistles and car horns honking. I wondered what it was. They were blaring out peace. Be­ cause I am a man who loves peace, I was very happy. But when I think of the people in Japan, I could cry."'

(Slides fade out. Text slides.) M a rch 2 9 , 1 946: T h e final ca m p to close, Tu l e Lake, re l e a s e s its l a st i n m ates.

(We hear gentle music that evokes a sense of coming home.) S u m m e r 1 946: T h e N a ga n o s ret u rn to their Los A n ge l e s h o m e .

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(Slide fades out as music continues.) (Videotape is projected showing Papa's old suitcase, sitting open with all of his notebooks of correspondence and some old family snapshots inside. The or­ chestra pit elevator slowly rises: we see DA N sitting on a stack of bricks, which echoes the shape of the house of cards he built at the beginning of the show. He watches the images on-screen. In the videotape, the camera zooms in closely and slowly pans across the suitcase and its contents, intercut with actual home movies of Papa and family, including: Papa walking down a stairway carrying the same suitcase seen in the per­ formance. Papa and relatives in Japan, smiling and walking through their garden. Papa standing proudly in front of his new produce market in L . A . A happy Nagano family having a Sunday picnic i n their Los Angeles back­ yard: mothers, fathers, children, and babies playing together. Papa stands in his market with customers. He smiles at the camera, turns, and walks away. Video and music fade out.)

Co m m e nta ry: �� P e rfo r m i n g H i sto ries "

Whereas his earliest performances focus on telling "secrets" and "tales"­ verbal modes that urge the artist to reveal himself through covert revela­ tions and fantastic inference-in Monkhood in 3 Easy Lessons (1993) and Correspondence of a Dangerous Enemy Alien (1995) Dan Kwong boldly steps forward to speak directly to the audience about himself through "instruc­ tion" and "documentation." vVhat used to be conveyed indirectly and metaphorically in Kwong's pieces develops into self-evident, literal com­ mentary and recording. Kwong's dramaturgy shifts noticeably from its ini­ tial reliance on theatricality and fictional characters that address ancestral and autobiographical material to a more pronounced usage of his own voice and historical evidence. A certain gravity is evident in these perform­ ances that is less obvious (if not deliberately absent) in the earlier, more playful Secrets of The Samurai Centerfielder and Tales from The Fractured Tao with Master Nice Guy. The structure of Monkhood in 3 Easy Lessons, in par­ ticular, is a sophisticated development in the artist's style and format. There is internal overlapping of dialogue and characters within scenes that height­ ens dramatic tension and interscenic commentary that enriches and clari­ fies the depth of Kwong's insights. Setting the stage for the ritual of instruction (or teaching) , Kwong opens Monkhood in 3 Easy Lessons with a "hooded robed Monk" who moves across the stage to the "sound of mysterious gongs and gentle bells." This iconic, medieval figure of discipline and devotion also pauses repeatedly, turning "toward the audience as if checking for their obedience." Is the collective body comprised of those present-actor and spectator-prepared to see, listen, and learn? As the monk, Kwong outwardly manifests his inner desire 139

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to be in a state of higher consciousness that will aid his effort to "listen to the unheard voices of culture, family, self." He is also the embodiment of a life led in harmony with the spirit yet isolated from others. For Kwong, the monk is a loaded sign that counters the appealing self-sufficiency of the in­ dependent yet connected postmodern man who circulates within the en­ tirety of society. The opening dialogue of Monkhood in 3 Easy Lessons is highly theatrical and comical. Moving between videos, prerecorded voices, and live action, Kwong dramatizes a television "interview" given just after his "birth." The actor, wearing a "muppet-style baby body;' manipulates the arms of the puppet (often rather wildly) throughout the scene. The baby speaks like a seasoned athlete (Kwong is a born athlete, after all) as he refers to the coaching staff at home and his own wish to be part of the team, "to con­ tribute to the family in any way I can." "I expect I'll be coerced into playing the position of 'puny, powerless cog' -in a deeply oppressive social struc­ ture," the baby wisely concludes, yet he is still "looking forward to a long career with [his] typically dysfunctional family." Blackout. "Fast, high en­ ergy percussion jam." The first of several triads that structure Kwong's piece is completed after the abrupt musical segue. Linking the characters of monk and baby ( as well as the former's chosen life of isolation and the latter's life of complete de­ pendency) to a youthful ''I;' who speaks in a confessional voice (of a thwarted desire to belong to a community amid the painful knowledge of his invisibility) , Kwong, in cutoff jeans and high-top sneakers, performs ec­ statically a "dance/poem;' proclaiming, . . . I was a boy who thought he was white. I was a boy proud to be numb! I was a boy proud to be weird! I was a boy with Olympic dreams! I was a boy with so much "potential." I was a boy trying too hard. I was a boy nobody knew-nobody knew-nobody knew-nobody knew-nobody knew. I

WA S A B OY

IN

EVERY WAY !

The boy's driving, manic energy, which fills the stage with bountiful movements and accented repetition of the phrase "I was a boy," is one of the most dynamic, compelling stage moments in Kwong's piece. Here the soloist wholly embraces the power of performance-in words, sound, light, cos-

C O M M E N TA R Y

tume, and choreography (co-choreographed by Christine Sang)-to convey action, character, and temporality. The convergence of all these performa­ tive elements frees Kwong to release his body amid a barrage of verbalized insights that in the end creates a vital, poetic image of the self. The monk and the baby are transformed into the boy-a complex human being who "nobody knew"-and on whom the rest of Monkhood in 3 Easy Lessons fo­ cuses, highlighting aspects of the journey that has carried Dan Kwong from boyhood to manhood. In this brief, striking stage moment, the performing body is at one with its self in all its unpredictable physicality, its spoken his­ tory, and its articulated analysis. But devastating in its articulation is Kwong's confrontation with racism in the United States. In America, whiteness is marked as normal, and to be normal is to have power. Kwong, the boy, is powerless in white America. Be­ cause he is not white-because he "thought he was white" at the expense of fully embracing his Asian American identity-the boy confronts the reality that his dreams are out of reach (or at best deferred) . Paradoxically, his race renders him invisible, an observation of Asian Americans' experience in racist America that Kwong addresses in subsequent plays. There are three discrete "units:' or sets, in the piece, comprising of"3 easy lessons:' that structure Kwong's solo. The units are sequential. The first is comprised of three prerecorded actors, intercut with one another on the video projection. Each actor assumes a role: a male storyteller, a boy, and a woman news reporter. Each character relates a narrative that eventually blurs the beginning and end of the others. Separate stories become one by the end of the first set-an effect that is heightened by the splicing tech­ nique used in the video editing. In real stage time, while the videos play, Kwong stands in front of a batting net, hitting baseballs into it with in­ creasingly violent swings. The storyteller tells the tale of a "naive but spirited young monk" who is sent to the Sea Spirit to ask for protection for his village against a threaten­ ing volcano. If the monk succeeds in gaining the protection of the spirit, he will "prove his manhood." But the spirit lies to the monk, who foolishly "misplaced [his] faith" when he accomplished the spirit's wishes. His village is still destroyed by volcanic lava, forcing the people to "gather up what was left of their lives, and set out for the unknown . . . . They just walked away:' Interspersed with the monk's tale (a pseudo- Canterbury tale or Aesop's fable) are the voices of the boy and the newscaster. The boy-Kwong in 1958 at the age of four-relates his first memory of racism. He tells of being taunted by bigger, older boys: "Ching chong Chinaman, beat that rat! Hit 'im on the head with a baseball bat!" "I don't understand," the boy cries. Are they

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laughing at him, he asks, because he is Chinese? The verbal assault on young Dan becomes all too real in the newscaster's fragmented narrative of Vincent Chin's murder in 1982 at the hands of two unemployed men who bludgeoned him to death with a baseball bat. Justifying their attack on Asians, the "little motherfuckers" who "caused [them to be] out of work;' the men cracked Chin's skull, scattering his brains on an East Detroit street. Neither attacker served a day in prison for his actions. In the case of both young Dan Kwong and Vincent Chin, no authority figures in American institutions-no teacher or jury-addressed let alone rectified the racist injustices done to these Asian Americans. Like the offenders, those in authority "just walked away." The three voices-each articulating a similar insight gained under dif­ ferent circumstances--coalesce into the play's "first lesson;' which is specific in its clarity about daily life in the United States: one must beware of "mis­ placed faith" in U.S. institutions to guarantee human rights. One should not be fooled into thinking that simply by living in democratic America, by being an American, one is safe from social violence, prejudice, or institu­ tional betrayal. The second lesson in Kwong's performance is the "formal and ceremo­ nial" presentation of a set of three axioms midway through the solo. The actor, costumed in a traditional white Japanese gi (judo jacket) and black hakama pants/skirt, performs another "movement/poem," punctuating lines with "tightly choreographed" Japanese sword techniques. Situated as a coda to the previous scene's hilarious exchange between a woman thera­ pist and, in live action, Dan, where the two discuss the trauma of Dan's cir­ cumcision, this set of principles-which progresses from childhood to manhood-is explicit. The child's first axiom is to know that "harmony" and "connection" exist early in life, especially with one's mother. The youngster then learns that he "falls from grace" within the dominant cul­ ture, as his racial and sexual markings precede his essence in racist, sexist America. Finally, the young man learns the third axiom, that "confusion blooms in isolation." Traces of the preceding circumcision conversation shape the instructional lessons presented in the movement/poem. The Asian American child (Kwong as autobiographical subject) appears to move from a state of whole­ ness in "spirit and flesh" and connection to others to one of an isolated, emasculated (or castrated, if you will) male who is alone and lonely in soci­ ety (a state of being that is visually reinforced when the actor cuts down with his sword a "giant latex scrotum" that is hanging from the ceiling) . Kwong's observation of these three stages of increasing awareness for the Asian Amer­ ican-from the knowledge of harmony to the experience of prejudice to ex-

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elusion-formulates the second complete lesson. If lesson one is to avoid misplaced faith in U.S. institutions, then lesson two is that if Asian Ameri­ cans (and all Americans in the playwright's opinion) are to know true free­ dom they must "completely transform themselves and society as a whole:' Through lesson two, the performer expresses a hope, albeit one dependent on a vision of utopian community and citizenry, that social change is pos­ sible. Since people activate institutions, the artist's logic suggests, "trans­ formed" people with "new identities" can positively affect institutions. The third lesson in Monkhood in 3 Easy Lessons is generated from Kwong's cumulative remembrances, which are sporadically presented throughout the performance, of Asian American males. These men include both his mater­ nal ( Japanese American) and paternal ( Chinese American) grandfathers and to a lesser extent historically significant Japanese men. Kwong expresses ad­ miration for his mother's father, Kiro "Papa" Nagano (a Nisei, or second gen­ eration Japanese American) , who, as we know from Secrets of The Samurai Centerfielder, spent four years in a U.S. internment camp after the Japanese bombing of Pearl Harbor. Immediately following the first lesson presented by the three actors in the guise of the storyteller, the boy, and the newscaster, Kwong is gradually transformed in front of the audience (a la Joseph Chaikin's transformational techniques used by actors in the Open Theater) into Papa, his Japanese American grandfather, with the elder's "old tan-col­ ored suitcase" in hand. This suitcase and its contents will become the center­ piece of Kwong's next play, Correspondence of a Dangerous Enemy Alien. Kwong removes from the suitcase a letter that his grandfather wrote to Mr. Gallagher, a close friend, in 1944. He reads the letter out loud. It speaks of Papa's ''American situation." It is evident that Papa, having been paroled eight months earlier from his detention as "a dangerous enemy alien" and now living with his family in Manzanar, California, is anxious to return to Los Angeles: "My hometown is not Tokyo nor Nagasaki. It is Los Angeles." But, he continues, "if there are people who do not want me to return to Los Angeles, I will be like a sheep who has no place to graze nor to lie down." While contemplating the worst potential scenario-a diasporic existence in the United States (i.e., to be in exile in one's own homeland)-Papa never discredits his own or his people's achievements, nor does he compromise his or their integrity. Just as Papa's words are spoken in this metatheatrical moment by his grandson (as one generation speaks through and to an­ other) , so the letter itself is metadimensional. The original correspondence was translated as it was being created, from Japanese to English. Years later, Kwong's mother also "translated [her father's] thoughts into English;' and in performance the grandson embodies the translation of his mother's

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thoughts about the original writing. Here the origins and boundaries of texts and creators/personae blur and converge. Or, expressed differently, the many become the one, and the one becomes the many. These corresponding relationships are not unlike Papa's description of life in a democracy, albeit through a specific reference to his race: "I firmly believe that the Japanese have proven [in California] the democratic principle that all people are cre­ ated equal." Through Papa's translated, enacted voice onstage, Kwong begins his third lesson by foregrounding a key concept from which his final in­ structions in Monkhood in 3 Easy Lessons will evolve: democracy. Whereas Kwong reveres and idealizes the history and legacy of Kiro Nagano (who is clearly a role model for Kwong, especially in the absence of his father), he expresses a very different kind of feeling toward his paternal, Chinese grandfather, Kwong Kwok Hing. "Grandpa," who was pelted with stones by white boys in his youth, is the object of laughter in the Kwong household. He looks funny, speaks funny, and has none of the flair, sophis­ tication, and presence of his Japanese counterpart. As a child, Kwong him­ self saw the "kooky old man" as a "Chinese version of Don Knotts" -some­ one to laugh at, someone to scorn. Grandpa was decidedly not heroic, not courageous, not a real American man to emulate. He was a buffoon. But Kwong acknowledges at the end of his play that, as a marginalized and lonely child, he was not unlike his Grandpa. Linking his earlier, autobiographical "I was a boy" dance/poem to a retro­ spective look at Grandpa's life, Kwong wonders, "What was it that lay deep­ est in this man's heart? Nobody knew-and nobody asked." Grandfather and grandson are shadows of the other. The theater provides the space in which the actor performs his double. And it is from the shadows that Grandpa arises to illuminate himself more wholly before the audience's and his grand­ son's imaginations. The struggle for the artist, however, is to accept Grandpa as a worthy subject and not as an object of humiliation. Kwong closes Monk­ hood in 3 Easy Lessons with his portrait of Grandpa singing from the "Fruits" section of volume 6 of The Golden Book Encyclopedia to the delight of his four grandchildren. His "wheezy, tentative voice transform [ s] into a rich, res­ onant sound (heavy on vibrato) filling the room" with otherwise unortho­ dox lyrics. "Watermelon! Pineapple! Pomegranate! . . ." Through enacting Grandpa, Kwong comes to appreciate his grandfather's strength and alive­ ness, qualities that the soloist, too, projects throughout this performance p1ece. Speaking in his own voice as a middle- aged man, Kwong shifts his com­ mentary on Grandpa from a child's perspective to an adult's. "I wanted so much to find that [ dignity, spirit] in my Grandpa. My oldest personal link

C O M M E N TA R Y

to Kwong men . . . . Be a hero. Be a stud. Be something, anything, but don't be some wimpy C H I N K ! Don't be E V E R Y T H I N G they say is W E A K about US! D O N ' T B E E V E RY T H I N G T H EY S AY W E A R E ! " Because, if Grandpa-along with other ''Asians who even remotely resemble the stereotypes" -is "some wimpy C H I N K ," then so, too, is Dan Kwong. The seeds of internalized racism for Kwong lie just under the skin; they are not buried deeply inside. The third lesson in Monkhood in 3 Easy Lessons is conveyed through the actor's own observations and maturation. Rather than positioning those around him as the mirror in which he identifies himself, Kwong turns "in­ side out." By confronting rather than avoiding his feelings as an adult, Kwong, through his performance, embodies lesson three. He creates himself as subject rather than object within his narrative and reconsiders how Grandpa gained subjectivity despite "outside" attitudes. Grandpa was "a man who delighted in the sound of his own spirited voice." He provided "a rich and wise lesson" (both literally and figuratively) that we must be free and "willing to sing our song-even in the face of ridicule . . . . Because [ our] life is a song." In Monkhood in 3 Easy Lessons, Kwong maps a trajectory of transformational moments-the lessons-that lead to higher conscious­ ness. By the end of his solo, the artist, by exercising his free will, chooses to reenvision Grandpa. He chooses to democratize the vision, to see his elder as an equal and to accept his spirit as a transformative agent. Change is not only possible-it can and does occur in life. The instructional vignettes that comprise Monkhood in 3 Easy Lessons move rhythmically between humor and pathos. We learn that misplaced faith leads to disillusionment with institutional structures However, all is not lost if one is committed to fighting unjust social systems. Through in­ dividual transformation, which in turn can lead to communal transforma­ tion, social change is possible. It starts with the individual's willingness to see all others as his or her equals. Freedom is living the change, democrati­ cally. In the course of his performance, Kwong theatricalizes the progression from innocence to judgment (which is motivated by internalized racism and conflicts of gender codings) to recognition of/about others (most re­ vealingly other Asians) and himself. He comes to understand the power of change and to appreciate its profound impact on personal and social dy­ namics in the future. It is noteworthy that the artist gains this insight primarily through in­ structional lessons involving other men. Women are nearly absent from Monkhood in 3 Easy Lessons. Yet when they are present they are undeniable forces. Surprising as it may seem, Kwong's mother is the partially visible foundation (in terms of direct references to her onstage) of the musings and

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insights addressed in Monkhood in 3 Easy Lessons. The three lessons Kwong highlights are rooted in the history he shares with his mother-from birth through childhood to adulthood. She remains the constant in his life, while all the men (from grandfathers to father to school buddies) die, leave, or construct parameters around the relationship. Arguably, Monkhood in 3 Easy Lessons is the beginning of Kwong's dra­ matic exploration of the history he shares with his mother. If, indeed, she is the constant in his life, the author is aware that their relationship, too, is subject to change over time. Initially, the artist associates his mother-real­ istically, thematically, and theatrically-with his own body. Onstage, he takes the spectator directly into his mother's uterus, where he is one month from birth. Here the mother gives life, and the son is life manifest. The soloist captures this mother-son dynamic by physically challenging himself on a treadmill surrounded by the pounding sound of a heartbeat. The ma­ terial self, for him, is a site of corporeal, interpersonal, and cosmic change. To accentuate these links, immediately following the moving tribute to his mother's father early in the play, when he reads the letter his grandfather wrote to Mr. Gallagher, he activates one of the most striking, arresting im­ ages in his canon. The soloist breaks tone and style completely as he moves from a relatively docile scene, in which he is fully clothed, to one of obsessive drive and de­ manding physicality, in which his lithe, toned body is wholly visible in its nudity. Wearing only a "white Japanese fundoshi loincloth" and speaking in an amplified voice above the "low, pounding sound" of the heartbeat, Kwong walks on a treadmill. The walk progresses to an accelerated running speed, as the actor sweats and exhausts himself, still talking. The shift from Papa's voice, which expressed love for the Western motherland, to his own frees him to release the pent- up anger he felt toward his mother. The real source of Kwong's fury, however, is his rage at the United States-which he displaces onto his mother-for its detention and alienation of Japanese Americans in World War II. Caught in the generational bind between the Nisei's (second-generation Japanese Americans) and Sansei's (third genera­ tion) perceptions of the internment camps, Kwong rages at his mother­ through increased vocal volume and more speed on the treadmill-for re­ minding him that his people "were rejected by [their] own country." In this manic monologue, the mother-not the motherland-is the agent of Kwong's humiliation. And it is Kwong's interpretation of internment as emasculation that drives him into an ongoing battle throughout his per­ formance pieces with the codes of the racialized heteromasculinity of Amer­ ica's dominant culture. Kwong faults his mother for not providing her son

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with a history lesson on heroic Nisei men: Min Yasui, Gordon Hirabayashi, Fred Korematsu, and the Heart Mountain Fair Play Committee, to name only a few. The actor then returns to a slight variation on the familiar re­ frain expressed earlier by the boy's "I never knew": "I never heard. I never heard. I never heard:' And, because he never heard about Japanese Ameri­ can men, the actor, after completing his demonstration of physical accom­ plishment and exertion, turns upstage, his back to the spectator, repeatedly asking for recognition and answers to inform, it seems, a reshaping of his identity-as a man, an Asian American, and an American-a self based on a reinterpretation of ethnic history, racial heritage, and gender politics: "How was I? Was I good? Was I good enough? Good enough for you? . . . Was I good? Good enough? Enough for you? How was I?" While Monkhood in 3 Easy Lessons ends with the harmonious linking of generations of Chinese American men, when Kwong opens up his narrative to embrace the life spirit of Grandpa as a sign of hope and dignity for hu­ mankind one cannot help but return to the performer's exhausting display of body and language captured on the treadmill-where the mother is chas­ tised for her failures. The soloist is specific. He is not ambivalent in naming her. At this point in his career, Kwong clearly identifies his mother, and es­ sentially all women, as the pivotal figures whose relationships with him he must understand if he is to succeed in his quest for personal, truthful self­ identification in everyday American life. But in this piece, he cites his mother's impact on his life without explicating or coming to terms with it. Applying Aristotelian structural components, a peripetia (reversal of for­ tune) is located early in Monkhood in 3 Easy Lessons (which would be un­ characteristic of an ancient play's form) . This reversal in Kwong's work, which is derived from his relationships with women, does not coexist, how­ ever, with an anagnorisis (a recognition of a higher truth-here regarding women) for the play's protagonist. At this point in his body of work, Kwong has yet to untangle and negotiate this narrative strategy. When he does, monkhood may well become a relic of his performative past. Written and performed nearly two years after Monkhood in 3 Easy Les­ sons, Correspondence of a Dangerous Enemy Alien (1995) is shaped as a solo "epistolary docudrama." Inspired by the poignancy of Kiro Nagano's letter to Mr. Gallagher, which he dramatized in Monkhood in 3 Easy Lessons and uses again near the end of Correspondence of a Dangerous Enemy Alien, Kwong returns to his grandfather's worn tan suitcase to retrieve old letters, journals, and other writings for the central source material. A pair of texts that are thematically and chronologically woven together, Correspondence of a Dangerous Enemy Alien, with Monkhood in 3 Easy Lessons form a series of

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history plays that document stories of racism in the United States from World War II to the 1990s. The aliveness in the voices that the spectator hears in these pieces draws on memory, nostalgia, and anticipation. The voices are recorded documents that Kwong articulates in the absence of the original speaking bodies; his performance serves as the medium through which specific Asian American lives are validated and their voices heard. These voices heighten the spectator's sensitivity to Kwong's search for his own voice. They also position him within one of America's most enduring and complicated institutional structures: the family. Throughout much of Correspondence ofa Dangerous Enemy Alien, Kwong reads letters that were exchanged between Papa and his children-Kwong's mother, Morna, and her two brothers-during Papa's detainment (his sepa­ ration from the rest of the family from December 7, 1942, to December 18, 1944). There is no conventional dramatic action in this piece. Instead, Kwong presents sketches of his ancestors and their friends-and subsequently the horrific historical narrative of the unjust incarceration of Japanese Ameri­ cans-through meditations on found objects (letters, journals, documents, photographs) . He surrounds the language of ancestors and friends, however, with multiple convergences of theatrical agents, particularly sound effects, slide images, and text slides (which appear as a kind of agitprop and at times a Brechtian theatrical device) . The many sound cues range from crickets, coyotes, explosions, and gunshots to "space music;' Japanese koto music, and popular big band swing tunes. The slide images range from family photos and letters to Pearl Harbor and a federal penitentiary. Other technical fea­ tures vary from spotlights to full washes, live video camera shots, home movies, voice-overs, props (most notably a stack of yellow cards from which Kwong constructs a house of cards) , and portable pieces of set design (in­ cluding three "large gray rectangular shapes" that span the stage like "hori­ zontal monoliths" and are most frequently used by Kwong as a "guard­ tower") . The personal is unmistakably political in Kwong's solo. He theatricalizes the space of his storytelling through this plethora of multime­ dia effects, which layers and heightens the presentation of his material's in­ ternal, personal psychology and dramaturgy to a more encompassing cul­ tural and historical landscape. Not unlike Lucy, Brazil's mother in Suzan-Lori Parks's The America Play, Kwong's mother (Morna) is the historian and archivist at the center of Cor­ respondence of an Enemy Alien. She alone is responsible for the translation of her family's remaining documents from Japanese into English-most tellingly her father's journal entries, to which, unlike his mailed "correspon­ dence," written in English, the U.S. government does not have access and so

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cannot censor. An examination of the correspondence between the father and his children in the 1940s and the father's private journals facilitates a frank dialogue between mother and son in the 1990s. In his solo, Kwong speaks in an animated fashion about these conversations with his mother. A more accurate understanding of familial and cultural history ("history is far more detailed and complex than nostalgia")-as conveyed to him by his mother's interpretation of her father's thoughts-prompts him to challenge even the authenticity of his idealized Papa. In keeping with his perception of Grandpa in Monkhood in 3 Easy Lessons, he returns to the "constant ques­ tion" that characterizes his solo work, but here he is provoked to do so by the inert words in Papa's letters: "Where are you? Where is your essence? Where is your true voice?" The lesson that Kwong no longer resists acknowledging, and for which he no longer holds his mother and other Nisei responsible, is the "depth of white racism in their beloved home, the U.S." If one highlights the centrality of Kwong's mother in shaping the form and content of Correspondence of an Enemy Alien (it is, after all, her family that Kwong focuses on and it is implied that she preserved her father's suit­ case filled with documents) , the performance becomes a kind of love letter from the artist to her, from son to mother. Through his epistolary docu­ drama, the soloist engages a level of introspection about history that takes him on a personal journey of self-identification. The journey is facilitated by his traveling alongside his beloved Papa and his relatives as they live through and write about their degradation in the 1940s in the country they call home. As Kwong sits with his mother in Los Angeles in the 1990s, touch­ ing and reading Papa's documentation, the (grand) son begins to grasp that his mother also experienced rage in her youth-not unlike the rage that Kwong expressed toward his mother in Monkhood in 3 Easy Lessons. He also understands the generational differences and how they shape (one's) his­ tory. Momo's rage had to be contained because of the times, a revelation simply conveyed by her son to the audience. In Correspondence from an Enemy Alien, Momo Kwong is no longer presented by Dan as his opposi­ tional Other. She is not his enemy alien, a realization that is critical if the artist is to achieve a fuller sense of his identity.

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T h e D o d o Vacc i n e (1996)

(Stage installation description: At mid-stage, a large white mesh scrim spans the width of the stage from wall to wall and floor to ceiling. In front of the scrim and extending into the audience hang dozens of clear balloons, up high and along the walls. These are "healthy" T-cells, but they also suggest floating heav­ enly bodies. This is the "safe" area. On the floor a thick, meandering ''purifica­ tion line" of white rock salt rings the front edge of the playing area, separating the performer from the audience. Behind the white scrim hang dozens more clear balloons from floor to ceil­ ing. Each balloon has several green and red ping pong balls ("HIV particles") inside, plus more balls stuck to the outside-"infected" T-cells. This is the "risky" area. Also behind the white scrim and to the left is a giant amoeba-shaped cell platform approximately twelve feet in diameter and two feet high, with a six foot diameter hole in the middle where the "nucleus" would be. The top surface of the cell is very brightly painted. When lit, the giant cell seems to float in the air like a cartoon cutout. The rock salt line on the floor echoes the irregular con­ tours of this amoeba cell. Laying flat on the floor off to the right of the giant cell is a giant (six foot square) clear condom package. Beyond the giant amoeba and condom hangs yet another mesh scrim, black, enclosing a small cagelike area (ten feet square). Within this cage area hang dozens more "infected" balloons, even more heavily loaded with ping pong balls inside and out. This is the "danger zone." The design is intended to create the sensation of being within a deep, mul­ tilayered, cosmic/cellular world, with many visual and physical manifestations of barriers, boundaries, and layers.)

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(House goes to black. We hear eerie space music. Slides begin: large images of star clusters, galaxies, and nebulas are projected on the white scrim, continu­ ally dissolving from one image to the next. We hear DA N 's recorded voice on tape, sounding profound and reverent.) "In all of recorded history, the earliest people to systematically study and chart the heavens were from Asia. The oldest and most detailed docu­ mentation of the stars and their movements took place in China, Korea, and Japan over 3 , 0 0 0 years ago. We've been looking out there for a long time now. Looking for answers. It has been said, 'Our destiny lies in the stars.' But now it seems it may lie elsewhere-in the cells of our bodies. So we are here tonight to carry on an ancient search, in most contempo­ rary fashion."

(A lavender spotlight comes up and we see D A N standing in the middle of the giant condom package. He is lit from the waist up, behind the white scrim, through the continuous slide images. DAN speaks into a microphone as the slides continue.) Out there! That's where the stars hang out. They say our humble galaxy contains more stars than there are grains of sand on Malibu Beach-an­ other place where stars like to hang. Aside from our own life-giving sun, the closest star is Alpha Centauri-a mere four light years away. That's about twenty trillion miles from Santa Monica. Now, most stars in our galaxy aren't nearly that close. In fact, they are so far away that twinkling light you see in the sky tonight may have been traveling through space for s o , o o o years before arriving at planet Earth. Traveling for millennia, that starlight filters down through the atmosphere, finally entering the iris to dance on rods and cones. And behold: Sirius the Dog Star! But for all we know that star may have burned out thousands of years ago. Per­ haps tonight it is nothing but a dead, blackened corpse, spinning away out there like some sad overcooked falafel. Such mystery to be found . . .

(Slide images change to microscopic images of cells, nerve bundles, corpuscles, etc.) . . . In there! They say our central nervous system with its forty billion neurons has more possible connections than there are stars in our galaxy. And within this miraculous body of ours we contain the complexity of the universe. What wonders we possess in our naked cells! Stripped down to basic impulses, our dendrites throbbing, our synapses firing, muscle fiber, bodily fluids, bone and flesh-we are living, breathing mir­ acles! Endowed with this thing called "consciousness." Life contains us as

T H E D O D O VAC C I N E

we contain life. Sensual galaxies in every pair of shorts. Go ahead, dare to touch somebody. Hold a hand, rub shoulders, kiss someone's cheek, feel your own pulse. The most mundane gesture you've ever made was a mas­ terpiece of intricate psycho-biological complexity. Yet human life forms come and go like so many little gnats, our impact on the cosmos a mere flea fart in the wind. And I wonder-which layer of cellular protein, which cloud of interstellar dust is the domain of love?

(Slide of the Horsehead Nebula appears.) Hello out there! Anybody home?

(Dissolve to slide of healthy T-cells.) Hello in there. Antibody home? I wanna speak with the manager! I wanna word with your D N A . (Dissolve to slide of infected T-cell.) See, there's a little virus going around my neighborhood-you know, the Milky Way galaxy? And we've never seen anything quite like it. It's chang­ ing things around here in a big way. (Dissolve to huge planet Earth image.) Greetings Uncle! Hello cousin! Hi Mom. I just thought you might wanna know. No. No, I just thought you should know. Not to be scared, but to be aware. (Lights, slide, and music fade out. We hear funky upbeat electronic music with ' DA N s recorded voiceover.) "Where I live in Southern California we have large-scale disasters every now and then that break freeways, burn shit up, and basically disrupt life for massive numbers of people. Such regularly occurring events are part of what gives California its progressive tendencies. They make us all se­ riously re-examine the very nature of our social structures and sys­ tems-for about six months. Then it all fades into the background of a television sit-com until the next big one comes around."

(Music fades out. A Japanese shakuhachi flute begins playing a lonely melody. In the darkness behind the scrim, D A N 's face appears illuminated by candle­ light-he holds a bowl of votive candles beneath his chin. He speaks softly and gently, his voice amplified by a microphone.) January 17, 1994. 4:31 A . M . , Pacific Standard Time. And oh, yes, it was a "big one." Earthquakes strike with indifference. They have no prejudices.

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They know this well in Kobe, Japan, in Mexico City, and in California. Depending on where you were, it was somewhat like having the Amtrak roar through your bedroom at full throttle. But the most startling effect where I live was immediately after the quake. The incredible darkness that followed. The entire city of Los Angeles was completely blacked out, and suddenly you could see all the stars. Out there . . . The air was strangely cold and still, as if the earthquake had cracked open a subter­ ranean ice box. My neighbors and I huddled together in the predawn chill, joking about our various reactions, laughing and shivering over steaming mugs of hot cocoa and tea. The rest of the day was spent cleaning up broken glass and smashed crockery in our kitchens and checking for damage to the walls of our structures. That night we all had a communal fish fry. Sat around a campfire sharing tales of natural catastrophe-and death. And in the silence between tales we stared into that crackling fire, our faces glowing warm in the black night. Glad to be together. Glad to be alive. (Shakuhachi fades out, DAN blows out candles. Backout. We hear a koto play­ ing a single note over and over again. Four text slides appear in sequence.) By t h e e n d of 1 9 95 t h e re w e r e a p p rox i m ate ly

1 . 5 m i l l i o n H IV-pos itive peo p l e in the U . S . a l o n e . An e st i m ated 70% t o 8o% d o n ot know t h ey a re H I V- p o s itive. Th i s t ra n s l ates to

1 , oso,ooo to 1 , 2 oo, ooo u n awarely i n fected peo p l e . B e e n tested l ately?

(A diagonal corridor of light appears downstage center near the audience. D A N walks into this shaft of light. He wears a yellow t-shirt and black drawstring pants.) October 6, 1995. I walk into the clinic for this, my (counting on fingers) sixth H I V test. I sign in with my I D code, " B B -12." Since this is anony­ mous testing, you get to make up your own secret code-two letters, two numbers, no names. I choose " B B " for "baseball," my lifelong passion. And 12, of course, is my uniform number. See, I figure by using this par-

T H E D O D O VAC C I N E

ticular code I can draw upon the natural wholesome vigor of my favorite sport-the National Pastime! Baseball! Ah, pastoral splendor of green grass, rich brown earth, leather gloves, bats and balls in the great out­ doors! Oh, I F E E L S O NAT U R A L LY W H O L E S O M E A N D V I G O R O U S ! Make my test negative. It's an interesting experience going in to be tested. Not having been raised religious, it's the closest thing I can imagine to going to confession; you sit there with some stranger who asks you questions about your most recent intimate fuck-ups. Catholic guilt, Jewish guilt, Asian guilt, it all smells the same to me" B B -12? I can take you now." (DA N looks around.) A young woman's voice cheerfully calls out to me in the waiting room:

(He becomes the young woman.) "Hi, I'm Yvonne. Come right this way." (DA N freezes in horror. Referring to Yvonne:) Uh-oh. Asian American. I can tell, she looks really competent. Suddenly, I feel so ashamed! As if my deepest, darkest secrets were about to be ex­ posed to my cousin. Ugh. She probably knows someone who works with someone who's related to someone who went to school with someone who lives next door to someone who knows ALL MY R E L AT I V E S ! I sense a very high potential humiliation factor here. S H I T ! Oh god, this is going to be so embarrassing. Why do I put myself through this? Maybe I can just slip out the back door this time-

(To Yvonne.) "Uh, s'cuse me! Say, how 'bout a nice fresh urine specimen? Uh, I'll be right back! " (D A N starts to slip away, then stops. He turns back with resolve.) No. No, I will not cave in to fear! I'm here because I am trying to be re­ sponsible. This is about taking action against this fucking global epi­ demic. This is about taking a stand against destructive cultural patterns of denial and ignorance. None of that bullshit for me! Right. R I G H T !

(He turns towards Yvonne, posturing heroically and proudly holding out his arm.) "Come on Yvonne, tie me offl

MY V E I N S A R E R E A D Y ! "

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Yvonne: "Before I take your blood sample, I'd just like to find out what you know about H I V and A I D s ." Ah-the pop-quiz before the big test! No problem! By now, I've got the basic facts down. (He confidently rattles it off by rote.) "The H I V virus is not the same thing as A I D S . mv -positive means the virus is in your blood and you are producing antibodies against it; A I D S is when you are actually sick o r your T-cell count drops below 200 per milliliter of blood. You don't get tested for A I D s , you get tested for H I V . The primary bodily fluids involved i n spreading the virus: blood, semen, vaginal fluid, breast milk, and cerebrospinal fluid (try not to exchange any next time you give head) . H I V is not transmitted through casual con­ tact. You cannot be infected from handshakes, toilet seats, mosquito bites, drinking glasses, tears, sweat, saliva, or bronchial fluids-unless there's blood and cum flying around. You can be infected, very healthy and be totally contagious. You can also be m v -positive and not get A I D S for years and years and years . . . ," and, hey! I know this shit, okay?

(He is smugly pleased with himself) Yvonne: ''And now I'd like to ask you about your sexual practices."

(DA N is suddenly sheepish. He confesses.) Oh. Uh, yes. Yes, I've done that . . . Uh, yeah, I've done that too . . . Uh, no, I didn't . . . Somehow all the knowledgeability I displayed earlier now merely serves to highlight the stupidity of my actions. Then comes that priceless questionYvonne: "So-have you had any unprotected sexual contact recently?"

(More awkward confession.) "Well, uh, I uh, actually uh,-I, uh, mfflrfmflrmm." (Mumbles incoher­ ently, then blurts out.) She's thinking I'm an idiot! I know, I can feel it! Oh, she's gonna tell! People are gonna talk! I can just hear those voices now, echoing down the corridors of Little Tokyo and Chinatown:

(We hear a cascade of disapproving male and female voices.) "My god, did you hear those awful stories about B B -12?'' "Oh, so disap­ pointing! " "That's really a shame. B B -12 seemed like such a respectable person." "His poor mother-she must be so embarrassed!"

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(The shame is too much.

DAN

explodes.)

''Awright, Yvonne-I 'M STU P I D ! Isn't that what you want me to say? Okay, I admit it! Go ahead Yvonne, TELL T H E WO RLD ! Splatter it all over the front page of the Rafu Shimpo and Yolk magazine: ' T H E U G LY TRUTH A B O U T B B - 1 2 ! ' I COULD G I V E A S H I T, YVO NN E ! ! ! " (Aside to audience.) I'm not only losing face here, I am losing skull. Yvonne: (Again.) "So-have you had any unprotected sexual contact re­ cently?"

(DA N sighs in resignation.) She asks it so matter-of-factly. Maybe she's come to understand that people get brainless around sex. Maybe she realizes we are trained to be that way! (He starts getting worked up again.) That this mindlessness about sex is cul­ tivated with great reverence in modern society! Yeah! Oh, maybe she un­ derstands how it also functions as a means to manipulate people for pur­ poses of economic profit! Maybe-I should just answer the question.

(Blackout. We hear a strange music mix: ancient Japanese court music-lots of whiny reed instruments and slow stately drumming-mixed with a fast, driv­ ing, funk rhythm and dreamy vocals. Huge slide images are projected on the white scrim, illustrating the narration: actual microscopic images along with colorful diagrams and graphics of the H I V infection process. Lights up on D A N behind the white scrim, moving among the infected T-cell balloons. He dances a slow, writhing path through the balloons, weaving about, spinning them around, caressing them. D A N 's recorded voiceover.) "The H I V virus is a microscopic particle with a dark nucleocapsid core surrounded by a lipid membrane envelope. Think of it as a bit of bad news wrapped in protein. The virus contains two particular glyco­ proteins, G P 120 and G P 41, which are key to the infection process. G P 120 and G P 41 protrude from the viral lipid envvelope, that is to say, its 'skin,' sticking out like little lollipops to make contact with the receptor on a host-cell surface. The receptor substance is called C D 4 protein, which coats two types of blood cells: C D 4 T-cells and monocytes. Now, when G P 120 meets C D 4 protein, it says, ' G o T C H A ! You're mine! ' And they bond, virus to cell. Then the G P 41 makes its move, saying, 'Hey, come on, ease up! Don't fight it. Let's take your plasma membrane, fuse it with my viral lipid envelope, and we'll just share one continuous layer of membrane-one skin.' And they do. The deadly nucleoprotein viral core injects itself into the host-cell cytoplasm, a little RNA to D NA conversa­ tion takes place-and infection occurs. The infected T-cell, now totally

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brainwashed, becomes a little H I V factory, sprouting thousands of new virus particles from its own membrane. And any time this infected T-cell makes contact with another healthy T-cell, you can guess what happens. Thwwppp! Bound together with G P 120 glue, infected C D 4 T-cells begin to clump together, their membranes fused into one giant cell body. Even­ tually the infected T-cells burst and die, spreading even more HIV par­ ticles around. The cycle repeats and C D 4 T-cells begin to disappear at an alarming rate, although there is still some mystery as to just how this happens. In fact, there is much debate about exactly what role HIV plays in a disease as complex as A I D S . But there is no question that without C D 4 T-cells the body gradually loses its ability to make antibodies and destroy other infected cells. And you get sick."

(Lights, music, and slides fade out. A bright wash comes up. Through the white scrim, we see DA N standing on the giant cell platform.) I was not sick when I went in for my very first HIV test. In fact, it really wasn't that big of a deal for me. Remember, this was back in the 198os, when most heterosexuals had little to no concern about A I D S . Huh. Re­ member when people actually used to think like that? Plus I was in what was considered to be a relatively low-risk category at the time: "Straight Asian male with a history of multiple partners." Well, lots of partners. Okay-a history of promiscuity. Sometimes you feel like a slut, some­ times you don't. Anyways, curiosity prevailed over "fear of bad news," so I went in and had my blood sample taken.

(DA N lays down on the giant cell.) Later that night my lover and I lay in bed snuggled up real close and cozy. I began telling her about going in to be tested. In my best "Mr. Know-It­ All" manner, I informed her of some of the interesting things I had learned: about the two different tests performed on your blood sample­ first the " E L i s A " test and then if it turned up positive, the "Western Blot." About how the E L I S A was a much more sensitive test and therefore prone to false positive results. And how the E L I S A didn't actually detect the presence of the H I V virus itself but whether or not you were produc­ ing antibodies against it, and on and on, and-she got real quiet.

(DA N sits up and begins creeping backwards across the giant cell.) And when I mentioned returning for my test results in a couple weeks, she began to slowly pull away from me, recoiling across the bed. (In dis­ belief) "What are you doing? Look at you-what are you doing? This is

T H E D O D O VAC C I N E

absurd! I just went in for a test! Nothing else is different. Being tested doesn't make me dangerous!" But there was more. She would not go in to be tested. She flatly re­ fused. "I don't have it. I know I don't. I don't need to be tested. Why should I bother? I know I don't have it. I just know. No, I'm not going to be tested." That night we slept on opposite sides of the bed. And right there in my lover's bed I got a glimpse of how terrified we can be without even knowing it. I thought I got a taste of what AIDS discrimination must be like. And she wasn't the only scared person in that bed. It's an ancient fear, a primal fear. Death-disease. Death-suffering. Death-isolation. Death-powerlessness. Death-good night, honey.

(Lights fade to black. Music begins-a powerful rhythm that surges forward like the relentless progress of technology. A series of colored text slides are pro­ jected on the scrim, punctuated by DAN's live drumming riffs.) I n the U . S . t h e re a re 42 eth n i c gro u p s u n d e r t h e term Asia njPacific Islander, each with its own l a n gu a ge, trad itio n s , and c u l t u re. Aj P i s w i l l acco u n t fo r 1 5% of the tota l U . S . p o p u l at i o n growth betwee n 1 9 90 a n d 2000. Recent s u rveys in Ca l ifo r n i a fo u n d A s i a n a d o l e scents t o be l e a st i n formed a b o ut H I VfAI DS w h e n co m p a red to t h e i r eth n i c cou nte r p a rt s . We drove through the night just so I could see Niagara Falls (or the first time. It was magnificent.

As i a n American yo u n g a d u lts we re fo u n d to p e rce i ve H I VfAI DS as a n o n -As i a n e p i d e m ic. The rate of n ew A I DS cases per yea r a m o n g A/ P i s i s o n e o f t h e h i g h e st i n t h e U . S . ove r t h e l a s t five years.

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I ate n ine bea utiful perfectly ripe strawberries plucked from the patch outside.

The rate of A I DS cases a m o n g A/ P i s i n t h e U . S . i n creased ove r 1 50% fro m 1 98 8 to 1 9 90 a l o n e . Accord i n g t o Wo rld H ea l t h O rgan ization esti m ate s , by t h e yea r 2000 t h e e p icenters of t h e A I D S e p i d e m i c wi l l be B o m b ay, I n d i a , and B a n gkok, Th a i l a n d . My 7 year old niece dances a delightful jig when we play "Hide & Seek" and she wins.

By t h at yea r, H I V wi l l be tra n s m i tted wo rldwide p r i m a ri l y t h ro u g h h eterosex u a l contact. I heard mockingbirds singing outside my studio just before sunrise.

(Music fades out as last slide fades to black. D A N appears downstage in a deep golden light, tossing handfuls of salt into the air as he hollers like a carnival barker.) Unclean! Unclean! Unclean! Chant the magical phrase and toss Epsom salt to the four corners of the room! A fake, mystical, Mongolian ritual to beckon the gods' favors! Guaranteed to enlighten or your money back! (He stops.) Excuse me while I check on a few healthy friends.

(Lighting shifts to a dark green back light and DA N slowly turns his back to the audience. We hear traditional Chinese music as DAN becomes a silhouette and does slow tai chi movements during voiceover.) (DA N ' s recorded voice.) "In 1982 my Chinese grandfather was dying of cancer. Dad flew us all up to San Francisco to see him in the hospital. I knew it would be the last time I saw him alive. And, although he was quite feeble, it pleased him greatly that we actually came to visit. 'Ahhh, Maria. Ahhh, Barbara. Ahh

T H E D O D O VAC C I N E

Diana, Danny. Ahh ha-ha.' Afterwards the rest of the family went out for dim sum-in Chinatown of course. Over lunch, my uncle told me that the family had decided not to tell Grandpa he had terminal cancer. 'You mean he doesn't know he has cancer? That he's dying?' 'No. If we tell him, he just give up hope. He just get depressed. Better not to talk about it."'

(His back to the audience, DAN sinks to the floor as the music fades out. Slowly he stands, his voice shouting to the sky as the lights crossfade to front wash.) She was talking! She was talking! She was talking to me! (He whips around.) The health care worker was talking to me, about the obstacles she encounters doing A I D S prevention work in Asian/Pacific Islander communities. Those big cultural taboo subjects: "Sexual behavior in gen­ eral;' "homosexuality" in particular, "illness," and "death."

(He gets priggish and uptight.) "Oooh, we especially don't like to talk about those things! It's rude. Im­ polite. It's shameful. Weak-spirited! It reflects badly upon the family! It's self-fulfilling prophecy! It makes us all uncomfortable! ! ! And W H AT WILL PEO PLE T H I N K? ? ? " After all, we Asian Americans are the Model Minority. You know, the ones America likes to think of as "problem-free" and "low maintenance." Yeah, we're the ones who've made it! That is to say, the ones who can be held up to all those other minorities as a target-I mean, an example! Yeah, proof that racism is no longer a problem in this country-it's just your attitude. Never mind all those statistics about anti-Asian hate crimes in the U.S. up 150%, or the fact that we're one of the fastest-grow­ ing groups of HIV-infected populations in the country-America has granted us "Honorary White People Status" ! D o N ' T B L O W I T. Anyways, all that stuff scares the shit out of us. Now, don't get me wrong-I am proud to be Asian. I fully claim my Chinese heritage, and I fully claim my Japanese heritage, and there is no other way I would have it. But, you know, there are times when I am really glad I am also a B I G M O U T H A M E R I C A N . The way I see it, every culture has its beautiful, humanistic, life-affirming qualities. And every culture has its, shall we say, "rigid, obsolete, pseudo -survival behav­ ior" -bullshit.

(Heroic music begins softly under. paces with determination.)

DAN

grabs a white lab coat, puts it on, and

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So. I believe, with intelligent balance, this combination of Asian and American cultural values could make for the ideal social alchemy! Why not combine the finest qualities of both cultures? (As if holding a test tube in each hand, he refers to each in turn.) Yes! Take some of that "unbridled individualism" and mix with some "collective group consciousness think­ ing" ! Ah, some of that "wild, free-spirited adventurism" and some "fo­ cused discipline and sublime self-restraint" ! Some "bulldozer forthright­ ness" and some "intuitive sensitivity and consideration" ! Some etcetera and etcetera (you know all the stereotypes), and EUREKA! (holds up one imaginary test tube, gesturing proudly). ''Asiatica Americanus politus extremis obnoxioso ! " A new strain, evermore resistant to repression and H I G H LY S U B J E C T TO MUTAT I O N . Beautiful, isn't it? Oh, but I must give it a common name, one that people can remember. Hmmm . . . I know! I shall call it, "The FrankenMaxine Vaccine" ! Yes, that's it! Perfect! Frank Chin and Maxine Hong Kingston,* immortalized! Oh, beloved brother and sister together at last in this mighty serum! (Aside.) Trust me, it's appropriate.

(DA N drinks the contents of the test tube. A moment of anticipation-suddenly we hear loud, wild, screaming, electric guitar feedback, the lights flash wildly, and DA N jerks about spasmodically, as if poisoned. Gradually it subsides, and DA N is left standing, heaving and growling like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.) G R R R R R R R R ! I feel UNSTO P PA B LE ! ! !

(Politely.) -but very aware. (Fiercely.) LET ME AT T H O S E CULTURAL TA B O O S , I ' L L TEAR ' E M TO P I E C E S ! (Politely.) -respectfully, of course. (He shouts fiercely to the far corners of the Earth.) Hey! Mothers and fathers! Aunts and uncles! Cousins and sisters and brothers! Guess what? T H E RE ARE A S I A N A M E R I C A N L E S B I A N S A N D GAY M E N ! That's right! And some o f them are your family members! Some of them are your friends! And guess what? Gay or straight, WE HAVE SEX W I T H EACH O T H E R ! And you know what? WE LIKE I T ! And you know what else? Its gooooood! ! ! *The well-known and mutually antagonistic Asian American writers whose quarrel cen­ ters on cultural authenticity.

T H E D O D O VAC C I N E

(He calms down, becoming quietly serious.) And, yes, some have A I D S . And some have cancer. Some have leukemia, Parkinson's, Alzheimer's. And some are dying. (Raging again.) D Y I N G ! D I D Y O U H E A R T H AT? D Y I N G ! ! !

(He cools off Looks at the imaginary test tube in his hand.) Huh. That was a good batch!

(Blackout. We hear the throbbing bass line from a rocking techno-punk song. A series of text slides are projected in sequence on the white scrim.) One Day at the Cl i n ic: A h eterosexu a l man was i n s i stent t h at a n a l i nte rco u rse was not u n s afe sex u a l b e h av i o r. T h e co u n s e l o r re s po n d ed with many facts wh ich confi rmed the ve ry h i gh ri s k of a n a l i nte rco u rs e . S a i d t h e c l ient: " G ee, you wo u l d n 't th i n k h a v i n g sex once a year was h i gh ri s k fo r H I V ! " a n - n u - a l a dj.

1 . Occu rri n g or d o n e every ye ar; yea rly

(Music cuts to a romantic big band song with 1950s lounge singer. Red lights on the giant cell platform. We see DA N clad in a fundoshi [white fapanse loin­ cloth], sashaying about on the giant cell. He approaches various balloons pro­ vocatively, gyrating suggestively towards them. Two more text slides follow.) T h e majo rity o f A/ P I p eo p l e sti l l d o n ot th i n k t h e i r u n s afe sex is a p ro b l e m i n rega rd to the s p read of H I V i n fect i o n . A m aj o r fru strat i o n i n t h e fi ght a ga i n st A I DS i s t h at we do h ave the knowledge but fa i l to act on t h e b a s i s of it.

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(Music fades out, and we hear a recorded voiceover. During this voiceover, D A N stops dancing, picks up a small knife, and cuts a diagonal slash through the black scrim behind the giant cell. He climbs into the "danger zone" area filled with highly infected T-cells.) (Recorded voiceover.) "So-have you had any unprotected sexual contact over the last six months?" "Uh, yeah, actually I have." "Now, you do realize that is risky behavior?" "Uh, yeah. Yeah, I know that . . . I know . . ." (Music suddenly cuts to a very loud, very fast, harsh speed metal song with screaming vocals. The "unsafe dance" begins. DA N looks around him like a kid in a candy store who wants everything at once. Knife in hand, he begins to lunge after one balloon, then another, getting increasingly out of control until he is flailing about wildly. Balloons are popping left and right, sending ping pong balls flying everywhere. The song ends as abruptly as it began and D A N collapses to the floor. A moment of silence. We hear a cascade of gentle, heavenly chimes like soothing water spilling forth. A clarinet sweetly calls out a tender melody. D A N painfully drags himself onto his hands and knees and wearily crawls through the slash in the scrim back onto the giant cell platform. He continues to crawl down into the cell "nu­ cleus," momentarily disappearing. He reappears, kneeling within the nucleus, leaning toward a microphone. He speaks softly, his voice weary with anguish and guilt, which gives it a strangely sensual quality.) When I have had unsafe sex, it wasn't because of ignorance or "defying authority" or "proving my manhood." No. It was about compulsion. Mouth-watering, loin-quivering, low-moaning compulsion. I could not help myself. I would not help myself! Gazing into the eye of yoni sex, I abandon all reason. Sweetly surrendering to stroking, licking, and suck­ ing my beloved or belusted, I fondly recall each unprotected act. Per­ formed with full knowledge that it could be lethal. But, I just had to do it! As if my lips and tongue swimming in her slippery sex could reach the most sacred chambers of her heart, speak to her very soul, and with ex­ quisite tenderness show her that I feel-

(He leaps to his feet, fiercely chastizing himself) S T U P I D I D I O T ! ! ! W H AT T H E F U C K DO YOU T H I N K Y O U ' RE D O I N G ? ! ! !

T H E D O D O VAC C I N E

(He drops to his knees and seamlessly continues in the same weary, sensual voice.) And, yes, I entered her, too. And yeah, it felt good. In fact, it was incred­ ible. We coupled. We mated. Like two writhing leopards, two wet seals, clinging and grinding, mingling our juices in slow ecstasy. It was heaven, it was perfection, it was-

(He leaps up again.) F U C K I N G S T U P I D ! ! ! YOU KNOW B E T T E R T H A N T H AT ! W H AT T H E H E L L ' s T H E M AT T E R W I T H Y O U ? ! ! !

(He drops to his knees and continues.) Oh, but how can I gaze upon such beauty, be so close to such heavenly touch, and not do that? It's just too much. I can't say no. After all, I'm only-

(He leaps up.) STUPID ! STUPID ! FUCKING STUPID !

(Slowly collapsing to his knees.) Stupid, stupid, stupid. (He is inconsolable with despair.) Ohhhhh. I don't do what I know, I do what I feel. I don't do what I know, I do what I feel. I don't do what I know, I do what I feel. Houston, we have a problem. (In­ creasingly delirious.) Oh, but you don't understand what I've been through. Such loneliness! Denied, forbidden, rejected, repressed! I walk around with a frozen void inside I just can't seem to fill! How long have I hungered? A love-starved lifetime trapped in a prison cell of depriva­ tion, suffocating on images of unattainable desire! (Starts to become manic.) But now I'm free! I'm free, and I've got some catching up to do! So much air to breathe, so much water to drink! I gotta make up for lost time! I want more, I want more, I WA N T M O RE ! I gotta have it! I gotta have it now! G O T TA H AVE I T N o w ! (Collapses, despairing again.) Be­ cause now I'm free. I'm free . . . I'm free . . . I'm . . . (Lights fade to black, and music begins: an exhilarating, dizzying roller coaster of loud, fast arpeggios. A series of text slides are projected so quickly you barely have time to read them, the words getting bigger and bigger with each slide. During this overwhelming barrage of data, a giant balloon is being inflated behind the white scrim stage left, illuminated by a ghostly purple light. As slides flash by, the balloon swells larger and larger, until it is nearly five feet in diameter.) (Text slides.)

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Wo rldwide: End of 1 9 9 5 : 22 m i l l i o n H I V- i n fected 7 m i l l i o n A I DS cases. By t h e e n d of 1 9 9 6 :

30 m i l l i o n i n fected 1 1 m i l l i o n A I DS cases. 75% to 8o% of a l l n ew H I V-i n fect i o n s were fro m h etero s exu a l b e h av i o r. 25% of a l l n ew H I V- i nfect i o n i s occu rri n g a m o n g tee n a ge rs. Tee n age women of co l o r a re lea d i n g t h e n ext wave of H I V- i nfect i o n . U . S . co l l ege students: A rate of H I V- i n fect i o n 1 0 t i m e s h i gh e r t h a n t h e ge n e r a l h ete ro po p u l at i o n . I n t h e U . S . H I V- i n fect i o n i s u n d e rre p o rted b y 1 5%. A m o n g A/ P i s it i s u n d e rre p o rted b y 25%. A I D S is the lead i n g ca u s e o f death fo r a l l America n s aged 25-44. I n the U.S.

3 , 000 d e ath s fro m A I DS eve ry month . A l l statistics a re ro u g h esti m ates . " O n e m i l l i o n [peo p l e with AI DS] i s n't a m a rket th at' s excit i n g.

T H E D O D O VAC C I N E

S u re it's grow i n g,-but it' s n ot asth m a . " -Executive, H offm a n - La Roc h e P h a rm aceutica l s , I n c.

(Music fades out with last slide. We hear the sound of a low, howling wind. A deep blue light comes up, and we see D A N in a cloud offog behind the white scrim, holding the giant inflated balloon over his head as if it were keeping him aloft. A rotating mirror ball mounted sideways on the floor sends dozens of thin shafts of light streaming from floor to ceiling continuously, creating a surreal, falling effect. DA N speaks, hanging from his balloon.) I dream we are all floating in a galaxy of giant T-cells, each of us hanging onto ours for dear life. And in this dream, we are surrounded by others, empty-handed.

(As DAN speaks, eight small figurines slowly lower into the scene, suspended over the giant cell platform. They are posed in various positions offalling. The wind continues to howl.) Falling. As far as the eye can see: men, women, teenagers, babies, and they are all falling. Falling through history. Falling through the cracks. Falling through the arms of care. We float by them, family and loved ones, strangers and ancestors, our voices calling out:

(We hear various recorded voices.) "Why have you done this to yourself? You have brought shame on your family! " "We love you! You are our brother! Our sister!" "Falling? Who's falling? I don't see anything!" "I always meant to tell you-I love you!" "Whatever you do, don't tell anyone you're falling!" But they are. Some fall faster than others-quickly and silently, they drop from view. Others seem to defy gravity altogether; they float confidently with everyone else. Still others kick and fight all the way down. They plunge through pathetic little safety nets spread below: "Sorry! Our plans aren't designed to catch people who actually fall! Premiums go up, you know!" It's a little late now to wonder why they're falling-they're too busy throwing out ballast; emptying wallets, trying to hang on to jobs, homes, families, relationships, connections.

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(Unbeknownst to smaller.)

DA N,

his balloon is slowly deflating, getting smaller and

Who are these people? Hardly any are close to me. Their cries are faint and distant. Some of us are surrounded by them-but not me. I just float along, as if watching it all on television. Gee. Someone should do some­ thing. Hey! Hey, over here! Over here! Here!

(He throws a red ribbon towards the figures. It falls to the floor.) Well, I tried. Sorry! I'd like to help but-I'm really busy! I mean, I have my own problems, you know! Sorry! I'm really sorry! Maybe someone else can-

(Suddenly he notices his own shrinking balloon. He begins to panic.) Hey. Hey! ! Hey, h-h-help ! Help ! H E LLLLLP ! ! !

(Lights quickly fade to black. Wind sound effects fade out and we hear hypnotic Middle Eastern music. Text slides appear.) Ave rage cost o f m e d i ca l ca re fo r a person with A I D S : $2,764 per month. I n 5 h o u rs t h e U . S . s p e n d s m o re m o n ey o n defe n s e t h a n i n 5 years of p u b l i c h e a l t h care. "A I D S m e a n s G ay. We d o n ' t h ave h o mosexu a l s i n o u r com m u n it i e s , i n o u r fa m i l i e s . " I n As i a n trad i ti o n , a n i n d i vid u a l ' s behavior refl ects h eav i l y u po n t h e enti re gro u p . Therefore, a G ay s o n i s p e rceived to b r i n g s h a m e and stigma u p o n t h e e n t i re fa m i ly.

(Slide and music fade out. Lights up on DAN standing far behind the white scrim. He is the S I S S Y, wearing cutoffjeans, gray t-shirt, and sneakers, looking schoolboyish. In a whiny voice.)

T H E D O D O VAC C I N E

Hey, c'mon. C'mon, gimme my glove back. C'mon man, gimme my glove back, you can't just take it like that! You gimme my glove back! I want it right now! That's my glove and I want it! ! !

(He begins to cry. Suddenly D A N rushes forward to the white scrim. He gestures over his shoulder at the previous character, his voice filled with scorn.) Michael Kondo. Sissy. Fairy, Queer.

(DA N eagerly runs around to the front side of the scrim to the audience. He is oozing cruelty and proud of it.) From the fourth grade on, we kicked his ass regularly. Him and his kind. Like Eddie Lavasco-definitely a fruit. Richard Rosslyn? What a swish! They weren't real boys-they'd back down from a fight. They couldn't take it, they were soft. It was unspoken knowledge that "sissies deserved punishment." That simple. And you qualified for a sissy-attack if you were: too big, too small; too graceful, too clumsy; too smart, too slow; too tender, too mean-no, you could never be too mean. Too friendly, too lonely, too quiet-Well, you get the idea. And nobody called me "sissy." Michael Kondo was major sissy. You could make him cry so easy! Just push him around, be mean to him, take his baseball glove without ask­ ing- "Gimme that!" We called him "Crybaby Kondo;' all the more ironic because he was a good head taller than we who bullied him. Awkward and shy, he tried to be as invisible as possible, but he couldn't hide from us. We sought him out like hunters trailing a bleeding animal, as if he ex­ uded pheremones for abuse-we could smell "victim." Crybaby Kondo slunk around the schoolyard wearing the perpetual look of a wounded basset hound. He was a fucking embarrassment! In the tradition of "beat or be beaten;' us guys basically tortured each other in the name of our boyhood. But Michael Kondo refused to play! A "sensitive" boy who never managed to numb out quite as efficiently as the rest of us. And we hated him for it. Because to feel was to lose, and to lose was to cease to exist. And non-existence was the province of sissies. And girls . . . For the most part, Michael Kondo did not exist except for when we needed someone to kick around- "You fucking disgrace!" Such a relief to know there was someone you had power over! Someone to pound on. An easy target! (He approaches the audience suspiciously. ) And if you got a problem with that-well, what are you, anyways?

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(He bellows.) " y o u F U C K I N ' S I S S Y ! Y O U A C T L I K E T H AT, Y O U O U G H TA B E W I P E D OUT ! ! ! "

(Blackout. We hear sparse, haunting, koto music as two text slides appear in sequence. ) A Vietn a m e s e m a n s a i d if h e co n fe s sed t o b e i n g G ay, h i s best fri e n d wo u l d ki l l h i m . A C h i n e s e American m a n s a i d if h i s p a rents k n ew h e w a s G ay, they wo u l d ki l l t h e m s e lve s .

(Slides and music fade out. We hear creepy, spooky, space music. A tight spot­ light center stage reveals D A N standing just behind the white scrim. He is wear­ ing the white fundoshi loincloth, doubled over at the waist. He slowly straight­ ens up, smearing handfuls of purple slime onto himself. He does this as if hypnotized, gradually covering his body during next section. Music continues as we hear D A N 's recorded voiceover.) "Homophobia covers me like rotten slime, it sends cold shivers down my spme. My eyeballs glaze and paralyze, my asshole shrinks to munchkin- size. Get away from me, man. I'm supposed to hit you, not hold you. I'm supposed to hate you, not have you in my life. I'm supposed to kill you, not love you like my wife. If I get too close to him, if I cross the line; If I feel his tenderness, how does that define me? People wonder if I'm gay, they often get confused that way. Can't you smell my homo fear, my terror of the label 'queer'? I know what happens if you choose to walk outside without your shoes. Without your hat, without your gun. The proper dress code for everyone. Otherwise you'll likely find a world that wants extinct your kind. That wants you dead, that wants you gone. That doesn't even think it's wrong To let you die like falling leaves, that doesn't care, that never grieves. It's the slime that lies behind every homophobic mind. This slimy terror of 'the other' translates into 'fear your brother.' Fear your neighbors, fear your friends; fear as if your life depends on Just how well you can maintain some fake fa<;:ade of normal, sane;

T H E D O D O VAC C I N E

So you damn well better learn to hide all that fails to coincide With socially accepted norms. He who survives is he who conforms. A queer is like a Jew, you know-a Chink, a punk, a fuckin' ho. Learn to loathe and hate "the other" for some reason or another. Doesn't matter if it's true, one of these days it could be you. The ones they'd like to most destroy, whose suffering they'd most enjoy. That's the threat that sticks like glue; one of these days it could be you. One of these days it could be you."

(Music and voiceover fade out. Suddenly we hear fast, frantic, atonal piano music. A harsh, bright spotlight comes up on the giant cell nucleus. Surprised, DA N runs over and climbs into the nucleus. He begins hurriedly putting on slacks, dress shirt, and loafers, oblivious of the slime covering him from head to toe. He talks like a defensive, politically correct, guilt-ridden liberal as he nerv­ ously dresses.) S-s-some of my best friends are Gay and Lesbian! (Smiles.) Oh, and Bi­ sexual, too! How can you say I'm homophobic? I mean, I've been to Gay discos! I danced! Well, that was in the '8os, but-r H A D F U N ! Uh, some of my closest friends are Lesbian and Gay! (Dutifully remembers.) And Bi­ sexual, too. And-I like them! They're such FUN P E O P L E ! In general, I do not have a problem with them. I mean, as long as they're not all mil­ itant about it, you know. Some of my smartest friends are Gay and Les­ bian! (Remembers, in an annoyed way. ) AND B I S EXUAL. And oh, they're so organized! I think it's really great that they have their own, uh, net­ works and publications and, uh, performance spaces. Yeah, I think that's a really good thing! It's like, those people are so supportive of each other! Especially nowadays, you know. I mean, I haven't been to any funerals myself, but I know people who know people who are sick! You know, some of my most trusted friends are Gay and Lesbian and-w H ATEVER. You know, I just wish they wouldn't get so defensive about all that iden­ tity stuff. I mean, they only attract more hostility that way! What do you mean I have the arrogance of privilege? Some of my favorite friends are H I V -positive! And look, I'm sorry if the health care system doesn't work for them-but it's not like I'm responsible for their sex lives, okay? Hey, hey, I haven't had health insurance for ten years. See? See? It's hard for me, too! How can you say I'm unaware? How can you say-

(Suddenly we hear dozens of alarm clocks going off, a cacophony of bells and gongs interrupting the piano music and surprising D A N . Fully dressed, he hur­ ries over to the giant condom package and steps into the middle of it. A tight,

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F R O M I N N E R W O R L D S T O O U T E R S PA C E

cold spotlight comes o n as water begins showering down on him. We hear de­ mented polka music as DAN vigorously tries to scrub away the purple slime running all over him. He sings a jolly tune.) Some of my best friends! Bubba bubba bub-bub bub-bub! Some of my best friends! Bubba bub-bub bub! Some of my very very very very best friends! Some of my bubba bubba bub-bub bub-bub best friends! Some of my-

(He stops singing as he finally notices the slime covering him. The water con­ tinues to wash over him. A look of horror on his face as he realizes his condi­ tion. Lights slowly fade on DA N in dress clothes, dripping wet. We hear slow, sad, elegiac music as text slides appear on scrim.) Soci ety' s accepta n ce of G ay o p p re s s i o n fu rt h e r com p l i cate s t h e e p i d e m i c-by categori z i n g peo p l e with A I D S accord i n g to soci a l accepta b i l ity. Th u s , w h i l e Rya n Wh ite, a 1 6 yea r old h e m o p h i l i a c w i t h A I D S , was a " h e roic v i cti m "-G ay p h otogra p h e r Robert M a p p letho rpe was a "deviant p e rvert" who got w h at he d e s e rved . Al l peo p l e with AI DS a re i n n ocent.

(Slide and music fade out. We hear strange, chopped-up, distorted voices played at too slow a speed. DA N 's recorded voiceover.) "Last winter she told me he was sick again. And then she said, 'Listen­ not many people know about this, but he's mv -positive. So, y'know, don't tell anyone. We're being real Japanese about it:"

(Strange voices end, and we hear a very young child singing a nursery song in Japanese as text slide appears.) " It is co n s i d e red i m po l ite to b u rd e n ot h e rs with bad news. Keep i t to yo u rs e l f. "

T H E D O D O VAC C I N E

(Singing child ends, and we hear wacky, bouncy, upbeat cartoon music. Text slides appear.) F i n d i n gs co n fi r m a l a c k of sexu a l co m m u n icat i o n betwee n Af P I p a rt n e r s , e s p eci a l ly a m o n g h etero s ex u a l s . Let ' s ta l k a b o u t it . . .

(Cartoon music cuts to loud, intense, sexually aggressive hip-hop. A pink back light comes up, and we see DA N ' s shadow looming on the white scrim. He dances sensuously to the thumping music behind the scrim, his shadow grow­ ing larger and smaller as he shakes and shimmies around. We hear a phone ring in the background. DA N keeps dancing. It rings again, louder. It rings a third time, still louder, interrupting D A N . We see his shadow pick up a micro­ phone, which becomes his imaginary telephone. The music dips lower, contin­ uing in the background throughout the ''phone conversation.") ' DA N s

S HA D O W B E HIND

WHI TE S C R IM

(live): Hello? Oh, hi! You got

my message? Oh, good! ' DAN s

"The Asian Pacific A I D S Intervention Team describes 'phone sex' as one of the unquestionably safe practices. This was my first time. She was an old lover of mine from art school days, and she was-open minded." REC ORDED

vo i c E :

' DA N s S HA D O W

(live): Well, I'm trying to expand my repertoire of safe sex practices, so I thought I'd ask you to try this with me. Yeah. Yeah, I'm seri­ ous! Really? Oh great! Let me get ready! (He moves right up against the scrim.) So. Uhhh . . . ' DA N s R E C O R D E D vo i c E :

"I was too embarrassed to discuss any prelim­ inary strategy. My guess was that it would be somewhere between a love poem and an obscene phone call."

(live): Urn, so what are you wearing? Really . . . Oh, I like that. Ooh, that turns me on already!

DA N

' DA N s

shadow begins making slow masturbatory motions, bumping up against the scrim with his hand.) Well, first I would-no . . . Uh, first I'd like to, uh-no . . . Urn, imagine I'm-no . . . I'm-

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' DAN s R E C O R DED

"My first dilemma: which verb tense to use? Present? Present perfect? Suggestive? How do you do this? Just keep going!" VO I C E :

(live) :-caressing you all over, all the softest, smoothest places of your body; your cheeks, along your neck, around your breasts, your inner thighs, all over your ass. Mmm. DA N

' D A N s R E C O R D E D vo i c E :

"I could hear her breathing shift. She moaned softly. Alriiiight! She was actually getting excited!"

(live):-then I'd bring my mouth to all the same places, kissing you, softly but firmly holding you between my lips. Mm-hmm. Yeah. Then I'd do a little wet sucking on the side of your breast, swirling my tongue over to dance lightly around your left nipple. DA N

' DAN s R E C ORDED voicE:

"Ooh, very poetic Dan. She was really getting turned on now, moaning louder, in a rather plaintive manner."

(The masturbatory motions get faster and faster, bumping against the scrim.) (live):-then I'd alternate sucking and licking you, fast and slow, harder and harder, until finally I'd justDA N

(Suddenly the motions stop.) Oh shit. Uh, is that you? Okay, lemme just see who it is. I'll be right back. (Brusquely.) Hello? Oh, hi. Yeah. Yeah. Okay. Uh-huh. Okay. Sure. Okay, bye. (Sweetly.) Hi I'm back! Sorry.

(He briskly resumes beating off) ' D A N s R E C O R D E D VO I C E :

"Now she took over, telling me in detail what she would do to various parts of me with various parts of her."

(Beats off even faster.) DAN

(live): Ooooh yeah . . . Mmm, I like that. Ooooooh! Oh yeah, do it!

' D A N s R E C O R D E D vo i c E :

"Hey, this works pretty good! I was imagining our bodies together, in all the different positions and configurations she described. We spontaneously exchanged turns talking and listening in a lovely symbiotic sort of way. This went on for quite some time."

(Beating offfuriously fast, his voice quivering with the intensity.) DAN

(live): Ohhh! Oh yeah I love that! Oh! Oh god! Oh, DO

IT

HARDER! ! !

T H E D O D O VAC C I N E

' DAN s

''After a while, my right arm started getting tired. Normally this was not a problem. I switched." REC ORDED

VO I C E :

(We see the shadow change hands, a tad diminished in energy.) DA N

(live): (slightly less enthusiastic) Oh. Uh-huh. Mmmm.

(Masturbatory motions slow down more.) ' DAN s R E C ORDED

vo i c E :

''After a while, my left arm was wearing out

too." DAN

(live): (rather flat and unexcited) Uh-huh. Oh, yeah.

' DAN s

RECORDED

VO I C E :

''After a while more, my imagination was

wearing out."

(Masturbatory motions stop.) (live): (sighs) Well. Did you come? You did? When? Aww, you shoulda let me know, I would've-Oh, can you hold on a second? I'll be right back. Hello? Oh, hi Mom!

DAN

(Hip-hop music abruptly stops.

DA N

straightens up.)

Oh, nothing much. Just relaxing. Yeah. Uh, listen-can I call you right back? Okay, bye. Hello?

(We hear a dial tone. Lights fade to black as dial tone slowly fades out. Text slide.) T h e l ack of " ow n e rs h i p " of the A I DS e p i d e m i c fo r AJ P I s i s re l ated to l ower p e rcept i o n s o f v u l n e ra b i l ity t o i n fect i o n .

(Text slide fades out. Diagonal corridor of light reappears downstage center near audience. D A N walks into the light-back to the same spot where he went for his HIV test earlier. He is subdued and serious.) October thirteenth. It's "test results day." That morning I nick myself shaving in the shower and watch little drops of blood splash and disap­ pear in the swirling water at my feet. Strange to think my own blood could be hazardous material. Strange to think that if my test comes back positive it would finally answer one question from my life: The ever­ present dread of infection would at last be gone. As if the hammer of ill­ fated destiny would finally drop and be done with it. On my way into the clinic, I try and imagine how I would respond to such bad news. Maybe

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I would be one of those false-positive results that occasionally happens. Maybe I would be one of those rare H I V-positive people whose bodies somehow resist the onset of A m s ! Maybe I would-

"B B -12? I can take you now." It's Yvonne. Once again we walk down the hallway to the same little room where last week she quizzed me on the mechanical details of my sex life. She takes my m paper and leaves. And I have to wonder what it's like for her to perform this part of her job-dispensing test results. Every now and then knowing, as she returns down that hallway, she carries devas­ tating news for someone in the prime of life-whenever the hell that is. I look around the tiny room. The brown naugahyde examination table looking ever so cold and clinical. A bookshelf filled with pamphlets re­ lated to personal hygiene. Things like, "Plain Talk about Crabs and Lice"; "Many Teens Are Just Saying No." What a concept! I should've read that one a long time ago! I'm starting to feel giddy, kind of lightheaded, like I'm about to receive the Academy Award for "Best Supporting Sex Ad­ dict:' Yvonne strides back into the room and closes the door.

(We hear ominous marching music faintly in the background.) Oh boy. The envelope please. She does everything with absolute deliber­ ation. Not a false move on her part. Her voice steady and calm. Very for­ mally, she explains we must first confirm that the m numbers match be­ tween my slip of paper and the lab results. She holds them up in front of my face. Any idiot can see they match-and I do indeed feel like any idiot. Yvonne reads both sets of numbers aloud, as if performing some sacred ritual. I say, "Yes, they match." Then she silently reveals the com­ puter printout. It says "Non-reactive." (He instantly panics.) What? Omigod! ! ! O H S H I T ! ! !

(Silence.) Wait. "Non-reactive." It means, no reaction to the H I V virus. No anti­ bodies detected! I'm negative. Again.

(In the background we hear a shakuhachi fiute, quiet and solemn.) I feel an imaginary bullet whiz past my head. I show no reaction whatsoever, no outward clues to my staggering heartbeat. (Deadpan.) "Good." Yvonne: "How do you feel?" DAN

(deadpan): "Good."

T H E D O D O VAC C I N E

And I think, "Maybe she wants some drama. She probably knows exactly what's been going on in my gut all along." But all I feel is a chilling sense of relief. So much for fatalism. And by accepting that relief I put my faith in technology of the test lab. Even though mistakes are made, even though chemicals misbehave, testing goes awry-I decide to trust technology one more time. Just like when I get on a roller coaster at Disneyland, or a Boe­ ing 737 at L.A. Airport. Just like when I roll on a Sagami Ultra-Thin pre­ lubricated condom with Nonoxynol-9. (Flute fades out.) Somehow, trusting that technology will take care of me is an easier leap of faith than trusting human judgment about sex and disease. About paranoia and compassion.

(DA N looks to the heavens. He formally echoes a phrase from the opening monologue.) "It has been said, 'Our destiny lies in the stars.' But now it seems, it may lie elsewhere."

(Quietly. ) Thanks, Yvonne. See you next(He stops as he realizes the implications of "next time.") Thanks.

(DA N turns and leaves the clinic. He briskly walks up to the white scrim, lifts the bottom edge and passes under. He then walks up the black scrim and stops before the slash he cut in it earlier. He looks at it, pondering the consequences of his irrationality. We hear a gentle, melancholy lullabye, softly rising from the silence. reaches down and picks up a large sewing needle threaded with a long length of red satin cord. Slowly, deliberately, and tenderly he begins to crudely sew shut the diagonal slash in the black scrim. The lullabye fills the space. DA N

He finishes sewing and humbly bows his head. Lights and music slowly fade out.)

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T h e N i g ht T h e M o o n La n d ed o n 39t h St reet (1999)

(Stage design: an empty stage with a very large central projection area upstage and curtain wings on each side. In blackout, we hear upbeat swingin' jazzy music from the late 1950s. Two title slides are projected in sequence onto the screen.) T h e N i ght T h e M oo n La n d ed on 39th St reet . . . a n d Other Ta l e s of Wo n d e r

(Four image slides follow in sequence.) (1) The Kwongfamily in front of their Los Angeles home on 39th Street, 1957. (2) The Great Galaxy in Andromeda. (3) A corny-looking

Tv

spaceman from the 1950s.

(4) Cartoon drawing of a rocketship (a la Jules Verne). (Slides and music fade out. A tight spotlight comes up to the left. We see D A N dressed in yellow t-shirt, cutoff jeans, and sneakers, eagerly gyrating a "hula hoop" around his waist. He speaks, continuing to hula hoop.) Late September, when the nights were still warm, we played outside long after dark! Freeze tag, hide 'n' seek, rollerskating, happily sweating like there was no tomorrow-'til Mom called us in.

(Voiceover: a mother calling in distance.) 1 79

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"DAAA- NNYYY Y ! "

(DA N gives a quick anxious glance over his shoulder but keeps going.) Older sister Maria was an ancient seven years old. In general, she seemed to know what was going on in the world. Her job was to tell me what to do. My job was to defy her. In between, we played like crazy. One night we stood beneath the tall sycamore trees by our house, feverishly hula hooping in the dark. The pale twisted branches above us were lit by a strange amber glow. Suddenly Maria stopped. "Look! "

(He grabs the hula hoop in both hands and stops.) She pointed behind me-"The Moon!"

(We hear eerie, mysterious music. D A N drops the hula hoop in shock. A huge slide image of a full moon appears on the screen behind him.) There at the end of the block, a huge, brilliant full moon sat glowing like a gigantic pumpkin on the horizon! So big, so bright, so low in the sky, I could swear"Omigod. The Moon has landed! T H E M O O N H A S LAN D E D ! " "Let's go see it! "

DAN:

(He starts running i n place within the hula hoop.) We ran down 39th Street, past Mr. and Mrs. Eason's house! Past Nicky's red cement front porch and Walter Lemon's house that always smelled funny! Past the spooky alley by David Hutchison's and across The Big Street-!

(He stops and quickly glances left and right.) We looked both ways.

(He resumes running in place, giddy with excitement.) "Wow! Finally, the Moon-close up ! No one ever told me these things happened! Omigod, it looks as big as a ten-story building! Did it land in someone's yard? I wonder what it's gonna be like to climb on it! " Block after block we ran, into strange neighborhoods, huffing and puffing like two wobbly little locomotives in the night. (Slowing down.) Finally Maria slowed down, her good sense halting her in her tracks. (He stops.) MA R IA :

"We better go home."

T H E N I G H T T H E M O O N L A N D E D O N 39 T H S T R E E T

181

(DA N instantly resumes running.) "N O O O O O ! ! ! The Moon has landed! T H E M O O N H A S LA N D E D ! I'm gonna see the Moon! I'm going to the M O O N ! Just another block away! Just one more block. One more block. Just one more. Just-"

(He finally slows down and stops, out of breath, mystified.) Huh. That's funny.

(Mother's voice in distance.) "DANNY! DAAAA - N NYYYY ! ! ! "

(He glances over his shoulder momentarily but remains mesmerized by his lunar vision. We hear the delicate tinkling of chimes in the wind as lights and slide slowly fade out. Suddenly a videotape is projected very large on the screen.) Audio

Video

(Very commercial sounding, upbeat rock music, under Dan's fake-cheerful voiceover.)

Fade in:

"The 18th Street Human Spaceflight Center-a learning facility for today's Earthling on the go! Located in Santa Monica just behind the cement factory, the 18th Street Human Spaceflight Center is ready for you!"

Exterior: A small, single-story of­ fice building-daytime. Wide shot-A large yellow banner across the front of the building reads: "1 8th Street Human Space­ flight Center." Cut to: Dan walks past the banner wear­ ing orange NASA jumpsuit, cool aviator sunglasses. He enters the building, all business. Cut to: Interior: A typical office. Close-up (CU )-Dan straps on his helmet, preparing for his next mission.

(Music cuts to faster, high-energy rock.)

Cut to: CU-A vacuum cleaner. Cut to: Full shot-Astronaut Dan vacu­ ums the carpet. An office worker

(Music fades out.)

walks by and points out a spot he's missed. Dan nods obediently.

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F R O M I N N E R W O R L D S T O O U T E R S PA C E

Dan finishes vacuuming, removes his helmet, and cheerfully greets us. Cut to: Medium CU -Astronaut Dan sit­ ting at a desk, primly typing away. Cut to:

"Hi there! Hey, how'd you like to be doing what I'm doing right now-? "learning the latest in quasi-neo-pseudo-hyper tech­ nology and theoretical advances . . . "training on state of the Arts Complex equipment . . .

CU -Astronaut Dan struggling with an espresso machine. Cut to: Full shot-Back to astronaut Dan proudly standing by his vacuum cleaner.

"pushing the limits of human endurance, ingenuity, and dignity, and earning some pay? Well you can, you know-if you've got the training. And that's where the 18th Street Human Spaceflight Center can make a big difference.

Fade to black.

That's right! Let our staff of eager, fairly qualified technicians help prepare you for a fast-paced career in the high-flying field of astronautics. Just listen to this . . ."

Fade in:

(We hear hip, swingin' rock music.)

Interior hallway-Daytime. We see Dan boldly striding down a long brightly lit corridor in his N ASA jumpsuit, helmet under his arm. He enters a door marked "extended flight simulator room." Cut to: Series of shots:

(Dan's jock voiceover, music under.) "The 'Extended Flight Simulator' allows astronauts to keep up their pilot hours in the period of time prior to the mission." (Music up louder.)

CU -Dan grimly putting on his helmet. CU-His hands adjust a small controller device. Full shot-Dan sits in an office chair, controller in hand. A wire from the controller leads to something off-screen. CU-A toy electric airplane on the floor. The toy plane takes off.

(Music cuts to fast, hard-driving rock.)

T H E N I G H T T H E M O O N L A N D E D O N 39 T H S T R E E T

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Cut to: Series of shots, all quick cuts: Low angle-Dan revolving in chair, flying the toy airplane. High-angle view of same. CU -Dan's helmeted head, spin­ ning around and around. CU-Ciock face, the hands whizzing around super-fast. Low angle-Dan, spinning around at two times real speed. High-angle view-Spinning around at four times real speed.

(Music fades out.)

Fade to black.

(We hear a brisk, up tempo jazz tune as a series offive text slides are projected in sequence.) Loo k i n g Fo rwa rd : A G a l l u p p o l l i n 1 949 a s ked America n s to i m a g i n e w h at scientifi c adva n ce s wo u l d occ u r b y t h e n ext m i l l e n n i u m : 88% b e l i eved t h e re wo u l d be a c u re fo r cancer. 63% thought we wou l d be rid i n g on ato m i c- p owered t ra i n s and p l a n e s . 1 5% i m agi n ed h u m a n s wo u l d h ave trave led to t h e M oo n i n rocket s .

(As last slide fades out, music crossfades to actual recording of the Launch Con­ trol countdown for John Glenn's historic 1961 rocket launch.) "Three, two, one, zero . . .

"

(DA N enters in blackout, playing with a glow in the dark yo-yo. All we see is the glowing yo-yo bobbing up and down.)

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". . . ignition."

(We hear the roar of the rocket engine and stage lights come up. DAN wears blue t-shirt, jeans, old-fashioned Converse sneakers. He watches the imaginary rocket soar into space, still yo-yoing. Sound effects fade out, and D A N turns to the audience.) My earliest memory of "humans going into space" was in the second grade, when John Glenn became the first American to orbit the Earth. Three times! Didn't really know what the point was, but it was a B I G D E A L . Made people really happy and excited. The very next day on the schoolyard there was a brand new Duncan yo-yo trick named after him! See, we already had ''Around the World"-

(He demonstrates, whipping the yo-yo around like a windmill and catching it neatly.) Now there was "The John Glenn."

(He whips the yo-yo around three times, one for each orbit.) One! Two! Three!

(But the yo-yo runs out of momentum and has stopped spinning. DA N catches it, the loose string sadly hanging limp. He looks at it, then admits.) No one could actually do it. And that made John Glenn's accomplish­ ment all the more impressive! He was a new kind of hero, an astronaut hero, and he wore a silver spacesuit! They had this huge parade for him on T V and man, John Glenn was the coolest guy around. He had done something no one else had ever done! Except the Russians. And they were bad, so it didn't count. His Mercury capsule was called "Friendship 7." Isn't that great? He even had a nice name for his spaceship ! Americans were so good. We had everything! One day my Dad came home with a new pair of shoes for me. But they were kinda strange. They didn't have any shoelaces or buckles. In­ stead, you tightened them by pulling this strap across the top-and it just stayed there! And when you pulled it off it made this really loud ripping noise. It was some kinda new, modern, space-age stuff called "velcro"­ and all the astronauts used it! Like John Glenn. All week long, kids in class wanted to try strapping and unstrapping my shoes: "Can I try it? Lemme try it! Please can I? Can I? Can I?" I was so proud of those shoes! Me and John.

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Space stuff was everywhere, and it was all so exciting! My favorite book in the whole world was the How & Why Wonder Book ofRockets and Missiles. We played with Frisbees, but we called them "flying saucers." I learned how gravity on the Moon was so weak you could jump six times as far, and when John Glenn was in orbit-he was weightless!

(He looks to the heavens, his eyes wild with wonder.) That's when I knew: I have to go ! ! !

(Blackout. Video sequence is projected on-screen.) Audio

Video Fade in: Interior hallway-daytime.

"Flight on the shuttle is actually not as strenuous as the earlier spaceflight programs-Mercury, Apollo . . . However, we still have to make sure astronauts are prepared for the multiple 'G' forces that they will face during lift-off and re-entry, and the centrifuge training and testing is a very, very basic part of our program."

Astronaut Dan stands in his or­ ange jumpsuit. He speaks with utmost sincerity-and just a bit of pretentiousness.

Cut to:

(Industrial music comes up louder.)

Exterior: A neighborhood play­ ground-daytime. Full shot-Astronaut Dan stands patiently waiting for his turn. In the background, we see children playing on a push-style merry-go­ round with suspended automo­ bile tires as seats. Cut to: CU -Teenage boy technician wearing white lab coat, hard hat, and sunglasses. He grips a clip­ board and looks on with concern. Cut to: Wide shot-Astronaut Dan climbs into seat on the merry-go­ round. Ready for the test, he gives a thumbs-up signal to technician. Cut to:

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The technician begins laboriously pushing the merry-go-round, run­ ning around in the sand, trying to get it up to speed. It's tough going. Cut to: Dan's point of view-The land­ scape going by, very blurred and distorted like a bad LSD trip. Cut to: Wide shot-Technician spinning Dan around on merry-go-round at five times real speed. Fade to black. Fade in: Interior hallway-Daytime.

(Music fades out.)

Astro Dan explains: Cut to: ( N ote: Following sequences all run slightly faster than real speed.) Int. doorway to test room. A teenage girl wearing the white technician outfit opens door to welcome trainees-three children and Dan. They parade in. Cut to: Int. a bare room. CU -Camera pans faces of trainees: girl, boy, girl, Dan. Cut to: The technician walks up to a music stand carrying a bullhorn.

(We hear surging, dramatic music.) "High-density spatial coordination and kinetic alignment training prepares the astronaut by devel­ oping motor skills and rapid responses for the close confines encountered in various spacecraft."

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1 87

She gives a nod to trainees to begin. Cut to: We see the playing mat for the game of "Twister" laid out on the floor: a dozen colored circles on a plastic sheet. The four trainees each walk up to an edge of the mat. Cut to: Full shot-Dan stands poised, tense, looking down at the mat intently.

(Music cuts to hyper-fast techno dance tune.)

Cut to: CU -Technician's hand spins the game pointer to start the training exercise. Cut to:

"Left hand, green."

CU-Technician holds up her bull­ horn and calls out instructions: Cut to: Series of shots-all quick cuts, action speeded up four times: CU-Bodies tangled together as they play the game. CU-Finger spins pointer again. CU -Technician with bullhorn calls out instructions. Same series of shots, speeded up six times. Same series again speeded up eight times.

(Music fades out.)

Cut to: Slow motion-Trainee bodies col­ lapsing in a heap. Fade to black.

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(We hear a traditional Russian folk song: "Otschi Tschornyij e" [Dark Eyes]. A very large slide image of the Russian space station Mir appears. From offstage, DA N comes rolling in lying on his side on an office chair with no seat back­ feet first, arms and legs aloft, as if floating in zero gravity. He wears a gray short-sleeved shirt with NASA emblem, blue jeans, and a wireless headset mi­ crophone. He rolls to a stop at center stage. A tight spotlight comes up. Still poised in "floating" position, DAN begins to slowly rotate the chair, speaking over the music as he floats.) Spring of 1997.

(Slide: Closeup of an American astronaut in his spacesuit.) Jerry Linenger is the fourth American astronaut to serve aboard the Russian space station Mir.

(Slide: Russian cosmonauts and American astronauts shaking hands in space station.) "The Cold War is over!

(Slide: More happy faces aboard space station Mir.) And now the U.S. and Russia are working together in friendship-druzba !"

(Slides and music fade out. Lights up and DA N jumps to his feet.) It's April 29th, 1997-the fifth anniversary of the day we couldn't "all just get along" in Los Angeles.* But in space it's a different story. Today Jerry Linenger is about to participate in a historic event. He and Russian com­ mander Vasily Tsibliyev are about to carry out the first joint U.S.-Russian EVA-Extra Vehicular Activity-Spacewalk. And it's Jerry's first ever! So he's a little nervous.

(D A N ''floats" to his left and begins to act out the following scene.) Linenger and Tsibliyev are crouching in the small airlock getting their spacesuits ready. Then they have to wait for the pressure in the airlock to be lowered to zero so they can exit through the outer hatch. Tsibliyev has been mentioning the hatch to Linenger several times, with just a note of tension in his voice. (Nervous Russian accent.) "Uh, Jerry, just be careful about the hatch." Finally Linenger gets a closer look at it.

(He ''floats" over to center stage and examines the imaginary hatch.) *1 992 L.A. riots.

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Holy shit! The hatch is being held shut with a set of C-clamps! Seven years earlier, a cosmonaut preparing for his E VA had opened this hatch before all the pressure had been let out of the airlock. The hatch had blown out­ ward with such force it had damaged the hinges. They couldn't get it to close properly! Now a couple C-clamps stood between Jerry Linenger and instant death. For weeks, tension has been mounting between the silent Linenger and the intensely focused Tsibliyev. The two have hardly spoken at all about their upcoming E VA . This is bad news. The friction only gets worse: during their spacewalk, the two men get into a heated argument, with Tsibliyev finally becoming so frustrated with Jerry he actually took a swing at him, smacking Linenger on the helmet with his gloved fist! In space. "Druzba," anyone?

(Blackout. We hear a ghostly choir of voices singing ethereal, atonal music. A tight red spotlight on the left illuminates only DAN's head. His voice is ampli­ fied by his headset mic. He speaks softly and gently, as if having a very intimate chat with the audience. A sequence of huge slide images are projected through­ out the monologue, dissolving from one to the next.) Dan's Live Narration

Image Slides

You think you're sitting in this room? In this build­ ing? But you're not. You think you're on the west side of town; on the West Coast of the United States; on the North American continent-but really you're not. No, you are on a medium-sized ball of iron, water, and oxygen circling around an average-sized hydro­ gen-burning yellow star. One of a hundred billion stars located in the suburbs of an ordinary spiral galaxy, in a cluster of several thousand galaxies, which altogether are a speck of dust in the universe. You're in space, right now. Just like the Moon and the stars. That's where you really are. Now, some people might find this notion a bit unsettling-but not me. And you think you're a woman or a man; a boy or a girl-but you're not. You think you're an artist or a

Huge image of the sun.

A spiral galaxy.

A dense star cluster in deep space.

Slide fades to black.

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Dozens of galaxy clusters.

doctor; an American or an immigrant-but really you're not.

X-ray image of a baby body super-

You are an exquisite collection of vibrating molecules, created in the heart of some ancient star.

imposed on giant DNA molecule.

Supernova nebula.

A globular star cluster.

Star-forming cloud in Orion.

Solar corona during eclipse. Embryo stars in a cloud of inter­ stellar dust. Murky nebular cloud.

Very large image of great galaxy in Andromeda.

G lowing cloud of stardust.

A red giant star that exploded billions of years ago, spewing those same molecules across trillions of miles of space where they would eventually re-com­ bine, forming new stars, our sun, the Earth, and everything on it. The air you breathe, the water you drink, this building, your very body-all composed of recycled molecules from the insides of stars. We are all truly made of "stardust." And again, some folks may not go for that idea. But I don't find it so strange. I'll tell you what I think is strange: I think it's strange to live as we do, human irrationality dragging us down with the irresistible pull of a black hole. Even as the universe moves towards order and com­ plexity, yet we are so vulnerable to this painful stu­ pidity. Stardust, so vulnerable to cruelty, greed, and fear-turning all that magical dust into mud. That's what I find strange and unsettling. And I keep wishing-if only we could all go back into space, back to our origins-something would change. Something would click in our collective consciousness, and we would be imprinted with an under­ standing we would never forget. A clarity that would never fade. A connection we would never lose sight of. And things would be different. That's what I wish. Because I distinctly remember when I was a cloud of interstellar dust hurtling through the universe­ never did I imagine all this.

Slide, lights fade to black.

(In blackout, DA N exits. We hear bright, cheery music-like a TV theme song from one of those plastic, all-American family shows of the 1960s. We see a sequence offive text slides.)

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4 m o re p red i cti o n s

fo r t h e n ext m i l l e n n i u m : Roc ket m a i l d e l ivery w i l l a l l ow ret u r n m a i l to Austra l i a i n a s i n g l e day. -N. Y. Times Magazine, 1 954

Beca u s e eve ryth i n g i n h e r h o m e i s wate rp roof, t h e h o u sewife o f

2000 can d o h e r d a i ly c l ea n i n g with a h o s e . -Popular Mechanics Magazine, 1 950

The M oo n w i l l h ave been d ivided up betwee n n at i o n s . -The Indianapolis Recorder, 1900

Fa m i l y l i fe w i l l h ave been revived by te l ev i s i o n -N. Y. Times Magazine, 1 954

(Slide and music fade out. We hear a Disneyish theme song. Lights up as D A N strolls onstage dressed in blue t-shirt, jeans, black hi-top sneakers. He is lost in a dreamy reverie.) I think it had something to do with a childhood habit of five hours a day in front of a television set-but I was always a sucker for the Amer­ ican Dream: ''Anything is possible! " "The sky's the limit!" And nothing embodied this more magnificently for me than Disneyland. (Music fades out. ) Every year my family would pile into our beat-up old Chevy station wagon for our annual pilgrimage to Mecca-Mouse. I loved everything about going to Disneyland! It was a ritualistic experience loaded with landmarks and traditions, like, who would be the first to spot the white, spray-painted Matterhorn peak from the Santa Ana Freeway.

(DA N acts out the following nasty, rapid-fire exchange.) DANNY:

"Matterhorn!"

S I S TE R :

" M AT T E R H O R N ! "

"I saw it first!" S I S T E R : "Yeah, but I said it first!" DANNY: "Well, I would've said it if you'd shut up ! " DANNY:

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"Yeah, but you didn't, so shut up! " DA NNY: "Don't tell me to shut up! Y O U shut up !" S I S TER : "No, Y O U shut up ! " DA NNY: "No, Y O U shut up ! " S I S TER :

S I S TER :

"

you

STUP I D !"

(A weary beat-he sighs.) I loved just pulling into the fucking parking lot.

(He quickly recovers his enthusiasm.) Oh, I loved the open tram ride to the entrance! I loved the moment of passing through the turnstiles and stepping into that magical realm. But most of all I loved one effect Disneyland had on me and my family: a place we all went together, far from the daily war zone of home.

(He snaps into businesslike tone of voice.) Now, Walt Disney was always a shrewd marketing man. Shortly before the opening of Disneyland in 1955, Walt agreed to create a series of tele­ vision programs, all based on the different themes of his park: Ad­ ventureland, Frontierland, Fantasyland, and Tomorrowland. The least­ developed programs were those based on Tomorrowland-and this is where Disney found some unique collaborators. He enlisted the aid of two key figures in the development of America's space program: Willy Ley and Wernher von Braun. They were among a group of scientists who actually believed we were gonna go into space! And it was the perfect symbiotic relationship. On television, Von Braun and Ley could preach their gospel of spaceflight to millions more people than ever before. And in return Disney got a helluva great plug for his new theme park. The American public was successfully hooked on both. Tomorrowland was my fave. And my favorite ride in my favorite land was "Rocket to the Moon." It was sponsored by T WA . See, Walt ran out of money during the construction of Tomorrowland, so he had to get cor­ porate sponsorship for the future. Hey, it was the late fifties! Just the be­ ginning of a tidal wave of postwar American consumerism. A Cold War world in which America was hands down the richest and determined to remain the most powerful. Technology was key to both. And in the words of Senator Lyndon Johnson: "He who controls space, shall control the world." "Rocket to the Moon" boasted an eighty-foot-tall rocket designed by none other than von Braun himself and emblazoned with the bright red

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logo. That sexy needle-nosed rocketship stood poised like an arrow to the future, smack dab in the middle of Tomorrowland. It was the coolest thing in the whole fucking place! Although the weird thing was, you didn't actually get to go inside the rocket-it was just for show. In­ stead you went into this circular chamber with a round projection screen in the floor and another one on the ceiling. Then you sat in these pneu­ matic theater chairs that vibrated and shook like crazy at appropriate moments. On the screens, you'd watch animated footage of the Moon growing ever closer, as the Earth receded into the distance. Animated, be­ cause no real footage of space existed back then. It was all imagination! While the politics of Disneyland may leave something to be desired, in terms of creative ingenuity it was genius gone wild. Everywhere I turned amazement set my brain on fire: "How did they do that?" I became obsessed with trying to figure things out. I was one of those kids who would turn around and look behind as the ride progressed, trying to see the hidden mechanism that made things work. At the same time, I was always ready to suspend belief for the sake of a magical ride! Which is a dangerous concept. How much of your thinking are you willing to aban­ don for the sake of a ride? T WA

(Lighting shifts to an intimate warm spot on

DAN

at center stage.)

But I always wanted it both ways. And I looked forward to that Rocket­ ride like nothing else! I knew we didn't really go into space-but I definitely went somewhere. And when my chair shook and shuddered during "blast-off," I went somewhere. And my family went with me. And we would look at each other and you could see it in our eyes-that mag­ ical spark when anything seems possible and the world is a place of won­ der and mystery! And I was always ready to believe something wonderful was true.

(Lights fade to black, and the next video sequence is projected on-screen.) Audio

Video

(We hear driving rock music under voiceover.)

Fade in: Interior hallway-daytime.

''Although it is very unlikely that it would be neces­ sary, in case of an abort during lift-off or an emer­ gency landing the crew does practice emergency egress procedures for basically bailing out of the shuttle."

Astronaut Dan tells it like it is: Cut to: Exterior: A children's playground­ day.

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Close-up (CU) -Astronaut Dan in

(Music comes up louder.)

jumpsuit and helmet. Camera zooms out, revealing Dan standing by playground kiddie­ ride-a miniature space shuttle. Cut to: CU-Teenage boy/technician with his clipboard, supervising the test. Cut to: Medium CU -Dan sits on the kiddie-shuttle, rocking back and forth. Cut to: CU -Technician looks down, checking his stopwatch. Cut to: Med. CU-The shuttle is now shaking violently as Dan struggles

(Music cuts to fast, harsh, speedmetal rock.)

to hang on. He pulls out a col­ lapsible umbrella and makes his way onto the shuttle wing. He crouches, poised to jump. Cut to: CU -Technician looking skyward, concerned. Cut to: Dan pops open the umbrella and leaps off the wing. Cut to: CU -Technician looking skyward, following Dan's descent. Cut to: Dan lands in the sand like a para­ trooper, umbrella spread above. He rolls over and quickly collapses his umbrella. Just like a pro. Fade to black.

(Music fades out.)

(We hear a piccolo playing a brisk military march. A text slide appears.) To Beco m e a n Astro n a u t D o you h a ve The Right StuFf?

(Slide and music fade out. Lights up as D A N excitedly bursts onstage, waving a sheaf ofpapers.)

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NEws ! ! ! Anyone can get an application from NASA to become an astronaut! Anyone! All you gotta do is write or call and they'll just pop one in the mail to you. You can even get it online. Look, here's mine! Check out the letterhead: "NASA"! ! ! ''Astronaut Candidate Program Ap­ plication." Cool! GOOD

(His enthusiasm wanes as he starts to leaf through the papers.) Actually, it really isn't that different from most government job appli­ cations. I mean, they wanna know your employment history, your edu­ cational background, a few references, medical history. Typical stuff. Oh, then there's a section called "Supplemental Information." Now this gets a little more interesting. They want to know your grade point average for the four degrees you might have. Probably good if one is a Ph.D. Your flight experience: "Total pilot hours for jet, turboprop, or reciprocating aircraft-that's like, helicopters; test pilot schooling; rank in class upon graduation; combat experience as pilot; total number of combat mis­ sions flown." Huh. Lemme think . . .

(A beat, as if he had something to recall . . . nah. Back to the application.) Oh, they also wanna know what job you wanna be considered for. There are two basic astronaut positions, "Pilot" or "Mission Specialist." Mission Specialist astronauts are responsible for many of the activities that hap­ pen in orbit. They are the ones who conduct scientific experiments, usu­ ally do the spacewalks, and operate the robot arm. Pilot astronauts serve as Commanders and (duh) Pilots for the space shuttle. Their basic job is to get your ass up there, make sure everything goes cool, then get your ass back to Earth. Now these days the old 1960s version of astronaut as "hot-shot, hell­ raising all-American golden boy jet pilot" is somewhat passe. A Mission Specialist is just as likely to be a scientist or technician with multiple advanced degrees in things like "Cryogenic Fluid Dynamics in Micro­ gravity Environments." We're talking serious "Revenge of the Nerds" here. According to Mission Specialists, they are the real brains of the op­ eration-pilots are simply well-trained monkeys. And of course, ac­ cording to Pilots, they are the Right Stuff-Mission Specialists are space geeks. On average, NASA receives anywhere from two to three thousand ap­ plications a year, sometimes even more. These people are referred to as ''Astronaut Hopefuls;' or "As - H o s." Every two years they're sorted into five categories:

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(He paces around, heartlessly tossing away a sheet ofpaper for each category he mentions.) "Unqualified." "Probably qualified." "Qualified." "Very qualified." "Highly qualified."

(He stops and holds up this last sheet ofpaper.) Only applicants in this last category make it past the first cut. Back­ ground and reference checks weed out the group even further. Finally, for the surviving A S - H o s the NASA Selection Committee will interview each person for one hour in a totally subjective evaluation of communication skills, motivation, teamwork, adaptability, and experience. And while your application gets you in the door, it's this live interview that makes or breaks you.

(We hear recorded voiceover: DAN doing an impression of a skeptical-sounding old NA SA official.) "Well, Mr. Kwong, you seem to have a very lively imagination. However, I have to say I find some of your jokes a bit disrespectful. Are you mock­ ing the program?"

(DAN's answer is a Woody Allen version of a nervous, defensive astronaut.) Oh no-no-no-no! No, uh, see, that's just my uh, my uh, my-my healthy sense of irreverence! Yes, that's it! Irreverent-but affectionate! Uh, yeah! Heh-heh, yeah it's sort of like-

(Voiceover of another NA SA official cuts DAN off) "Uh, Mr. Kwong, based on your resume it seems like you've mostly worked on your own. What about your experience in collaborative work?"

(That hit a sore spot for DAN. He gets a mite bit defensive.) What's that supposed to mean? Like, you think because I'm a soloist I don't know how to work with people? Is that what you're trying to say? Huh? Is that it? (He starts getting madder and madder.) Listen, you think you can do a project like this and not be able to work with people? Just

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because I work as a soloist doesn't mean I'm some sort of fucking con­ trol freak! I know how to let go ! I know how to cooperate! I know how to-

(Voiceover of Official #1 cuts him off again.) "Well, uh, thank you very much for your time Mr. Kwong, and, you know, we'll uh, we'll be in touch with you! Thank you very much."

(DA N hangs his head in dismay. He's blown it. He recovers.) In the end, NASA selects maybe a couple dozen people. (Tears off a tiny cor­ ner of paper.) Roughly nine-tenths of 1 o/o of all applicants, to officially be­ come Astronaut Candidates. "A s - cANs." Whoo-hooo! Congratulations! ! ! After a year o f intensive training and evaluation at the Johnson Space Center in Houston, you go back to the end of the line and wait for a chance to fly. But even as an A S - CAN there's no guarantee when or if you'll ever go into space! In fact, your entire career, a lifetime of prepara­ tion, may lead to just one flight. Or none.

(DA N begins picking up the rejected applications as he talks.) A latta folks wanna go. And you're up against thousands upon thousands of highly qualified Over-Achievers-From-Hell-each of whom has dreamed of becoming an astronaut just as long and hard as you have. So gooood luck!

(Lights black out. We hear 1960s swingin' jazzy lounge music. A slide sequence appears.) M e s s a ge to a l l AS- H O s fro m N ASA S e l ecti o n Co m m ittee: " I f you te l l us you h ave to h ave th i s job o r yo u ' l l d i e-we wi l l te l l yo u to d i e . "

(Music and slide fade out. We hear a jaunty Russian folk song as slide appears of the space station Mir in orbit, docked with the space shuttle. Dan slowly en­ ters from stage right on the rolling chair seat, sitting up with arms extended and slowly rotating like a human satellite. Dressed in gray shirt, blue jeans, with headset microphone, he speaks over music as he rotates.)

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Image Slides

Dan's Live N arration

Space station Mir in orbit.

The Russian space program has been so strapped for cash, they've had to resort to all kinds of deals to stay aloft.

A cosmonaut at work aboard Mir.

Another cosmonaut hard at work.

Slide and Russian folk song fade out.

"Pepsi Cola paid 'em a million bucks to have a ban­ ner of a giant Pepsi can unfurled outside the space station. ''A Japanese television company paid twelve million dollars just to send up a reporter for a brief visit. The cosmonauts said (In heavy Russian accent:) "They had never seen anyone throw up quite that much."

(Lights up and DA N jumps up from chair.) It's supply day! The monthly supply ship from Earth has arrived at Mir, bringing fresh water, fresh food, goodies from home! Jerry Linenger is helping unload the Russian ship when he comes upon a bag of-Rold Gold pretzels. Jerry loves pretzels! He grabs it and is about to tear it open when Tsibliyev stops him. (In Russian accent:) "Hey! Don't eat those! They are for commercial!" Later that night the two Russian cosmonauts have to stop work re­ pairing the oxygen generators in order to film not only a pretzel com­ mercial but another one for an Israeli milk company-in which Tsibliyev is supposed to gobble floating blobs of milk.

(DA N demonstrates blob-gobbling technique.) Linenger is so embarrased for them he goes to sleep early so they can film in private. But the next day the commercial director notifies the cosmo­ nauts they must re-shoot the scene-Tsibliyev had not been smiling.

(Lights black out. We hear fast, bebop jazz music with a driving bass line. A se­ ries of eleven text slides appear in sequence. In a very tight red spotlight stage right, D A N strikes a pose to accent each slide.) Astro n a ut Ca n d i d ate ' s Te n Co m m a n d m ents:

1 0. Kee p s m i l i n g, b u t n ot gri n n i n g.

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g. Kee p yo u r h u m o r h a r m l e s s , p u re, & pe rfect. Peo p l e d o n ' t u n d e rsta n d i ro n y. 8. Keep yo u r wea k n e s s e s t o yo u rs e l f. I f you d o n ' t p o i n t t h e m o u t to oth e rs , t h ey wi l l n ever see t h e m . 7N eve r com p l a i n ; m a ke s u rvival l o o k easy. 6. Yo u a re expected t o s ay s o meth i n g n i ce after each fl ight, c l a s s , o r s i m u l ati o n . 5· I f yo u can't say s o m eth i n g n i ce, say s o meth i n g n i ce a n yway. 4· I n p a rticu l a r, p ractice sayi n g: "Th a n ks fo r p o i nti n g t h at out. I ' l l rea l l y work o n it. " 3· Be aggre s s ive ly h u m b l e & dyn a m ica l ly i n co n s p i c u o u s . Save yo u r b ri l l i a n ce fo r yo u r fri e n d s a n d fa m i ly.

2. Reme m b e r: Wh ateve r ' s e n co u raged i s m a n d ato ry. Wh ateve r ' s d i s co u raged is p ro h i b i ted .

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1.

N ot h i n g i s s o meti m e s a good th i n g t o do and a l ways a c l ever t h i n g to say.

(Slide and music fade out. Next videotape sequence is projected: footage of an actual shuttle launch. D A N 's recorded voiceover with old, melodramatic, dan­ gerous-sounding music.) "Imagine the forces involved in getting the space shuttle into orbit: ac­ celerating four and a half million pounds, taller than a fifteen-story building, from a dead standstill to over three thousand miles an hour. Straight up. That takes a serious kick in the ass. That kick comes mainly from the two solid rocket boosters, the S R B S. The most powerful rocket engines ever made, each delivering 3.3 million pounds of thrust. When they kick in, an astronaut has no doubt she is leaving the planet."

(Video fades to black. A tight downspot reveals D A N standing far left. He wears a white lab coat and is holding a small inflatable toy model of the space shut­ tle with fuel tank and two S R B S attached. Scientist D A N speaks.) Sitting on the launch pad, the huge external fuel tank and two S R B S con­ tain nearly 4 million pounds of high explosives. A fully fueled space shuttle is basically a gigantic bomb. Launch is merely a controlled explo­ sion. You really don't want anything to go wrong! But just in case NASA has various "abort" plans should that happen. Here's one I find most in­ teresting: it's called RT L S , "Return to Landing Site" abort-and it's a doozy. This is only used if a problem develops very early during launch, say within the first couple minutes. And while this particular plan has never been used, it would be a uniquely terrifYing experience. Imagine . . .

(Lights crossfade to front wash as D A N strides to center stage, shuttle in hand.) You are the Shuttle Commander! You're about two minutes into your fully computer-controlled launch . . . (He acts out all the following sequences with the toy, making vocal rocket en­ gine sounds and getting increasingly frantic.) . . . traveling upside-down as usual-that way you can see the horizon in case you need to manually steer into orbit. The S R B S have used up their fuel and just been jettisoned-P o o o s H ! P O O O S H !

T H E N I G H T T H E M O O N L A N D E D O N 39 T H S T R E E T

(He rips off the two

SRBS

and tosses them away.)

Just then, your center main engine fails!

(He makes sputtering, farting vocal noises. Starts to get frantic.) You're not gonna make it into orbit! You're not gonna make it to the al­ ternate landing site in Spain or Africa! Gotta go back! Quickly you dial the abort switch to R T L S ! At this point you are upside down, traveling to­ ward Africa at three thousand miles an hour! Now you hit the abort switch! P o o o o s H ! Now the shuttle flips itself right side up !

(He demonstrates, yelling wildly.) YOU ARE NOW P O I N T E D TOWARD F L O R I DA , G O I N G BACKWA R D S , E N ­ GINES BLAZING ! ! !

(He takes off running around the stage, holding the space shuttle backwards.) YOU ARE G O I N G S O FAST IT W I L L TAKE S EVERAL M I N U T E S F O R T H E E N G I N E S TO C A N C E L O U T YO U R F O RWARD M O M E N T U M ! GRADUALLY T H E S H U T T L E S L OWS D OWN U N T I L F I NALLY YOU ARE TRAVE L I N G AT-zero miles an hour . . .

(He pauses, holding the shuttle poised above his head. He speaks calmly.) Now you are a one million pound brick falling straight down.

(He plummets the shuttle down to floor level. Instantly hysterical again, he runs the other direction around the stage with the shuttle.) E N G I N E S S T I L L F I R I N G , YOU ACCELE RATE BACK I N T H E O T H E R D I ­ RE C T I O N , H E A D E D F O R F L O R I D A ! W H E N T H E EXTERNAL TAN K I S E M P T Y IT's JE T T I S O N E D !

(He rips off the main fuel tank and tosses i t away, suddenly slowing down to a walk.) And you glide in for a safe landing in Cape Canaveral.

(The shuttle safely parked on the floor, himself.)

DAN

straightens up and composes

Now, you are ready for a diaper change.

(Lights black out. Next video sequence is projected onto screen.)

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Video

Audio

Fade in: Interior hallway-daytime. CU-Astronaut Dan stands and delivers.

"Well probably the most common question we get asked as astronauts is . . .

Cut to: CU -Sign on a door: "Human

'"How do you go to the bathroom?'

Waste Collection Facility." Cut to: CU-Industrial vacuum cleaner.

"Well, the toilet system on the shuttle basically works on the principle of a vacuum . . .

Cut to: Full shot-Dan and female techni­ cian stand in hallway with vacuum cleaner, discussing its proper use.

". . . Instead of water, we use air."

She inserts a large funnel into end of hose. Dan gestures to his rear end. She nods affirmatively. Cut to: Med. CU -Dan enters bathroom carrying vacuum, funnel, and a rubber spatula. Technician stands by door. Dan nods thanks, closes door. We hear sound of vacuum cleaner being switched on as technician shrugs and walks off­ screen. Fade to black.

(We hear actual recording of astronauts' voices as Apollo first landing on the Moon.)

n

makes its historic

"Houston, this is Tranquility Base. The Eagle has landed."

(We see DA N sitting on a short stool at center stage, intently staring in front of him. Flickering lights illuminating his face simulate a T V set.) July 2 0 , 19 69. I was sitting in the living room of my Dad's house in Silver­ lake on a typically hot, smoggy day. Normally me and my sisters would have been hanging out in his swimming pool, but that afternoon we were all transfixed by the pictures coming from the black and white T V . A few hours ago Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin had landed on the Moon, and now Neil was getting ready to step out of the Lunar Module.

(He stands up.)

T H E N I G H T T H E M O O N L A N D E D O N 39 T H S T R E E T

I was fifteen at the time, just graduated from the acid pit called "junior high school." I was convinced the transition from childhood to adoles­ cence was deliberately designed to crush as much of your spirit as pos­ sible. When I was a kid, I had very specific dreams about when I grew up: I would be a jet pilot! I would play centerfield for the Dodgers! I would run the Marathon in the Olympics, play clarinet for the L.A. Philhar­ monic, and go into space! And in my home I was the underachiever of the family. Well, the jet pilot idea died pretty quickly when I found out you had to have perfect eyesight. A couple years earlier I had quit playing the clar­ inet-it was giving me an ulcer. I hadn't given up on playing for the Dodgers, but I was starting to get a glimpse of the ugly truth. I was good-but not good enough. Likewise when it came to competitive run­ ning. Apparently I did not possess the Right Stuff. And along with these less than thrilling developments was an ever­ deepening sense of loneliness and isolation. I might as well have been on the Moon for all the human contact I had. And I don't mean that in a self-pitying sense. In fact, I had grown quite accustomed to doing every­ thing and anything alone to the point where, frankly, I preferred it that way. People? Who needs 'em. I remember Walter Cronkite saying that, while Neil and Buzz were down on the lunar surface, Michael Collins was up in the Command Module orbiting the Moon. He was keeping busy taking photographs, talking to Mission Control, and waiting for Neil and Buzz to return. And each time the Command Module orbited around the back side of the Moon Collins had no radio contact whatsoever with anyone on Planet Earth or his fellow astronauts down below. During that period of time, Michael Collins was as alone as a human can be. Yeah.

(DAN's attention is drawn back to the imaginary

TV

set.)

Finally Neil was ready to leave the Lunar Module, that weird spidery­ looking thing they landed in! Actually, it was originally called the Lunar Excursion Module, the " L E M ." But N A S A was concerned about the "ex­ cursion" part sounding too unbusinesslike. Too much like a vacation prize on The Price Is Right. So they shortened the name. It had been a night­ mare to design and construct! Because light weight was so crucial, the L E M had been built with an aluminum skin as thick as a credit card. If you weren't careful, you could put your boot right through the wall! The rocket engine that would blast the astronauts back off the lunar surface

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was only powerful enough to work in the Moon's weaker gravity-so there was no way to test it on Earth. When Buzz Aldrin pushed the but­ ton, it would be the first time that engine had ever been fired. And if it didn't work they were stuck! There were so many ways they could get killed it wasn't funny. There was absolutely no room for error.

(DAN sits down to watch, in awe of what is about to transpire.) Now the remote controlled camera outside the L E M was activated, and fuzzy images started to appear. This was it. The first humans to set foot on the Moon. How many eons had we been looking at that silver ball in the sky? Wondering what it was? Dreaming about going there? Imagining what it would be like? And now-N ow-people were going to walk on it. Walk on it! As Neil Armstrong slowly squeezed out of the hatch, I imagined I was there with him. As if I was the one holding the video camera, taking pic­ tures, waiting for him to come down the ladder and j oin me in triumph. "Hello Neil. I've been waitingfor you for a long time. Welcome to my home." The T V picture was so fuzzy and blurry. We moved the antenna around, then the whole TV set on its wire metal stand, plastic wheels screeching on the hardwood floor. Finally you could make out a couple puffy legs hopping down the ladder. Then Neil was standing on the L E M foot pad.

(DAN is enraptured as we hear actual recording of Armstrong's famous first words.) "That's one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind."

(DAN leaps up in triumph.) O M I G O D ! T H E R E IT I S ! ON T H E M O O N ! R I G H T N O W, T H E R E ' S A M A N UP

THERE

S TA N D I N G

ON

THE

MOON!

H E'S

WA L K I N G

AROUND !

WHO O O O O !

(He calms down.) Later that night at home my mother was only half-joking when she said: (As loudly sarcastic Mom.) "It could all be fake, you know! Yeah, they're not really on the Moon! That's just a buncha actors in some warehouse somewhere. How do you know? It's T v ! It could all just be a big hoax!"

(A beat. DAN answers the sarcasm with heartfelt sincerity) "No, Mom. No, it's real. There's someone on the Moon."

T H E N I G H T T H E M O O N L A N D E D O N 39 T H S T R E E T

(Lights fade to black, and we hear Russian surf music as another slide of space station Mir appears on-screen. D A N 's recorded voiceover.) "Jerry Linenger's five-month stay aboard Mir is finally over, and Michael Foale is the next astronaut to visit the Russian space station.

(Slide: A smiling Michael Foale on Earth.) "Michael is getting along excellently with his cosmonaut hosts . . .

(Slide: Foale, Tsibliyev, and Lazutkin floating in space station.) ". . . and they bond like brothers.

(Slide: Two cosmonauts hugging.) "Of the seven astronauts pared of them all.

NASA

sent to Mir, he is perhaps the best pre­

(Slide: American astronauts waving as they go to launch.) "Or so he thought."

(Same as previous slide of Foale, Tsibliyev, and Lazutkin. A cartoon thought balloon over their heads reads-"Uh-oh." Slide fades to black, and Russian surf music comes up loudly. Lights up, and D A N zooms in on office chair seat, stretched out like Superman. He rolls all the way across stage, turns, and rolls back to center. Slides and music fade out as DA N sits up in the chair.) June 25th, 1997-it's a good day to be in space! Michael Foale watches as cosmonauts Tsibliyev and Lazutkin prepare to guide in a remote­ controlled supply ship to dock with the Mir.

(D A N rolls to the right sitting on the chair and acts out the following scene.) Tsibliyev sits at the controls in front of his Sony video monitor, carefully guiding the robot ship toward them. Actually, it's a lot like a video game. Standard procedure. Except that the radar system used to guide the robot ship had this nasty habit of going dead at the last second.

(D A N plays both parts in the following quick exchange.) (suddenly puzzled) Where is it? L A Z U TKIN: (panicking) My God, here it is already! T S I B L I YE V: What? L A Z U TKIN: It's already close! Distance 150 meters! T S I B L I YE V: What? It shouldn't be coming in so fast! L A Z U TKIN: I know! I know! Sasha, it's moving past! It'sT S I B L I YE v:

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(We hear a crunching collision. The stage goes black, and a whooping alarm begins to sound. A flashing red light, then the unmistakable hissing sound of es­ caping air.) WE HAVE D E C O M P R E S S I O N ! WE H AVE D E C O M PRES S I O N ! Michael, get in the Soyuz, quick! Oh, hell! Can you imagine?! TSIBLIYEV:

(Sound effects continue as around on the chair.)

DA N

desperately re-enacts next scene, zoommg

The runaway supply ship has punched a small hole in one of the space station modules, and now their precious air is slowly leaking out into space! Lazutkin realizes they must close the hatch to the leaking module! He makes his way through a maze of tunnels to the damaged module­ but the hatchway is lined with a thick bundle of cables! There must be over a dozen of them! Like a madman, he begins ripping apart the cable connectors one by one by one! Michael Foale grabs the loose ends and pulls them out of the way. Finally the hatchway is clear. Lazutkin reaches in to pull the hatch shut-it won't budge! IT woN'T B U D G E ! All the air inside the space station is rushing past them, through the hatchway and out the puncture-it's like trying to close the hatch against an invisible river of air-I T's I M P O S S I B LE ! ! ! "Pressure is dropping! Pressure is drop­ ping!" On the wall-the temporary hatch cover! Lazutkin flies over and cuts it loose. He and Foale position it over the open hatch and phhffft ! (Hissing stops.) The pressure sucks it tight over the open hatchway. The leak is stopped.

(He slumps in his chair, exhausted, as lights and sound effects fade out. Pause. We hear a patriotic trumpet fanfare. A slide sequence begins showing various views of a model of the International Space Station as D A N 's recorded voice­ over proudly proclaims.) "The new International Space Station now under construction is a proj ­ ect involving sixteen different countries. It will be Multiculturalism­ Deluxe in orbit. How will we manage to work together, overcoming not only technical but cultural differences as well? And how will the Ameri­ can public deal with something the Russians have known for a long time: Space stations break down. Accidents happen. And in the next five years of construction it will be a miracle if no one gets killed.

(Slide: Plastic space shuttle model with tiny satellite in cargo bay.) "In preparation for this, the U.S. plans to deploy vENEEXTEEWE E S : VEry Near Earth Extremely TEEny WEEny satellite.

T H E N I G H T T H E M O O N L A N D E D O N 39 T H S T R E E T

(Text slide of VENEEXTEEWEES acronym. ) "v E N E E X T E E W E E S

will b e released into a low geostationary orbit using the Remote Manipulator System, or robot arm.

(Slide: Actual RMS "Canada-arm" on real space shuttle.) "There it will serve as a symbol of hope, goodwill, and friendship for all of humanity.

(Slide: The VENEEXTEEWEES satellite-a crinkled piece of aluminum foil about the size and shape of a spool of thread. It looks pretty pathetic. A U. S. quarter is laying next to it for size comparison.) ''As part of the necessary training for this delicate procedure, astronauts must spend long hours developing their skill with the R M S Simulator . . .

(Slide: A battery-operated toy robot arm, painted white like the real RMS, em­ blazoned with a label that says "Santa Monica.") ". . . an essential part of astronaut training here at the 18th Street Human Spaceflight Center."

(Slide and music fade out. We hear NA SA radio static. A huge slide appears of a blue Earth horizon as seen from orbit. A plastic model of the space shuttle (twenty inches long) suspended on fishing line slowly lowers down and hangs about six feet above the stage, the huge Earth image behind it. Inside its open cargo bay sits the VENEEXTEEWEES satellite. We hear DAN's offstage voice through the sound system, sounding thin and garbled, like a typical NA SA radio transmission. Radio static continues in background throughout.) DAN: (live offstage) Uh, Houston this is Discovery. We are ready to go. HOUS TON: (recorded) "Uh, Discovery, this is Houston. Standing by for deployment." (DAN enters dressed in orange jumpsuit and wearing a headset microphone­ but only his head, arms and upper chest are real. The rest of his "body" is stretched out behind him, floating in zero gravity-it's a stuffed mannikin at­ tached at the shoulders and supported by hidden braces. As he "floats" onstage, his real body is hidden under a long black skirt. The fake body (also in orange jumpsuit) floats and bobs behind him as he slowly walks, arms stretched out be­ fore him. Got that? Okay. Now picture this: he is pushing a slender black pedestal on wheels, about six feet tall. On top of the pedestal sits the toy robot arm seen in the previous slide sequence. A helium-filled balloon floats at the end of a three-foot length of thread, hooked to a wire loop next to the robot arm.

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delicately holds the twin joystick controls for the robot arm, peering through a sheet ofplexiglas mounted on top of the pedestal (kind of like a bank teller's window). The visual effect is that he is inside the shuttle and the robot arm extends outside. D A N is deadly serious.) DA N

DAN:

Roger, Houston. We are standing by. R M S moving into position.

(He begins to approach the hanging space shuttle model.) (recorded) "Discovery, Houston. Confirm power cycle at full. Stand by to activate R M S main power. Looking good." D A N : Houston, Discovery. Copy power cycle at full. Stand by for the R M S power up. H o u s T o N:

(He switches on the robot arm; it whirls to life, moving around.) DAN:

Power up is normal. All levels look nominal.

H O U S T O N:

DAN:

(recorded) "Discovery, Houston. You are go for deployment."

Roger, Houston. Go for deployment. Go for analog playback.

H o u s T o N:

(recorded) "Roger, Discovery. Analog playback rolling."

(The "Blue Danube Waltz" begins playing in the background as proaches the shuttle.) DAN:

DA N

ap­

Houston, Discovery. Standing by for V E N E E X T E E W E E S capture.

(Note: No matter what Dan says during this next part, Houston always repeats the following phrase in response:) H O U S T ON:

(recorded) "Uh, Roger, Discovery. We copy you on that."

(The following task varies in length depending on how difficult it is to accom­ plish. It requires intense concentration, and sometimes Dan screws up or things go wrong, which usually makes it funnier. First, he manipulates the robot arm claw into the cargo bay and carefully plucks out the satellite.) Houston, we have capture. Standing by for V E N E E X T E E W E E S staging. H O U S T O N: (recorded) "Uh, Roger, Discovery. We copy you on that." DAN:

(He next maneuvers robot arm claw around to hang the satellite onto a small wire hook attached to the pedestal.) DAN:

Houston, we have successful V E N E EXT E E W E E S staging position. (recorded) "Uh, Roger, Discovery. We copy you on that."

HO USTON:

T H E N I G H T T H E M O O N L A N D E D O N 39 T H S T R E E T

DAN:

Standing by for Helium Payload Assist Motor grapple.

(He swings robot arm to other side. The claw grasps a hook at the end of bal­ loon thread and disengages it from the wire loop.) DAN:

Houston, we have

H O US TON:

H PA M

grapple. Standing by for H PA M linkage."

(recorded) "Uh, Roger, Discovery. We copy you on that."

(He swings robot arm back, trailing the helium balloon. Tries to maneuver the balloon hook through a ring on the satellite. It's so difficult he can't do it, but he keeps his cool.) Uh, Houston, looks like we've got a difficult angle here . . . H O U S T O N : (recorded) "Uh, Roger, Discovery. We copy you on that." DAN:

(Finally, after a couple more frustrating tries:) DAN:

Houston, we'll be going to "Manual Assist."

(He reaches around the plexiglas window and uses his hand to get the damn balloon hook through the satellite capture ring.) Uh, Houston, we have successful deployment.

DAN:

HO USTON:

H PA M

linkage. Standing by for

(recorded) "Uh, Roger, Discovery. We copy you on that."

(Satellite and helium balloon are linked together, in the grasp of the robot claw. D A N swings the robot arm around towards audience and raises it upwards, poised.) DAN:

Houston, we are go for deployment. (recorded) "Uh, Roger, Discovery. We copy you on that."

HO USTON:

(The robot claw slowly opens, releasing the satellite/balloon package. It floats up to the rafters-to the cheers of a greatly relieved audience.) Houston, Discovery. V E N E E X T E E W E E S deployment looks nominal. H O U S T O N : (recorded) "Discovery, Houston. Copy deployment. V E N E E X ­ T E E W E E S systems nominal, and looking good." D A N : Roger, Houston. We are clear here. Over and out.

DAN:

(DA N turns and ''floats" offstage with the pedestal. The shuttle flies back up into the rafters. Radio static and Earth slide fade out. The last strains of the "Blue Danube Waltz" fade away, and lights fade to black. Next video sequence is projected on-screen.)

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Video

Audio

Fade in: Interior hallway-daytime. One last training spot from astro­ naut Dan.

"If humans are going to travel to distant planets such as Mars . . .

Cut to: Ext. parking lot-early morning. A small silver sports car is parked in foreground. Astronaut Dan ap­ proaches from far end of parking

". . . we need to study just exactly what the effects of long-term flight will be on humans.

lot. He carries a shopping bag of groceries in one hand and a dainty little blue plastic kit bag in the other. Cut to: Dan opens passenger door and loads in his provisions. A bag of

"The Long Duration Closed System Environment Facility allows us to see just what will happen . . .

potato chips peeks from top of the shopping bag. Cut to: Ext. sports car, through windshield. Med. CU -Dan carefully straps himself in the front passenger

". . . when astronauts remain in a small environment for extended periods of time-up to six to eight months."

seat. Dissolve to: Ext. garden-day. CU-Long-stemmed purple wild-

(We hear dramatic, throbbing, time-lapse music.)

flowers sway in the breeze. Dissolve to: Ext. parking lot-night. Med. shot-sports car. We see

(Crickets chirping.)

Dan inside, asleep. Dissolve to: Ext. garden-another day. CU-An orange poppy blooms in the morning sun. Dissolve to: Ext. sports car in parking let-an­ other night. CU-Through windshield we see the dashboard buried in junk food trash: half-eaten doughnuts, empty soda bottle, paper cups, potato chip bag, etc. It's a mess. Behind it all, Dan is passed out, asleep.

(More crickets.)

T H E N I G H T T H E M O O N L A N D E D O N 39 T H S T R E E T

21 1

Dissolve to: Ext. garden-yet another day.

(Music fades out.)

CU -Another poppy blooming in the sun.

(We hear birds singing in the background. )

Dissolve to: Ext. parking lot-another morn­ ing, many many many days later. CU -Car door. A paper sign mounted on it reads "long dura­ tion closed system environment facility." The door cracks open-trash be­ gins to spill out onto the asphalt: crumpled bags, an empty plastic bottle, doughnut box. A stale piece of brie bounces away. Cut to: Angle on the door as it opens fur­ ther. Out falls Dan in a heap onto the trash. Slowly, groggily, he

(Heroic music swells underneath, building to a crescendo.)

staggers to his feet. Dazed and confused, he hangs onto the door for support and bravely gives a "thumbs up" salute and a weary nod. No problem! Fade to black.

(We hear choral music, like a Gregorian chant. Slide appears of an Apollo as­ tronaut standing on the Moon. Dan's recorded voiceover.) "By the mid-1970s, the Apollo program was fast becoming ancient his­ tory. Americans no longer found it justifiable to spend that much money on lunar exploration.

(Slide: Apollo astronaut on the Moon walking away from camera.) "So, after Apollo 17 the last three missions were cancelled-and we said goodbye to the Moon."

(Slide and music fade out. A tight downspot comes up far right, and we see DA N dressed in deep purple Polo shirt and blue jeans. He speaks calmly.) Edgar Mitchell was pilot of the Lunar Module on his Apollo mission. By the time they blasted off from the Moon to come home, Mitchell's pri­ mary work was finished. On the three-day voyage back to Earth, he finally had time to relax and reflect on where he had been-and where he was now. Looking out of the small cabin window, he watched the

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Earth float by as they slowly rotated, keeping the spacecraft evenly warmed by the sun. In space, the stars and planets shine ten times as bright, and sailing homeward through a dazzling Milky Way-Mitchell kept on watching. As he looked out on the Earth, then at the glittering galaxy surrounding it, a startling "recognition" came over him.

(We hear eerie, mysterious music, reminiscent of the music when young D A N saw the full moon at the beginning of the performance.) Suddenly he could see and feel the underlying connection between everything he knew to be! The stars and planets, his two comrades and their spacecraft, and everything on that familiar blue and white ball floating past the window. He was overcome by the sensation of extend­ ing physically and mentally in every direction! All limitations of self, dis­ solved in an ecstasy of cosmic union! There was nothing "religious" or mystical about it! It seemed a completely natural thing. Edgar Mitchell's life was changed forever.

(Lights quickly crossfade to warm front wash. stage.)

DA N

briskly walks to center

I first met her in the hallway of a college dorm in Santa Fe, New Mexico. We said hello, then sat on the floor and quietly talked as a wild drunken party swirled around us. There was a hint of Texas in her voice, and I said something really lame like, "I like your accent." She wears rings on every finger, mostly old silver with pale blue and green turquoise stones, a per­ sonal tale to each one. Her hands carry stories of lives touched-and she welcomes me in. Looking into her eyes is like seeing an old friend. She cares openly, naturally, fearlessly. She loves thunderstorms because they remind her of pure energy. This woman of earth and sky moves with the power of lightning and the gentleness of a cloud. "You're like a too-short visit to a beautiful island," she says. When we part, she takes a ring from her finger, placing it on mine. I give her my headband-handwoven by my mother, it's the closest thing to a ring I possess. And the more I look at her the more I can feel.

(Faintly in the background we hear beautiful choral music, like angels de­ scending to tenderly embrace a lonely soul. A deep wave of emotion begins to rise up in Dan. As he speaks, he is simultaneously on the verge of tears and laughter.) The mountain of loneliness and despair that has weighed on my heart for so long begins to crumble. Shattered by her gentleness and clarity. I

T H E N I G H T T H E M O O N L A N D E D O N 39 T H S T R E E T

2 13

feel my spirit reach for the heavens, to everything beyond and within! Fi­ nally- life was sharing its secret with me! So simple and obvious. This connection, this touching of my spirit-it was everything! Not just ro­ mance, but life itself! (He looks up into the night sky.) And every dream that ever blossomed within returned a thousand­ fold! (He is laughing through tears as lights and music fade out. A slide se­ quence begins of simple cartoon drawings with voiceover.) Dan's Recorded Voiceover

(We hear solemn, stately, orchestral music.) "On a philosophical note, one of the greatest hopes of the space program has been to help raise human­ ity's consciousness to a higher level by giving us a larger picture of who we are as a species. As one possible avenue towards that hope . . . " N A S A has considered the idea of sending civil­ ians into space who are professional 'communica­ tors.' People who could share the experience of spaceflight through creative expression. •

.

Image Slides (All cartoon dra wings.)

A crescent moon hangs over a mountain stream, its reflection in the water below.

.

"This would include poets, teachers, journalists, musicians-and performance artists. And when it comes to selecting the first Artist-in-Space, what N A S A needs is . . . ". . . someone who could bring a fresh perspective to the possibilities of creative expression in orbit. Someone who could find new ways of using tech­ nology for alternative purposes. "Someone who would be able to capture the atten­ tion of humanity in a way no regular astronaut could. Such a decision will require careful and thoughtful deliberation.

Placard reads "civilians in space."

A woman floats in zero gravity, writing with a manual typewriter.

A man thinking to himself, eyes closed. A thought balloon over his head shows the space shuttle blasting off.

Portrait of a man with huge mouth wide open. Planet earth sits in the back of his throat.

Portrait of astronaut in spacesuit,

" Who could they possibly send?"

his eyes covered with a black rec­ tangle disguising his identity. Large question marks float around his helmet.

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Slide fades to black.

(Music fades out. A moment in reflective silence.) (New slide sequence begins. We hear rousing march­ ing-band parade music.)

Satellite appears: it looks like a

(Over the music, an official-sounding voiceover.)

funky karaoke machine with solar panels extending from the sides­ all made from cardboard and alu­ minum foil. The controls are drawn onto its face. Very campy. Colorful text slide with name of satellite and countries involved. An artist's rendering of the inter­ national space station with space shuttle docked. CU-A karaoke CD: " You Sing the

Hits of Frank Sinatra. "

Shuttle astronaut floats in space wearing rocket-backpack.

"The O KAY - K A R A M I N U S O N E Satellite: a joint ven­ ture between the governments of Japan and the Philippines! "This unique satellite will provide opportunities for multicultural exchange between astronauts during construction of the International Space Station, now in progress. "Shuttle mission s T s -2ooo is scheduled to include a service call on the satellite to install and test the lat­ est in updated software. "Training for this crucial mission is already under­ way at the 18th Street Human Spaceflight Center. "Using our state of the art simulator system, we are preparing astronauts for the unique challenges of Evv s-Extra Vehicular Vocalizations."

Slide fades to black

(Parade music fades out.)

(A huge slide appears of the space shuttle floating in orbit, a sliver of Earth on the far right edge of image. We hear radio static with the typical occasional beeping sounds.) (offstage, headset microphone, live): Houston, this is Discovery. Air­ lock decompression complete and standing by for EVA . H O U S T O N: (recorded voiceover) "Discovery, this i s Houston. You are go for EVA . We are showing nominal attitude for O KAY - K A R A M I N U S O N E rendezvous." DAN:

(Lights up. DA N floats in from far right dressed in a full spacesuit-white paper painters' overalls with authentic NA S A patches, a plastic space helmet, ski gloves painted white. Two small fake legs with cardboard space boots protrude from his stomach area-his real legs are hidden under a black skirt. He wears a bulky, boxy rocket-backpack made from cardboard painted white. In each

T H E N I G H T T H E M O O N L A N D E D O N 39 T H S T R E E T

hand, he holds a small cylindrical gadget. When he presses a button with his thumb, a jet of compressed air shoots out of the bottom of the cylinder, ''pro­ pelling" him through space. He speaks through his headset mic, his voice sounding thin and nasally like typical NA S A radio transmission.) DAN:

Roger, Houston. I have a visual on

O KAY - KA R A M I N U S O N E .

(Far left, the karaoke satellite slowly lowers in on a rope. It floats six feet above the floor, illuminated by a tight spot.) (recorded) "Discovery, Houston. Uh, maintain current speed of point-two-five meters per second. You are go for rendezvous in ap­ proximately thirty seconds."

Ho usToN:

Roger, Houston. Thirty seconds at point-two-five meters per sec­ ond. Initiating rendezvous maneuver.

DAN:

(He begins a zigzag approach to satellite, using hand rocket jets to steer his way over.) (recorded) "Discovery, Houston. Uh, we copy you on that. Go get 'em, Tiger." D A N : Roger, Houston, proceeding at point-two-five. Closing at three me­ ters, twelve seconds . . . Two point six at eight . . . One point seven at five, four, three, two, one. (He reaches the satellite.) Houston, we have ren­ dezvous. Standing by for software installation.

Ho usToN:

(He pulls a

CD

from the chest pack of his spacesuit.)

(recorded) "Discovery, Houston. You are go for installation and stand by for telemetry uplink." D A N : Roger, Houston. HO USTON:

(He slips the C D into a slot on the side of the satellite. It drops inside with a "cl un k.") D A N : Houston, installation looks nominal. Standing by to initiate soft­ ware test program and requesting voice modulation. H O U S T O N : (recorded) "Discovery, Houston. Copy that request. You are go for voice mod." D A N : Roger, Houston. Check one two, check one two . . . (As he maneuvers his way back to center stage, his mic sound changes from the typical radio effect to a rich full reverb.) DAN:

Uh, a little more reverb and we are go for test program run.

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(He pauses at center stage. Reaching up to his helmet, he flips two switches which turn on little lightbulbs inside the helmet, illuminating his face. He slowly rotates away from the audience.) (recorded) "Discovery, Houston. Copy more reverb. You are go for test program run in five, four, three, two, one."

H O U S T O N:

(Suddenly we hear a loud karaoke version of Frank Sinatra's ''I've Got the World on a String." Using his rocket jets, DAN spins back around to face the crowd and begins to sing along, gently swaying with the music.) DAN: "I've got the world on a string, sittin' on a rainbow. Got that string around my finger . . :' (As the song continues, he flies around the stage, singing, going through a goofy choreographed routine-a cross between vaudeville and Gene Kelly-all ac­ cented by the firing of his hand rocket jets. He's joyously belting it out. A big finish as the song ends-DAN spins around, his fake legs flying out from the centrifugal force and hand rockets spraying ecstatically above him. Music fades out, and space shuttle slide fades out. DAN floats at center stage, very still, with only the sound of the radio static in the air. He slowly reaches up and switches off his helmet lights. He "floats" over to far left. The karaoke satellite flies up out of view. The radio static fades out, and we hear a solo piano begin to play a slow, gentle, tranquil theme. Lights crossfade to a tight spot on DAN. He slowly removes his helmet and turns towards the audience. As he looks out into the distance, a final slide sequence begins, the images slowly dissolving from one to the next.) Image Slides

Dan's Live Narration on Mic

A huge image of earth as seen

(DAN speaks gently, the music underneath.)

from near-orbit.

Gazing at you, my heart is quiet. Peace comes over me as your image sings in my head. Dissolve to another huge slide of earth from near-orbit. A crescent earth seen from fur­ ther out in space.

Your blue, green, and brown body cloaked with streaks of white. I am in heaven, and you are my home. How lucky I am. This vision of you, our most profound gift-to see ourselves floating in space. When the night is clear, I go outside and stand by the edge of the street.

A glowing, full, harvest moon.

I look to the sky and give thanks to the Moon. Shin­ ing up there as if it's saying, "Here I am. Feel my

T H E N I G H T T H E M O O N L A N D E D O N 39 T H S T R E E T

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presence. Reach for me. I am a reflection of some­ thing precious, born in you from the very begin­ ning-your sense of wonderment just to be here.

moon's horizon as seen from the

"I am the Moon. Let my presence remind you-you are not alone.

horizon.

''And may you walk in grace, your mind aglow with fascination. May your heart marvel at the splendor of breath. And may you face each day with the open spirit of a child."

(Music fades out.)

The earth rising above the moon. Earth rising higher above moon

Beautiful full earth seen from space.

Slide fades out.

(Lights slowly fade to black with slides and music. A moment in darkness and silence, then lights up. DA N takes a quick bow, then gestures to screen. Lights go to black and begin final video sequence.) Audio

(We hear powerful, driving drums with a slick corpo­ rate piano theme. An upbeat, cheesy-sounding voiceover, like the very first video section. Music un­ derneath the voiceover.)

Video Fade in:

Ext. countryside-daytime. CU, low angle-Astronaut Dan

"The 18th Street Human Spaceflight Center, where dreams become reality . . .

posing in his cool shades, helmet under one arm, hand on hip, gaz­ ing heroically into the distance.

". . . at a price you can afford. Why wait? Call today!

Dissolve to: CU -Dan, different angle-so manly! Dissolve to:

"Operators standing by:'

CU -Dan, another angle-what a stud . . . Dissolve to:

(Male announcer's voice, talking superfast:) " Call i-8 o oL I F T - O F F.

That's I-S ooL - I - F - T - 0 - F - F. The18thStreetHumanSpaceflightCenterisafully non -accreditedlearninginstitutionVisaMastercard accepted:'

(Music fades out.)

Extreme CU -Dan's face. Camera zooms out to wide-angle shot re­ vealing Dan standing on a wooden fence post in the middle of nowhere. Fade to black.

Co m m e nta ry: �� I n s i d e O u t "

The last full-length solos that Dan Kwong created in the 1990s, The Dodo Vaccine (1996) and The Night The Moon Landed on 39th Street (1999 ), are ex­ uberant embodiments of the artist's sense of theatrical play, expansive imagination, and clearly articulated narrative visions. Whereas his earlier solos can be thought of collectively as deeply felt homages to the history of his Asian and Asian American ancestors and a vital exploration of the dy­ namics of the "identity" crisis he experienced in racist, sexist America as a youth within his immediate family and peer group, these later solos con­ front pressing adult issues through a less mediated presentation of auto­ biography. Kwong's own voice is more explicit, frequent, self-analyzing, and challenging within these last full-length plays. He is completely visible within the works themselves. Ironically, however, The Dodo Vaccine and The Night The Moon Landed on 39th Street, while accomplishing many of the same dramaturgical ends as the earlier pieces, could not be further from them in the sustained specificity of their subject matter: the former focuses on the pandemic A I D S crisis, while the latter celebrates space exploration. But the two pieces are in a more symbiotic relationship-in content and form-than may initially be apparent to the reader and the audience. The Dodo Vaccine is framed narratively by Kwong's sixth test to identify his H I V status. His previous blood samples, taken anonymously at a local clinic, have all been H I V negative. Capturing the anxiety generated by this upcoming experience and heightening the stakes involved when one's health is under surveillance during a global crisis, Kwong designed the set so that the entire stage ("from wall to wall and floor to ceiling" ) , is segmented by a white scrim, delineating a safe area, a risky area, and a danger zone. Each 2 19

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third of the stage is filled with balloons that represent different kinds of T-cells, from healthy ones (clear balloons in front of the scrim) to infected ones (clear balloons, behind the scrim, with green and red ping pong balls inside) and grossly infected ones (a more exaggerated version of the previ­ ous balloons but lodged in a cagelike area behind a black scrim) . Dominat­ ing the visual landscape behind the white scrim is a "giant amoeba-shaped cell platform" with a huge "clear condom package" placed next to it. In The Dodo Vaccine, the set design ensures that neither the protagonist nor the au­ dience can escape the enduring reality of our bodies' composition. As Kwong states in the stage directions: "The design is intended to create the sensation of being within a deep, multilayered cosmic/cellular world, with many visual and physical manifestations of barriers, boundaries, and layers." Kwong is acutely aware in The Dodo Vaccine and The Night The Moon Landed on 39th Street that we all circulate within a "multilayered cosmic/cel­ lular world." The artist has been moving toward this personally satisfying recognition of the "one in the many" or the mortal and celestial body con­ nection since performing Secrets of The Samurai Centerfielder. In The Dodo Vaccine, he journeys inside his body, both literally and figuratively, to under­ stand that "within this miraculous body of ours we contain the complexity of the universe." It is the cellular world of the individual human body-its dendrites, synapses, fibers, fluids, bones, and flesh-that is "home" for the artist in this piece, just as Los Angeles and the United States are contested sites of home for Kwong in his earlier works. "Life contains us as we contain life;' he states near the opening of The Dodo Vaccine, and he seems more de­ termined in this piece than in any other he has written to dissect the impli­ cations of this truism (vis-a-vis autobiography) and thereby consciously present autoperformance as political theater. In the mid-1990s in the United States, the demographics continued to shift among the groups of people who were at increased risk for H I V infec­ tion. Whereas homosexual men were a dominant risk group in the 1980s and early 1990s, there was an alarming increase in H r v infection among het­ erosexual men and women by the mid-1990s. An early 1996 production that is nothing short of radical, political theater, The Dodo Vaccine is at the fore­ front of plays in the United States breaking ground to write about safe sex practices, H I V , and A I D S in the heterosexual population. This accomplish­ ment is even more notable since Kwong is a straight man and he is per­ forming his work alone. Furthermore, he is a "Straight Asian male with a history of . . . promiscuity" (read compulsive). While numerous gay and les­ bian soloists presented vitally important, informative works about H I V and A I D S to responsive, supportive audiences in the 1980s and 1990s, no Amer-

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ican, straight, male performer before Dan Kwong, to my knowledge, pre­ sented a full-length solo devoted to the impact of H I V and A I D S on the lifestyles, sexual practices, and gendered roles among straights. The Dodo Vaccine, therefore, is a historical document-an artifact-of its time. Through humor (especially involving his self-conscious interaction with the Asian American nurse, Yvonne) , playfulness (memorable wild dancing among the T-cell balloons), and hard cold facts (the "infected T-cell becomes a little H I V factory sprouting thousands of new virus particles from its own membrane") , Kwong not only educated his audience about the virus but constantly located his source material within his own body. In this piece, he draws a fine distinction between his body as individually marked and uni­ versally "known" or recognized. Kwong situates his "cellular" journey within Asian American social mores and American gender politics. His strategy throughout the solo is to move in close to his own self, then outward toward his racialized commu­ nity, the nation's citizenry, the global community, and finally the cosmos. Focusing initially-and principally-on his own sexual habits and needs compared to those of other Asian Americans, he highlights the obstacles that hinder A I D S prevention in Asian/Pacific Islander communities because of the linkage between A I D S and "big cultural taboo subjects: 'sexual be­ havior in general,' 'homosexuality' in particular; 'illness'; and 'death."' Surely, the "Model Minority," as marked by the white dominant culture, with "Honorary White People Status" is disease free; to be otherwise would "reflect badly upon the family" and bring shame upon it. In a strikingly rare stage moment, Kwong speaks about being in bed with his lover after providing a blood sample for H I V testing. This is the most in­ timate, "serious" scenario he articulates about himself and a woman partner in his canon. Prior to The Dodo Vaccine, his remarks about women focused on those in his family: grandmothers, mother, sisters. It is refreshing and seemingly liberating to be let into his bedroom. This is also the first full­ length autoperformance in which Kwong does not talk about his family­ women and men alike. In keeping with a play that is essentially about sex and written by a straight man, Kwong includes scenes of sexual anxiety, flir­ tation, and indecisive machismo in which he interacts with women who are not his lover: Yvonne, the nurse who tests him for H I V and as part of her job asks him explicit, and for Kwong embarrassing, questions about his sexual practices; and a disembodied telephone sex partner who guides him through a masturbatory fantasy. Each woman-the lover, the nurse, and the sex part­ ner-are subjects of their own narratives. The author's resistance to objecti­ fying them captures a unique stage portrait of a straight man in relation to

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women. He gives language to the women's subjectivity, as well as to his own, as he struggles to navigate the shifting terrain in relationships between men and women in contemporary American life, where democratization of sub­ jectivities is a desired goal. The bedroom scene, however, is an eye-opening, albeit painful one for the soloist to recall since it is the site of renewed isolation (which is deeply connected to his childhood memories) and unexpected discrimination. Upon telling his girlfriend that he will return to the clinic to get the test re­ sults, she "recoils across the bed;' proclaiming, "I don't have it. . . . I don't need to be tested." That night, the lovers "slept on opposite sides of the bed." Through heartbreaking rejection, Kwong gets "a glimpse of how terrified we can be without even knowing it." At the heart of the terror, according to him, is our "primal fear" of death: disease, suffering, isolation, and power­ lessness. But the artist is resolute in facing these fears-as they relate speci­ fically to the A I D S pandemic-by not staying silent, by refusing to remain uninformed, by taking responsibility for his sexual practices, and finally by creating art that brings the health crisis into the theater's public forum to encourage collective awareness, debate, and education. Kwong is equally committed in The Dodo Vaccine to speaking out about sex in the Asian/Pacific Islander communities. He deliberately chooses to break the silence surrounding sex among Asian Americans. Kwong and other performers of his and subsequent generations speak out freely on this topic because they see the shattering of taboos as central to their artistic mission, a significant part of which is connected to identity and commu­ nity. They experience the stage as a site of cultural and social liberation. Kwong refuses to perpetuate the cultural taboos associated with sex and sex­ ualities, since deliberate ignorance of social realities leads to "unhealthy" liv­ ing-to living a (potentially deadly) lie: Guess what. T H E RE ARE A S I A N A M E R I CA N L E S B I A N S AND GAY M E N ! That's right! And some o f them are your family members. Some o f them are your friends! And guess what? Gay or straight, WE H AVE sEx W I T H E A C H O T H E R ! And you know what? WE LIKE I T ! And you know what else? It's gooooood! ! ! . . . And yes, some have A I D S . And some have can­ cer. Some have leukemia, Parkinson's, Alzheimer's. And some are dying. (Raging again.) D Y I N G ! D I D YOU HEAR T H AT ? D Y I N G ! ! ! But Kwong is a fair-minded performer who refuses to be polemical. Rather, time and again throughout his work he dramatizes and verbalizes the complexities and contradictions embedded within his own thoughts and behaviors. On the one hand, he successfully discredits the sex equals

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death equation in The Dodo Vaccine (after all, we can save ourselves through the rational choice of safe sex practices; we do not have to be "dumb as a dodo" and stupidly and irrationally fuck one another to death). On the other hand, he theaticalizes-vis-a-vis an erotically wild then provocatively sensual "unsafe dance" with the "highly infected T-cell" balloons behind the black scrim-his attraction to and compulsion toward unsafe sexual prac­ tices. Sex, after all, is not an act that can automatically be controlled through reason and rational behavior. In this regard, Kwong tries to explain his (ir­ rational) choice, or urge, toward (unsafe) actions he suspects are engaged in by other human beings simply because they are human. He also discredits this rationale as an easy way to avoid taking responsibility for one's actions. Visually, The Dodo Vaccine is punctuated prominently and regularly by text images detailing, among other facts, the statistical rise by 1996 of H I V ­ positive and full-blown A I D S cases in the Asian/Pacific Islander community, statistics about H I V infection and A I D S worldwide, rising health care costs in the United States, and the reluctance of Americans to identify as the central "cause" of A I D S anything but homosexuality. By drawing on his multimedia techniques, especially the use of the text images, Kwong goes to great lengths in this performance to distance the audience from any sentimentality that may be evoked by a particular scene. As noted in the preceding commen­ taries on Kwong's earlier work, this Brecht-influenced staging device con­ stantly informs and educates the audience amid ongoing dramatic scenes of pathos and, for some audience members, personal identification with aspects of the narrative. Foremost in the author's strategy, however, is the urgent need expressed in The Dodo Vaccine for all humans to take responsibility for their sexual practices if we are to survive. (Certainly today's staggering statis­ tics concerning the projected number of people in China and Africa who will be H I V positive and/or living with A I D S by 2010, through sexual transmis­ sion or otherwise, suggest that human extinction due to this virulent disease, if it is left unattended, is in the realm of possibility. ) At the heart of The Dodo Vaccine is Kwong's memorable monologue about a primary school classmate, Michael Kondo. With text and image slides absent and no music or dancing, Kwong "oozes cruelty," as he be­ comes his fourth-grade self and recalls, pridefully, how he and the other boys taunted Kondo, the "sissy," "fairy;' and "queer" of his school. Words and his performing body are all it takes for him to convey the intense homo­ phobia rampant among boys and men when in the presence of their sus­ pected "other" male. More pointedly, the monologue speaks to the cultural coding through which masculinity defines itself-as the opposite of the feminine. In the absence of girls, boys in groups aggressively mark one of

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their own as female in order to suggest that the self- Other, subject-object, boy-girl dichotomy is always visible and "embodied" no matter what the sit­ uation. Among the cruelest of these associations, as evidenced in the narra­ tive, is that when boys are among themselves the Other boy, who is seen as girlish (i.e., sensitive, unathletic, nonviolent, and what Kwong calls nonex­ istent), is automatically marked as homosexual. Kwong locates the roots of homophobia as it is experienced by American males in the formative years of young boys' lives. He shows that the model for a culture of masculinity is socially constructed and that the attending gendered, behavioral codes cross racial lines. His cruelty to Michael Kondo highlights the reality of homophobia among Asian Americans, as well as what the artist calls intraracial "hatred." After all, Kondo was a "fucking em­ barrassment" to his race. The monologue also encapsulates the enduring presence of homophobia in U.S. society as a whole. Because homophobia, a "rotten slime," is so deeply entrenched in America's institutionalized ways of thinking about sex and gender, Kwong suggests, the pervasive, albeit preju­ dicial, cultural attitude that homosexuality equals A I D S is slowly killing us. When one holds this belief, one can remain willfully ignorant and walk away from responsibility for one's actions. The Dodo Vaccine dramatizes the point that for some people the "slimy terror of [one's] 'other'" is frequently a more hideous reality than the fear of death itself. In a beautifully evocative, final image, Kwong "slowly, deliberately, and tenderly" begins to sew shut the diagonal slash in the black scrim that he sliced open earlier in the performance in order to dance and cavort among the infected T-cells in the scenic "danger zone." He has just heard from Yvonne that the results of his H I V test are negative. As if by rote, he pre­ sumes that he will return for future tests until he hears himself say to Yvonne: "See you next-." There does not automatically have to be a next time. The artist's journey in The Dodo Vaccine charts his growth from igno­ rance to knowledge, from prejudice to compassion, from selfishness to re­ sponsibility. It is a linear narrative, a series of cause and effect circumstances from which Kwong chooses freely to learn. He does not rely on destiny to di­ rect his life's course, but rather he chooses to take responsibility for it-and he invites audience members to take similar control over their own lives­ because their lives may depend on it. Evoked by the stage image of the artist sewing back together the sliced section of scrim, one senses that the inside of the body is beginning to mend at the end of The Dodo Vaccine as the protagonist takes responsibility for his actions. The body's boundaries and barriers are respected and acknowl­ edged. Only then, Kwong seems to suggest through the stage semiotics, can

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healing of the lasting kind begin, whether it be the individual's body that is in desperate need of healing or the community's, nation's, or land's. The choice is ours. And the choice resides where it always has-with individuals and the people's collective will. A particular part of the body is highlighted in production, for both the­ matic and theatrical reasons, when one pairs The Dodo Vaccine and The Night The Moon Landed on 39th Street. The artist's face frames the plays as a unit. The first time we see Dan Kwong in The Dodo Vaccine only his face is visible, and it is "illuminated by candlelight." The actor speaks about the 1994 earthquake in Los Angeles, which plunged the city into "complete blackout" and enabled him suddenly to "see all the stars. Out there . . ." Amid a natural catastrophe, he and his neighbors came together, "glad to be alive." In mood, focus, and meaning, this opening scene is echoed in the closing moments in Kwong's final full-length play in the 1990s, The Night The Moon Landed on 39th Street. Dressed in a spacesuit complete with N A S A patches, Kwong flips headgear switches that "turn on little lightbulbs inside [his] helmet, illuminating his face." Happily, he has transformed himself into an astronaut-realizing a lifelong wish. With only his face lit, he "flies around the stage" using makeshift hand rockets to create a humorous illu­ sion of weightless space flight. The sight of a grown man completely im­ mersed in childlike, "homemade" theatrical play, is magical in and of itself. But it is Kwong's concurrent sing-along with Frank Sinatra's "I've Got the World on a String" that invokes the spirit of The Dodo Vaccine. Just as the artist in that play experiences love and community among neighbors in postearthquake Los Angeles-and finally understands that love directed outside the self cannot materialize until one takes responsibility to love one's own self-he broadens his capacity for earthly love in The Night The Moon Landed on 39th Street by fully embracing his love for the planet and the lives on it. His imagination takes him to space, the ideal site from which he can visualize the whole world and the life that he has come to love deeply. This is a place of inner and outer peace that Kwong has been writing him­ self into since Secrets of The Samurai Centerfielder. In The Dodo Vaccine and The Night The Moon Landed on 39 th Street, his stories and their meanings converge on the actor's body-on his "illuminated" face. This illumination captures his shift from autoperformance (in which he assumes multiple characters from his and his family's life story) to autobiographically in­ flected solo performance (in which autobiography is not the primary source material for his narrative) . In some respects, The Night The Moon Landed o n 39th Street is Kwong's "millennia!" play, a kind of "fast forward to the future" that allows him to

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indulge his long-standing curiosity about space, a fascination that appears to be matched only by his passion for baseball. But during the performance he also frequently cites predictions about earth and space from different decades of writings from the twentieth century. In this regard, he returns to the past to comment on the present. The spectator is treated to amusing (mis)conceptions about our current lives as imagined by our ancestors. Although grounded in his childhood fascination with space, technology, and other, outer worlds, The Night The Moon Landed on 39th Street is certainly Kwong's least autobiographical full-length solo. From start to finish, the per­ former experiences the entire stage as his space, the site where his theatrical imagination can roam freely throughout a multimedia "heaven" of props, cos­ tumes, lighting, scenery, slides, music, voice-overs, video, and choreogra­ phy-all at his beck and call, finally, to simulate a vision of his own flight in space. He had been waiting, perhaps, to capture this vision since performing his first solo a decade earlier. The Night The Moon Landed on 39th Street stands as a rite of passage for Dan Kwong; here he gives himself permission to move outside the self, to envision otherness in terms of infinity rather than tempo­ rality, to experience himself not primarily through the lens of race and fam­ ily. And he creates this vision through humor, infectious playfulness, and a childlike wonder that is less evident in his earlier writings. In his preceding plays, Kwong comes to terms with being a man, an Asian, and an American. In The Night The Moon Landed on 39th Street, Kwong the adult writes himself back to the child who believes that the sight of the rising moon at the end of his street is actually the moon landing in his neighborhood. The pure pleas­ ure of this recollection frees the artist to project himself into the play's ex­ tended narrative of his efforts to be accepted as an astronaut, to train properly for the trip's demands, and finally to experience space flight itself. For the du­ ration of the performance, he joins the pantheon of his childhood heroes, who include John Glenn, Neil Armstrong, and Edgar Mitchell, reliving their historic moments with amazement and envy and particularly relishing the sheer minu­ tiae (of which there is plenty) of space travel details. The artist immerses him­ self in the liberation that total fantasy accords him, both good-naturedly mocking his long-standing preoccupation with "the beyond" and celebrating its real potential to encourage us to see and think beyond ourselves. Kwong created The Night The Moon Landed on 39th Street at a time when competitive space programs internationally had all but vanished from the public eye; the solo also predates the tragedy of the space shuttle Columbia's reentry disaster in 2003. The nationalistic space race of the 1960s and 1970s between the United States and the Soviet Union had been transformed, after

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the collapse of the Soviet Union, into a previously unimaginable venture: a joint undertaking between America and Russia beginning in 1995 when an American Space Shuttle first docked with the Russian space station Mir. Kwong's manic display of life on the space station (as well as a subsequent U.S. solo mission) as he zooms around the stage in a swivel office chair, por­ traying various Russian cosmonauts and American astronauts interacting amid plastic models of space shuttles, robot claws, gadgets, miniature satel­ lites, and helium balloons, is uproarious. He is clear about Mir's outcome: friendship between former enemies is not only possible, but it may lead to other collaborative efforts for the good of humankind. Mir's material success opens up the artist's vision to imagine a space sta­ tion of even greater challenge, as he announces: The new International Space Station now under construction is a proj ­ ect involving sixteen different countries. It will be a Multiculturalism­ Deluxe in orbit. How will we manage to work together, overcoming not only technical but cultural differences as well? Indeed, how will we manage? Kwong seems to suggest in his performance that there is a fundamental premise on which vastly diverse people may come to appreciate who and where they are in relation to their Other, to that which they experience as "outside" their "inside." It is a cosmic premise, but for this artist it is a foundation that is no less real or valid. His insight, while not original (and arguably serving to make his vision even more powerful) , i s poetically expressed: You're in space, right now. Just like the moon and the stars. That is where you really are . . . . And you think you're a woman or a man; a boy or a girl-but you're not. You think you're an artist or a doctor; an American or an immigrant-but really, you're not. You are an exquisite collection of vibrating molecules, created in the heart of some ancient star. And I keep wishing-if only we could all go back into space, back to our origins-something would change. Something would click in our collective consciousness, and we would never forget. A clarity that would never fade. A connection we would never lose sight of. And things would be different. That's what I wish. "We are all truly made of stardust," Kwong reminds his spectators. If we just remember this fundamental concept, it is not an impossible leap to

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imagine the coexistence of the "one and the many;' a democratization of pluralities essential to the recognition and respect of cultural diversity. And from there one can imagine the Multiculturalism-Deluxe orbiting in space and grounded on earth. If one can imagine it, Kwong wholeheartedly con­ cludes, it is possible and worth the wait. Change is inevitable.

Exce rpts fro m More Ta les fro m the Locker Room -k

THE SWORD AND THE CHRYSANTHEMUM (1997) (In blackout. We hear Dan's voice with lots of reverb, quietly uttering various types of cries ofpain-"Ow! Ouch! Owwww! etc." A second, whispering voice tries to silence him, get him to shut up-"sshhhhh!"-but his cries of pain continue. They grow more intense yet stay quiet and secretive. Finally the si­ lencing voice becomes dominant and the cries of pain fade into the back­ ground until they both fade out. During this voiceover, the Flower-Bearer ceremonially enters carrying six very large yellow chrysanthemum flowers, the big round kind that look like grape­ fruit-sized balls. Dressed in black, he walks to downstage center and kneels, fac­ ing the audience. He lays the flowers down by his side, picks up one, and with both hands holds it over his head, almost like you would hold an umbrella. Throughout, the Flower-Bearer's actions are calm, as if he were performing a tea ceremony ritual. He is totally focused and precise in his movements. Dan slowly enters from the other side of the stage. He wears black pants and is bare-chested. Down at his side he carries an unsheathed Japanese sword. He walks up behind the Flower-Bearer and raises his sword into a ready position, the tip poised inches from the flower head. Dan speaks.) In one flower dwells the entire cosmos, no less and no more. Just as the body of one human is the descendant of ancient stars. Flower. Human. *The Sword and The Chrysanthemum and AI The Barber were originally created as part of a collaborative duet with Denise Uyehara entitled "Samurai Centerfielder Meets The Mad Kabuki Woman"

(1997)

.

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Stars. We are all precious bodies of impermanence, floating in a stellar sea. Smile, the Milky Way loves you.

(Dan draws back his sword and in a flash slices off the head of the flower. It plops to the ground. He draws back his sword and cleanly steps off to the side, once again holding the sword in "ready" position. The Flower-Bearer calmly places the headless stalk down, takes another flower, and holds it up the same way above his head. Dan continues. ) Clifford lived next door. He was my hero. His father grew flowers in their backyard. Clifford and I compared fatherly punishment techniques. "My Dad spanks me." "My Dad gives me lectures." We each envied the other's good fortune. "It hurts me, it hurts me not."

(Dan slices off the flower top, then steps back into ready position again. Flower­ Bearer ritualistically repeats his motions, taking a new flower and holding it aloft.) Clifford taught me how to tear the wings off of moths and throw them into spider webs. We stood and watched. Killing was most familiar. We played war, dying thousands of times in neighborhood driveways and backyards. And if we bled, it was a badge of honor. Just rub some dirt in it, it'll go away.

(Dan cuts the flower. The ritualistc flower replacement is repeated.) And I saw myself wingless and thrashing, preparing to take what I dished out. I took pride in the ability to make my pain invisible. Carrying on the legacy of stoic men (Asian or otherwise) , each with our own color of bodily sacrifice. Gentlemen, can you say "Ouch"?

(Dan cuts. The ritual is repeated.) My body is a temple. Meanwhile, disposable men are consumed in the name of productivity; in the name of "The Cause." From the assembly line to the playing field and anywhere between the goal lines, you may find us-silent temples, quietly crumbling from the inside. "It's okay, I'm fine." Women and children first . . .

(Dan cuts. The ritual is repeated.) Because "A man is what a man does," to paraphrase Forrest Gump. And how stupid would he feel to say, "Stop, stop everything-! am hurt." And how stupid would we feel to honor him for that? For if a man fails to pro­ duce will he not be devoured by the sword of Manly Shame?

E X C E R P T S F R O M M O R E TA L E S F R O M T H E L O C K E R R O O M

(Dan begins a vicious swing down at the neck of the Flower-Bearer who sits unknowingly. Dan freezes mid-swing. Slowly he draws back the blade and reaches for the flower with his left hand. He gently pulls it from the grasp of the Flower-Bearer, who continues to sit meditatively. Dan lowers the sword as he slowly crosses behind the Flower-Bearer, holding up the flower, gazing at it in wonder. He continues slowly walking backwards offstage as he speaks.) Precious bodies of impermanence, floating in a stellar sea.

(He looks over at the Flower-Bearer.) Smile, the Milky Way loves you.

(Dan exits backwards, holding out the flower and bowing to the Flower-Bearer. Lights fade to black.)

AL THE BARBER ( 1997) (In blackout. We hear the first few lines of an old Beatles song. Lights come up. The stage is empty except for a single swivel office chair downstage left. Dan en­ ters wearing black pants, red sleeveless t-shirt, and black Chinese shoes. Song fades out, and Dan speaks.) Every month, I eagerly looked forward to going down to AI Robins's Bar­ bershop on Silverlake Boulevard for my standard Beatles haircut. By age ten, Beatlemania had totally infected my family. My older sister Maria had inscribed all of her Beatie album covers with "Property of Mrs. George Harrison." The influence of the Fab Four was so powerful, my mother even rescinded her strict short-hair requirement: "Well, if you want to be like the Beatles, then I guess it's okay." Wow. Mom could be surprisingly hip. Although what I wound up with was more like a modified bowl haircut. I no more resembled a Bea­ tie than an Asian version of Moe of the Three Stooges. But at a time when our family life resembled a soap opera on crack, going for a haircut at AI Robins's Barbershop was a welcome oasis for a ten year old.

(B A R B E R performer enters dressed in white smock, black shirt and pants, a white sheet draped over his arm. He stands behind the chair, waiting. Dan comes and sits down. The Barber fluffs out the sheet and wraps it around Dan's neck. Barber takes out a comb and brush and begins a simulated haircut throughout entire monologue. As Dan closes his eyes and drifts away, we hear his recorded voiceover with lots of reverb, as if hearing his inner thoughts. )

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"Many years later I walked the empty streets of my neighborhood well after midnight, a teenage virgin, walking past AI Robins's Barbershop, past Silvermart grocery store, past the big smelly carob tree on the cor­ ner. I was a young man, unfathomably lonely and desperately horny, and as I walked I made this decision: 'I will have sex with anybody who walks down this street. Man, woman, even a large friendly dog will do.' Fortu­ nately for all of us, I encountered no one that night."

(Dan opens his eyes and continues his story.) Al was a lean, dark-eyed man in his mid-twenties, with handsome chis­ eled features and a perpetual five o'clock shadow. He talked with a funny, sassy tone of voice, very cheerful and upbeat, like he always glad to see me: "Hiya Danny! How ya doin'?'' Al had a great touch as a barber, and each time I climbed into that hy­ draulic chair it was an experience of cranial sensuality. Wrapped in a crisp white sheet, I imagined I was a snow-covered volcano, my head erupting from the mountain's peak. I loved the sound of sharp scissors cutting thick sheets of my black hair, falling heavily onto snowy slopes; the soothing pull of a fine-toothed comb gently tugging on my scalp; the crazy buzzing of electric shears against my skull; the hot breath of vi­ brating metal teeth delicately shaving fine hairs on my neck. Meanwhile, I'd sit there on the special wooden booster seat, blissfully dreaming of the day when I'd be old enough to look at the Playboy magazines.

(He closes his eyes and another voiceover begins.) ''Another late night I slipped out and walked down to Silverlake Play­ ground. Still desperate, still a virgin. I skulked across the field, keeping to the darkest shadows of nearby trees, over to the horizontal bar sandpit. There, in the wet sand, I dug a hole. A small, slender hole-j ust the right size. I unzipped my pants and attempted communion with planet Earth. The sand was damp and cold. It was a bit gritty, but it felt good-until I had a vision. Suddenly I saw myself as if from above, a young man lying face down, fully clothed, alone in the sand on a moonlit night. 'What a pathetic image,' I thought, as I hurried home to shower."

(He opens his eyes.) I rarely said anything in Al's chair. But he always treated me with com­ plete respect, always asked me how I was doing, and over time I grew to feel quite at home in his barbershop. If the waiting line was long, AI would let me go into the backroom to forage for extra comic books-his

E X C E R P T S F R O M M O R E TA L E S F R O M T H E L O C K E R R O O M

private stash! There I'd find stacks and stacks of comics piled high next to boxes of hair care products and weightlifting equipment. AI trusted me. I had special privileges in my barbershop.

(He closes his eyes, another voiceover begins.) "When I was in art school in Chicago, I met a woman on the beach at Lake Michigan one hot, muggy, summer afternoon. I had fresh fruit. She had baby oil. A couple hours later we lay naked on her living room floor, grinding sand into the burnt orange carpet. She told me, 'Right away I could tell. There was something about you that just said, 'Please touch me.' I was mortified. My hunger still so obvious. Still pathetic."

(He opens his eyes.) One night my mother's friend came over to our house for a visit. As they were casually chatting away in the living room, I overheard AI Robins's name come up in conversation. Then her friend gently chuckled and said, "Oh, yeah. That fag?" When I heard that, my blood ran cold. What? AI? AI Robins? My AI Robins, my barber, a fag? No fucking way! I barged into the conversation-

(Indignant, Dan jumps to his feet, white sheet still hanging from his neck.) No he isn't!

He

-

H E L I F T S WE I G H T s !

(A tense beat as Dan feels the argument slipping away.) HE HAS

PLAYB O Y

MAGAZINES !

(Condescending adult reply.) "That doesn't mean anything! " I didn't know which was worse, the insulting attitude towards my friend­ or the fear of being associated with a fag. I went downstairs to my room, unable to muster anymore argument in defense of AI.

(Dan sits back down, defeated. The Barber resumes his work. Another voice­ over, but this time Dan's eyes stay open, as he is thinking.) ''A couple months ago I was reading a book called The Multi-Orgasmic Man. In it, they talked about non-ejaculatory multiple orgasms, different from the squirting kind; more subtle-tingly-full-bodied. It all sounded rather vague to me, obviously one of those things you just have to experience to know. But then I started to wonder if maybe I've been

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having them all along. Like those times when I have been so deeply con­ nected during intercourse-you know, when 'the jade peak and the jade gate are grinding heavily and closely, like two avalanches mingling'? You know. When ecstasy floods my being and in those spine-quivering mo­ ments of perfect unity, I can actually tell-I am not alone."

(The Barber whips off the sheet. Momentarily surprised, Dan realizes that his "haircut" is finished. He rises almost reluctantly, then slowly walks back to cen­ ter stage.) Eventually I quit going to Al's. The Beatles broke up, and I grew my hair even longer. And eventually Al Robins closed his barbershop on Silver­ lake Boulevard.

(Barber exits, leaving the empty chair behind.) I never saw him again. And it wasn't until recently that I realized-he was the first gay man in my life. He was one of the kindest people a ten-year-old boy ever knew.

(He turns his back to the audience. During the following recorded voiceover, his hands appear wrapped around himself, as if he were being hugged by someone.) "I gave her a hug and felt the warm, relaxed pleasure of her body pressed close to mine. I gave him a hug, and I felt the same thing:'

(He slowly turns around to face the audience as the recorded voiceover continues.) "Last year I finally came out publicly as-heterosexual. And more than ever I can see how homophobia has stolen half of humanity from me. And how most of the times when I've pursued sex what I really longed for was simple human closeness."

(He looks over at the empty chair. Lights fade to black.)

STATION WAGONS OF LIFE ( 2 0 0 0 ) (In blackout. We hear the sound of a T v set, the channels being switched rap­ idly from station to station. Suddenly a Chevrolet car commercial from the 1960s blares out: Dinah Shore belting out the Chevy theme song. The stage is lit with brilliant colors.)

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"See the U.S.A. in your Chevrolet, America is asking you to call! Drive your Chevrolet through the U.S.A., America's the greatest land of all! On a highway or a road along a levee-performance is sweeter, nothing can beat 'er, life is completer in a Chevy! So make a date today to see the U.S.A., and see it in your Chevrolet! "

(During this upbeat anthem to jingoistic consumerism, Dan zooms across the stage seated in an office chair with wheels, as if driving a car. He smiles at the audience as he whizzes by, the prototypical happy American. As Dinah sings, he zooms back across, stops, puts his "car" in reverse, and backs upstage. Finally he rolls down to front and center where he puts it in ''park" and applies the emergency brake as the commercial fades out. Lights change to a center spot­ light on Dan as he eagerly addresses the audience, seated in his chair/car.) A white 1957 Chevy station wagon with a roof rack on top. For the first ten years of my life, this was the Kwong family vehicle. It was most notable for extraordinarily squeaky brakes, which sounded like they were ready to fail at any moment. We in the family knew this to be mere illusion-they al­ ways sounded like that. We'd pull up to a red light, brakes squealing like a stuck pig-E E E E E E E E E ! -our eyes glued to the driver of the car in front of us, hoping for that quick anxious glance in his rear view mirror. (He jerks his head, looking nervously at his "mirror.") Me and my sisters got a kick out of this-frightening fair citizens of Los Angeles! Especially if they drove nice cars. Ours was not a nice car. Ours was a functional vehicle; a proletarian transporter to get from point ''X' to point "B;' and while we didn't travel in luxury we did have a certain dramatic flair.

(He stands with enthusiasm.) One of my favorite things about the Chevy wagon was the turn indicator. Activated by the flick of a slender rod, it made an exquisitely delicate, metallic clicking sound: "deet-donk, deet-donk, deet-donk"-the rhythm enhanced by the sound of a wedding ring softly clacking against the plas­ tic steering wheel as it spun through the hands of Mom or Dad. At night this gentle percussion was my urban lullaby, and with the dashboard lights winking at me in the dark like little green arrowheads I was guar­ anteed to be sound asleep by the time we got home. (He sits peacefully.) There was always something reassuring about falling asleep in the station wagon at night, another day finished, my family by my side. The only problem was when we got home. As I grew older, Mom was no longer able to carry my sleeping butt into the house, and since I refused to wake up

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she'd have to leave me there, conked out in the car. (He nods off) Some­ time around 4:00 a.m. I'd wake up shivering, the textured vinyl seat pat­ tern embossed into the side of my face. (Painfully rips his face off the imag­ inary seat and stands.) I'd stagger into the house like Lazarus risen from the dead, whimpering pathetically to no one in particular, ''I'm cold . . :' But the best thing about the Chevy wagon was "in-the-back." (Lights change to an overall stage wash.) That's the place in-the-back behind the rear seat. (He leap frogs over the chair, then over an imaginary back seat, waving his arms with glee from upstage.) In-the-back was where it didn't matter if you had sand all over your feet or you wanted to horse around with your cousins, have subversive conversations far from the disapprov­ ing ears of adults up-front. In-the-back was where the fun was. Plus there was the tailgate, ideal for those cowboy-style entrances and exits. (With a joyous yelp, he leaps through an imaginary tailgate window.) Station wagons were cool! They were fun! They were practical.

(Walking back downstage to the chair, he regards it with a melancholy skepticism.) Although the Chevy wagon really wasn't that practical. It was always overheating and breaking down. It guzzled gas like a fiend. Listening to my mother fret over each successive malfunction was part of the regular chorus of woes in our home. Things were always breaking and falling apart around us it seemed. The Chevy wagon was simply our way of going public about it! As if those squeaky brakes were proclaiming for all to hear (defiantly sarcastic) " w E A R E P E O P L E W H O C A N N O T A F F O R D A N Y B E T T E R ! WE ' RE H E R E , W E ' RE P O O R GET U S E D TO I T ! " -

(He crosses to stage left into a pool of warm light, the rest of the stage going dark, pulling the chair with him as his tone gently shifts.) My Japanese grandfather used to drive a wagon in Los Angeles too. Shortly after immigrating from northern Japan in 1920, Papa leased a small parcel of land near Crenshaw and Adams Boulevard and went to work farming lettuce and cauliflower. Every week he drove his horse­ drawn wooden wagon down Adams Boulevard to sell vegetables at the 9th Street Produce Market downtown. Eventually Papa traded in his horse and wagon for forklifts and trucks, making a very successful busi­ ness of it right up until the night of December 7th, 1941. My mother al­ ways described Papa as a man whose generosity led many people to his door asking for help. They were never turned away.

E X C E R P T S F R O M M O R E TA L E S F R O M T H E L O C K E R R O O M

(He slowly rises.) But on that night of infamy, it was the FBI who came knocking. They left, taking Papa with them.

(He crosses back to center, towing the chair behind him as he continues to talk.) He was shipped around to various military prisons and jails: Camp Liv­ ingston, Louisiana; Fort Sill, Oklahoma; Fort Missoula, Montana; Santa Fe Detention Station, New Mexico. Papa lost his business-trucks and all-for the crime of looking like the enemy. Consult your local Arab or Muslim American for details.

(Sits down in chair at center stage.) After a couple years, he was reunited with his family in the desert of cen­ tral California at a place called Manzanar. There they sat out the rest of the war behind barbed wire, finally coming home to L.A. in 1946. Over the years, Papa went from driving that one- horsepower wagon to a Pontiac Ventura with V- 8 engine, automatic transmission, whitewall tires, radio, heater, power steering, power brakes. Funny thing-after the war Papa was never bitter about what happened to him and his family, and he re­ mained as outgoing and confident as ever. But he tended get a little nerv­ ous around white people.

(He jumps to his feet with indignation. ) When I was a kid, one of the things that most pissed me off about the in­ ternment camps (besides how rude it was) was that, if Papa hadn't lost his business, wE'D BE F U C K I N ' R I C H ! And we wouldn't be driving this shitty old station wagon. Well, not long after my parents' marriage died, so did the Chevy wagon. Uncle Aij i bought Mom a used 1961 Ford Galaxy station wagon (spins the chair around, as if transforming it into a new vehicle), another huge, hulking oceanliner of a car. But to me it was a step up in the world, for one reason: an electric tailgate window. Controlled by a toggle switch on the dashboard-zzzzzzzzzz! (His head goes up with an imaginary rising window. ) zzzzzzzz! (Head goes down with window.)­ that one feature was enough to transform the Ford into a supersonic jet fighter!

(He makes sound effects of the electric window going up and down rapidly, while frantically talking over radio.)

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"Wing-Leader to Base, Wing-Leader to Base, do you read? Do you read? We have bogies at twelve o'clock! Repeat, bogies at twelve o'clock! zzzzzz! zzzz-"

(Voiceover of irritated mother interrupts him.) "Quit playing with that, you're gonna break it! "

(He jumps o u t of the chair, then sheepishly continues.) Like the Chevy, it, too, was white-although the smog had transformed the paint into a chalky beige soot that rubbed off on your clothes. And like the Chevy it, too, was a constant threat to break down, a constant source of anxiety, and a constant vessel of family activity!

(Once again enthusiastic, he climbs back into the chair.) Summertimes we'd pile in-four kids and Mom-and head for Venice Beach. We'd hang out with Mom's artist friends, who were all just as poor as us and who all seemed to be perpetually covered with clay. For dinner, teriyaki flank steak was Mom's Venice Beach specialty-an inexpensive cut of meat which responded well to the marinating process. That flank steak tasted so good it might as well have been filet mignon. Mom always knew how to make the most of what we had. And though we didn't have much extra we always had enough: food, clothing. Training! In order to avoid humiliating ourselves in public, Mom was always care­ ful to instruct us in proper middle-class behavior:

(He turns the chair sideways and becomes a very proper mother discreetly ed­ ucating her children.) "Now, when you're in a nice restaurant, you do your napkin like this . . ."

(He mimes plucking a folded napkin from a drinking goblet, delicately unfurls it, gracefully places it on his lap, and folds it over once, ending with a tight, prim expression on his face. He suddenly spins the chair around the other way, changing into a slouching bum.) To me, this was simply a form of social camouflage. A way to fool people so they wouldn't know we were someplace we didn't belong! (He jumps up and meekly walks across to stage left.) I'm walking home from elementary school with my best friend Mark Ogawa. Me and Mark are standing at the corner of Silverlake and Effie waiting for the signal to change. I turn to Mark:

E X C E R P T S F R O M M O R E TA L E S F R O M T H E L O C K E R R O O M

Dan: "Hey, Mark, what kinda car you gonna get when you grow up?" Mark: (grinning like a fool) "Man, I'm gonna get me a Porsche!" The light turned green. Swelling with self-righteous pride, I declared: Dan: (haughtily) "I'm gonna get a station wagon."

(He runs back to center stage with a burst of energy.) See? I knew! I knew already! I knew my fate! I was doomed to be practi­ cal. Forever focused on survival. How to navigate through whatever booby-traps and emergencies life might drop in your path. Uh, uh, ya never know! Uh, I, uhm-I might have to haul a big load of firewood when the next killer earthquake strikes California. Yeah! What would I do with a Porsche? I'd be fucked! You gotta consider these things; you can't be thinking about luxuries and comfort! Ah, what does Mark Ogawa know anyways? His Dad was an alcoholic, and their house was even messier than ours. Mr. Ogawa was famous in our neighborhood for playing bit parts on television! Like Enemy Soldier #2 on McHale's Navy. I liked Tim Conway, but I had to quit watching that show. They just said the word Jap so much! Somehow I got the distinct impression that television was not being formulated with me and my family in mind.

(Suddenly we hear an old TV commercial from the 1960s for a popular fastfood product. A tight spotlight focuses on Dan as he's happily watching Tv.) (Sound effects: cable car bell ringing, people singing.) "Rice-A-Roni, the San Francisco treat! Rice-A-Roni, the delicious break from potatoes!"

(A long pause as it slowly sinks in. Dan's expression melts from delight to puzzlement.) What the hell's he talking about? I eat rice every fucking day! S O M E P O TAT O E S ! Who makes Up this shit anyways?

' r o LOVE

(Lights change back to overall wash.) It wasn't long before I got a chance to find out. When I was eleven, one of our elementary school teachers arranged for me to go to an audition at the old Desilu Studios in the heart of Hollywood! They said it was for a T V pilot. I thought, "Hmmm. Pilot. Must have something to do with flying. Cool." The story was about a Korean orphan boy who gets adopted by an American soldier after the Korean War, "Papa G.I.;' something like

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that. No one bothered to explain to me what an audition was, so it was a bit vague just what the hell I'd have to do. Nothing uncool, I hoped. I did get a sense that if they liked me, there was money involved. Lots of money.

(Lights change to deep colors, moody. ) We get there, and the security guard escorted m e and Mom through a huge sound stage full of fake buildings over to an area where a small group of unnaturally friendly adults were watching an unnaturally ex­ pressive Asian American boy. He was singing and dancing "Zippity Doo Dah" with all his little heart.

(He sings and dances like an overeager boy who's trying way too hard.) "Mister Bluebird's on my shoulder! " The adults were fascinated! They watched closely, as if he were some newly discovered species of small mammal. (Dan slowly becomes intimi­ dated.) And he was so confident and spirited and pleased with himself­ (fiercely) it made me wanna puke! I wanted to knock that bluebird down his happy little throat! "What the fuck is wrong with you, kid? What kinda sissy shit is that? Who the hell do you think you are? !?"

(Suddenly we hear a friendly woman's voice.) Woman: "Danny Kwong? We're ready for you."

(He becomes instantly eager and jittery with excitement.) My turn! This is it! My big chance! They asked me to sit on the edge of the stage. (He walks the chair over into a tight little bright spotlight.) "Stage right." While this man sat on the other side of the stage some twenty feet away. And we started to have this odd little conversation-

(We hear a man's friendly voice.) Man: "So, Danny, what's your favorite sport?"

(Delighted aside to audience.) Easy question! (Very meekly, to man.) "Baseball:' Man: "Oh. Well, what's your batting average?"

(The question throws him into a desperate panic.) Batting average . . . batting average . . . I never played on a team or any­ thing, I just liked throwing a baseball! I didn't even know what a batting average was, let alone mine!

E X C E R P T S F R O M M O R E TA L E S F R O M T H E L O C K E R R O O M

(Blankly to the man.) "Um-I dunno:' (The man is genuinely surprised.) Man: "You don't know your batting average?"

(Dan freaks out.) Oh shit! I should know what that is! I blew it! I B LEW I T ! S H I T ! S H I T ! SHIT! ! !

(He instantly recovers.) That was pretty much it.

(He gets up and sadly rolls his chair back to center.) I don't remember anything that happened after that. They gave me that sad, smiley little "Thank you," which I later learned means "RE J E C T ! " And we left. As we climbed into the car, Mom was grumbling because they didn't reimburse us for gas money and the pay parking lot like they said they would. I was convinced I had lost the part because I didn't know what a batting average was. Another chance to move up in the world shot to hell. (Spins around in chair, transforming into a cool teen­ ager as he comes around.) When I finally reached driving age, I began to develop my own love-hate relationship with the Ford wagon. I hated it, but I needed it. That piece of junk was all we had, and in my desperation to get somewhere in life I never hesitated to commandeer the family vehicle for my own selfish pursuits. And it never hesitated to let me know who was boss. Once on a date with Betty Reingold (one of the shortest and loveliest girls at Marshall High), the Ford wagon overheated and stalled out in the middle of the intersection of Hollywood and Vine. Friday night. 9 : 0 0 p.m. Betty was actually quite cool, while I sweated bullets, desperately trying to get the fucking thing started again.

(Lights change as Dan sits in chair and mimes trying to re-start the car. We hear sound effects of traffic, car engine repeatedly refusing to start. Other cars start honking their horns. After several tries, Dan gives up and stands.) Finally I got out of the car. With Betty behind the wheel I had to single­ handedly push that great, groaning behemoth out of the intersection! (He labors mightily to slowly push the chair back and forth across the stage, call­ ing out in agonizing embarrassment.) In my mind, I can still see the back

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of little Betty's head, straining to peer over the steering wheel of that dead white barge! Chalky Ford paint smudged all over my maroon paisley shirt and matching bell-bottom corduroys! Meanwhile the entire city of Los Angeles is watching, laughing or cursing in my direction! (We hear voices shouting insults and angry remarks: "Hey, nice car, man!" "C'mon man, get that piece ofjunk out of the intersection!" "C'mon, move that piece of shit, man!") And I'm thinking, "Life has been designed to provide me with the maximum amount of humiliation possible! I am Charlie Brown! I am a loser! I will never go out on another date so help me God!"

(Sound effects fade out. Dan sadly returns to center with chair, totally defeated.) Lo and behold, in my last year of high school Uncle Aij i came through again. He bought Mom (spins chair with amazement)-a brand new, Toyota Corona station wagon! We never had a new car before! With an air conditioner that works! We got it just in time for my Senior Prom. My date was one of the Prom Court Princesses-she told me she was ac­ tually descended from real White Russian royalty. And she was gor­ geous! The Toyota was gorgeous! (He breaks into the chorus of Tracy Chapman's song, "Fast Car." ) And "I-eee- I I I I , had a feeling I could be someone, be someone, be someone . . . "

(He excitedly sits down.) On the way to pick up my date, I ran the air conditioner full blast, just to keep her wrist corsage nice and fresh! YE A H , B A B Y ! ! ! (His joy evapo­ rates.) But later that night we got into a nasty argument after she ignored me at a party. Then she got so drunk she threw up all over my Florsheim shoes. So much for mixing with royalty.

(He sadly spins around in chair-stops before completing a revolution, and stands.) Many years and some 190,ooo miles later, the Toyota wagon finally bit the dust.

(Lights change to a warm spotlight center as we hear a guitar softly strumming in the background.) When it was time to buy my first car, I found an old Datsun 610 station wagon. (Spins chair.) Or maybe it found me? Drove that baby into the ground! (Spins chair.) Then, a 1983 Subaru GL wagon! (Spins chair.) D E S ­ T I NY WA S B E I N G F U L F I L LE D ! Finally in the summer of '96 I bought my first non-Japanese car: (slowly rotates chair) an '87 Volvo station wagon. It

E X C E R P T S F R O M M O R E TA L E S F R O M T H E L O C K E R R O O M

was kinda strange. Wasn't like those other station wagons. It had this pe­ culiar aura of "comfort" and "respectability" about it. (He regards the chair with uncertainty and suspicion.) For the first three months I owned it, I couldn't bear to listen to classical music while driving that car, it was just too W E I R D ! I wanted to put a neon sign on the roof: " R E A L LY N O T A S M I D D LE - C L A S S A S I T L O O K s ! "

(He calms down.) Not that there's anything wrong with being middle-class. In fact, my life becomes more so every year. It's just that I got this working-class blue­ bird on my shoulder, and it always reminds me where I come from-

(He looks at the chair with fondness.) An old station wagon with a roof rack on top.

(He jumps into the driver's seat, starts the car and "drives" offstage as music fades out.) (Lights fade to black.)

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P u b l i c l y Co n fi d e nti a l : Co n v e r s at i o n s with Dan Kwo n g (1999-2 003)

From July 1999 through April 2003, I conducted a series of interviews with Dan Kwong at his studio in Santa Monica, California. What follows are highlights from these conversations. Bob Vorlicky: What has

had considerable impact on your life, Dan, but not been a primary focus in your performances? Dan Kwong: My class identity-until the Station Wagons piece. This came from an accumulation of certain events and experiences in childhood when I started to get the picture, "Oh, we're the have nots in the world." This is our place in society. My class background is similar to one's mixed heritage. Working class, poor, in a certain sense, but also I was raised with a great deal of middle-class training and values. My mother was very careful to impart upon my sisters and me a proper middle-class behavior, mainly so we wouldn't humiliate ourselves in public. (Laugh ter) B v : How old were you when you began living with only your mother? n K : I was eight when my parents separated, and the divorce came shortly thereafter. By the time I was an adolescent, my relationship with my father was pretty distant and estranged-not antagonistic, just detached. It took us a long time to rebuild our connection, which is very lovely now. B v : Did he leave Los Angeles? n K : No, he lived in the same neighborhood as us, in Silverlake, central L.A. We saw him on Sundays. My dad came from a very wealthy owning-class family in China. My mother comes from a working, middle-class, Japanese family in L.A. When my parents split up, my dad lived a lifestyle that was comfortable middle class. But my sisters, Mom, and I lived like poor beatnik 245

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hippies. It made life kind of schizoid. We'd go to Dad's house; it was nicely furnished, we'd eat meals at the dining table with place mats and cloth nap­ kins. Then we'd go back home, where for dinner everybody plopped a plate of food on their lap, sat on a stool in front of the black and white T V , and zoned out. There was very little structure in our lives. Yet every weekend we'd be with Dad and enter his middle- class world. For me, class identity is not unlike bilingualism. I know how to move and operate smoothly in middle-class situations, how to conduct myself well, and how to speak its "language"-but I feel very much at home in working­ class environments. It's a kind of internal struggle, somewhat similar to being of mixed heritage ethnically. I feel like I have multiple homes. B v : How was divorce viewed within the Asian American community when you were a child? D K : In the Chinese and Japanese American communities in the 1960s, the idea of divorce fell into the general topic of taboos-anything that deviated from "everything is fine" we did not talk about. Actually, divorce rarely hap­ pened because people just accepted that marriage was permanent, whether it was workable or not. Divorce was rarely an option . . . because of the shame it would bring upon all parties involved and the admission of failure. Especially in Chinese and Japanese, but perhaps all Asian culture, the fam­ ily is a potent entity throughout one's entire life. B v : Did divorce get marked as an American influence on relationships be­ tween Asians? D K : Yes, definitely. To just walk away from marriage-this was seen as an American influence. B v : What was it like to be raised in a home of all women-your mom and three sisters? D r< : I watched a lot of Shirley Temple movies. I knew them all. (Laughter) I also knew how to knit, bake, and sew by the time I was ten. I became very comfortable in the company of females, more so than with males-al­ though at the same time I was a traditional "jock" guy. As an athlete, I got the stereotypical male conditioning, with all the prerequisite sexism and ho­ mophobia. But I was much more inclined to confide in females. At the same time, there was a certain distrust I developed towards fe­ males, specifically Asian females, and (he raises his voice)-I know a lot of Asian women who would love to hear me quoted saying that . . . (laughter), "I knew it," but I think a lot of my struggles in relationships with Asian women come from growing up in a household dominated by them. Having grown up in an all-female household has affected my relationships, both positively and negatively.

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For example, I noticed in my early twenties when I went to social gath­ erings in Chicago the women would be in the kitchen and the guys would be in the living room watching sports on the television. I would find myself in the kitchen, even though I like sports. Then I'd think, "Oh, this probably looks a little weird" and "I wonder what the guys think. . . ." (Laughter) B v : Were you drawn to the kitchen because of the activities or the conversation? D K : I felt a little bit safer there. Given they were all strangers, I would some­ how find the women more accessible and in that sense safer. B v : So your early history with women vacillates between trust and distrust? D K : Back when I was growing up, a lot of it centered on being manipu­ lated, being controlled. In my home, it was four against one. It was a power struggle. I still deal with the reverberations of that old stuff. In current re­ lationships, I understand it well enough so that I know where this feeling is coming from. B v : Did you have any male role models while you were growing up? D K : My Japanese grandfather was always held up as a heroic role model. He was a highly regarded judo champion and a man of integrity. Around the time my parents separated, my mother was taking a ceram­ ics class and befriended a young man in his midtwenties named Max Neufeldt. He was a sculptor, a mixed media artist. He was sort of adopted by our family, and he became my primary adult male role model. He always had these crazy, funky studios in Venice Beach. I remember his first studio. It didn't have any heat, so he mounted his bed up on the ceiling where it was warmest. It was like a big upside-down table stuck to the ceiling, and you had to climb up a ten-foot extension ladder to get to it. He was a long distance runner, so he introduced me to running. I wound up joining the cross country team in high school. He played the clarinet, and as a result I studied clarinet, too. We'd go scavenging through abandoned buildings in Venice, find interesting trash, bring it back to his studio, and I'd watch him make it into art. Max was unique in my life in the sense that he was 100 percent positive and validating toward me. From age eight to about twelve, I had regular contact with him. He never said an unkind word to me in all those years. He was an utterly benevolent person who did nothing but appreciate, support, and teach me. He influenced my life immensely. I think he is definitely one of the reasons why I am an artist. B v : It sounds like Max helped to make it all right for you, as a man, to be­ come an artist-a choice that most men in American culture are not en­ couraged to make.

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That's true. There was also a community of artists around Max, who we would hang out with. That was our normal world. In general, art was always a part of our lives growing up, thanks to my parents. There were always pic­ ture books around, there was always music playing, we were always paint­ ing, drawing, playing with clay. Art and creativity were always looked upon favorably in my family. It kept the four of us kids busy and generally not fighting. (Laughter) I was pretty lucky. DK:

When did you first travel to Asia? D K : I went abroad long before becoming a professional artist. I got a job at Mattei Toys-my one and only straight corporate job-in 1980, after I re­ turned to L.A. from Chicago. I saved up my money and vacation time and in 1981 traveled to Asia for the first time: Hong Kong, China, and Japan. China, in particular, had a tremendous impact on me. The countryside where I was staying was exquisitely gorgeous. I really felt as though I had gone back in time, into another world. The thought "Oh, this is where my father comes from," deeply moved me. B v : Were you traveling on your own? DI<: I was with a tour group from Hong Kong. The tour guide only spoke Chinese, and I never knew what the hell was going on; I just followed the others. I remember one day escaping the group and blissfully wandering the streets in this little town by myself, really feeling ''I'm in China! " Tears were rolling down my cheeks. I found something I had always been missing-an intangible connection with my Chinese heritage. When we were growing up, my father had a hard time sharing Chinese culture with us, and I think that was the result of his-I'm assuming this­ his pressure to assimilate as American. He gave us very little. So I had a very abstract notion of my Chinese heritage. "Oh yeah, Dad comes from Canton, and there it is on the map." That's about as far as it went. It was foreign, and I had no personal connection to it at all. But when I went to China for the first time it really did provide a concrete experience with that notion. And it was similar in Japan. Another personal impact of traveling occurred when I came back to the U.S. and I'd go to Little Tokyo or Chinatown and see the grandmas and grandpas walking down the street-I'd feel like, "0 h, now I know where you come from!" It was a sense of connection I never had before. I just felt closer to them. My travels to Asia were life changing. But the other major thing that happened to me in Asia was the realiza­ tion that "Oh, my god, I am so American." B v : In what ways? BV:

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In Japan, for instance, the cultural values encourage self-restraint, being careful about personal space, how much you occupy, how much you sacrifice. Especially in big cities in Japan, one's sense of personal space is extremely lim­ ited, restricted, and contained. That's why you can squish people like sardines into a Japanese subway car and no one freaks out. I would notice my reactive urge to turn up my stereo really loud or be flamboyant while walking down the street. Usually in the U.S., Asian Americans are the quiet ones, the ones who are more reserved. Suddenly, in Japan, I was in the other position. I was the loud one. I was the big one. I was the disobedient one. I was the . . . B v : The ugly American? D K : Yes, a certain aspect of that phenomenon, some of which is the legacy of U.S. imperialism: "I am the powerful American, therefore I deserve spe­ cial recognition, privileges, respect, etc." And though I detest it I do carry some of that crap in my head from growing up in this culture. When I went to China in 1983, I visited family friends in Shanghai. They provided a young Chinese man to be my guide, and he and I traveled around together. At one point, I exchanged a lot of U.S. currency into Chi­ nese currency-hundreds of dollars-and, because my guide was doing all the business transactions, I said, "Here, you hold the money." I was basically giving him the equivalent of about six months wages to stuff in his pocket. Then we'd go shopping. I was ignorant of his life and values. Maybe you could compare it to an oil baron coming to the U.S., who says, ''I'll take that Mercedes, that B M W , and give me . . ." After a while, he became offended by my consumerism. It would be raining. "Let's buy an umbrella-nah, let's buy TWO umbrellas." Finally, he angrily burst out, "No more spending money! " And I was like, "Ohhh . . . there's something here I'm not seeing." It had to do with my assumptions as an American about what was valuable, what was expensive, what was acceptable. In many ways, my Americanness became very visible to me when I started traveling to Asia-and it has in­ tensified over these last years. I am very aware that I am American. I am Asian, but I am American. I'm more aware now of myself and other Americans in international contexts. Are the Americans doing all the talking? It's like a neon sign: we dominate. This certainly includes Asian Americans, too. We USers take over. We're using English words that we know the others will not understand, and we're talking too fast. Not being thoughtful about the way we're relating to other people. Communication is the first hurdle that you have to get over when you are traveling internationally. Can I make myself understood and can I understand you? B v : After your initial travels to Asia, how did you get into performance art? DK:

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A long and winding road. Artistically, my background was in drawing. I've been drawing since I was three years old. I went to u s c School of Fine Arts, then transferred to the School of the Art Institute of Chicago. I wound up working in video and electronic sound. There I was also exposed to nar­ rative, autobiographical performance art by a wonderful artist named Ilona Granet. I didn't create any of it, however. Many years later, while working for Mattei Toys in their L.A. recording studio, I developed more media produc­ tion skills. Starting in 1981, I took trips to Asia every fall. I would borrow a camera from my father (who was a commercial photographer) and shoot lots of slides. I'd take a Walkman cassette recorder and record sound effects. That's something I picked up from my dad. He was always playing with tape recorders when we were kids, so the idea of recording sounds was some­ thing I was familiar with. I'd come back from these trips and invite a hundred of my closest friends to my birthday party in November, have these giant dance parties at my buddy's photo studio and show slides of my vacation. Each year the shows became more and more elaborate in terms of an audiovisual experience. In 1984, when I was twenty-nine years old, I traveled to China with my dad. We went to his hometown of Canton and found the house where he was born and raised. We got to walk inside, and I heard all these amazing stories from his childhood that he had never shared. It was a powerful re­ bonding experience for us. Again, I shot slides and recorded sounds. When I got home I realized I actually had more than a travelogue, I had a real story. So I wrote a narrative script, recorded voice-overs and background music, shot graphic images of maps, and made it into a real production. I bought a two-projector dissolve unit, and it gradually became more and more complicated. B v : Where did you present the show? What was it called? D K : It was called I Use to Play Here, which was a quote from my father as we were walking through his childhood home. It blew my mind to hear that be­ cause I thought, "You were a boy? You played?" I had never had this picture of my father before. I presented it at a few colleges and for a China friend­ ship organization. At the time, I thought, "This is the most satisfying cre­ ative project I've done since I left art school. The only thing missing from this is live performance." Around this time, I had started to do some counseling work and was be­ ginning to understand why I was the way I was. Specifically, why I uncon­ sciously identified as white-not necessarily in denial of my Asian heritage but just sort of oblivious to it. B v : Was it voluntary counseling and did race matters lead you to it? DK:

P U B L I C LY CO N F I D E N T I A L

Yeah, I was living with a single mother at the time. I fell in love with both her and her two-and-a-half-year-old son, who, coincidentally, was named Max. We were a little family. Ingrid was taking a class in something called Re-evaluation Counseling or Co-counseling. I'd read some of the lit­ erature, then argue with her about it. She was extraordinarily patient with me. Then one night I had a dream (which later wound up in Tales from The Fractured Tao). In it, I angrily confronted my father in a way I would never have dared to. I woke up in a cold sweat, thinking, "Hmmm, I think I have something I need to deal with . . . ." (Laughter) Ingrid encouraged me to take a Re-evaluation Counseling class, and it appealed to me immensely. It was a class specifically for people of color, and for the first time I had a safe struc­ ture within which to face racism. Prior to that, it was just too scary, too up­ setting and infuriating to look at. I never knew what to do with all those feelings, so I just ignored them. In counseling, I started to recognize racism's impact on my life and how much I had internalized it. One night in the spring of 1988 my Co-counseling partner, Roland, tele­ phoned unexpectedly and said, "If you could be doing anything you want, what would you be doing?" It took me two seconds to respond: "I would be making performances." "Why aren't you doing it?" I had no answer. So we decided to support each other toward mutual personal goals. We would meet every week and spend time with each other, asking, "What's going well? Where is it getting hard? Where do you need a hand?" And so on. I started writing stories, drawing pictures, making objects-which is still how I work to this day. B v : What next solo piece did this lead to? D K : Secrets of The Samurai Centerfielder. Picking up from my last creative project about my dad, I knew the subjects in my new work would include one of my lifelong obsessions-baseball-along with my mom's family and the discoveries I had been making through counseling work about racism and internalized racism. I decided to present this piece at my birthday party in November 1988. I rented a stage, some lights, and got a bunch of friends to help me. I had no idea what I was doing. Looking back on that initial per­ formance, it was terribly embarrassing in its naivete and overearnestness, but it was the first semiformal public show I'd ever done of my own creation. Then, in December, I read an article in the L.A. Weekly by Linda Frye Burnham about a new performance space called Highways that she and her friend Tim Miller were creating in Santa Monica. I wrote her a three-page let­ ter about my neophyte performance piece. We met, liked each other, and they invited me to perform in Highways' grand opening weekend (seventy-five performers in four days) in May 1989. I ended up helping to build Highways, DK:

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providing the sound system for its first several months of existence. I was the first person to officially rehearse in the space, and my first three professional performing opportunities were there. The rest, as they say, is history. B v : Why have you been drawn to the solo performance venue? D K : If I think about my previous artistic endeavors-drawing, painting, video (at least, the way I was doing it in school)-they were all solitary ac­ tivities. So, yes, I was very much accustomed to working alone. When it came time to create my first performance, I was very unsure of myself and therefore really protective of my creative ideas. I didn't want to worry about someone "taking over." I was extremely afraid of that. B v : Of trust? D K : Yes. I didn't know exactly what I wanted to do, so I needed to have the freedom to fumble without someone barging in and saying, "No, do this" or "do that." I wanted the space to blindly stumble around and give myself time to find my own way. This is why I generally write, direct, and design my own works. And on top of all that I was a loner type, the outsider. So doing things by myself and on my own seemed normal. A lot of my life's work now is the result of a very deliberate choice to go against all that loner stuff. The fact that I began to lead autobiography per­ formance workshops was directly a result of deciding, "Okay, I want to do something with people." Now I teach Re-evaluation Counseling classes, I curate a semiannual Asian American festival at Highways, I continue to sit on Highways' board of directors, and I play several roles where I'm very engaged with people and a part of things-whether it's the art, the Asian American, or the performance communities. In many cases, I'm going against what is comfortable for me, but I'm acting on a conscious decision not to be isolated. I value my solitude and privacy zealously, but at the same time, more than ever, I'm very much amid people. That's the real core strug­ gle for me. The whole issue of letting people into my life and my entering into others' lives. B v : And here you are a public performer . . . D I G . . . spilling my guts . . . B v : . . . just putting it out there! (Laughter) Do you find it therapeutic? How are you affected by creating the work and then performing it in front of strangers? D I G Well, the therapeutic aspect of it happens offstage, beforehand: that's my research, my homework. Figuring out what this story means to me. What about it excites and inspires me? How does it hurt and outrage me? How does it scare me? I consider that my homework. What I put onstage is

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not for my therapeutic benefit. It is a re-creation of an exploration I have al­ ready done-a re-creation that I hope can communicate very specific ideas. For example, when I tell the grandfather story ["Song for Grandpa" in Monkhood in 3 Easy Lessons] , it's a seventeen-minute monologue. But those seventeen minutes represent about eight years of personal growth. The au­ dience see me go through a whole series of responses and reactions which represent many years of examining what these issues mean to me. I try to craft it into a form where they can see an evolution, see beneath the surface. People sometimes say, "That's really brave to do that-to go to that place of great woundedness or outrage or fear." But for me, because I have already been working on that place, so to speak, there is a certain matter of fact ac­ ceptance. "Yeah, that's what happened. That's how I felt." I don't have any judgment, shame, or regret about it. In that sense, it generally does not feel like a brave thing to me because I don't feel like it's that scary anymore. B v : What kind of connection with the audience do you experience when you perform The Dodo Vaccine? In the piece, you capture an incredible sense of playfulness and humor, in staging and dialogue, amid the complexity of focusing on the A I D S crisis. Your choices are neither polemical nor diluted. You draw from autobiography yet insist on connecting the real to the imag­ inary. It's very powerful theater and completely engaging. D K : One of the things that I did in this piece that I hadn't done before was to try to address the issue of being in the oppressor role as opposed to being in the role of the oppressed. And boy did I get a lot of shit for it. B v : You did? D K : Yes. Whether or not I presented it well, I don't know exactly. But to me it was significant to make the effort. There is this really odd notion, which is understandable, that oppression is the issue only of the oppressed. So, for example, racism is only an issue for people of color, and gay oppression is only an issue for gays, lesbians, bisexuals . . . and for everyone else, just stay out of the way or say nothing about it. In The Dodo Vaccine, I wanted to talk about how gay oppression affected me, how homophobia dwells in me. The very first version I did in London (thank God it was far from home), I was really worried. I had this mono­ logue which was based on the wisdom I felt I had learned from gay men, and I'm afraid it fell into that "some of my best friends are gay" category. It just wasn't working, no matter how sincere or heartfelt I delivered it. So then I rewrote it into a piece about what homophobia has done to me-a straight identified man-and how terrifying it is. Still, some people were really taken aback by it.

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How did you know this? D K : Direct feedback. One friend, a bisexual woman, objected: "You have the privilege to talk about it that way! " To her, since I'm not gay and therefore outside gay oppression, she believed that it was inappropriate or too easy for me to speak about A I D S . Also I was torn apart by the press. One critic in Seattle hated it so much the best thing she could say was that the set was "quaint." Her parting shot was, "Perhaps Kwong fancies himself some kind of do-gooder." But some people did appreciate what I was trying to say. B v : The Dodo Vaccine is the earliest autobiographical piece that I know of where a straight man deals so forthrightly with H I V I A I D S and also focuses on his own homophobia and his efforts to overcome it. Straight men in the U.S. just don't write about this material in solo work; certainly Spald­ ing Gray hasn't, and we could go down the list from there. Do you think some audience members thought you were being voyeuristic and that you hadn't earned the right to speak about the disease-despite the fact that the piece addresses safe sex practices and issues of sexual compulsion among heterosexuals? D K : Possibly. I just remember people expressing their discomfort with it, whether it was the way I did it or the fact that I did it at all. And it's under­ standable. If a white person was doing a piece about racism, I myself would be uneasy, afraid of what was going to come out of his mouth. "Oh, God. Is he going to say something patronizing?" I found myself in a comparable po­ sition. It was a very scary section to include in the performance because I was sure I was going to fuck it up, yet I felt I had to make the effort. I cer­ tainly know plenty of white allies who are trying to do work that addresses racism, and they have gotten bashed by people of color for being conde­ scending and patronizing, even though the work came from the best of in­ tentions. I was equally vulnerable to making the same mistakes. But that's the risk when one shifts from making victim-based work. Just as everyone of us is victimized in some way, we each victimize others in another way, based on the range of our own identities, from gender, race, class, and na­ tionality to religion, education, age, and sexuality. In this sense, if everyone acknowledges that they are not only victimized but also belong to a victim­ izing group, it serves to defuse a lot of attacking, blaming, and judgmental finger pointing. We are all in this mess together. No one gets off the hook. B v : Is The Dodo Vaccine political theater? D I G Yes, in the sense of arguing various positions and that there are ideas I'm challenging-ideas about what are appropriate or inappropriate topics of discussion. And on a personal level, the daily decisions we face about our actions-should they be determined by what we know or by what we feel? Bv:

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The question of why we do what we do. Why do we make the choices we make? What are the external and internal forces that compel us, that inhibit us, and what can we do about them? B v : In several of his essays, Guillermo Gomez- Pefia, the noted Chicano po­ litical artist, complicates the discussion on racism by considering how its mechanisms are replicated within racialized communities through internal­ ized racism, sexism, and homophobia. He challenges his community to con­ front its misogyny, its condemnation of gays and lesbians-the realities that divide a community against itself. To what extent are these other issues always inside the Asian American community but not foregrounded as race is externalized in the world at large? What happens to identity when race is assumed to be invisible among one's racialized group? D K : Since I began performing in 1989, there are many more Asian American artists creating work about internal community issues-work about sexual­ ity, gender and class inequities, as well as dealing with white racism. Oppres­ sions are always overlapping. There are issues of racism, classism, misogyny, and homophobia within the gay community; you'll find homophobia, sex­ ism, misogyny, and anti-Semitism within communities of color. There is the sense that you have a battle to fight on one front-what's coming at your community from outside-but then you also have shit to clean up in your own backyard. In the past, there has been a reluctance in communities of color to acknowledge intracommunity oppressions such as the sexism of our men because it has been used to reinforce the overall racism. B v : Used by the dominant culture? D K : Yes, as further proof of the "inferior" nature of people of color. "See how they treat their women? That shows how subhuman they are. " But more and more artists of color are looking at issues within their communities. In a way, this is encouraged because there now exists a considerable body of work, a foundation, which addresses the most basic issues of racism. The racism is still there and always needs to be acknowledged and dealt with. But it's not the only topic on the horizon anymore. B v : Over the last fifteen years, do you find that the autobiography perform­ ance workshops for Asian American men-facilitated by a number of Asian American artists in such places as Santa Monica, New York, Philadelphia, and New Haven-have produced material that substantiates this claim? D K : Absolutely. Workshops have encouraged a new generation of solo artists-who are cross-generational, cross-national in their ancestral origins, sexually diverse-to produce compelling, challenging material, much of which foregrounds previously taboo subjects. My first Asian men's workshop

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in the U.S. was in 1994, and I'll be starting my fourth intensive workshop in May 2003. I also led several autobiographical workshops in Thailand for both men and women during 2001, using local translators from the local communities. B v : How was it for Thais to perform personal material before their neighbors? D r< : It was terrifying. During the workshops, we explored very intimate top­ ics that they were certainly not prone to share with anyone else, let alone strangers. When it came time to select what story each participant wanted to make into a theatrical piece from our various exercises, in some cases the most powerful ones were those that were unperformable in public-because they would never be able to speak to their families again! Stories about domestic violence, alcoholism, masturbation, substance or sexual abuse. These could never be told in public without major negative impact on their relationships. I think I've become a little more conservative as time goes by in the way I lead these workshops-both abroad and in the U.S. I used to ask partici­ pants to rip open their guts to see what was inside because I'm comfortable with talking about anything-and I'm pretty free about what I expose about myself. But now I want to really make sure participants are ready to look at certain topics; I don't push them to go where they are not. I make sure people are clear that it is their choice to go to these places, that they are in charge of their own experience in my workshop, because it is possible for people to feel manipulated. That's counter-productive. B v : What did you learn in Thailand that will influence how you handle the upcoming workshop with American participants? D K : I learned how to better describe why I do things the way I do. Before I use to do it intuitively; now I can actually communicate the reasons, the logic, for my approach. I've also developed some new techniques, particu­ larly pertaining to how to work with people to shape their stories. I've taken to using a huge piece of paper and drawing a diagram of a person's story as he is telling it-almost like a storyboard. One person I worked with had a twenty-five-foot board and nearly had his entire life visually captured on it. It's an amazing experience for the person to "see it all" at one time. This ex­ ercise helps me to think about the dramaturgy of the person's narrative in preparation for transforming the material into a theater piece. B v : What have you learned about your own work when you have per­ formed in Asia? D I G It made me realize how text-heavy my pieces are and how much they are written with an American audience in mind. Before performing my work in Thailand (which I've done several times now) , I went through my

P U B L I C LY CO N F I D E N T I A L

script and reedited all my monologues for an audience that is not fluent in English (I also did this in Mexico City in 1997 ) . I simplified the English. Most references to American pop culture were thrown out. I spoke much slower during the performance, and would overarticulate. There was no translator. So we wrote a synopsis in Thai and put it in the program. Far from ideal, but a workable alternative. I also have tried to choose material that is as visual as possible-through the use of props, slides, and movement. B v : To say that you move around a great deal onstage is an understate­ ment-exercising, dancing, jumping, running, and the like-and you show a lot of flesh. What's the connection between your body and your work? D K : I grew up as an athlete, so working physically onstage comes very naturally. In terms of showing my body, I may do it where issues come up directly related to the body, taboos about the body, or when sex is the subject mat­ ter. To me, it is a way to make the piece more immediate and closer to the subj ect matter. For example, if I'm talking about sensuality or compulsive sex, it makes sense to have my body visible; it supports the idea of the text. To an extent, the appearance of my body mirrors what I'm talking about. B v : Along with the prominence of a wide variety of body movements, music is also constantly present in your work. How do you choose music, and what function does it serve for you in performance? D K : I've always been struck by the power of music to evoke moods, atmos­ pheres, and emotions. It goes straight to the gut. Again, I think it comes from how I grew up, in a home where music was part of the "soundtrack" of our lives. I always like a soundtrack for my performances, kind of like a movie. I want to use anything I can to make the experience effective and powerful. Sometimes I have favorite pieces of music in my mind and try to figure out how to use them. Or sometimes I have a particular section of a performance and search for music that is just right in terms of mood, instrumentation, en­ ergy level, and length. I also do a lot of editing and butchering of songs to make them fit what I need. Occasionally, I work with composers. There is one fellow, Eric Moon, who worked with me on The Dodo Vaccine and Cor­ respondence of a Dangerous Enemy Alien, and I really enjoyed the collabora­ tive process, where I could say things like "I have this monologue here and it needs something kind of heroic but subtle, slow, and stately." He would come up with something and I would respond. He's amazing. Music, sound effects, sound collages-because I studied these in art school and while I worked at Mattel-are elements I'm very fond of. One of my favorite parts of creating a performance is when I start to make musical selections and sound effects.

257

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Do you do the mixing here in your studio? D K : Yes, I do it all right here. I just recently entered the digital age. But most of my earlier work was done on Stone Age equipment. (Laughter) Also, I create my own slides for images and text. This came out of the shows I used to do about my vacations-that's when I became fond of slide projection. You get a large high quality image and it's relatively cheap and simple. But it took me a long time to figure out how to do text slides in an effective way. I did a lot of experimenting, and now I have my own special technique. Text slides continue to be an element that I like because it's yet another way for an audience to receive information-to read something up on the screen. It's more private because you read it and "hear" it in your own head. It has a different quality to it, a little more intimate yet still public. Like a different voice. Sometimes I think of text slides as mortar between the bricks. They can be connecting links between different monologues, scenes, or images. Sometimes a prelude, sometimes an afterword, or both. One way I describe the structure of my pieces is that they usually have a central theme or subject, like the hub of the bicycle wheel, and the vari­ ous stories, images, and actions are the spokes. The different spokes may have no connection to each other whatsoever except through their link with the central hub. B v : It's not necessary that the spokes are connected to a frame? D K : The frame is implied, suggested. B v : Has international performance experience contributed to an evolution of your performance work? D K : Yes, both in form and content. Recently, I've been involved in more col­ laborative projects. For instance, I'm a participant in The Art of Rice which is rooted in A P P E X [Asia Pacific Performance Exchange] . I first met with the other international artistic residents in Los Angeles in 1999; I'm working with performers from Vietnam, China, Indonesia, India, Burma, Japan, Tai­ wan, the Dominican Republic, and the United States. Its process-oriented philosophy embraces the arts as a way to cross- cultural understanding. Judy Mitoma, the director of A P P E X [Mitoma is the director of the Center for In­ tercultural Performance at u c L A ] , encouraged an A P P E X model for work­ ing together, as we did during a three-week intensive workshop/residency in Bali in 2002. Ten of us were divided into various groups with a dancer, mu­ sician, and performer and given a couple hours to see what we came up with through jamming and improvising. We were able to work very quickly and critiqued our work after presentations before one another and then before Balinese audiences. Some pieces were all movement and gesture with music. Others were more textually based storytelling. Bv:

P U B L I C LY CO N F I D E N T I A L

As a performer in The Art of Rice, I'm getting to experiment with Bali­ nese shadow puppets and topeng masks, where I'm playing characters and learning entirely different acting techniques. It's not Dan Kwong. I'm an old American farmer. Or a mythological Balinese demon. Or a cartoon charac­ ter. These are exciting performance opportunities for me. We'll be going back to Bali for the month of August 2003 to finish The Art ofRice and shape it for final performances to be performed in Bali, then Hawaii and Los An­ geles during fall 2003. In terms of content the examination of Americanness, both at home and globally, is screaming to be critiqued. I want to explore the topic of Ameri­ canness for myself and for other Americans. What is it that we don't see? What are our blind spots that we can't see if we stay in the U.S.? I want to illuminate things about America for both Americans and non-Americans. To explore the complexities of American and Asian American identities, the struggle for acceptance in both America and in Asia. In Thailand, I'm frequently told, "You're an American." But in the U.S., I have to fight for that identity on a daily basis. As an Asian American, I am constantly fighting for my American­ ness in the U.S. Traveling has kind of split me. It has made my audiences more complex. And it has raised questions related to how I present myself as an Asian American. Who am I speaking to? Who is my audience? Do I change my work if it is presented in Los Angeles or in Thailand? These kinds of ques­ tions are exhilarating, and they keep me truthful. B v : What future direction do you see for solo performance and specifically autobiographical performance? D K : I think there will always be an interest in storytelling and the singular voice. When it focuses on the solo autobiographical performance, however, urban American audiences have heard so many victim stories that they are not able to listen to many more of them. We need new perspectives. While the form itself may not necessarily alter-the direct address of one person speaking-the site for change is in content. For example, a po­ tential for solo autobiographical performance is work which does not re­ main solely focused on the self but that addresses issues of a community and the kinds of links shared with other communities around those same issues. The future of solo autobiographical performance cannot remain just about "me." One's issues must be presented in a context that is more inclusive, that broadens the perspective to connect with and be in alliance with other groups and cultures. I've always thought that we are all utterly unique and yet for the most part very much the same. We need to have both of those in our picture-our utter

259

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uniqueness and our great commonality as humans. Much of autobiograph­ ical work has focused on one's uniqueness to the neglect of our connected­ ness. At this point in history, I think people are hungry for stories of con­ nection, community, and alliance across differences. These stories can challenge the mean-spirited individualism that constantly rears its head in American society-a focus that is concerned only about "me" and not about our responsibilities toward others as citizens in a free society. While I'm thoroughly enjoying collaborative projects, I don't plan to aban­ don solo autobiographical performance. I think of it as a good friend.

A p p e n d ix: Pe rfo r m a n ce H i sto ry

FULL- LENGTH SOLO WORKS The Night The Moon Landed on 39th Street

6/17-7/3/99

Highways Performance Space, Santa Monica, California

7l16/oo

Mark Taper Auditorium, Los Angeles Public Library, Los Angeles,

10/6/oo

Tulsa Center for the Performing Arts, Tulsa, Oklahoma

nl13/oo

Japan America Theater, Los Angeles, California (excerpts)

1/12-14/01

Bangkok Playhouse Theatre, Bangkok, Thailand

(premiere) California

319 /02

24th Street Theater, Los Angeles, California

5119/02

Beasley Coliseum, Washington State University, Pullman, Washington Chiang Mai University Art Museum Theatre, Chiang Mai, Thai­ land (excerpt)

The Dodo Vaccine

4l16/94 4l29!94 8/3/94

State University of New York, Buffalo, New York (excerpts) Spitalfields Market Art Project, London, England (premiere) Luna Park Cabaret, West Hollywood, California (excerpts) San Juan Capistrano Arts Center, San Juan Capistrano, California (excerpts)

2116195

Wellesley College, Wellesley, Massachusetts (excerpts)

2124195

Reed College, Portland, Oregon (excerpts)

314195

Walker's Point Center for the Arts, Milwaukee, Wisconsin (excerpts) New School for Social Research, New York, New York (excerpts)

262

APPEN DIX

3130195

Michigan State University, East Lansing, Michigan (excerpts)

413195

Hope College, Holland, Michigan (excerpts)

4/15/95

University of California, Santa Cruz, California (excerpts)

4129195

Whitman College, Walla Walla, Washington ( excerpts)

5 /22/95

Chicago Cultural Center, Chicago, Illinois ( excerpts)

919195

Eastern New Mexico University, Portales, New Mexico ( excerpts)

9111195

Skagit Valley College, Mount Vernon, Washington (excerpts)

9127195

Beloit College, Beloit, Wisconsin ( excerpts)

10/20/95

Ex-Teresa Arte Alternativo, Mexico City, Mexico ( excerpts)

10/27195

Hartwick College, Oneonta, New York (excerpts)

1/17/96

Seattle University, Seattle, Washington (excerpts)

2/22-31319 6

Highways Performance Space, Santa Monica, California

3127-41719 6

Northwest Asian American Theater, Seattle, Washington

5/24/96

Actors Theater of Louisville, Louisville, Kentucky ( excerpts)

9/18196

Olivet College, Olivet, Michigan ( excerpts)

9h9, 20197

Duke Institute of the Arts, Durham, North Carolina ( excerpts)

10/24197

Pomona College, Pomona, California (excerpts)

12/3197 4117198

Santa Ana College, Santa Ana, California (excerpts) Vassar College, Poughkeepsie, New York (excerpts)

Monkhood in 3 Easy Lessons

6/5/93 10/2/93

Japan America Theater, Los Angeles, California ( premiere) School of the Art Institute of Chicago, Chicago, Illinois

10/8/93

N. A.M.E. Gallery, Chicago, Illinois (excerpts)

10/16/93

University of Wisconsin, Madison, Wisconsin ( excerpts)

11/2o/93

Penn State University, State College, Pennsylvania (excerpts)

2/3-13/94

Highways Performance Space, Santa Monica, California

2/25194

Franklin Furnace, New York, New York ( excerpts)

5/29/94

Multicultural Center Theater, University of California, Santa Barbara, California ( excerpts) Luna Park Cabaret, Hollywood, California (excerpts) San Juan Capistrano Arts Center, San Juan Capistrano, California (excerpts)

2/11/95

New WORLD Theater, Amherst, Massachusetts

2/16/95

Wellesley College, Wellesley, Massachusetts ( excerpts)

2/24195

Reed College, Portland, Oregon (excerpts)

314195

Walker's Point Center for the Arts, Milwaukee, Wisconsin ( excerpts)

3115195

New School for Social Research, New York, New York (excerpts)

3130195

Michigan State University, East Lansing, Michigan (excerpts)

413195

Hope College, Holland, Michigan (excerpts)

4/15/95

University of California, Santa Cruz, California (excerpts)

4129195

Whitman College, Walla Walla, Washington ( excerpts)

APPE N DIX

5122195

Chicago Cultural Center, Chicago, Illinois (excerpts)

919195

Eastern New Mexico University, Portales, New Mexico (excerpts)

9/11/95

Skagit Valley College, Mount Vernon, Washington (excerpts)

9127195

Beloit College, Beloit, Wisconsin (excerpts)

10/20/95

Ex-Teresa Arte Alternativo, Mexico City, Mexico (excerpts)

10/27195

Hartwick College, Oneonta, New York (excerpts)

1117/96

Seattle University, Seattle, Washington (excerpts)

5124196

Actors Theater of Louisville, Louisville, Kentucky (excerpts)

7126, 27/96

The Stage, San Jose, California

9118/9 6

Olivet College, Olivet, Michigan (excerpts)

I0/6/9 6

Wellesley College, Wellesley, Massachusetts (excerpts)

9119, 20/97

Institute of the Arts, Duke University, Durham, North Carolina (excerpts)

I0/24197 12/3197

Pomona College, Pomona, California (excerpts) Santa Ana College, Santa Ana, California (excerpts)

2/28/98

University of Redlands, Redlands, California (excerpts)

3113/98

Kansas State University, Manhattan, Kansas (excerpts)

4117/98

Vassar College, Poughkeepsie, New York (excerpts)

4125/98

Northwestern University, Evanston, Illinois (excerpts)

911/98

Pitzer College, Pomona, California (excerpts)

9122/98

Indiana University, Bloomington, Indiana (excerpts)

10/9/98

Painted Bride Art Center, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania (excerpts)

n/2/98 n/21/98

Smith College, Northampton, Massachusetts (excerpts) University of Virginia, Charlottesville, Virginia (excerpts)

12/11/98

University of Missouri, Columbia, Missouri (excerpts)

3118/99

Wake Forest College, Winston- Salem, North Carolina (excerpts)

3127199

University of Illinois, Urbana, Illinois (excerpts)

4/5/98

University of Southern Illinois, Carbondale, Illinois (excerpts)

4117199

University of California, Santa Cruz, California (excerpts)

514199

University of Wisconsin, Madison, Wisconsin (excerpts)

10/I/99

Tulsa Center for the Performing Arts, Tulsa, Oklahoma (excerpts)

I0/25199

Cypress College, Cypress, California (excerpts)

1!19/oo

University of Michigan, Ann Arbor, Michigan (excerpts)

2!I7/oo

University of Texas, Austin, Texas (excerpts)

2/25/oo

Indiana University, Bloomington, Indiana (excerpts)

2/28/oo

Wright State University, Dayton, Ohio (excerpts)

31l5/oo

Kansas State University, Manhattan, Kansas (excerpts)

3/25/oo

University of Wyoming, Laramie, Wyoming (excerpts)

3/29/oo

University of Nebraska, Lincoln, Nebraska (excerpts)

4/n/oo

Everett Community College, Everett, Washington (excerpts)

4/I8/oo

Bryn Mawr College, Bryn Mawr, Pennsylvania (excerpts)

6/n/oo

Americans for the Arts Annual Conference, Los Angeles, California (excerpts)

263

264

APPEN DIX

8/29/oo

Wellesley College, Wellesley, Massachusetts (excerpts)

9/14/oo

University of Wisconsin, La Crosse, Wisconsin (excerpts)

I0/13/0 0

Ohio State University, Columbus, Ohio (excerpts)

w /26/oo

Multicultural Center Theater, University of California, Santa Barbara, California (excerpts) Hong Kong Star Alliance City Festival, Hong Kong (excerpts) University of Illinois, Champaign-Urbana, Illinois (excerpts)

Correspondence of a Dangerous Enemy Alien

7/8/95

Japan America Theater, Los Angeles, California (site-specific commission)

Tales from The Fractured Tao with Master Nice Guy

Highways Performance Space, Santa Monica, California (premiere) 4/21/91

Theater/Theatre, Hollywood, California (excerpts)

7/11-14/91

Los Angeles Contemporary Exhibitions, Los Angeles, California

3120/92

Cleveland Public Theater, Cleveland, Ohio (excerpts)

4/24/92

Columbia University, New York, New York (excerpts)

7/I0-18/99

East West Players Theater, Los Angeles, California (excerpt)

Secrets of The Samurai Centerfielder

9/28-w/Is/89

Highways Performance Space, Santa Monica, California (premiere) Pitzer College, Pomona, California Jan Popper Theater, University of California, Los Angeles, California

4127/90

Cerro Coso College, Ridgecrest, California

4/I0/90

Whitman College, Walla Walla, Washington (excerpts)

5 /17-19/9o

Sushi Performance Space, San Diego, California

6/8/90

Dance Theater Workshop, New York, New York (excerpts)

8/2-5/90

East West Players Theater, Los Angeles, California

11/13/90

Santa Barbara Contemporary Arts Forum, Santa Barbara, California

11/17/90

Ohio State University, Columbus, Ohio

3/I/91

Diverseworks, Houston, Texas (excerpts)

3/8/91 3/15/91

Contemporary Arts Center, New Orleans, Louisiana (excerpts) Seven Stages Theater, Atlanta, Georgia (excerpts)

9125-29191

Climate Theater, Solo Mio Festival, San Francisco, California

1/22-26/92

Northwest Asian American Theater, Seattle, Washington

5/I-3/92

Dance Place, Washington, D.C.

APPEN DIX

SHORT WORKS AND CO LLAB O RATIONS Instruments of Decision, collaboration with William Roper, tuba (cowriter,

performer) 6/28-30/9 0

John Anson Ford Theater, Thirteenth Hour Festival, Los Angeles, California (commission)

The Warriors' Council, collaboration with Linda Frye Burnham, Francisco Letelier,

Michelle T. Clinton, Keith Antar Mason, and G. Collette Jackson (cowriter, performer) n/20-29/92

Highways Performance Space, Santa Monica, California

Samurai Centerfielder Meets the Mad Kabuki Woman, collaboration with Denise

Uyehara (cowriter, performer) 10/6/96

Wellesley College, Wellesley, Massachusetts

4/7/97

Taper Too, John Anson Ford Theater, Los Angeles, California

5l9l97

New Langton Arts, San Francisco, California

6/20-29197

Highways Performance Space, Santa Monica, California

AI the Barber (writer, performer)

10 /24/97

Pomona College, Pomona, California

3/13/98

Kansas State University, Manhattan, Kansas

4/18/98

Vassar College, Poughkeepsie, New York

9hl98

Pitzer College, Pomona, California

7/I0-18/99

East West Players Theater, Los Angeles, California

wh/99

Tulsa Performing Arts Center, Tulsa, Oklahoma

I0/9198

Painted Bride Art Center, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

415198

University of Southern Illinois, Carbondale, Illinois

10/I/99

Tulsa Performing Arts Center, Tulsa, Oklahoma

10 /26/oo

Multicultural Center Theater, University of California, Santa Barbara, California Hong Kong Star Alliance City Festival, Hong Kong Whitman College, Walla Walla, Washington

The Sword and The Chrysanthemum (writer, performer)

10 /24/97

Pomona College, Pomona, California

3/13/98

Kansas State University, Manhattan, Kansas

4/18/98

Vassar College, Poughkeepsie, New York

9hl98

Pitzer College, Pomona, California.

7/I0-18/99

East West Players Theater, Los Angeles, California

wh/99

Tulsa Performing Arts Center, Tulsa, Oklahoma

I0/9198

Painted Bride Art Center, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

265

266

APPEN DIX

415198

University of Southern Illinois, Carbondale, Illinois

10/I/99

Tulsa Performing Arts Center, Tulsa, Oklahoma

w /26/oo

Multicultural Center Theater, University of California, Santa Barbara, California Hong Kong Star Alliance City Festival, Hong Kong

All for One, One for All (writer, solo performer)

I0/24197

Pomona College, Pomona, California

4/11/98

Japan America Theater, Los Angeles, California

4/18/98

Vassar College, Poughkeepsie, New York

911198

Pitzer College, Pomona, California

I0/9198

Painted Bride Art Center, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

7/I0-18/99

East West Players, Los Angeles, California

415199

University of Southern Illinois, Carbondale, Illinois

9125199

Los Angeles Edge Festival, Los Angeles, California

wh/99

Tulsa Performing Arts Center, Tulsa, Oklahoma

4/13-15/oo

Asian Arts Initiative, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

4/18/oo

Bryn Mawr College, Bryn Mawr, Pennsylvania

8/2o/oo

The Knitting Factory, Hollywood, California

w /26/oo

Multicultural Center Theater, University of California, Santa Barbara, California

Women Warrior Tales, collaboration with International WOW Company

(performer) 7/3/oo

Taman Budaya Art Center, Solo, Indonesia

Station Wagons ofLife (writer, solo performer)

9/28/oo

East West Players, Los Angeles, California

3/14/01

Oakland University, Rochester, Michigan

4/8/01

Massachusetts Institute of Technology, Boston, Massachusetts

5 /9/01

University of Maryland, College Park, Maryland

5 /18/01

California Arts Council Annual Conference, Pasadena, California

5 /19/01 7/20/01

Santa Monica College, Santa Monica, California New Orleans Center for the Creative Arts, New Orleans, Louisiana

9121/01

Rochester Institute of Technology, Rochester, New York

2/21/02

California State University, Monterey, California

3/I/02

University of San Francisco, San Francisco, California

3125/02

School of the Art Institute of Chicago, Chicago, Illinois

4/12/02

Whitman College, Walla Walla, Washington

8/22/02

Gallaudet College, Washington, D.C.

912102

Smith College, Northampton, Massachusetts

915/02

Buffalo State College, Butialo, New York

APPE N DIX

10 /27/02

Palmdale Playhouse Theater, Palmdale, California

10/14/02

Chico State University, Chico, California

8/22/02

Gallaudet University, Washington, D.C.

9!2!o2

Smith College, Northampton, Massachusetts

915/02

Buffalo State University, Buffalo, New York

10 /27/02

Palmdale Playhouse Theater, Palmdale, California

11119/02

University of California, Santa Cruz, California

3129103

Reed Whipple Cultural Center, Las Vegas, Nevada

4115/03

Michigan State Univ. East Lansing, Michigan

4/16/03

Hope College, Holland, Michigan

4/17/03

Grand Valley State University, Grand Rapids, Michigan

4124/03

Colorado State University, Fort Collins, Colorado

10/13/03

SUNY Westchester, New York

10/14/03

SUNY Stony Brook, New York

10/I6/o3

Sonoma State Univ. , Sonoma, California

2127104

Loyola Marymount Univ. , Los Angeles, California

3/11/04

Whittier College, Whittier, California

Sleeping with Strangers, collaboration with Peng Jingquan, Chinese traditional

opera performer 5/9/01

Japan America Theater, Los Angeles, California (cowriter, performer).

Sep tember Morning (writer, performer)

Chiang Mai University Art Museum Theatre, Chiang Mai, Thailand The Art of Rice, international collaborative performance with ten musicians and

performers from China, India, Vietnam, Taiwan, Indonesia, the Dominican Republic, and the United States. 5/11/02

Ubud, Bali, Indonesia

(writer, performer, work in progress)

9/6/03

Ubud, Bali, Indonesia

9112/03

Kahilu Theater, Kona, Hawaii

9113/03

Leeward Community College Theatre, Honolulu, Hawaii

9116/03

Brigham Young University, La'ie, Hawaii

9120/03

Maui Arts and Cultural Center, Maui, Hawaii

9124/03

Pomona College, Pomona, California

10 /2/03

Fowler Museum, UCL A, Los Angeles, California

9127, 28/03

Japan America Theater, Los Angeles, California

Evergreen Wisdom (writer, performer)

I/24-2/2/03

Japanese American National Museum, Los Angeles, California

2/22/03

International Institute, Los Angeles, California

267

268

APPEN DIX

On the Mekong, solo multimedia performance (writer, performer)

4/4-5/03

Highways Performance Space, Santa Monica, California

Dodgertown (writer, performer)

s /16,17/03

Ivy Substation Theater, Los Angeles, California

7/I8-2o/o3

East West Players' David Henry Hwong Theater, Los Angeles,

8/4/03

UCL A School of Medicine, Los Angeles, California

ll/14-16/03

Highways Performance Space, Santa Monica, California

California

S e l ected B i b I i o g ra p h y

B O OKS AND ACADEMIC ARTICLES Appleford, Steve. "Finding an Audience." Los Angeles Times, March 19, 1993: 8. Breslauer, Jan. "Mixed-Media, Mixed-Heritage ' Samurai Centerfielder: " Los Angeles Times, September 28, 1989: 5 · ---

. "Why I Don't Write About White People:' LA Weekly, July 2 6 , 1991: 41.

Carlson, Lance. "Performance Art as Political Activism." Artweek, May 1, 1990: 23. Carlson, Marvin. Performance: A Critical Introduction. New York: Routledge (2004): 175-76. Cheng, Meiling. In Other Los Angeleses: Multicentric Performance Art. Berkeley: Uni­ versity of California Press, 2002. Covell, Scott, ed. Living in America: A Pop Culture Reader. New York: Mayfield Press, 1997· Geer, Suvan, and Mary-Linn Hughes. " Survival Stories." Artweek, April 1995: 19. Kearns, Michael. Getting Your Solo Act Together. Portsmouth, N.H.: Heinemann, 1997. Komai, Chris. "Danny Kwong Stands Center Stage in Theatre and on Baseball Field." Rafu Shimpo, September 27, 1990: 1.

Kudaka, Geraldine, ed. On a Bed of Rice: An Asian American Erotic Feast. New York: Doubleday, 1995. Kwong, Dan. "An American Asian in Thailand." Journal ofAmerican Drama and Theatre 14, no. 2 (2002): 44-54. ---

. "Beyond Victimization." High Performance Magazine. 72 (1996): 28.

---

. "A League Of Our Own:' �' Magazine. Fal1 1994: 24-26; 74-75.

---

. "New Season." High Performance Magazine. Summer 1992: 20.

Ling, Amy, ed. Yellow Light: The Flowering of Asian American Arts. Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1999. Lloyd, Ann Wilson. "Born to be Wild." Contemporanea International Art Magazine. Summer 1990: 97· 269

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S E L E CT E D B I B L I O G R A P H Y

Nakagawa, Martha. "Asian Men Don't Cry." YOLK Magazine 2, no. 3 (Fall 1995): 70-71. Sun, Kevin. "It's a Guy Thing." Asian Week. June 7, 1996: 21. Turnbull, Robert. "Grains of Conflict." Los Angeles Times. September 21, 2003: E44. Ugwu, Catherine, ed. Let's Get It On: The Politics of Black Performance. Boston: Bay Press, 1995. Ujiiye, Diane. "Daniel Kit Kwong: Multimedia Artist Exposing Oppression." Gidra (1990): 109. Vorlicky, Robert. "The 'American' Voice in Asian American Male Autoperformance." Asian American Literature in the International Con text: Readings on Fiction, Po­ etry, and Performance, eds. Rocio G. Davis and Sami Ludwig. London: Lit Verlag,

2002: 201-11.

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"Marking Change, Marking America: Contemporary Performance and

Men's Autobiographical Selves." Performing America: Cultural Nationalism in American Theater, eds. J. Ellen Gainor and Jeffrey D. Mason. Ann Arbor: Univer­

sity of Michigan Press, 1999: 193-209. Wyma, Mike. "Taking the Freeway of the Mind." Los Angeles Times. September 17, 1989. Yee, Tom. "Destroying the Myth of the'Model-Minority."' Asian Times, May 17, 1994. Y in, Karen. "Performance Artist Dan Kwong:' YOLK Magazine 3 (1996): 16, 63.

REVIEWS ( SOLO ) Secrets of The Samurai Centerfielder

Adcock, Joe. Seattle Post-Intelligencer, January 24, 1992. Carlson, Lance. High Performance Magazine, spring 1990. Curtis, Cathy. Los Angeles Times, May 27, 1989. Fox, Maryl Jo. L.A. Weekly, September 1989. Greenstein, M. A. Artweek, March 21, 1991. Mygatt, T. BackStage, June 22, 199 0 . Pasles, Chris. Los Angeles Times, September 30, 1989. T. S. L.A. Weekly, October 6, 1989. Welsh, Anne Marie. San Diego Union, May 18, 1990. Winn, Steven. San Francisco Chronicle, September 28, 1991. Boy Story

Spiegel, Judith. Artweek, May 30, 1990. Tales from The Fractured Tao

Breslauer, Jan. L.A. Weekly, January 25, 1991. Dewey, Lucia. Dramalogue, January 24, 1991. Greenstein, M. A. Artweek, February 7, 1991. Levy, Joel. L.A. Reader, January 18, 1991. Suravech, Glenn. Rafu Shimpo, January 24, 1991.

S E L E CT E D B I B L I O G R A P H Y

New Season

Figueroa, Darryl Lynette. Washington Times, May 4, 1992: B3. Monkhood in 3 Easy Lessons

Komai, Chris. Rafu Shimpo, June 12, 1993. Obejas, Archy. Chicago Reader, October 5 , 1993. Rago, Carmela. Chicago Tribune, October 7, 1993. Morris, Steven Leigh. LA Weekly, March 19, 1993. Breslauer, Jan. Los Angeles Times, June 7, 1993. Baer, Nick. The Daily Illini (Univ. of Illinois Champaign-Urbana newspaper), April 1, 1999: 26. The Dodo Vaccine

Brandes, Philip. Los Angeles Times, February 28, 1996. Dirzhud-Rashid. Sea ttle Gay News, April 4, 1996. Orr, Tom. Seattle Times, April 1, 1996. Penn, Roberta. Seattle Post-Intelligencer, March 29, 199 6. Provenzano, Tom. L.A. Weekly, March 1, 1996. Richter, Matthew. Seattle Weekly, April 1996. The Night The Moon Landed on 39th Street

Foley, Kathleen F. Los Angeles Times, June 24, 1999. Thompson, Mariko. Asian Week, June 25, 1999. Weaver, Neal. L.A. Weekly, June 25, 1999. Smash Hits and Pop Flies

Mabbott, Donald. The Spectator ( Seattle University newspaper), January 18, 1996. Stevens, Sufjan. The Anchor, (Hope College, Michigan, newspaper), April 12, 1995. Torres-Tama, Jose. "Healing with Humor-New American Perspectives from James Luna and Dan Kwong," ArtPapers, September, 2001: 17. More Tales from the Locker Room

Hong Kong City Festival, January 2001. Teik, Pang Thee. "Theatre: More Tales from the Locker Room, Hong Kong." < www. lavish.com>, March 9, 2001.

REVIEWS ( COLLAB ORATIONS ) The Art of Rice (collaboration with APPEX artists from China, Burma, India,

Taiwan, Japan, Indonesia, Domican Republic and the U. S.) Pasles, Chris. Los Angeles Times, September 29, 2003.

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S E L E CT E D B I B L I O G R A P H Y

Sleeping with Strangers (with Peng Jingquan)

Segal, Lewis. Los Angeles Times, June 2001. Everything You Ever Wanted to Know About Asian Men (collaboration with

members of Kwong's autobiographical writing and performing workshops) Aoki, Guy. Rafu Shimpo, June 15, 1994. Collins, Scott. Los Angeles Times, September 5, 1995. McCulloh, T. H. Los Angeles Times, March 13, 1995. Monaghan, Connie. LA Weekly, September 1, 1995. Rauzi, Robin. Los Angeles Times, November 1, 1997. Sun, Kevin. Asian Week, June 7, 1996. Wat, Eric C. Rafu Shimpo, November 4, 1997. Instruments of Decision (with William Roper)

Curtis, Cathy. Los Angeles Times, June 30, 1990. Dewey, Lucia. DramaLogue, July 19, 1990. Komai, Chris. Rafu Shimpo, July 2, 1990. The Warriors' Council (with Francisco Letelier, Michelle Clinton, Keith Antar

Mason, and G. Collette Jackson) Drake, Sylvie. Los Angeles Times, November 26, 1992. Samurai Centerfielder Meets the Mad Kabuki Woman (with Denise Uyehara)

Brandes, Philip. Los Angeles Times. June 27, 1997.

WEB SITE:

< http : / fwww.DanKwo n g . c o m >

Includes Kwong's current performance schedule, booking procedures, selected re­ views, and selected essays written by the artist.