joe turner come & gone
I’m not sure exactly when it happened, but after our move to Baltimore, Robert and I became theatre people. I suppose I know how it happened: him, signing up for Shakespeare class for veterans (Olive Branch & Laurel Crown) through the Chesapeake Shakespeare Company (CSC) and the following weeks spent memorizing the monologue and scene he would perform at the end; complimentary tickets for the opening night of Romeo and Juliet and a promise to go with him (always); months later, the shared excitement as the year's schedule came out and me, still filled with awe at having seen him and other veterans perform on stage. After a brief vision of a life where we are those kind of people and thought "why not?” which ended with me buying season tickets for his birthday.
In truth, I was smitten with CSC's location the first time I saw it. Originally built as a bank, it was one of the few buildings to have survived the Great Baltimore Fire, and afterwards housed nightclubs and restaurants. I didn’t get to see the inside until we saw Romeo and Juliet but I fell in love instantly: the ambience and energy of the theatre—light chatter intermixed with laughed and perfectly curated music—and it feels close-knit and familiar in a way that a lot of places don't anymore; it's an energy that I find myself craving more and more these days.
On Friday, we got dressed up and saw our first play of the season: Joe Turner's Come and Gone. I had never read an August Wilson play, so aside from the basic plot points and a deep (and personal) understanding of what it feels like to be haunted, I went in relatively blind.
Prior to the play, Sakina Ansari (Wilson's daughter) gave a small speech, mentioning that she didn't appreciate the play until she was much older. After seeing it, I understand why: it’s complex! At the end of her speech, she told the crowd "I hope you find your song and your shiny man." I haven’t been to many plays, but I admit I spent most of the experience in a state of awe. It’s still such a new experience for me and I hope the novelty never goes away. The performances were outstanding and I’m still surprised by the complexity of the play. Human relationships are complicated and when you add generational trauma and children into the mix? Phew.
I found myself transfixed every time Herold Loomis (played by Josh Wilder) took the stage. Stoic and abrasive, there is time spent speculating on what kind of man Loomis is. There’s a point at the end of Act I where Loomis’ stoicism slips. It's a scene that changes tones quickly—there’s so much joy in the prior scene and shares so many parallels with my childhood—and it’s jarring. One moment he’s yelling at everyone to stop singing, and the next he’s angry and erratic, begging the question to anyone who will listen: “Why God got to be so big? Why he got to be bigger than me?" I found myself quietly sobbing because I felt so seen. Loomis breaks further and begins speaking in tongues and falls to the floor and Act I ends with Bynum (my favorite!) helping Loomis navigate the most painful parts of memory.
It’s a beautifully done production and I can’t wait to see more of Wilson’s plays over the next few years.
Joe Turner Come and Gone seems a fitting play to nestle into the middle of September, a month that I now recognize as one I've spent in search of my own song. Most of the books I've read so far have centered around haunted houses. I also finally saw Spanish Love Songs perform "Haunted" and (you guessed it!) cried.
Some days, I get stuck in the same awful loop of memory, trying to find something to which I can anchor myself. I thought I would find something in my sister—or maybe I expected answers to generational stories that still don't make a lot of sense—but like Loomis, I’m learning that the song comes from within.