Let the Auditioner Beware

An audition story. Not my audition but I suffered through it second-hand, now it's your turn. 

Birmingham Theater, outside Detroit. A young man in our cast had big news-- an audition in New York City for LES MISERABLES, the day after tomorrow. He had to learn 32 bars of specific music from the score, get to New York in less than 48 hours, make his way to the audition by the specified time, sing this musical passage, and get back to Michigan in time for that night’s show. A lot to do, but exciting because it seemed a genuine chance to be in a Broadway hit. 

He had to get a LES MIS score, copy the specified section, learn the music, hire an accompanist so he could rehearse, and arrange travel from Detroit to New York and back in the same day. 

Somehow he found the score. I don't remember the details but it was an expensive arrangement. He paid for two hours with an accompanist and made an airline reservation which, since it was last minute, cost him hundreds of dollars. He was okay with all that because he loved LES MIS and felt he was getting a real shot. 

Two days later--the guy, safely returned from his adventure, told us his audition story…

He'd taxied from Birmingham to the Detroit airport, flew to New York, got a taxi to midtown Manhattan. Both cab rides quite costly. He got to the audition just before his scheduled time, drew some deep breaths, and was called into the room. 

There he encountered a pianist and two people behind the table. The guy in charge was, he said, thin and dapper with a fancy tie and vest and a pointy little goatee. Goatee Guy said, "Welcome! Glad you could make it. What are you going to sing for us?” 

This confused the young man and he stammered, “I was told to learn this music…” and Goatee Guy said, “Oh, you don't have to do that. Sing whatever you want.”

The young guy, having gone to all this trouble and expense, said “I'll just sing the piece from the show.” “Fine,” Goatee said, “go ahead.” So the young man sang his music. He said it went well and Goatee Guy complimented his voice. The young guy said, “thank you.” And Goatee Guy said, “But we cast the role yesterday so… thanks for coming in. We’ll keep you in mind.”

And that was it. 

The young man taxied to the airport, flew back to Detroit, and got a cab to the theater in time for that evening's performance. Kind of shell- shocked, he told his story. I remember he had a strained little grin on his face. He was a nice kid who had gone way out of his way to prepare for this audition --following his instructions exactly-- and who spent at least two weeks of his pay to make this happen. 

A favorite piece of wisdom: actor William Redfield wrote, “One can never be truly happy in the theater until he learns to expect no justice from it.”

I Audition for Jon Jory

Jon Jory was artistic director at Actors Theater of Louisville.  The Theater had

blossomed under Jory’s stewardship and was becoming even bigger, premiering

shows which would transfer to Broadway or Off-Broadway, fostering plays which

would win major literary prizes. Jory was the man behind the curtain,

orchestrating all that.

And, 1971 or ‘72, I was going to audition for him. For the life of me, I cannot

remember how the audition came about. It was nothing I arranged. Somebody--

no idea who--told me I had an audition appointment with Jory. I’m sure I asked

how this came to be, but I have no memory of ever knowing.

I was nervous. To me, Actors Theater was the bigtime, the real bigtime, second

only MAYBE to Broadway. And I was going to audition for Mr. Actors Theater

himself. So, yeah, nervous.

The day arrived, I entered the building and met Jon Jory. He led me into the

theater auditorium.

I stepped on stage. He sat, entirely by himself, in the house. He asked what I

was going to do. I told him I had a monologue from HENRY V. It wasn’t

really a monologue, at least Shakespeare wouldn’t recognize it as such. I’d

taken a large section of the proposal scene and edited it into a one-man thing. 

It was a wonderful bunch of words, touching and romantic and quite funny.

My paste-job ran about nine minutes. But that, of course, is too much for most

situations, so I’d also figured out a couple of shorter versions, one about six

minutes, one about four.  But no shorter than that. At four minutes, all that was

left was gold.

At whichever length, I did it. As I recall, I did hear Mr. Jory laugh. When I

finished he said, more or less, “very nice. What else do you have?” Ah. Ah-ha.

I was not prepared for that. I figured it was just a fluke that I was auditioning

for this man. While I hoped that he’d take me seriously, I didn’t expect him

to give me a lot of time. I couldn’t have been more wrong.

“Another monologue?” I asked. 

“Yes, if you have something.”

Did I have another monologue? Well…yes. And no. I had memorized Tom’s

opening speech from THE GLASS MENAGERIE, simply because I liked it.

But I’d never rehearsed it, never thought about actually using it. I had never

even spoken it aloud. So no way I should be premiering such an unknown,

unplanned quantity at any audition, certainly not a big one like this. 

  I said, “Yes, I have the opening speech from GLASS MENAGERIE.”

Yeah, I said that. 

“Great,” he said, “perfect.”

This is not a practice I recommend to young actors. Or to old actors. Or dead

actors. It was a stupid, reckless thing to do. But…Jon Jory wanted to hear

more from me. I was flattered. So I did it.

And it was…I think…all right. Such a wonderful speech. “Yes, I have tricks

in my pocket, I have things up my sleeve. But I am the very opposite of a

stage magician. He gives you illusion disguised as reality. I give you reality

in the pleasant guise of illusion…” 

When I finished, Mr. Jory again said something nice, then stood and said,

“let’s go up to my office.”  More unexpectedness. We traipsed upstairs to

his small office. He sat behind his desk and I sat in the “client’s chair.”  He

asked if I’d like a cup of coffee. Uh..well, yeah. Sure. 

So we sat sipping coffee and talking, just barely-over-voting-age me and

the director of a bigtime regional theater. At one point he had to take a

phone call. I started to leave but he said, “no, just sit, this won’t take

long.” He talked to someone for about four or five minutes as I sipped

coffee and pretended that this sort of thing happened to me every day. 

Once off the phone Jon Jory offered me a job. Unbelievable. It wasn’t

a job on the main stage but rather a spot in their Adventure Theater

troupe. These guys toured around the state, performing at high schools

and colleges.  On occasional Monday nights, the main Actors stage was

turned over to them for a performance of whatever they’d been doing. 

Secondary company or not, I was bowled over. I said, “thank you. I’d

have to figure how it would fit in around my classes…”

He jumped in, “you’re still in school?”

“Yes,” I said, “I’m….”

Jory said, “I withdraw the offer. I’m not taking anyone out of school.”

Then he talked about my future. Mine. He said I should consider

post-grad work at a school with a solid theater program. He named a

couple that he thought were good and said, “if you do that, come see me

and I’ll write you a recommendation.”

He went on, “if you don’t want to go to school, you should go to New

York. BUT…if you plan to take acting classes, call me and I’ll recommend

some people. You have to be careful. 95% of acting teachers are fakes and

scams.” 

And that was it. Jon Jory had given me more than 45 minutes of his time.

And he’d offered kind assistance. I was never so happy after an audition

from which I got no work.

I never had another one-on-one with the man, but I’d occasionally see

him in the lobby when I’d attend shows at ATL. He’d always walk over,

shake my hand and ask how I was. He called me Mr. Pruitt, I called him

Mr. Jory. 

I never worked at Actors Theater, and that’s too bad. But my meeting

with Jon Jory was a nice substitute.