By Ronald B. Hellman
We are such stuff as dreams are made on, and our little life is rounded with a sleep — William Shakespeare’s “The Tempest.”
Today, Oct. 23rd, is the 102nd anniversary of the birth of my father — Maxwell William Hellman, as a child, Max, as an adult, Bill. Gone some 17 years, he had a great influence upon me. I remember his beautiful speaking voice, his intelligence, his calmness, his ability to listen. Along with my mother Leonore — named after Beethoven’s “Leonora” overture, since they shared the same birthday — he introduced me to theater at an early age.
My father did some amateur and radio acting. A roommate of his was Leo Jacoby, who later became Lee J. Cobb. (For you youngsters out there, Cobb was the original Willy Loman in “Death of a Salesman,” and had a prominent movie career in such films as “On the Waterfront” and “12 Angry Men.”) A merchant seaman in his youth, an opera buff (especially Gilbert & Sullivan operettas), a tennis and bridge player, and a fan of the Brooklyn Dodgers, my father went into teaching during the Great Depression and eventually became the first principal of PS 214 in the Mitchell Gardens section of Flushing.
Some of the first Broadway shows I remember seeing were “Finian’s Rainbow” and “South Pacific,” both of which deal with bigotry and racial prejudice. Those burdens my parents were free of. Treating each person with dignity and respect was only natural to them. I like to think that that attitude was passed on to me, and in turn to my children. (However, I must admit that I have an unreasonable preference for tall people.)
It seems incredible to me, and I hope to you, that skin color should be an issue or obstacle of any kind, but being a student of history and paying attention to this election season, the awful truth is that it does make a difference to a lot of people. Perhaps on Nov. 4 a vast majority of our citizens will help us turn the page and restore our standing in the world.
The Outrageous Fortune Company next month will produce a play called “Yellow Face,” a comedy about racial identity by David Henry Hwang, the author of “M. Butterfly.” In mock documentary style, it deals with the question: Who and what are you?
What I like about this cast, and what I have particularly enjoyed in my life in the theater, is the diversity of the people who take the time and effort to put on a play. They may be of different races, religions, colors, ethnicities and sexual orientations, but they come together in a common cause, and that’s all that matters. For the most part, theater people are tolerant and thoughtful, nice guys and gals, who appreciate each other and value each other’s company. Just make sure you remember your lines and don’t step on mine.
So I am my father’s son — he was an educator and an educated man — and on this special day, it’s a joy to remember him. Although, in truth, the memory of a loved one is always with you. I wear no jewelry except for an old Benrus watch. It belonged to my father.
