Barbarians At The Gate

EMERSON INTENDS TO DO WHAT?

by Nick Paleologos

As the proud parent of an Emerson student and a longtime patron of Boston’s magnificent Colonial Theater, I must confess that President Pelton’s recent op-ed piece in the Boston Globe and his half-hearted justification for the college’s “Colonial Cafeteria Plan” left me totally confused.

“It is clear,” he asserted, “that maintaining the Colonial for its intended purpose is no longer viable.” Really?

According to Variety, Broadway’s 2014-2015 season smashed all-time box-office attendance records attracting more than 13 million patrons who shelled out $1.37 billion (yes billion) in a 52 week frame.

Meanwhile, President Pelton says “the landscape for theater is undergoing a transformation.” Indeed it is. More people paid more money to see Broadway shows this year, than at any other time in the history of the American theater---except apparently at the Colonial in Boston.

I for one will need a bit more convincing before swallowing—hook, line, and sinker--his argument that the Colonial Theater, as we have come to love it, is no longer a “viable” institution because of a “changing landscape.” President Pelton himself admits that it wasn’t commercial producers who shunned the Colonial, but rather the other way around. Still more mystifying, he seemed oddly proud of his refusal to renew the lease of a producer who clearly had a greater appreciation for the Colonial’s special place in the constellation of Boston cultural institutions over the past century than does President Pelton.

The Colonial Theater is the oldest continually operating theater in Boston. It opened its doors on December 20, 1900 with a production of Ben-Hur complete with eight live horses on stage at full gallop in the chariot race scene—a feat so technically advanced it was featured on the cover of Scientific American.

The world premier of Gershwin’s Porgy and Bess took place at the Colonial in 1935. Colonial theatergoers were among the first to see Rogers and Hammerstein’s Oklahoma in 1943 when the working title was still Away We Go. The very first audience to see Stephen Sondheim’s groundbreaking musical Follies, was at the Colonial. Ditto A Little Night Music. In fact, it was during Night Music’s Colonial run that Stephen Sondheim—working between performances in a nearby Boston hotel---penned Send In The Clowns for Glynis Johns.

So when President Pelton tauts Emerson’s “well known commitment to advancing the theater arts in Boston” while showing virtually no appreciation for the storied history of its most venerable commercial house--whose stewardship is now his exclusive responsibility—his whole tone rings hollow.

By the way, offering up BU’s boneheaded decision to boot the Tony Award winning Huntington Theater Company out of their longtime home as justification for Emerson’s actions is worse than ridiculous. Its insulting. And speaking of the now homeless Huntington Theater Company, Emerson should offer them the Colonial. If Boston’s colleges—which pay no property taxes whatsoever—can’t even be counted upon to maintain some of the city’s most cherished cultural institutions, then who can?

It doesn’t take a Rhodes Scholar to understand fiscal reality. Which is why its hard to square Mr. Pelton's doomsday scenarios with the fact that more people bought tickets to Broadway shows this year than the combined home attendance of every single professional sports team in the New York tri-state area. Newsflash: Somebody is going to the theater.

If Emerson isn’t up to the challenge of owning a cultural landmark in the Athens of America, then they should step aside and let someone else do it. But chopping it up into some developer’s idea of a glorified college cafetorium with a so-called inspiring “front porch” on Boylston Street is not an option.

Citizens hate "Citizens United"

RFK. Roseburg, Oregon. 1968.

If it were you're kid, you'd damn well get political...

"This is a political choice that we make...to allow this to happen every few months in America. We collectively are answerable to those families who lose their loved ones because of our inaction." --President Obama 10/2/15

NRA & GOP: Good year so far...

For Mom...

Janet Paleologos (1924 – 2015)

“I went to a dance at the Commodore Ballroom in Lowell,” she told her sons. “And that’s where I met your father. He had no idea that I was Greek too!”  For Janet Paleologos, this proud exclamation was proof positive that she had made the triumphant transformation from daughter of immigrants to American Bobby Soxer.

A bloody war with Turkey had forced her parents to leave their beloved birthplace behind. So they made a new life in America. Her dad worked tirelessly in the tannery a few blocks down Conn Street from their modest home and her mom tended to a backyard vegetable garden and chicken coop while raising nine kids—a small slice of Greece in Woburn, Massachusetts.

Their sixth child was given the name Demetra--the ancient Greek goddess of the harvest. As a little girl, when she arrived at the McGarr Elementary School, she couldn’t speak a word of English. With the unofficial authority so typical of that bygone era, Demetra’s first grade teacher decided to call her Janet—after the American actress, Janet Gaynor.

By the time Janet Paicopolos arrived at the Commodore Ballroom, she’d blossomed into a fiercely independent, statuesque brunette with a business degree from Boston’s Fisher School—which she had earned by attending classes at night. And she caught the eye of a young World War II veteran, fresh off PT Boat duty in the South Pacific. The happy couple married in 1952 and made Woburn their home. Janet and her husband Arthur started their lives together in a small apartment on Pleasant Street—a stone’s throw from the stately Woburn Public Library. As their family grew to include three baby boomer boys, the newlyweds bought their first home on Franklin Street where Janet had lunch ready for her sons every day when they walked home from the nearby Plympton School.

For the girl who took such pride in downplaying her heritage upon first meeting her future husband, their shared culture and religion actually cemented a lifelong loving relationship that revolved almost exclusively around family and church. Together with her four brothers and four sisters, Janet and Arthur were part of the growing nucleus of newly minted Americans who formed the core of Woburn’s Greek community. Holidays, weddings, christenings, summer picnics, and teenage dances—they all revolved around the church. And Janet loved every minute of it. She baked spanakopita for the Ladies Philoptochos Society, organized trips for the Mr. and Mrs. Club, and sang in the choir.

Though a fervent Orthodox Christian, her independent thinking shone through on many occasions. Once asked why she had a picture of Pope John Paul II hanging in her home on Rumford Park Avenue--where she and Arthur spent the rest of their lives together--Janet replied simply, “Because I like him.”

Outgoing and fun loving, Janet would always say whatever was on her mind. At a high school play when her oldest was being strangled on stage she exclaimed from the audience (to his horror and everybody else’s delight), “Don’t kill my son!” 

A few years later, when he ventured into politics, she offered him some valuable advice. “If you tell the people in the South End that Janet Paicopolos is your mother, they’ll vote for you.” 

He did. And they did.

 

Everybody loved Janet. She took great pride in the bond between, and the accomplishments of her three sons. She also delighted in the exploits of her five grandchildren. Her spirit never flagged. She could easily complete the lyrics to Hoagy Carmichael’s “Two Sleepy People” even as her memory faded. And her expressive face still exploded into joyful laughter at the drop of a hat.

In April, at age 91, she shed her walker and took to the dance floor for one last time—to celebrate her son Jonathan and Zulma’s wedding. As she danced with grandson Arthur, her caretaker gently reminded her that it was time to leave. “But it’s still early!” she said.

As always, she was right. It was way, way too early.

Janet Paleologos is survived by her three loving sons Nicholas, Jonathan and David; daughters-in-law Patricia Worth, Zulma and Gayle; younger sisters Helen and Marie; and grandchildren Maria, Joseph, Rose, Arthur and Angelo. In lieu of flowers, donations can be made in her memory to the Annunciation of the Virgin Mary Greek Orthodox Church on Montvale Avenue in Woburn, Massachusetts.

Are We Getting Through To Anyone?