I am not sure when my association with theatre officially began. Maybe it was more of an evolution from country school farm kid turned small town quarterback turned undergraduate business major minus an ACL. I was finishing a BS in Business Administration at UNL when I started gazing out the window during classes. No, wait; I finished up my assignments early so I was waiting patiently for class to end. At any rate, across the street from the Business College happened to be the Temple building, home of the University of Nebraska-UNL-theatre department. I marveled at how unique many of those students appeared, not off the charts big and ugly like middle linebackers of a few years prior, but unique in a non-life-threatening way. As I came to my final semester, there were still six hours-two classes-that I needed for graduation. So it was my last chance to absorb some college not related to my major, heck, maybe even what could be described as the forbidden liberal arts.
As you might have guessed, I signed up for some theatre classes. In fact, I took so many it took me two and a half years after graduation to complete with the equivalent to a minor in theatre. Never did I feel this would benefit me professionally or financially, but I was certainly immersing myself into acting, dance, directing, design, lighting, audio, and construction, elements essential in theatre as an art form.
I thought all of that passion was put aside when my father’s heart attack brought me back to the family farm. My marriage and subsequent birth of our first child had me fully prepared to evolve further down life’s path. But life takes funny turns sometimes. A show or two with the local community theatre turned into forty years of memorable productions, working with hundreds of wonderful people and countless hours alongside my wife and family.
It is humbling that our sons have taken the vocational and avocational paths into literature and theatrical arts. I couldn’t be prouder of these men in pursuit of their careers and for being awesome husbands and fathers. But I would be remiss not to recognize the contributions from those that didn’t write bios. A fourth son, Evan, never wanted time onstage, nor recognition in the traditional sense. But his contributions backstage and in the dimness of the control booth were immeasurable. If helping out the Old Man had anything to do with him eventually becoming an electrical engineer, then we have this odd career in theatre to thank.
Another family member that won’t submit a bio would include my life partner and soul mate, Kerry. Though not a practicing thespian, she was a tireless restauranteur. From my first show in 1981 to my last show in 2017, dinner theatre was at the core of what we then were doing as a theatre. For the last 20 years, her goal was to present an unequaled dining experience.
As I look back over the years, the one constant that gives me the most satisfaction is that theatre, with all its aspects, has the ability to bring together the broadest array of disciplines and areas of interest I could have imagined. In working for a common good, that moment when, after all the preparations on and off stage, It’s Showtime, the creativity of humanity is on full display and I am humbled and grateful to have been a part of it!
By Rick Marlatt
Editorial note: Rick and Kerry also hope you will enjoy son Pat’s beautiful reminiscence for coming of age in the theater arts and atmosphere. Maybe at some point we’ll get son Phil to chime in as well. The truth is, as Rick and Kerry’s Chamber of Commerce award attests, the Marlatt family is indeed one of Kearney theater’s star families and their legacy to us all is rich.
Pat Marlatt’s reflections as a locally grown person in the arts:
I can still feel the room shaking when someone threw out a whopper of a joke. Just barely, I jumped in to laugh at the right time. I was maybe 9 years old doing my best to blend in among friendly giants. Actually, getting the joke didn’t seem to matter, it was funny anyway. There’s good a chance the crux of it was at least PG13, so it’s a good time to just act natural. I’ve gotten better at it. This time I found a chair on the back side of the great big table in the green room. An open chair is rare find. And the bonus is I’m not in anyone’s way. Let’s be honest, I’m not even 100 percent sure I’m allowed in here. I hear the whoosh, then feel the quick rush of cold wind with a soothing touch of cigarette smoke every time someone pulls open the heavy backstage door. Someone says, Oh, bout time, Bill. Bill smirks as his boots thud up the worn, red-carpet stairs. From here I can spectate the flow of traffic already in motion. Characters in colorful, flowing, and occasionally oddly-fitting outfits are crossing paths, swimming past each other.
One is sneaking over to a mirror for a last look, another can’t remember where he left his suspenders, and someone else found a snack he’s not supposed to be eating in costume.This one’s? Oh. Well, well, well-what do we have here? She’s new! Don’t stare. Be cool. And try to nurse that Roy Rogers a little slower. You got this. If you listen, these walls can’t drown the cackling of happy patrons clanking their silverware on the other side. As far as I knew, all theater was dinner theater. And there was always a chance at the end of the night, when folks clear out, there’d be a plate of food left for the kid. And there it is again. Someone said something that brought a tidal wave of the most unique but familiar laughs rumbling the green room. There’s a certain feeling of relief in here tonight. The last few runs have gone well. To the cast’s surprise, there’s a few parts they now know are guaranteed to knock ’em dead. Then, I’m the last to notice, shoulders turn and eyes go wide. The one wearing all black with superhuman diligence appears. She offers a neatly wrapped excuse me. The sea of people part at the words and she’s on direct route up the stairs to ensure everything and everyone is on schedule. Make no mistake, everyone here is having fun. But she runs a tight ship. This isn’t school. This isn’t some job. This is not a place anyone HAS to be. Everyone here, in this moment, is here because they WANT to be. Boy, Stan does make a good Roy Rogers.
I grew up in that theater, milling around. Seeing sets go up board by board from a blank stage. Taking regular inventory inside the prop room I definitely wasn’t supposed to be in. Climbing my way through a 30-foot high costume jungle. I saw people go from reading off a page to each other sitting in chairs to completely enacting the story by heart a few weeks later. The lights came up on these giants who became someone else for a few hours. I paid attention to all the subtle gestures and the sounds, the pauses. It all mattered. It all was crucial. After taking in a few runs of the same show I started to appreciate the rhythm created, and the timely order of cues and effects. But I was a son of the guy who ran the place. This was just life.
I remember hanging out on a tall stool up in the light booth while my dad would meticulously push switches and lift levels and cuss under his breath. He was programming cues in the surprisingly dark quiet of a weekday afternoon in the auditorium. He’d say, Here. See this button? When I say GO push it, alright? A job! He gave me job to do. If I get anything right today, this will be it. I listened and watched as he left me in my panic. Long steps creaked down the hall that wrapped above the seats below until he disappeared to the backstage loft. Silence. Did he just say GO? No, I don’t think so. I didn’t hear anything. Just wait. Yeah. Just wait. Out the darkness the figure appeared full stride moving over the catwalk, walking on 50 feet of air. He’s quickly past the corner I was too afraid to reach. Shaking, I check the button to make sure it didn’t move. Okay, it’s still there. I look up and I have to scan the catwalk all over to find where the heck Dad went, because by now the man is dangling from a bar over the abyss to reach a light. GO. Are? Are you sure I should? GO.
I remember vaguely, bits and pieces of my dad and his friends moving from an old repurposed church downtown and building the then brand new facility on the west end of Kearney. What became a tiered level auditorium with thrust stage and facilities that set the bar for any community theater space to be exact. I only began to appreciate it adequately as I moved through life working on productions in other spaces. A few years back, some friends and I took a somewhat scripted, mostly not scripted show to a very small town in rural Nebraska. I almost made the injured list searching the dirt basement for a breaker to the air conditioner. I might have been the same age as my dad when he was putting on shows in the old church in Kearney. But now, in mid-day summer desperation, we discovered we were about to perform in the community church sauna. You wouldn’t believe how many people squeezed inside to watch three actors lose weight. Turns out, being soaking wet and unable to speak made for pretty good material. We kept some of it. While it made for some fun memories, there’s was no escaping a greater appreciation for a quality facility. I’m overwhelmed trying to imagine the amount of fundraising and work that went into making that building happen. All I know is that people really wanted it. It wasn’t their job, their livelihoods didn’t depend on it. They could have done anything else with their time. They wanted it. They wanted to bring performance art to the stage it deserved, and they made it happen.
Through high school and college years, I rarely missed a chance to be part of a show. If I knew anything, it was that theater could move people. I sort of, insisted on being involved in some form because I always wanted to help hit the mark. In my 20’s I was doing about half a dozen productions a year, be it cast or crew. I served on the board for my local theater and directed a handful of shows. Apples really don’t fall far. Standards I couldn’t ignore had me stuck at the theater into the early AM hours, building some set piece or prop I needed to look a certain way or programming lights to look just right. Wouldn’t you know it, my own son and daughter, about a year apart in age, were tagging along and running around our local theater about as soon as their feet would let them.Their mom was just as involved as I was.The living room became the place for impromptu plays, and catchy musicals like Little Shop of Horrors and Hairspray echoed on repeat at the house as the kids bounced around. I imagine my neighbors had Suddenly, Seymour memorized.
Eventually, they made connections with the theater tribe in the community. And quality productions they watched from a young age shaped a desire to be part of something bigger. Nolan was naturally a bit of an overthinker from the beginning. Not reserved. Just very, very careful. It took some prodding to finally work up the guts for him to get out of the car on the day of an audition for kid role in a mainstage show. This was the big time. The giants are in there. I can’t remember what was said or done. I just know any motion of his toward the front door was the one we were looking for. Just go with it. The boy and his fearless little sister, walked right in and everything changed. So began a new era when 9-year-old Nolan took the part of the brave Gavroche and 8-year-old Arihanna earned the role of Young Cosette’s in a highly regarded production of Les Misérables. I was fortunate enough to share the stage with them in that, and many others since. The two grew up in the theater’s youth acting school and have special connections with a circle of peers that have done the same. They seem to motivate one another artistically and have high expectations of each other. I go to see shows with my kids these days and we can’t help but analyze on the way home what worked well and what could have been done differently.
Countless shows and concerts later, they’re now 18 and 17. I’ve had the blessing of watching them grow, with the arts being a huge part of their world and their relationships. They’ve been in honor bands, vocal soloists in show choirs, recognized for performance at competitions, had leading roles in musicals, drum major for marching band, student representative for the local theater board, and offered music scholarships. I can’t help but see the snowball effect performance art has had in them in all facets. It takes confidence to be bold, to interact, and to lead. Something surely happened. That once very, very careful boy became the captain of the soccer team, and Arihanna the same for the cheer squad. This past year has been the most incredible blessing watching them perform. Nolan was Orin, the Dentist in Little Shop, a part his old man once played in college many moons ago. This Spring, he accepted the National School Choral Award at his school’s senior honors event. This fall, Arihanna took the stage in Mary Poppins as the title character herself, when just four years ago she played Jane in the same musical at the community theater. Her voice and stage presence are just incredible. Nolan’s at the university now. Just this past weekend we witnessed the harmony and comedy of the famous Bathtub Dogs, UNL’s premier men’s A Capella group that he’s now part of. His grandpas and grandmas, and parents, and friends and family joined the crowd to watch him do what he loves. From ear to ear, I couldn’t stop smiling.
A few years ago, I had the honor of bringing a one-man show to one of my dad’s capstone events as Executive Director at Kearney Community Theater, the theater that raised me. I soaked in the moments. If I squinted between the lights, I could see the smiling faces of the giants that had been there all along. They really hadn’t changed much. I was a giant too. My parents joined me on stage for a curtain I’ll never forget. Dad had something to say, and this is it-This is family. That’s what this is about. That’s what this has always been about. Family. That’s part I remember. The rest was me trying not to ugly cry in front of a crowd.
So, what is this tribe of people coming together show after show? These accomplishments I can’t shut up about are owed in a big way to the tribe. It’s people putting confidence in each other, holding each other to a higher standard, and solving anything with a belly laugh. That’s family. We are family.That’s what it’s always been about.
No amount of time I’ve spent trying to make a buck has ever given me the sort of lasting memories made creating and experiencing art. There’s nothing else like it. You have to open a place for it in your world.
by Pat Marlatt
