A few weeks ago, I received a phone call from a friend that I haven’t heard from in months. I was excited to hear from him since we’ve been trying to find time to head down to the Potomac River and do some fly fishing together. This wasn’t that call. He was in a “panic” to find a programmer for a show he had coming up in less than a week and asked if I could do it. Quickly looking over my schedule, I could fit it in. “PERFECT!” he said. Before I knew it, I committed to the gig. For this particular friend, I would walk through hell and back. I didn’t realize until later that I’d signed up for 14-hour days — after a week’s worth of travel.
It was too late to back out, and I really didn’t want to anyway — my friend needed me. If it was anyone else, I may have passed up the opportunity and referred another programmer. But it has been some time since I was at a desk programming a show, and I was itching to get back in a dark theatre, getting headset hair, experiencing the thrill of a live production and watching a dark stage transform into a magical experience for the audience. This is why I got into the business. Getting paid was a bonus.
Working in this industry, we are used to long days and late nights in dark spaces. Sleep? That’s something I catch up on when — and if — I retire. The first day in the theatre was a tough one for me. After getting home late the night before, I had to be up early and in the theatre first thing in the morning. Saying that I was dragging is an understatement. The pot of coffee sure helped, though. The other hurdle was learning the designer’s style and the board setup the day before. It was a slow morning. But by mid-day, I had the designer figured out and was beginning to mind meld with him. “Can you bring…” the designer would begin to say, and I would cut him off. “Already there.” Chatter on headset between us during focus was reduced to calling next, last, and level changes.
By the time the house was ready to open, were we in total sync — making sure levels on problem fixtures were correct, updating focus positions, correcting tracking, and, most importantly, making sure the show file was saved. This was my first time working with this particular designer, and he had quite a unique approach. I picked up on it quickly and kept up with command calls…most of the time. If you had been watching us although tech, you would swear that we had worked together before. I am still impressed with the amount of work we were able to achieve in such a short time.
This type of programmer-designer relationship can take time to work out over the course of a production. In this case, it certainly helped that our design styles were alike, and with my knowledge of the desk, our relationship progressed quicker than I have ever seen before.
But here’s the moral of my story: Opportunity for work is out there, and sometimes in the most unlikely of places. It could be a crew head looking to fill a spot on a call or a friend in desperate need at the last minute. Most times, it comes from people we have worked with in the past. Our industry thrives on relationships and referrals from trusted friends and colleagues. Putting our best foot forward whenever we “step on stage” goes a long way toward keeping our phones ringing.
In my case, when the phone rang, it was a friend in need. As the saying goes, a friend in need is a friend indeed. And yes, I’m still waiting for that call to go fly fishing, Robbie!
