Thank you, Fred Adams, for the impossible dream

Thank you, Fred Adams, for the impossible dream

As a habitual people watcher, I have always been on the lookout for the little nooks and crannies where I could sit quietly and watch the passing parade.

One of my favorite places to do that was on the Southern Utah University campus during the Utah Shakespeare Festival season.

I would drop in on my way to work in the morning, get a cup of coffee and a muffin, and sit at one of the little tables tucked away in a corner of the gently shaded courtyard. The morning air was clean and perfect, and the daily bustle of USF cast and crew built slowly, as did the crowds of tourists who were gathering for the seminars or simply to soak up some of the creative energy that pulsed through the quad just off to the side of where the nightly Greenshows cast entertained.

It was my refuge, a place where I walked away with far more than I brought.

And usually, somewhere along the line, I would bump into Fred Adams, whose silly dream of bringing world-class theater to a tiny southern Utah village in 1962 came to fruition a thousand-fold.

It all began with a $1,000 loan from the local Lions Club, which resulted in a meager $2,000 profit the first season.

Today, the USF is a year-round business with more than 30 full-time employees and a budget of approximately $7 million.

That’ why Fred was always busy, whether he was dropping in on rehearsals or greeting patrons to acting in or directing one of the USF’s magnificent productions.

He was surrounded by a loyal, tight cadre of like-minded people – truly too many to list here – who shared his love for the stage and all that goes with it.

His energy seemed limitless, and his enthusiasm was contagious.

I would see him there every time I visited, whether in the early morning or after the lights went up after the last evening performance.

He was inspirational.

And now he is gone.

We lost one of the theater’s greatest champions last week when Fred took his final curtain call Thursday morning at the age of 89.

I never realized how much I loved the theater until I met Fred and he invited me into his unique, magical world.

I had seen a few things here and there but nothing that would compare with how I was suddenly immersed in the USF.

Fred flung open those doors. Literally.

I had full access, from the prop shop to the orchestra, from sitting in on seminars to rehearsals to even watching a frantic production of “Joseph and The Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat” from backstage.

Through Fred, I met some of Broadway’s finest talent, chatted with SUU students working as interns or as part of the Greenshow cast, and picked the brains of some of the finest directors and creative minds in the business.

It was an incredible education, and it all inspired me to do some things I never thought I would or could do.

I remember talking with the late Chuck Metten — another incredible creative light who was the founding dean of SUU’s College of Performing and Visual Arts and a long-time director, actor, and administrator for the USF — about the process. I had mentioned something about seeing a particular actor on a popular television series and remarking about how if they ever did a film about jazz musician Louis Armstrong he would be perfect for the role.

“Then write it,” Chuck said.

I looked at him as if he had just landed from Mars.

“But…,” was all I could squeak out.

“No, really,” he said. “Write it.”

A couple weeks later, I humbly sent him about 20 pages of my new project, fully expecting him to instruct me not to give up my day job.

“More…I want to read more. Keep going,” he said.

The script was eventually finished, and Chuck arranged for me to get some notes from one of the execs who had worked on the film “Rain Man.”

I never could find somebody to actually represent the piece as an agent, so it sits in a file cabinet. Maybe not a financial success, but a personal triumph.

We found ourselves talking one day, and I mentioned how I thought writing for the stage would be the ultimate in crafting art.

He looked at me, shrugged, and said, “So, write something.”

I did, submitting acts to him as I went along.

I was astounded when months after I had finished the piece, “Downwinders,” I received a letter from the USF telling me my play had been accepted for a week’s worth of readings at the festival as part of what was then called the “Plays In Progress” program.

I questioned him about my selection, concerned about favoritism.

“Not at all,” he said. “We did this impartially, taking all reference to the writer off of the plays,” he told me. “None of the judges knew who wrote any of the plays. You earned this. This isn’t some favor.”

It built my confidence level to the point where, several years later, I wasn’t as overwhelmed when I decided to tackle my first book. Of course, by then I had found Cara, my muse, who was able to walk me through the emotional and inspirational minefield of stringing all of those words together.

Fred and the USF received a wealth of awards over the years. He was positively aglow when the USF was awarded a Tony Award for America’s Outstanding Regional Theatre in 2000.

But his light always seemed to shine brightest when his ever-present companion and wife, Barbara, who we lost in 2008, was at his side.

It would be negligent to not include Barbara in any remembrance of Fred.

She saw him through the rough early days and put her own imprint on the festival. She was the one who insisted on including the Greenshow, a joyous celebration of dancing and music and shenanigans that takes place each night in the courtyard before the curtain goes up. She was there, supporting him as he pursued his quixotic vision.

They were quite the team. We miss them. We mourn them.

But we celebrate them for making their impossible dream a reality.

I owe Fred and Barbara and Chuck and the entire USF a tremendous debt of gratitude for their mentoring, tutorials, and friendship.

So to humbly borrow a line from Shakespeare, may I offer a simple “I can no other answer make but thanks. And thanks, and ever thanks.”

The viewpoints expressed above are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect those of The Independent.

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