By Erin Ashe

A trickling giggle faded out their last words, “Oh, you guys are doing this by yourselves?” With their eyes averted, I handed my homemade flyer created on Microsoft Word to my peers.
Yes, we are putting on a show. Their scantily suppressed laughter told me exactly what they were expecting: reversible wooden backdrops on wheels covered by double paint jobs and fabric pulled out of our mothers’ scrap collection, costumes assembled from old skirts and dresses pulled off of the racks of thrift and vintage stores, props collected from the cast members’ garages and living rooms, an opening night with an audience of roughly 39 attendees, and tunes with gags that could only support a production for a 32-show run on Broadway.
They were right.
But what they didn’t take into consideration was our dedication, our sacrifice of summer night hours, our investment of personal pocket change, and our practice to make for entertaining performances.
They also failed to predict that this summer production would go on to become an annual tradition, attracting familiar and new patrons with each performance, and racking in sufficient profit to offset our expenses.
The tradition was ignited three years ago. With no scheduled summer productions in our community we felt obligated to create our own opportunities.
It was a collaborative effort comprising of current and former students of Cinnabar Theater’s Young Repertory program.
We all performed, but everyone had a specific supporting role to play: stage director, musical director, prop master, publicist, costume and set designer.
Students from high school bands volunteered for the orchestra, and our parents chipped in by donating vintage décor.
It was exciting to be in a position of leadership, yet still feel an integral member of the group.
Journeying through the second hand stores of Haight Street as costume designer, texting photos of each item to the director to ensure it matched the vision, making decisions as to which dress matched 1920s fashion, contributed to the thrill I felt that summer and for summers to come.
The fact that we were all close friends was the best and worst part of the experience. With logistical, emotional, financial, and egotistical obstacles, it was difficult to avoid clashing opinions.
But our social devotion to one another and the drive that sprouted from our passion for performing sustained us through to closing night. It did not matter that some could not afford the starter-fee of $100, that only three of us could safely operate construction tools, that our once close friend became reminiscent of Cecil B. DeMille caught up in the frenzied role of director, that we slaved for hours tailoring and altering costumes with very little knowledge of sewing, or that a cast mate scrambled to fill in for the supporting actress that contracted food poising after opening night.
We learned to live in the moment and open our own doors when no one else would. The accomplishment of a show well done year after year reminds me that I am capable of more than I think, and that taking risks is the only way to find the hidden success in my future.

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