Everyone has an Arthur Miller story to tell. With his passing last Thursday, I thought now would be an appropriate time to share mine.
It was the Fall of 1991 (I think), and Millersville University, was hosting that year's International Arthur Miller Conference. I believe the MU fratboys dubbed it "Miller Fest" and made it a drinking occasion (lots of Miller High Life consumed that day). The man, not the myth, Arthur Miller was the guest of honor (a surprise choice for a festival bearing his name, right?), and spoke to an assembled crowd of scholars, English majors, and snot-nosed punks (including yours truly). Sadly, despite paying attention at the time, I retain in my memory next to nothing of the content of his speech. I do recall that, as adolescent males, we were predisposed to joking about Miller and Marilyn Monroe. Thankfully, we showed restraint and didn't actually ask any of our stupid questions (yes, there is such a thing as a stupid question).
So, why was I even there? Coinciding with this venerable collegiate celebration, my high school staged Miller's high-school-theater standard, The Crucible (having exhausted the other staple of scholastic theater, Our Town, the previous fall). Despite the lack of any facial hair, worry lines, or adulthood physique (I was a late bloomer), I landed the role of Giles Corey, the cantankerous old geezer. It was the first (and last) time I had ever auditioned for a show with a particular part in mind, but having read the play I admired the character's unrelenting badass attitude, which was exemplified in his dying words: "more weight".
There was a rumor (who knows who started it) that Miller might attend our performance. I never believed it. Sure it would've been cool, but what playwrite wants to witness his/her work stripped of all relevance and butchered by a bunch of teenagers? Some of my fellow cast members were quite talented (the girl playing Abigail Williams, for one), but I mangled Miller's words with my incomprehensible enunciation. To this day, friends and relatives ruthlessly torment me with imitations of my performance (Rwarawrawraw, Goody Putnam). Think Scooby Doo with marbles in his mouth. Still, this line always rang out loud and clear: "A fart on Thomas Putnam, that is what I say to that!"
ELIZABETH: Aye. It were a fearsome man, Giles Corey.
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