Perspectives / Debra Acquavella Debra Acquavella served as stage manager on Humana Festival shows from 1986 to 1999. In my fifteen years of experience as production stage manager at Actors Theatre, I have teched dozens upon dozens of shows. Not surprisingly, there have been hundreds upon hundreds of reasons that a tech rehearsal has come to a grinding halt – miniature ship models whose ratlines catch fire when miniscule cannons explode, blunderbusses that refuse to explode, quick changes that are not quite quick enough. From the ridiculous to the sublime, from near-tragedy to the, “oops, I missed my cue,” few compare with a Humana Festival play for which Jon Jory and I teamed up in 1995. The play was Middle-Aged White Guys by Jane Martin. Three brothers, you guessed it, middle-aged and white, are chosen by The Great One From Above to save the White Man from eternally being wiped off the face of the earth due to the devastation and suffering they are responsible for causing throughout the ages. All they simply need to do is this: apologize. And walk six hundred miles to Washington, D.C., carrying signs which read, “I’m sorry.” We are at our final dress rehearsal, which is actually our first Undress rehearsal. We have teched through the final scene, save the final element of disrobing. The brothers, played by Actors regulars Bob Burrus and Leo Burmester, along with Actors newcomer John Griesemer, are just about ready to give it a go. Leo, a little apprehensive, says to Jon Jory, “Whatever you do, don’t stop us. Let us just make it to the blackout.” The final scene begins. Lots of Sturm und Drang, loud explosions, and fireworks abound. In the course of this resounding rabble-rousing rhetoric, the guys strip down bare, the transubstantiation near completion. The sign to read “I’m sorry” is being written in red lipstick by R.V….but the lipstick breaks. From the far reaches of the darkened theatre we hear Jon bellowing, “Hold, please!” All action ceases, and from an exposed and just-this-side-of-mortified Leo comes the cry, “HOLD!!?? WHADDAYA MEAN, HOLD!!!!!?????” He scampers to take refuge behind a car door. Mr. Griesemer removes his Lincoln stovepipe hat and places it more appropriately. And Burrus, who has been longing to rehearse the disrobing for weeks now, simply stands there, laughing and laughing at the innocence and awkwardness of his poor stage-mate. In a tech rehearsal, the show does not “have to go on,” and so you never know when you will be caught with your pants down. Be prepared!