Peace Child III

October 31, 2007

The third stop on the Peace Child: Great Plains Tour was Clinton, Iowa. Al King and the local arrangements committee did a great job pulling together a cast of young people to perform at the local high school with our core group of around 30. Kathy Johnson, from the Playhouse staff, arranged homestays, pairing staff and cast with just the right families. I never understood why Kathy stayed in houses with private guest suites and decks with hot tubs overlooking rolling Iowa hills, while I stayed in someone's basement, but I now, officially, let it go.

Debbie Westphal, who, as head of Betty Hill Dance Studio, has a wealth of experience making large groups of young people look good on stage, is an incredible detail person. Color-coded charts and lists rule her life, and make it possible for our hundred or so kids to look organized and present well.

I'm standing in the back of the high school auditorium watching our production of Peace Child. Debbie is next to me, agitated and trying to convince me to change something that is not working out the way she wants. I am only half-listening, because something strange is happening onstage. We are at the point in the play where the girls are dancing a dream-like sequence that represents their fantasy about the horror of nuclear war. There are 8 Russian girls and 8 American girls dancing in a circle. There is a fog effect, but it doesn't look right. I tune Debbie out completely and try to decide what is going on. The floor in the circle seems white. The girls are missing beats and acting strange. It doesn't look like all 16 of them are onstage. I excuse myself from Debbie and go out into the hallway to make my way backstage. Al King, sweet guy, stops me and says, "Well, John, you should be really proud..."

"Sorry, Al, can't talk."

When I get backstage, I can see that there is a white powder centerstage. I ask what is going on, and someone says, "The fog machine wasn't working, so the tech director used a fire extinguisher." As I am trying to process this, another cast member peels out of the circle and comes offstage coughing and hacking. The tech director has used a dry chemical fire extinguisher!

I follow the girl as she leaves the stage to an outside loading dock area where there are three other girls coughing uncontrollably and a saying alarming things like, " I can't breathe!"

The dance number is over, and we are approaching the end of the show. I grab the stage manager and say, "Forget the show. Stay with these kids to make sure it doesn't get worse." I run back through the hallway, bumping into Al King again, who says, " John, I think we should do more of this..."

"Shut up, Al, and call an ambulance!"

"What's going on?"

"There's a problem backstage. Girls are having trouble breathing. Call 911 and get some rescue people here."

I reach Debbie Westphal, who, by now, has figured something bad is happening. We quickly decide, that since there is only a short time left in the show, the chemical fog/powder has dissipated, and the remaining cast seems to be doing OK, that it would be more disruptive to stop the show than continue.

I rush backstage again, passing the men's room, where the distraught technical director has locked himself in. People are on the verge of panic.

The girls are still having breathing issues, and there are several people helping them, comforting them, giving them water.

I rush back to the auditorium, passing the men's room, where there is now a priest, kneeling and talking to the technical director locked in the bathroom through the grate at the bottom of the door, like a confessional, urging him to come out.

Al King is walking in circles.

The show is ending. The audience is on its feet in a standing ovation. Their reaction is almost loud enough to cover the sirens of the arriving ambulances.

On my way backstage again, I pass the men's room, where maintenance people are removing the hinges to get to the TD.

The girls are being loaded into ambulances. The show has ended, and the audience filing out is seeing some strange and disturbing sights. I don't have time to explain.

At the hospital, a pulmonary specialist has been called in, and he is triaging the injured. Among all the disturbing things I hear that evening, his statement to me wins the prize.

"At the MGM Grand fire in Las Vegas, they kept more people from dying by giving everyone who arrived at emergency a massive dose of steroids. That's my intention. Do you have a problem with that?"

"Let me call their parents."

"We don't have time. I'm going ahead."

After an hour or so, it becomes clear that there is no imminent danger of this turning into a life-or-death crisis. One girl who has chronic asthma is not doing as well as the others, and is held overnight for observation.

Speaking of observation, it occurs to us that there were 16 girls dancing in that group, 8 Russians and 8 Americans. All of the Americans are in distress and have to go to the hospital. None of the Russians have a problem.

I call Burt Routman, a physician and board member at The Playhouse. He talks to the pulmonologist. He and I split the list and call parents.

"Hi, this is John Viars from the Playhouse. First, your daughter is OK. We had a problem with today's show. One of the local technicians mistakenly released a dry chemical fire extinguisher...she's at the hospital and has been given.." You know the rest.

Tough call to make, but not as tough as it could have been.

For this event, our measure of success is, "Nobody died, and we weren't sued."

We certainly forgave the technical director for an honest mistake. He punished himself enough, and no one was actually injured.

The people in Clinton were wonderful and we were happy to have the chance to share our show with them, and appreciated their helpfulness and concern when we had a problem.