The One about Jim.

Tribute to Thanksgiving #18: "A mentor is someone who sees more talent and ability within you than you see in yourself... and helps bring it out of you." - Bob Proctor

For the majority of my life, it wasn't even a question of where I was going to go to college. It was always BYU as a vocal performance major. Eventually it turned to a desire to be an MDT major, but it was still BYU.

But when I applied in 2004 and wasn't accepted (thanks to my only-average ACT scores and 3.5 GPA), I turned to my second choice, BYU-Idaho, where I would major in Theatre/Speech Education. When I got to BYU-Idaho in January of 2006, I started auditioning for shows. In the year and a half that I was there, I was only cast in one production as a chorus member who was onstage for literally sixty seconds. It was all about seniority there; if a role was between a really good freshman and a mediocre senior, it went to the senior. The director of one of the shows even pulled me aside to tell me he would've given me a lead role if the school weren't so fixated on casting upperclassmen.

Because of these little details, I started resenting the school and the department. By the time I'd done three semesters there, I was over it. It wasn't just because of the seniority issue; things just seemed like they were being dealt with so flippantly in the department. Theatre wasn't really fun to anyone there; it was a job, a chore, a pain. I didn't feel that way, so I felt like I definitely didn't belong there.

In the earlier part of the spring semester in 2007, my mom called me with news that one of her closest friends would be directing a show that summer in Jackson Hole and that there was a role that I might be interested in. Auditions were even being held at BYU-Idaho in February. When the time came, I auditioned and was cast in Chaps! and The Music Man.

I've blogged a bit about that special summer before; I really do attribute those few months as some of the most influential of my life for many reasons. Since I was in The Music Man and Chaps!, I didn't work closely with the director of the other show in the repertory schedule, Nunsense. His name was Jim Christian. Of course I'd met him, but I'd hardly spoken a word to him, really. However, after a little while, we started working on the choreography of The Music Man, which Jim was also doing.

We worked on learning "Shipoopi" during one day of rehearsal. I was floored by his patience for the actors in the process. He seemed so smart, so competent, so prepared, so utterly and completely qualified. A few days later, he came into our Chaps! rehearsal to help choreograph one number. Of course I struggled with the steps... like I do. Then Jim said, "I'm here to help you. Let's just break it down into parts. This can be fun, Angela."

For the rest of the time that he was in Jackson after that, I didn't work too closely with him, but I respected and admired him from afar. And I secretly wished I could work with him as my director.
This picture was taken on the last day that Jim was in Jackson, which was opening night of Nunsense. The whole time he was gone, I kept wondering what it would be like to work with him again. In so little time, I had grown such an appreciation for his work ethic and the dedication he put into each individual. I thought the opportunities had passed me by.

During that summer, I was enrolled in six credits at BYU-Idaho: one was an internship at the theatre in Jackson, and the other was a Book of Mormon class. On the day that I thought the class started in mid-June, I logged into my student portal. My face went white when I realized that my class wasn't starting on that day, but it was ending. I emailed the professor and explained my mistake, but I never heard from him. Instead, on the last day of the semester, I received an F in the class. The very next day, I received an email from BYU-Idaho putting me on Academic Suspension. I appealed my situation and was put on Academic Probation.

Then it hit me: I didn't like being at BYU-Idaho in the first place. Why fight to get back in? I could find a better place to go to school. One day in Jackson, someone mentioned that Jim was head of the musical theatre department at Weber State University. I hadn't even really heard of the place, but I took a little bit of time to ask two of the three people in the summer stock cast about the department, the shows and the school in general. After lots of reflection, I knew that Weber was where I needed to be. I knew I had to learn more from Jim.

I know I'm not the only one who feels this way about Jim. He is the picture of a perfect theatre professor. Besides an impeccable educator, Jim is a mentor, a counselor, and a director.

I credit the man for teaching me how to know my voice. You see, before I went to Weber, I knew what could come out of my mouth when I sang, but I didn't know how to control when it happened or how it happened. I didn't know what steps to take to get the sound that would occasionally come out. I had good singing days, and I had bad singing days. Instead of me being in control of my voice, my voice just picked and chose when it would do whatever it was that it was doing. I took voice lessons from Jim during my first semester at Weber, in Spring of 2008 (and almost every semester after that!). I remember leaving my very first lesson, calling my mom and crying (tears of joy, of course!) because I felt like I had learned more about my voice in one hour-long lesson than I had in all my 16 years of voice lessons before. He taught me that I had the power to be the "belter" I wanted to be. He taught me how to take care of my voice. He taught me that it's okay to make a mistake and to experiment with my voice. In one single lesson with him, there was no question that I'd made the right decision in choosing to attend Weber. Every lesson was a development, an opportunity to polish, improve and refine my instrument.

On December 10, 2009, I had a voice lesson. If this days sounds familiar from a few posts back, you'll remember it as the day that my "Papaw" passed away. I'd gotten the call about it around 2 AM that morning, so I'd been sitting with it for some time. Just five days before that, my newborn nephew had passed away as well. My family had been blindsided, and I felt so helpless being in Utah. I walked into my voice lesson, and I couldn't really hide how distraught I was. Without any hesitation, Jim said, "Do you need to talk?" and I just sort of fell apart. Right there. In his office. I couldn't help it. We talked so much about our core beliefs and how to make things like this make sense in order to keep living our lives. He offered personal insights and and open heart. I wept. And when I was leaving his office at the end of my scheduled lesson, after an entire hour of constant reflection, I didn't feel so helpless. Instead, I felt enveloped in an understanding that things really were going to be okay.

I am floored by his talents as a theatre master and Einstein when it comes to voices and acting and dancing and expression onstage. I have met few people with the gusto and strong stand in profession that Jim bestows. He is absolutely, positively brilliant.

But you see, Jim is more than just an outstanding professor or choreographer or voice teacher or director. He certainly is all of those things to the utmost degree. But he is also my friend. A bit of a saving grace, a confidante, who offers wisdom in the most respectable and understanding way. A downright good person.

People ask me why I chose Weber, and it's really for one reason: Jim. Because of his guidance and his incredible knack for teaching, I feel like I have gotten more out of my college experience as a performer than I ever imagined getting. I feel like I learned more; I feel like I played more; I feel like the opportunities have been endless. When I graduate in December, I will walk away with a heart full of gratitude for the chances Jim gave me in performing, knowledge I received in the classroom, in voice lessons, in rehearsals, and in conversations.

Jim has helped me understand how to not only be a better performer... but a better person, too. Simply by setting a wonderful example in his everyday life.