Ballam dedicates “La Mancha” to his father
By Michael Ballam
This year marks 50 years I have spent on the stage, the very stage upon which I debuted at the age of 5 is the same stage where Miguel de Cervantes 400 year old masterpiece comes to life. Since that time I have stood in the shoes of over 100 characters, but none touch me as deeply as Don Quixote. When I played him first 30 years ago, I knew nothing about fighting giants and windmills. Since then I have come be “scorned and covered with scars”, as he sings in his Quest. Some of the lines are difficult for me to deliver because they feel as if they were born out of my own life experience. Aldonza’s inquiry about “why he does the foolish things he does” is answered by a response that could easily be carved on my tombstone “I hope to add some measure of grace to the world.”
Summer of 1969, my father was invited to Chicago in his capacity as President of the Utah Pharmaceutical Association to participate in a National Council to address the issues of drug abuse. My father was so honored to be going and very excited to meet his hero Willard Simmons, the president of the National Association of Retail Druggists. Willard Simmons was to the Pharmaceutical industry what Michael Jordan has been to basketball. To think that he would actually meet this amazing man was exciting beyond belief for him. My mother intended to go with him, but for some reason was not able to attend, at the last moment he asked if I could go in her stead. This was an amazing opportunity for me to be with my father one on one in such a concentrated period. My father and I were cut from different bolts of cloth when it came to interests and aptitude. My father was an extraordinary athlete, competing at peak performance, and had been part of the famed North Cache High School basketball team that took state championship in 1947. It was a real David and Goliath story when the little school from Richmond, Utah beat the mighty schools of Salt Lake County. It didn’t matter what kind of ball my dad held, he was the best with it. His eldest son, however was not so adept with such things. I could never remember which ball you did what with! And it was not until I was a married man and finally got corrective eyeglasses that I realized that all those years my dad admonished me to “keep my eye on the ball” that it was even possible to SEE the ball. My father never voiced any disappointment as to my low achievement in athletics, in fact he paid for a myriad of voice lessons, piano lessons, dance lessons, oboe lessons, language lessons and never once complained about it. But children worry. I worried. I had felt most of my life that I must be a disappointment to my father because I was not created in his image as were my two younger brothers.
As we wended our way across the nation in an airplane, my dad laid out his itinerary for me. He was occupied every day from Wednesday through Saturday, but he was free every evening. He told me we could do anything I wanted to do. I realize now I should have opted for a game at Wrigley Field, as it would have meant so much, but all I could think about was the THEATRE! I asked if we could go to a play. He said yes. A musical? He again said yes. A symphony, with slight reservation he said, and an opera. He said “a what!”. He indulged me completely and handed me his wallet to buy tickets the next day. We had GOOOOOD seats! Greater love hath no man than to lay down his wallet to a teenager!
When he returned home from his first arduous day with the committee I had all the tickets laid proudly on the bed: The Moon and the Misbegotten with Coleen Dewhurst and Jason Robards, You’re a Good Man Charlie Brown, an evening of Mozart with the Chicago Symphony and an evening of Wagner at the Chicago Lyric Opera! The “piece de resistance” was a pair of prime seats on the aisle of row 4 at the Schubert Theater…Jose Ferrar in the first run out of Broadway of The Man of La Mancha. I was especially excited about the last one.
Dad said we might have a little trouble on Thursday night, (that was MAN OF LA MANCHA NIGHT!!) because we are having dinner with Willard Simmons that night. My countenance must have fallen to sea level. He quickly assured me “dinner is at 6:00, curtain is 8:00…two hours is plenty of time to eat.” Where I come from 2 minutes is plenty of time to eat. But, when we arrived at the Millionaires Club in the Prudential Building, I knew this was not a “meal”. There was a waiter for every patron and so much silverware that you had to ask for help to reach it all. I had never seen catsup served in sterling silver before, and then to my great astonishment, during one of the courses I saw staring up at me from the plate things my mother and I had been trying to kill in the garden for years. I began to realize this was a meal but a pageant. My father sat next to Willard Simmons hanging on every word he said, and I could see how important this moment was for him. He was able to communicate with his hero. At 7:40 I had to make the unfortunate decision of whether to tug on my dad’s jacket and say “DAD, it’s 7:40, we’re going to be late!”, or remain silent, have my life ruined and sulk the rest of my life. I determined to do the later, when all of a sudden my dad stood up and said, “Mr. Simmons this has been one of the greatest nights of my life, but I have a more important appointment….with my son! I was stunned.
I was glad it was dark as we headed to the theater in the cab, because there was saline solution leaking from my eye sockets and at that period of my life I thought it was important NOT to have dad’s see their sons so that. Time would teach me that I was wrong.
As we sat in those wonderful seats just as the curtain rose I had a missing piece in the puzzle of my life…I knew that my dad loved me and supported me not in spite of who I was, but because of who I was. Even though I may not have been what he might have molded as a first born son, he was there to support and love me anyway! As Jose Farrar leaned on his twisted staff just left of center and began, “To dream the impossible dream” I felt as if it had been written for me. I knew at that moment I could “reach the unreachable stars” because my dad believed in me.
Though he tried to talk me out of restoring the Ellen Eccles Theatre and starting the Utah Festival Opera, when he could see what it meant to me, he bought the first pair of tickets and became one of the first donors.
It is for this reason that our production of Man of La Mancha is lovingly dedicated to the memory of Grant L. Ballam 1928-2004.
