In the 21st century, we tend to take for granted we can strike up email conversations with strangers a world away, solicit advice from writer chat rooms, and get instant feedback on cyber- pitched proposals that previously used to take weeks – or sometimes months – for a reply. Advances in technology have brought us spiffy computer programs that free us from the tedium of creating specialized script templates, the annoyance of repagination to accommodate edits, and – thanks to voice recognition packages – not even having to touch a keyboard as we compose our thoughts.
Composers as well are reaping today’s time-saving benefits of music notation software such as Sibelius, Finale and Pizzicato that can create, orchestrate, play back and professionally print out scores that were previously the product of copious sheets of lined paper, No. 2 pencils and sturdy erasers.
Such was not the circumstance, however, in the 1980’s when a two-act script I submitted to Eldridge Publishing about a plucky, mystery-solving teen named Clancy Q garnered the response, “This could make a fun musical”. Intrigued as I was, however, there was just one problem: although I’d written plenty of plays for the YA market, I didn’t know the first thing about how to write songs.
My editor, Nancy Vorhis, was already a step ahead of me. “I know a composer in Colorado named Wayne Simpson,” she suggested. “I think the two of you could work well together.”
“But I’m in California,” I reminded her.
“Oh, I know you two will work something out,” she replied, totally nonchalant about the fact she was hooking me up with someone who didn’t live in the same zip code, much less the same time zone. To say the least, I was dubious.
“I’m game if you are,” Wayne said during our first call. “So tell me about this girl detective of yours…”
This being a pre-Internet era, all of our brainstorming sessions over the next several weeks took place across telephone lines instead of electronic chat rooms. We also became regulars at our respective post offices with my mailing hard-copy scenes to Wayne and his mailing tape-recorded tunes back to me. Surprisingly, it was a system that allowed both of us to be at our creative best, especially since there was such a clear division of who was responsible for what.
What I really respected the most about his particular music styling, of course, is that he never lost sight of the actual voices who would be singing it; specifically, young students. Too often, I’ve subsequently learned, composers who try to write for this market complicate the equation by penning notes that only trained opera singers could successfully hit. The cleverness of his score – combined with lyrics that revealed character and advanced the plot – captured the objective of every musical: to give the audience something they’d still be humming long after they left the theater.
As our work began to wrap up on Clancy Q, Wayne mentioned he had a bunch of “stray” melodies he’d written over the years but that he was stymied about what kind of production could string all of them together into something marketable. Having just finished a project where it was one of my plots that inspired him to come up with an entire score, I wondered whether our unconventional approach to cross-country collaboration could work just as well in reverse if I listened to a cassette tape of completely unrelated tunes.
In retrospect, I think his casual use of the word “stray” may have been what ignited my imagination. Less than 24 hours after playing the tape, I called Wayne to tell him my idea.
“Dogs,” I said.
“Dogs?”
“Sure, why not?” I pointed out that canines deserved equal time after all the fuss about the adaptation of T. S. Eliot’s Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats to a Broadway musical.
Wayne was puzzled. “So you’re saying it’s like Cats but with dogs?”
Being an avid dog lover, I told him that dogs were infinitely more likeable and – being man’s best friend - had stories that were just as important to share about the human condition. Further, as a musical for YA performers and audiences, the tender emotions expressed through the lyrics and storyline could also apply in a broader sense to the love between parents and their children.
I never did ask whether Wayne was a dog person or a cat person but my argument was enough to convince him that we had a good idea on our hands and the script promptly got underway the next morning.
The musical unfolds at a city animal shelter. Ralph, a lonely guy, and Angel – a compassionate young woman from “up north” – love all of the homeless dogs in their charge but it’s Angel who seems to have a special way of communicating with them (Heart Talk). Each of the lost dogs, it seems, has a special story to tell. Snoodles, a spaniel, left home when her mistress wanted a human baby (Puppy Love). Fifi, a pampered poodle, ran away when a cat made her life utterly miserable. Daisy, a Dalmatian, led an exciting life as a fire station mascot until she became lost in a blaze (Take Me Home). Trevor, an English sheepdog, was accidentally separated from his family at the airport. J.D. – for John Doe – is a lovable mutt whose family always thought he was too dumb to learn tricks, a belief that persists until his companions at the shelter assure him he’s not (Look What You Can Be). Rover was a beloved family pet until his boy grew up and started going off to school every day (Parting).
And then there’s Max (Hot Dog) with his black leather jacket, greased back ears and sunglasses, a cavalier hound who just won’t admit that what he wants more than anything in the world is the security and love of a real home. Max, by the way, is the only character in the story whose cocky attitude was patterned after an actual human; fans of the popular television sitcom Happy Days (1974-1984) will recognize my fondness for Arthur “Fonzie” Fonzarelli.
In defining the distinct personalities of each of the dogs, I wanted to tap into the universal anxieties and dreams of children of all ages. What child, for instance, has never felt displaced by all of the excitement surrounding the arrival of a new baby brother or sister? How many of us can relate to the annoyance of being compared unfavorably by parents or teachers to a smarter, prettier, or more talented older sibling? Could these assessments somehow lead to the unsettling possibility they’re thinking of giving us away to someone else? Can we ever transcend the cruelty of being labeled as less than perfect and achieve the self-confidence necessary to be recognized as the unique individuals we are?
Getting separated from a parent is another childhood fear, whether it’s getting lost at a grocery store or being dropped off in a strange classroom on the first day of school and not being entirely convinced that mom or dad will remember where they left you. Nor has the fairy tale romance of meeting an English prince been left out of the plot. In Trevor and Fifi, there’s the fragile spark of chemistry that occurs when you meet someone you like but are too shy to know what to say; even adults can relate to the age-old awkwardness of finding common ground.
Last but not least in this overall mix of juvenile angst is the kid in every crowd who always seems to know more than he should and who uses this alleged knowledge to shake up everyone else’s comfort level and status quo. In Dogs! A Tail-Wagging Musical, it’s through Max’s cynical perspective that we learn “dogs come into this place but they don’t come back out”. Is he any different, say, from the schoolyard spreaders of urban legends who’d terrify us with stories about alligators in the sewers, severed hands that could climb staircases, or alien abductions that caused our brains to be devoured?
In this case, yes, the difference being that Max’s decision to set his companions straight about the realities of shelter life is countered by his unexpected compassion to also set them free. “I did all you guys a favor last night while you slept,” he tells them.”I chewed off the locks on your cages. When they come for us, we make a run for it.” As accomplished as the street-smart Max has always been in looking out for Number One, it’s still within his heart to lend a helping paw to others, a valuable lesson that can’t be repeated often enough at any age.
Lest readers think that a plot that unfolds in a dog pound is a sobering proposition for a musical targeted to schools and families, I’d be remiss if I didn’t share how it all comes out.
Angel, it seems, has connections in high places. The following morning, an elderly lady named Mrs. Kimble arrives at the shelter and informs Angel that the board of directors at the retirement home where she lives has just approved a proposal that would allow the residents to have pets. Accordingly, she wants to adopt all of the dogs and take them home with her. Older dogs will be perfect companions for them, she tells Angel, a subtle way of my reinforcing the message that there are far too many “mature” and mixed breed animals that tend to get passed over at shelters because everyone wants to have a cute little puppy or a purebred.
The adoption scenario with Mrs. Kimble actually has a basis in fact. Up until about 25 years ago, many individuals who moved into retirement communities were forced to give up their beloved pets. What therapists began to discover, however, is that the presence of an animal in an older person’s life not only makes them feel less lonely and depressed but also encourages them to get out more for walks and, in doing so, socialize more with others. Further, the unconditional love that a dog gives to its owner simply by sitting and listening is a wonderful self-esteem tonic that makes the latter feel happier, regardless of their appearance or state of health.
This awareness of the value that dogs bring to one’s quality of life has subsequently resulted in the emergence and popularity of numerous Visiting Pets/Animal Assisted Therapy programs in which dogs and their handlers make regular rounds at hospitals, convalescent facilities, and children’s receiving homes and deliver the priceless gift of a cold nose, a warm heart and a loving spirit.
As the musical starts to draw toward a close, only two dogs remain behind. On the heels of Mrs. Kimble’s enthusiastic departure, a young fireman named Bill arrives at the shelter for the purpose of adopting a new mascot for the station. The happy discovery that Daisy survived the fire following her heroic rescue of a child trapped on the second floor is guaranteed not to leave a dry eye in the house.
Max, ever the loner, announces his intentions to Angel to return to the streets. While she cautions him that he’s not always going to be so lucky, Max counters that it’s the only life he’s ever known. Without a frame of reference as to what “safe” means, he’d rather not take the chance of surrendering his freedom. His view changes, however, when he discovers that humans have pretty much the same fears about being alone. Depressed by his bachelor status, Ralph is going to go home to an empty apartment, make himself some snacks, and watch a football game. Max’s ears perk up. Is it a match made in heaven…or just the chance for two lost souls to get a new “leash” on life?
After 20 years, Dogs! A Tail-Wagging Musical continues to be performed throughout the United States and is available through Eldridge Publishing (http://www.histage.com). For groups interested in producing this musical as a fundraiser for local animal shelters, contact the author directly at authorhamlett@cs.com.
October is National Adopt a Shelter Dog Month.
* * *
Former actress and director Christina Hamlett is an award winning author, ghostwriter and script consultant whose credits to date include 25 books, 126 plays, and 5 optioned feature films. For more information on her work, visit http://www.authorhamlett.com.