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BY LUCIA MAURO
Luther Goins shares a touching and tough-edged story about his mother that reflects his own compassion and resourceful commitment flavored with a potent dash of humor.
"I grew up in Newark, New Jersey," says the managing director of Chicago Theatre Company (CTC). "I’m the youngest of five, and we lived in a three-room apartment. One night, the woman across the hall from us lost her electricity. So my mother got some extension cords and ran them from our apartment to hers. But when my mother was ready to go to bed, she needed to remove the cords so she could lock the door. So she would knock on the woman’s door and tell her, 'I’m sorry, honey, lights out.’"
At this point, Goins breaks into hysterics and then reminisces about all "the proud black women" who helped raise him. As a tribute to these indomitable ladies, Goins wrote Love Child, receiving its world premiere at Live Bait Theatre this month. The serious-minded comedy follows four unwed teenage moms–Shawanda, Dawanda, Tawanda and LaWanda–who are required to take a parenting skills class and end up receiving a hard lesson in life from their more experienced female mentors.
"Often a black woman rules the household because she’s the only one there," says Goins, 46. "Now I had a father who was there for us. But I am a product of black women. It really does take a village to raise a child. My village was 396 North Fifth Street in Newark. You could walk a route from your house to school and, all along the way, you were protected by black women. Then you went to school, and your black women teachers looked out for you.
"They instilled in me a great respect for life, education, strength, courage and laughter. I can pinpoint different points in my life, and there was always a black woman there who guided me down the right path."
In the program notes for Love Child, Goins recalls the time in 1968 when the new 10-speed golden bicycle his father bought him got stolen.
"The ever-watchful eyes of Fanny Session (who is represented in Love Child) witnessed the event," he related, "and immediately reported to my mother. The men in my family quickly gave into the fact that I had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. My mother, sisters, female cousins, aunts and other elder women of my village went into council. After the council meeting, my oldest sister took on the war captain position, gathered other soldiers and went into battle.
"The goal was to find and bring home my 10-speed. We did not get it back, but the memory of going into battle, always surrounded by the captain and her soldiers, has continued to be my determination and encouragement."
Goins’ communal upbringing is crucial to his work as a director and playwright. His worldview and life philosophy can be found in the revelatory family stories he so openly shares–like how his mother and her two sisters made a pact on the train from their native West Virginia to the East Coast that "never will a man rule us." Yet Goins is quick to point out that his father was a wise and uplifting presence in the household.
"My dad always used to call me 'the miracle child,’" Goins continues. "He was 51-years-old when I was born. And he was the entertainer in the family. My dad toured the South with Silas Green from New Orleans–a warm-up act for Bessy Smith in the 1920s. He sang, danced and told jokes.
"We were poor, but my father stood for responsibility and taking care of the family. There was always great humor in our house."
Goins discovered acting at Newark’s Barringer High School. While countless female role models influenced his life, he attributes his early theatrical motivations to a man–Bob Lowy, his high school drama and English teacher who insisted on making the arts as important as sports.
"Performing in plays was such a breath of fresh air for me," explains Goins. "I was not interested in sports, and Bob Lowy made theatre equal to football."
He received a full theatre scholarship to Northwestern University, where he graduated in 1977. But his goals were not so focused early on. He admits to getting "cocky" and thought he didn’t have to work hard to be an actor or a Broadway star. Then Goins was confronted by Cathy Martin, assistant dean at Northwestern University’s School of Speech, whom he describes as "a white woman who turned into a black woman before my eyes."
That metaphoric metamorphosis occurred when Martin warned him to either improve his grades or go elsewhere. She reminded him that there was a long line of eager young actors willing to replace him in a second. Then she demanded that he choose a specific area of study within theatre if he planned to continue in the program.
"Cathy Martin gave me a wake-up call that changed the direction of my life," says Goins. "I went back to the dorm and flipped through the course catalog. But I still had no idea where I wanted to be. So I just closed my eyes and put my finger on a random page. It was the section on directing and management. I strongly believe in fate.
"I went back to Cathy Martin’s office and told her what I chose. She approved. Then things just started opening up for me. I got directing opportunities left and right. Directing and management were perfect for me because I am very anal retentive, I have good people skills, and I have fun being creative."
After graduation, Goins went on to work extensively in Cincinnati, holding the positions of director and instructor at the School for Creative and Performing Arts; managing director at the Studio Theatre; and chairman of the Cincinnati Theatre Festival. Back in Chicago–before being appointed CTC’s managing director in 1995–he was assistant to Northlight Theatre’s managing director Richard Friedman.
He has directed over 50 productions, including August Wilson’s Fences and George C. Wolfe’s The Colored Museum at Cincinnati Playhouse in the Park. Recent productions were Samm Art-Williams’ Home at Illinois Theatre Center and The Prophet for Pegasus Players’ Young Playwrights Festival. In June, Goins will direct August Wilson’s Seven Guitars for the Phoneix Theatre in Indianapolis–CTC’s sister theatre.
"I’m a very actor-friendly director," he says. "I like an environment that’s fun. One of the best things about Northwestern’s directing program was that your number-one job was to create an environment where actors felt comfortable and respected.
"When I’m directing a play and find that I’m having a problem with an actor, I never yell. We’ll sit down and talk things over. I have a sense of humor, too. People need to laugh."
At CTC, he works closely with artistic director Douglas Alan Mann and playwright-in-residence David Barr. Goins is especially proud of CTC’s educational emphasis. Besides offering impressive seasons (Albert French’s Billy runs Feb. 9-April 8) at its intimate, inviting space at 500 E. 67th St., the 17-year-old Equity theatre emphasizes new play development, as well as actor and designer training programs.
"At CTC, I was allowed the luxury of growing in the job," says Goins. "We are so on the right track. We’ve increased our board by nine people. Management and fundraising are on track. Our early funding was about $46,000; we’ve increased that to $171,000."
Goins is a staunch believer in the empowering force of live theatre. He does not plan on pursuing film work. However, one of his earliest creative influences was his family’s small television set "that barely worked."
He clarifies, "People call TV an idiot box. I disagree. TV showed me there’s more to life than Newark. I loved Bette Davis films. I learned about theatre and playwrights on TV. To this day, I am so AMC [American Movie Classics]. My favorite movies are from the 1930s, '40s and '50s. I also collect old science-fiction movies.
"The actors and directors from that period had to be creative and have talent because they didn’t have the money to fake it. All of my favorite old TV shows had something to say. I feel that I can best say what I need to say in theatre. Live theatre is so crucial to that."
And Goins has plenty to say about so many complex and contradictory aspects of society–especially in the area of race relations, the destructive cycle of poverty and neglected children. All of these issues factor into Love Child–a play he says has been in his head forever.
"There is such a beauty to black women that sometimes is missed," he explains, "because it gets lost in the anger and the attitude. But there’s a reason for the attitude. With Love Child, I wanted to remind people of their strength and their humor and how they take care of each other.
"At the same time, I’m taking issue with pro-lifers. There’s a line in the play about how there are not enough dollars, social workers, agencies or social services to save these children. I wholeheartedly believe in abortion. When you have babies having babies, it’s really everyone’s problem. It’s a vicious circle. And for those people who put blinders on and think it doesn’t affect them, they’ll have to think about it when one of those lost kids mugs them or hurts or kills someone they love. There’s no sitcom ending; no easy answers. Take the blinders down for a minute. Then maybe someone will come up with a way to help."
In Love Child, Goins makes a humorous but poignant statement when the four unwed teenage mothers whimsically name their babies Herbal Essence, Nike, Clinique and DotCom. He entrusted Live Bait with the script because of the theatre’s six-year outreach program with Maryville/Madonna, a residence for teen mothers. Last year, the girls wrote poetry, which was assembled into a 28-page collection titled 2000 Thoughts. Goins included one of the poems in Love Child, which is directed by Ilesa Lisa Duncan. Live Bait’s artistic director Sharon Evans workshopped the play and assisted with revisions.
Throughout our conversation, Goins avoids the "politically correct" term of "African American"–especially when referring to women. He prefers to say "black women," because "proud black women lovingly raised me." He expounds on this choice.
"Political correctness scares me," Goins asserts. "It makes me nervous because it avoids the main issues at hand. Nobody’s hitting or touching the key point; they’re tip-toeing around it. It’s like that commercial with the elephant walking through the living room and nobody notices it. It is such a complex issue. There are such differences between Africans and Americans.
"I treasure the idea of 'African American’ for unity. But the thoughts of how people got to that are in question. Know the history; don’t do something that’s trendy. You can change your hairstyle and make your name more African-sounding and put a big wrap on your head. But those things don’t make the problems go away. In this country, the color that matters most isn’t black or white. It’s green."
Goins talks about the difficulties of being a black man–from having to leave every store with a receipt in hand in case the door buzzer accidentally goes off to racial profiling and facing the reality of black-on-black crime. But he remains open-minded.
"I’m a firm believer in God and faith," he asserts. "The more you laugh, the better. My mother had bad experiences with white people when she was growing up. They used to throw rocks at her. Yet she did not hold that against my white friends. She did not regard them as the same kids that hurt her. All my friends–no matter what their background was–were welcome in our house."
Goins, who is openly gay, tells a refreshing story of tolerance. He claims that ever since the age of 7, when he was dancing around the house to a Chubby Checkers record, his mother knew he might be headed in that direction. Even as a child, when his father tried to make him do tough things, his mother would step in and scold her husband by saying, "Leave him alone. He’s happy." She even gave her son her 1940s clutch bag to store his toy soldiers in.
"My homosexuality was never an issue," says Goins. "When I finally told my family at dinner, they were like, 'yeah, we knew–now pass me the salad.’ My folks care more about three main things: Do you have a job? Are you healthy? Are you happy?"
Goins’ celebration of humanity continues with his next play-in-progress, Movie People, about the intersecting lives of an audience during a weekday matinee at the Cineplex.