The building itself dates back to the late 18th century, and was reputedly a stop on the Underground Railroad. The Repertory was founded by Edith O'Hara, who was already 50 years old when she quit her job as a kindergarten teacher in Idaho and rode to New York on the back of a motorcycle. In 1972, she saw an ad in the Village Voice: "Building For Lease. Contains Small Theater." It is one of the oldest Off-Broadway theaters still in operation in the city, but despite its longevity, it never directly produced major figures in theater. It's main claim to fame is the play "Line," which was the longest-running play in history, running over 45 years. It's now on hiatus; a hiatus that seems permanent.
The main characteristic of this theater is not the work, but the community it's built. As this New York Times article describes: "A curious group of six people lives above the theater. They are not ordinary tenants, but something like the cast of an eccentric, bohemian sitcom family. They are actors, authors and playwrights whom Ms. O'Hara offered lodging to years ago, and they never left. Mostly in their 60s and 70s now, they include a German man who smokes on the theater's steps, a woman who wrote a memoir 20 years ago that inspired a television movie, and a man who was homeless before Ms. O'Hara offered him a crawl space above the lighting booth." The homeless man became the resident costume and set designer of the theater. "These characters became part of the 13th Street's real life repertory: building props, working lights, acting in shows, painting sets, cleaning bathrooms and working the ticket booth, sometimes all in lieu of rent."
At one point, the 50-seat theater ran into financial troubles. It was saved by an "angel investor" who bought a half-interest in the property, only to later attempt to sell the property to a real estate developer. This lead to an acrimonious legal battle that became a David-And-Goliath cause célèbre in Greenwich Village. The result was an agreement of some sort that allows the theater to remain during her lifetime. The thing is, Edith O'Hara is now 100 years old. The Times reports "The past disputes were resolved for her lifetime and there is no provision for what comes next."
The residents seem resigned to what's coming. One says, "All of this is going to change drastically when Edith is gone. All this will probably end. Whether that is weeks or months or longer, we all eventually will have to move. And I will be very sad." Another, "It doesn't look like a good ending. But I'm grateful it happened. When I moved in they told me: 'Welcome to the insane asylum.'"
Reading about this place made me of high school drama club, theater camp, community theaters, and the summer stock. I don't mean that in a derogatory or condescending way. The opposite, really.
Many of us started out in a group like this, in school. It was a home where people who didn't fit in easily could find a place to be. A place where Dunning-Kruger is in full effect, standards are both high and low, and passion is off the scale. There's a special potency to this sort of theater community. It's rare to have that sort of experience as an adult.
Now, I would never want to work at 13th Street Rep. I am certain the theater is run-down with antiquated equipment, and an environment guaranteed to drive a trained professional crazy. But when it goes away, as it assuredly will very soon, I'll be sad, because I know there are at least six people who will have lost something very real, and another unique piece of New York City character gone forever.
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