Why Can't I Quit You Joe Edwards?

In the summer of 1989 I took a two-week trip to Washington DC, Philadelphia, and New York City with a group of about 20 theater students. At fifteen, I was the oldest kid in the group but still not nearly old enough to realize that I was a complete idiot.

Being too cool to hang with the younger kids I took the opportunity when I could to do a few things on my own. One afternoon, I stood in line at the TKTS booth on Times Square and bought last minute tickets to a matinee of Les Miserables.

After the show, being the drama fag I was, I waited by the stage door to meet the players. I stood there, program and pen in hand, greeting each actor as they stepped onto 53rd street into the afternoon sun. Everyone was very nice. Nicer than they had to be.

The late, legendary Laurie Beechman, Natalie Toro, Craig Schulman, and the rest were all accommodating in signing autographs, answering questions, and all the other things I could think of to bother them. One actor in particular seemed to take particular interest though. Joe Edwards . Joe asked if I was interested in having a look around the stage, dressing rooms, and other private areas of the theater.

I was thrilled. For me, simply setting foot on a real live Broadway stage was a dream come Joe. As I stood front and center on the gigantic, 6 million dollar, revolving stage, I dreamed of performing there for a packed house one day. I saw the dressing rooms and the costume shop too. I lingered as long as I could until the stage manager announced to the handful of actors and visitors still hanging around that it was time to clear the theater. I thanked Joe as he walked me back to the stage door.

"Hey, would you like to grab lunch one day while you're in town?" he asked me as I opened the door to leave.

"Seriously?" It obviously did not occur to me at the time what interest this man in his late twenties could possibly have with me, a fifteen year old Mormon drama student from Utah.

"Sure, I have rehearsal tomorrow afternoon but call the back stage phone after 2," he instructed.

"I sure will. Talk to you then."

The next day, I stayed behind as the rest of the tour group headed downtown to see the Statue of Liberty. Promptly at 2:01, I called the number Joe had scribbled in my program. A half-hour later, we were sitting in the corner booth of a cafe just around the corner from the hotel. What an honor. An actual Broadway actor was having lunch with me. I had a barrage of questions.

"Do you still take voice lessons? How did you get your first break? Do you see a lot of the other shows? How much do you rehearse? What other shows have you been in?"

He answered all of my questions as if they were the most insightful he'd ever been asked. "Where do you live?" I asked.

"Upstairs. I live in this building."

"Cool. This is close to the theater. That's nice."

He had questions for me too. "How long have you been interested in acting? What is your family like? Do you have a girlfriend? What's your home town like? You're from Utah? You must be a Mormon."

My ears perked up as my bosom filled with The Spirit^tm. "Every member a missionary", I remembered Neal A. Maxwell's had said this at a fireside in my neighborhood just a few weeks earlier. This was supposed to happen. This was why I was in New York.

"Yes, I'm a Mormon", I proudly announced. I spouted a lame, under-rehearsed testimony. But the Spirit was s'strong that I know he was touched. I had a Book of Mormon in my backpack too. It was my own copy that I used for my personal studies. I was reluctant to give it up as I had marked it diligently as I followed along in Seminary and Sunday School. Nevertheless, I pulled it out.

"Here. Take this. I know if you read it, you'll know it's true just like I do."

It was about this time that Joe said, "Hey, I've got rehearsal and I've got to get going." He dropped a twenty on the table and got up to leave. I followed him out. I knew what was happening. He had felt the Spirit but didn't know what it was and it had made him uncomfortable.

We were standing on the corner in front of the coffee shop when I suddenly knew what to say, "Can I have some missionaries get in touch with you?"

"Umm... I guess so."

"OK, What's the address here?" I pulled my notebook and pen from my bag. Joe scribbled a PO Box address on the page and handed the notebook and the Book of Mormon back to me.

"See ya around, Pete. Good luck with your acting." He crossed the street and disappeared into the crowd.

I realized then that I had pushed too hard. I had scared him off. I never did attempt to send missionaries to his apartment.

I did, however write to the PO Box several times over the next few years. I apologized if I offended him. I said that I only wanted to be friends and didn't mean to push my religion on him. I wrote about shows I was performing in and asked about audition tips. Joe never wrote back in the 3 years I wrote to him.

Somewhere along the way I had forgotten about Joe. It wasn't until one day a few weeks ago that his name came into my mind. As I thought about the events that summer in New York City the reality of my brief encounter with Joe, something struck me as plain as day. What if Joe had been some lunatic trying to have sex with me and when he realized I was too straight, too Mormon, and too stupid to catch on, he gave me a made up address, crossed the street and never thought about me again. Thank God that wasn't the case.

I am laughing even as I type this thinking about how naive I was and how potentially dangerous the whole situation was. What the hell were my chaperones thinking letting me out on my own like that in a city that never sleeps?

UPDATE: January, 4 2007: A follow-up post and more discussion on this story.

NOTE: January, 5 2007: This story has been edited since it was originally published. I have substituted the actor's real name with an alias and removed the misstated implication that Joe ever behaved inappropriately towards me. I apologize if any false impression was given. Read my thoughts as well as a more full explanation.