Note: This article was written in early March 2020, just before the COVID-19 pandemic shuttered Oakland Magazine and forced The Formerly Incarcerated People’s Performance Project to move their rehearsals and performances online.
Storytellers: More Than That
Former prisoners learn the art of telling their own stories in
Mark Kenward’s Master Class.
By Michael C. Healy
Oaklander Mark Kenward knows a thing or two about storytelling. For a long run he performed his own story on the stage of The Marsh, a theater with venues in both San Francisco and Berkeley, where he is also a director. His monologue of growing up on Nantucket Island—which included family drama, and comedy, warts and all—engaged his audiences with an edge-of-the seat delivery, and fascination with the drama of his youth. It’s a story that people can relate to as they ponder the under currents and personal significance of family dynamics. He has written eight one-man shows in all, and performed them in numerous cities across the U.S. and Canada.
FIPPP co-director Rebecca Fisher, Pastor Ronnie Muniz, Tony Cyprien, Joshua Hattam, Al Sasser, FIPPP co-director Mark Kenward, FIPPP co-director Wayne Harris, and Freddy Lee Johnson
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“There are many things I love about solo performance, one of which is the unique power of watching someone perform their own words, their own story,” Kenward said in a recent interview. “Maybe some element of it strikes a chord, resonates with some hidden inner part of us. Or maybe it opens the audience up to a perspective or an experience very different than their own.”
When asked, Kenward acknowledged there can be something cathartic about getting up before an audience and spilling your guts, but only if done with an abundance of craft and care for the audience. In that respect he is an artist, carefully crystalizing ambiguities of language into a spectrum of clarity. Kenward has also directed over fifty solo shows during his many years in the theater. |
Of course, in days of yore, long before radio, television and the internet, storytelling was a major form of entertainment, and news, mostly around campfires, log cabin life, the parlors of our ancestors, and even cave dwelling days.
“For a time, it was a lost art, but today there is a wave of artists bringing it back in the form of monologues, often based upon one’s own life experiences,” Kenward said in a recent interview. “Brian Copeland’s “Not A Genuine Black Man” is a well-known example, where he tells his story about growing up in one of the first African-American families to move to San Leandro, which he has performed for several years at The Marsh and other venues. There is something vital about hearing stories like this, where the performer and audience share the same space, and no one is tethered to an electronic device. For just a little bit we break down the isolation that we can all feel in the digital age.”
Now, Kenward is trekking on new ground. He is the prime mover and creator of a program to bring formerly incarcerated men and women onto the stage to tell their unique stories. The program is called “Formerly Incarcerated People’s Performance Project: More Than That”.
“The title comes from something that one of our performers said: ‘we want to be seen as more than just formerly incarcerated. Formerly incarcerated is a label that lumps people together.’ The title “More Than That” speaks to how formerly incarcerated people wish to be seen, as well as a sense that one can be more than what they once were, and that we as a society can aspire to something more than what we currently have in terms of our criminal justice system.”
“More Than That” has a budget of $11,000, partially funded by a $5000 CA$H Grant from Theatre Bay Area, plus private donations. Kenward, assisted by fellow directors Rebecca Fisher and Wayne Harris, are heading up the project.
The workshop, which started in January 2020, will run six months and cover writing and performing, culminating in a festival of individual performances, June 11-14 at The Marsh Berkeley. Six former inmates were selected from the program’s applicants to participate in the program, five men and one woman. Out of the grant, combined with raised funding, they each receive a small stipend for travel expenses. Otherwise, they all have day jobs.
“For a time, it was a lost art, but today there is a wave of artists bringing it back in the form of monologues, often based upon one’s own life experiences,” Kenward said in a recent interview. “Brian Copeland’s “Not A Genuine Black Man” is a well-known example, where he tells his story about growing up in one of the first African-American families to move to San Leandro, which he has performed for several years at The Marsh and other venues. There is something vital about hearing stories like this, where the performer and audience share the same space, and no one is tethered to an electronic device. For just a little bit we break down the isolation that we can all feel in the digital age.”
Now, Kenward is trekking on new ground. He is the prime mover and creator of a program to bring formerly incarcerated men and women onto the stage to tell their unique stories. The program is called “Formerly Incarcerated People’s Performance Project: More Than That”.
“The title comes from something that one of our performers said: ‘we want to be seen as more than just formerly incarcerated. Formerly incarcerated is a label that lumps people together.’ The title “More Than That” speaks to how formerly incarcerated people wish to be seen, as well as a sense that one can be more than what they once were, and that we as a society can aspire to something more than what we currently have in terms of our criminal justice system.”
“More Than That” has a budget of $11,000, partially funded by a $5000 CA$H Grant from Theatre Bay Area, plus private donations. Kenward, assisted by fellow directors Rebecca Fisher and Wayne Harris, are heading up the project.
The workshop, which started in January 2020, will run six months and cover writing and performing, culminating in a festival of individual performances, June 11-14 at The Marsh Berkeley. Six former inmates were selected from the program’s applicants to participate in the program, five men and one woman. Out of the grant, combined with raised funding, they each receive a small stipend for travel expenses. Otherwise, they all have day jobs.
FIPPP participants meet Hollywood director Robert Townsend
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“We plan to have 12 workshop sessions for the participants to hone the telling of their stories, Kenward said. “Each participant will have roughly 30 minutes on stage”
I was invited to attend a workshop session, the third in the series as it turned out. We met on a Monday night at The Marsh Berkeley on Allston Way. The theater was of course dark that night, no scheduled performances. The session would run from 6:00 to 9:00 and give all the participants an opportunity to begin to try out their material, each of which they wrote themselves, mostly about their experiences while incarcerated, or running along themes associated with life before and after prison. |
Kenward began the workshop with a simple but interesting exercise designed to develop eye contact with each other and eventually audiences. Everyone stood in a circle and tossed a large rubber ball to each other. The idea behind it was that they had to make eye contact with whoever they selected in the circle to throw the ball to and make something up about the ball just before tossing it. One of the students pretended it was a bowl of hot soup and couldn’t hold it any longer. I was asked to join the circle, and could see how this concept of one-on-one interaction would be a useful tool in learning how to engage and connect with an audience.
“Making eye contact with one person in an audience has a universal effect, the idea being that one person represents or becomes the entire attendance for the performer,” said Rebecca Fisher. “However, you can also mix it up, by doing a slow sweep of the audience, taking them all in as well.”
After the ball exercise one of the directors, Wayne Harris, who is also a solo performer himself, stood on stage before the group and did a segment of a performance he will be giving in the near future at The Marsh. He began by singing acapella an old folk song, “Sometimes I feel like a Motherless Child”, and then segueing into his monologue on the funeral of his mother, blending in politics and the writings of Langston Hughes.
In a brief critique of Harris’ run-through, Kenward noted that the use of silences as a part of the cadence of a performance can be just as powerful as the narrative and meaning of the words themselves. Harris nodded his agreement and understanding, being an old hand at solo performance himself. “You have to bring the audience in,” Kenward said. “And a judicious use of silence, and varying the tempo, can help draw them in.”
A performance Harris gave a few years back: “Tyrone ‘Short Leg Johnson’ and Some White Boys”, directed by Kenward, was an award-winner at the San Francisco Fringe Festival.
Kenward said that creating good theater is a collaborative process. “Working together, critiquing each other is part of the effort to achieve well-honed performances.” Harris works with the former inmates in using improvisation techniques to build compelling characters and physical dynamics. “For some of these performers, this kind of work may be out of their comfort zone, but they’ve done a great job exploring and taking risks with each other. I feel it is the job of Mark, Rebecca and me to give them input, guidance and tools to tell their stories. But each of them is discovering their own process and what works for them as a performer.”
Ronnie Muniz, who had spent a total of nine years in San Quentin, Folsom, and Mule Creek State Prison, was the first of the former inmates to perform, working through a segment of his story. During his monologue, he creates two people - a division of himself between “him”, the guy he used to be, into drugs and violence, and “me” the man he is today. To illustrate he sits forward in a chair on stage, talking like his former self, and leans back when he is in the present and not that former guy. Muniz, 52, talked about survival in the institutions, knowing your “homies” and the protocols of mingling on the yard, or in the mess hall. He said that inside you have to know your enemy, but outside you find you can be friends with that same enemy, knowing that you are both coming from the same place.
Muniz is no stranger to talking before an audience. Today he is a pastor who leads a faith-based reentry program to support other formerly incarcerated people. He hopes his performance will show people “how we can change our lives and to present God’s work in me”. He also noted that this performance program will not only help him grow with the experience, but be a lot of fun in the process. Though raised a Catholic, Muniz, while in prison, felt he was saved when he began to take a serious interest in religion, and began studying the bible.
Another participant, Tony Cyprien, 52, is an ex-Crip (gang member) from Watts, Los Angeles. He spent 26 years in various prisons for gang-related violence resulting in a homicide. His incarceration years included, San Quentin, Pelican Bay, Folsom and DVI (Deuel Vocational Institution) which he laughingly called “Gladiator School”. He said he hopes to improve his skill as a solo performer. Tony then performed for the group. He built his story around his futile search inside prison for someone who could tell him about Senate Bill 42 (calling for the elimination of indeterminate sentences) after he’d heard a rumor that it would set a lot of inmates free. But he was met with a good deal of skepticism by fellow inmates about any early releases because of SB 42, suggesting “it was for whites and not for the likes of him”. He talked about how he began changing his way of thinking after reluctantly attending classes at The California State Prison in Solano. One critical class, which he at first scoffed at, was anger management. His performance was both serious and humorous in its presentation, his body language sometimes conveying a figure on a tightrope. We all clapped at the finish, which he termed “a work in progress.” He is now a program manager for the Marin Shakespeare Returned Citizens Theater, and counsels incarcerated adults and juveniles, showing them that they can change paths.
Fred Johnson, 69, spent seven years behind bars for manslaughter. Tall and lean, he ran away from a violent home at age 12, and at 15 found himself alone and homeless in Denver, Colorado. It was there that he picked up a trumpet, which was a transformative juncture in his life, as music became “the catalyst for his growth”. During his practice performance, he declared that it was about a boy becoming a man. But the soul of his act was “truth”, conveying a deep sense about his pilgrimage. While at San Quentin, Johnson joined the prison band where he performed with visiting artists such as Ella Fitzgerald and Sheila E. When Fred was paroled in 1995 he became involved with Harm Reduction Coalition, a national organization that promotes the health and dignity of individuals and communities impacted by drug use. Eventually, he became their executive director, in which role he traveled the world—including testifying before the US Congress twice—to advocate for needle exchanges and HIV awareness. Today, Johnson concentrates on his music.
Al Sasser, originally from South Central, Los Angeles spent 31 years in Folsom and other facilities for murder, a part of the time in the “SHU”, solitary confinement. In his solo narrative, he begins by illuminating his fear, which some inmates joke as an acronym meaning “False Evidence Appearing Real”. He said he was afraid of everything, not really understanding why he was where he was as an incarcerated felon. Sasser, now 56, felt that, “Doing time takes away your very soul.” He describes how his girlfriend visited him to tell him she was moving on, that she didn’t think he would ever get out. He said what saved him was another prisoner who became his mentor. Listening to Sasser tell his story is reminiscent of some old James Cagney movies, but this, of course, is very real.
Sasser, who coined the phrase: “More Than That”. Is today a case worker in West Oakland, helping others overcome the obstacles in their lives, such as substance abuse, homelessness, and mental health issues. He is a student at San Francisco State, majoring in psychology, and criminal justice.
Kenward tells the performers to let the words flow, not to worry about stage blocking, that their monologues should feel and sound spontaneous.
Joshua Absalom Hattam, a tall imposing presence with tattoos on both his arms, stepped onto the stage and began a tale of his mother, Diana, in the hospital while he lay shot in the street a mile away. There was a certain poetry to his descriptions and use of the language that engaged and elicited empathy. Rebecca Fisher said she loved how he trusted the gentle part of himself on stage.
Hattam, who spent ten years of his life incarcerated for drug related charges, said that reading the book, “The Alchemist” while in prison “saved my life”. He also said that he wanted to do something with his life that would make his mother smile. Today Hattam, 47, works as a monitor of parolees and as a substance abuse counselor. He is also a writer.
The one woman in the program, Pamela Ann Keane, spent four and a half years in prison, Decatur Correctional Center in Illinois. Her story will focus on how she went from being an aspiring actress, growing up in Hollywood, to being homeless, on the streets, and suffering from substance abuse and mental illness. She says that while in prison she found her voice through the “Shakespeare Correctional Program”, and is once again pursuing acting. She is also a student at Merritt College studying for her a substance abuse counseling license.
One thing becomes clear as these former prisoners tell their stories, each of them in one way or another apparently had a “Road to Damascus” experience, an epiphany which changed their lives, where they found and adopted that another side of themselves, leaving their old personas and way of thinking behind.
“It takes courage and resilience not only to endure what each of them has gone through, to make profound changes in their lives, and then to find meaningful work where they are making a difference in other people’s lives. But also to now step out on stage and tell their individual, unique stories,” Kenward said. “These are some of the most compelling and talented solo performers that I have had the privilege to work with.”
This June these former prisoners will tell their stories before an audience at The Marsh Berkeley, and show they are More Than That! More than who they once were. It will be a festival of “truth”.
“Making eye contact with one person in an audience has a universal effect, the idea being that one person represents or becomes the entire attendance for the performer,” said Rebecca Fisher. “However, you can also mix it up, by doing a slow sweep of the audience, taking them all in as well.”
After the ball exercise one of the directors, Wayne Harris, who is also a solo performer himself, stood on stage before the group and did a segment of a performance he will be giving in the near future at The Marsh. He began by singing acapella an old folk song, “Sometimes I feel like a Motherless Child”, and then segueing into his monologue on the funeral of his mother, blending in politics and the writings of Langston Hughes.
In a brief critique of Harris’ run-through, Kenward noted that the use of silences as a part of the cadence of a performance can be just as powerful as the narrative and meaning of the words themselves. Harris nodded his agreement and understanding, being an old hand at solo performance himself. “You have to bring the audience in,” Kenward said. “And a judicious use of silence, and varying the tempo, can help draw them in.”
A performance Harris gave a few years back: “Tyrone ‘Short Leg Johnson’ and Some White Boys”, directed by Kenward, was an award-winner at the San Francisco Fringe Festival.
Kenward said that creating good theater is a collaborative process. “Working together, critiquing each other is part of the effort to achieve well-honed performances.” Harris works with the former inmates in using improvisation techniques to build compelling characters and physical dynamics. “For some of these performers, this kind of work may be out of their comfort zone, but they’ve done a great job exploring and taking risks with each other. I feel it is the job of Mark, Rebecca and me to give them input, guidance and tools to tell their stories. But each of them is discovering their own process and what works for them as a performer.”
Ronnie Muniz, who had spent a total of nine years in San Quentin, Folsom, and Mule Creek State Prison, was the first of the former inmates to perform, working through a segment of his story. During his monologue, he creates two people - a division of himself between “him”, the guy he used to be, into drugs and violence, and “me” the man he is today. To illustrate he sits forward in a chair on stage, talking like his former self, and leans back when he is in the present and not that former guy. Muniz, 52, talked about survival in the institutions, knowing your “homies” and the protocols of mingling on the yard, or in the mess hall. He said that inside you have to know your enemy, but outside you find you can be friends with that same enemy, knowing that you are both coming from the same place.
Muniz is no stranger to talking before an audience. Today he is a pastor who leads a faith-based reentry program to support other formerly incarcerated people. He hopes his performance will show people “how we can change our lives and to present God’s work in me”. He also noted that this performance program will not only help him grow with the experience, but be a lot of fun in the process. Though raised a Catholic, Muniz, while in prison, felt he was saved when he began to take a serious interest in religion, and began studying the bible.
Another participant, Tony Cyprien, 52, is an ex-Crip (gang member) from Watts, Los Angeles. He spent 26 years in various prisons for gang-related violence resulting in a homicide. His incarceration years included, San Quentin, Pelican Bay, Folsom and DVI (Deuel Vocational Institution) which he laughingly called “Gladiator School”. He said he hopes to improve his skill as a solo performer. Tony then performed for the group. He built his story around his futile search inside prison for someone who could tell him about Senate Bill 42 (calling for the elimination of indeterminate sentences) after he’d heard a rumor that it would set a lot of inmates free. But he was met with a good deal of skepticism by fellow inmates about any early releases because of SB 42, suggesting “it was for whites and not for the likes of him”. He talked about how he began changing his way of thinking after reluctantly attending classes at The California State Prison in Solano. One critical class, which he at first scoffed at, was anger management. His performance was both serious and humorous in its presentation, his body language sometimes conveying a figure on a tightrope. We all clapped at the finish, which he termed “a work in progress.” He is now a program manager for the Marin Shakespeare Returned Citizens Theater, and counsels incarcerated adults and juveniles, showing them that they can change paths.
Fred Johnson, 69, spent seven years behind bars for manslaughter. Tall and lean, he ran away from a violent home at age 12, and at 15 found himself alone and homeless in Denver, Colorado. It was there that he picked up a trumpet, which was a transformative juncture in his life, as music became “the catalyst for his growth”. During his practice performance, he declared that it was about a boy becoming a man. But the soul of his act was “truth”, conveying a deep sense about his pilgrimage. While at San Quentin, Johnson joined the prison band where he performed with visiting artists such as Ella Fitzgerald and Sheila E. When Fred was paroled in 1995 he became involved with Harm Reduction Coalition, a national organization that promotes the health and dignity of individuals and communities impacted by drug use. Eventually, he became their executive director, in which role he traveled the world—including testifying before the US Congress twice—to advocate for needle exchanges and HIV awareness. Today, Johnson concentrates on his music.
Al Sasser, originally from South Central, Los Angeles spent 31 years in Folsom and other facilities for murder, a part of the time in the “SHU”, solitary confinement. In his solo narrative, he begins by illuminating his fear, which some inmates joke as an acronym meaning “False Evidence Appearing Real”. He said he was afraid of everything, not really understanding why he was where he was as an incarcerated felon. Sasser, now 56, felt that, “Doing time takes away your very soul.” He describes how his girlfriend visited him to tell him she was moving on, that she didn’t think he would ever get out. He said what saved him was another prisoner who became his mentor. Listening to Sasser tell his story is reminiscent of some old James Cagney movies, but this, of course, is very real.
Sasser, who coined the phrase: “More Than That”. Is today a case worker in West Oakland, helping others overcome the obstacles in their lives, such as substance abuse, homelessness, and mental health issues. He is a student at San Francisco State, majoring in psychology, and criminal justice.
Kenward tells the performers to let the words flow, not to worry about stage blocking, that their monologues should feel and sound spontaneous.
Joshua Absalom Hattam, a tall imposing presence with tattoos on both his arms, stepped onto the stage and began a tale of his mother, Diana, in the hospital while he lay shot in the street a mile away. There was a certain poetry to his descriptions and use of the language that engaged and elicited empathy. Rebecca Fisher said she loved how he trusted the gentle part of himself on stage.
Hattam, who spent ten years of his life incarcerated for drug related charges, said that reading the book, “The Alchemist” while in prison “saved my life”. He also said that he wanted to do something with his life that would make his mother smile. Today Hattam, 47, works as a monitor of parolees and as a substance abuse counselor. He is also a writer.
The one woman in the program, Pamela Ann Keane, spent four and a half years in prison, Decatur Correctional Center in Illinois. Her story will focus on how she went from being an aspiring actress, growing up in Hollywood, to being homeless, on the streets, and suffering from substance abuse and mental illness. She says that while in prison she found her voice through the “Shakespeare Correctional Program”, and is once again pursuing acting. She is also a student at Merritt College studying for her a substance abuse counseling license.
One thing becomes clear as these former prisoners tell their stories, each of them in one way or another apparently had a “Road to Damascus” experience, an epiphany which changed their lives, where they found and adopted that another side of themselves, leaving their old personas and way of thinking behind.
“It takes courage and resilience not only to endure what each of them has gone through, to make profound changes in their lives, and then to find meaningful work where they are making a difference in other people’s lives. But also to now step out on stage and tell their individual, unique stories,” Kenward said. “These are some of the most compelling and talented solo performers that I have had the privilege to work with.”
This June these former prisoners will tell their stories before an audience at The Marsh Berkeley, and show they are More Than That! More than who they once were. It will be a festival of “truth”.