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In a world that wasn't safe for LGBTQ people, a play in a leather bar changed the game.

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NBC's Rise

1977 was a risky time for a play about fighting back against gay bashing. But that didn’t stop Allan B. Estes.

To pull off Doric Wilson's play, “The West Street Gang,” Estes had to work with what was available — and in the '70s, that wasn't much.

Estes was a playwright and a young gay man living in a time when politicians like Anita Bryant openly insulted gay folks and violence against LGBTQ people was all too common. The world wasn’t exactly welcoming his vision for a creative space for queer people.

[rebelmouse-image 19533948 dam="1" original_size="4603x3041" caption="Gay Rights protesters in 1976. Image by Warren K. Leffler/Wikimedia Commons." expand=1]Gay Rights protesters in 1976. Image by Warren K. Leffler/Wikimedia Commons.

He also didn’t have a theater to work in. So he decided that his production of “The West Street Gang” wasn’t going to be just set in a leather bar, it would also be performed in a leather bar.

Described as “a queer bar farce about sitting down for drinks and standing up to oppression,” the show was a huge success.

It was so successful, in fact, that Estes got enough recognition to help him produce more plays.

And he soon secured a downtown San Francisco location to open something that didn’t exist but was sorely needed: a theater dedicated to art by and for queer people.

By August 1977, Theatre Rhinoceros became official — and it still exists today as the world’s longest-run queer theater.

Kathryn L. Wood and Elaine Jennings as Gertrude Stein and Alice B. Toklas. Photo by David Wilson/Theatre Rhinoceros.

Theatre Rhinoceros filled a huge need as a space that reflected the lives of LGBTQ people who were invisible in mainstream arenas.

“In 1977, there was no queer representation,” says current executive director and artistic director John Fisher. “There was just really nothing where queer people could see their lives portrayed. And so it was very important that there was a place where they could go and see plays.”

With founder Allan B. Estes as the first artistic director, Theatre Rhinoceros began producing plays exclusively for gay men. A few years later, Estes opened the company to include lesbians, paving the way for the theater’s current content, which continues to expand to represent more letters in the LGBTQ+ rainbow.

Among the early performances were works by noted playwrights, including Harvey Fierstein, Terrence McNally, Adele Prandini, and many more.

Harvey Fierstein, Lanny Baugniet, Allan B. Estes, and J. Kevin Halon at San Francisco’s Theatre Rhinoceros in 1981. Photo courtesy of Theatre Rhinoceros.

In 1984, tragedy struck: Estes died suddenly at the age of 29.

He was one of the many lives lost to the HIV/AIDS crisis of the 1980s.

The AIDS epidemic devastated the community of artists and audiences that came together at Theatre Rhinoceros. They lost leaders, actors, and loved ones. “This disease almost destroyed the theater,” Fisher says.

But, through unfathomable pain, Theatre Rhinoceros carried on.

The company members kept doing what they did best: providing visibility, safety, and love for their community.

In fact, the same year as Estes’ death, the company premiered “The AIDS Show: Artists Involved with Death and Survival.” It was the first play in the U.S. to address the AIDS crisis.

National attention followed, including a PBS documentary with Academy Award-winning directors and a tour of “The AIDS Show” around the United States.

This attention was crucial. Victims were rapidly dying of AIDS without knowing why, and their communities were terrified. Theatre Rhinoceros helped give its community representation on the big stage and educate huge audiences about AIDS.

Today, resilience through art continues to shine in the spotlight at Theatre Rhinoceros.

In August 2017, the theater celebrated its 40th anniversary with a staged reading of “The West Street Gang.” After all, their very first play's theme of resistance through struggle remains relevant in new and evolving ways.

While there are more queer theaters now than in 1977, for instance, many have shut down in recent years as their neighborhoods become less and less affordable for these theaters and their actors.

André San-Chez and Charles Peoples III in "The Legend of Pink." Photo by Steven Ho/Theatre Rhinoceros.

And they are continuing the tradition of reflecting contemporary LGBTQ lives.

One recent show, “The Legend of Pink,” received rave reviews for its story of a black transgender woman who was once one of the 40% of homeless youth who identify as LGBTQ. The Rhino’s current show, “Transitions,” is a witty take on being queer during the Trump presidency.

And, in spite of the risks of covering such touchy topics, The Rhino has reached wide audiences and touched an abundance of lives.

[rebelmouse-image 19533955 dam="1" original_size="3000x2224" caption="Daniel Chung, Donald Currie, and John Fisher in "Flim-Flam." Photo by David Wilson/Theatre Rhinoceros." expand=1]Daniel Chung, Donald Currie, and John Fisher in "Flim-Flam." Photo by David Wilson/Theatre Rhinoceros.

The Rhino’s lasting legacy reminds us of why representation is so meaningful for LGBTQ communities.

Whether faced with a devastating epidemic or hateful politicians, queer artists have always looked out for their communities. When they had nobody else to help them survive violence and grief, Estes and his company turned to their own creative power to build hope and visibility.

Art like the Theatre Rhinoceros’ helps us reach each other, express ourselves, and send our stories into corners of the world they’ve never seen before.

These artists prove that we have the tools for change right at our fingertips.

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2 years ago, this actor praised a groundbreaking play. Now he's its history-making star.

Two years ago, actor Mickey Rowe said he was jazzed about the success of a new show, “The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time.”

The play, an adaptation of Mark Haddon’s 2003 book, focuses on the adventures of Christopher, a 15-year-old boy who deciphers a canine murder mystery in the English town of Swindon. The play took home four different awards at the 2015 Tony Awards.

A marquee for the play's London run, back in 2013. Photo by Andy Roberts/Flickr.

It's a great story. But for Rowe, the play had a personal connection as well.

The play's main character, Christopher, has autism — just like Rowe. He was excited to see a popular play put an autistic character's narrative front and center, even though the actor playing Christopher wasn't autistic.

Rowe himself. Photo from Mickey Rowe, used with permission.

"I think that the show has really done a lot to open people's minds to people who think differently," Rowe told Upworthy in 2015. "It's a bold and inspiring decision to produce a story narrated by an autistic character. I can't wait to see where the show and the narrative of Autism Spectrum Disorder goes in the future."

Two years ago, Rowe probably couldn't have guessed the future of the show would one day include him as well.

On May 11, the Indiana Repertory Theatre announced that Rowe will be stepping into the role of Christopher in their 2017 production of the play.

This makes Rowe not only the first autistic actor to play the role, but also one of the first autistic actors to depict any autistic character in a major production.

The Indiana Repertory Theatre. Photo from Mickey Rowe.

"I never dreamed I would get to play Christopher in this show," Rowe wrote to Upworthy after the news of his casting broke. "It is such an honor to get to represent the autism community."

"When I found out I got the role, it brought tears to my eyes," Rowe says.

This kind of representation, not just for characters but in the actors who play them, is important.

"Everyone should be able to go to the theatre or turn on their TV and see somebody like them, someone who thinks like them," Rowe writes. "Everyone should also definitely be able to go to the theatre or turn on their TV and see somebody who is very different than themselves."

There are 56 million Americans with disabilities living in the United States, according to the 2010 Census. That's nearly 20%. But a 2016 analysis of TV shows found that less than 1% of TV characters had disabilities. Furthermore, when a story does feature a character with a disability, more than 9 times out of 10, that character is played by a non-disabled actor.

"Young actors in this country who have disabilities need to be able to see role models who will tell them that if you are different, if you access the world differently, if you need special accommodations, then the world needs you!" Rowe says.

"The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time" featuring Rowe's performance will run from September through November 2017.

The play is directed by Risa Brainin and will be performed at the Indiana Repertory Theatre and Syracuse Stage.

You can check out a video of Rowe's audition below:

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Why there's much ado about inmates doing Shakespeare behind bars.

Lights! Camera! Second chances!

The stage is set. The actors put the final touches on their costumes and wait nervously in the wings. The audience is ushered in by an armed guard or two. It's showtime.

This is not an ordinary production of Shakespeare's "Julius Caesar."  This is Shakespeare at San Quentin State Prison.

Photo by Justin Sullivan/Getty Images.

Since 2003, actors and staff from the Marin Shakespeare Company have taught classes at San Quentin, the state prison just a few miles away.

The company has always boasted a rich social outreach program to get Shakespeare's work out to as many people as possible. The prison population was nearby, and managing director Lesley Currie said they seemed like a logical fit for courses. So she and her team decided to give it a try.

"At first it was very poorly attended, but after a few years, we had enough men in the class to actually put on a full-length Shakespeare play in the prison chapel," Currier said in a phone interview. "And since then, it's just taken off."

LeMar Harrison (C) and Carlos Flores (R) take the stage. Photo by Justin Sullivan/Getty Images.

After their first full-length production, interest in the classes skyrocketed. These days, Currier sometimes manages a waitlist or two.

The sessions don't just focus on Shakespeare. Through exercises and activities, they also cover conflict resolution and positive decision making.

The classes are team taught, and local actors and directors often volunteer their time too. In addition to acting, the courses include lessons in self-reflection and teamwork. With the help of drama therapy students, the classes can also go a little deeper, allowing the inmates to work on their social skills.

"In a typical two and a half hour class, we'll often spend an hour doing all kinds of different exercises that are designed to build acting skills but also designed to build human skills," Currier said.

John Windham (L) and Richie Morris (C) rehearse lines before their performance. Photo by Justin Sullivan/Getty Images.

She often ends each class with what she calls, "group decision-making exercises." These creative assignments might ask participants to work as a team to turn lines from a play into a song and dance or a poem; or have them rewrite certain scenes, forcing characters to make a different choice.

According to Currier: "One of our students said, 'I've done a lot of conflict resolution work since I've gone to prison, but that kind of exercise is the best conflict resolution work I've ever done.'"

Photo by Justin Sullivan/Getty Images.

But as with the bard himself said, the play's the thing.

Since the early days of the program, the participants have put on more than a dozen full-length Shakespeare plays at San Quentin. The inmate actors work for months putting each show together. Memorizing lines, building sets, and getting into character is tough work, and the actors take their roles very seriously.

Because, for them, it's not just something to do, it's a point of pride and a place for self-expression.

Azraal Ford gets ready to play Julius Caesar. Photo by Justin Sullivan/Getty Images.

"One man said, 'I've been in prison for 12 years, I have a 12-year-old daughter, and all she's ever known about me is that I'm in prison. And today she gets to know that I'm a Shakespeare star."

The inmates' families aren't allowed into the facility to see the productions (the audience is mostly made up of other inmates), but each performance is recorded and put online so families can see their stars in action whenever they want.

Photo by Justin Sullivan/Getty Images.

Support from the state has allowed the program to expand to two more correctional facilities too.

"Three years ago the state actually started funding arts in corrections, and we were one of the first seven organizations in the state of California to get a grant," Currier said.

The grant allowed the program to expand to inmates at Solano State Prison in Vacaville, where inmates are working on "Hamlet" and "King John." And the Folsom Women's Facility, about 25 miles east of Sacramento, where they're working on "Taming of the Shrew."

The expansion gives more inmates a chance to take advantage of this powerful program.

"When you hear the men talk about why they do it and why it's important to them [the men and the women now] it just makes you realize, just more deeply what it means to be a human being on this planet," Currier said.

Photo by Justin Sullivan/Getty Images)

But the best part? It's really having a positive effect on the participants.

Programs like this are a win for everyone involved, and that's why California and other states continue to make the investment.

"Research has shown that structured arts programs improve inmates' problem-solving skills and self-discipline and increase their patience and their ability to work with others," said California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation (CDCR) Secretary Jeff Beard in a written statement. "These programs also direct inmates' energy in a positive direction, promote positive social interaction and lower tension levels, resulting in a safer environment for inmates and staff."

An inmate watches the performance. The audience is limited to inmates and select outside guests. Photo by Justin Sullivan/Getty Images.

Most importantly, for the actors and their teachers, these programs can be life-changing.

"Most California state prisons have versions of 12-step programs ... and most have some kind of education program where you can get your GED or do college coursework, and those are really important," Currier said. "But the arts are really important as well. Being able to engage with other people through the arts — that's a different kind of social learning than you can get writing an essay."

Anthony Passer (L) and Maurice Reed (R) rehearse lines before the big show. Photo by Justin Sullivan/Getty Images.

Whether it's "Hamlet," "Julius Caesar," or "Taming of the Shrew," it turns out that some of the best shows in California are behind lock and key.

They're full of heart, passion, and pride. The actors' performances transport the audience to worlds previously unimagined, even if just for a few hours. And when you're living in a restrictive environment, that's a beautiful, life-changing gift.

Photo by Justin Sullivan/Getty Images.

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A theater teacher played 'Hamilton' for a group of inmates. Their reaction was priceless.

These men are prisoners. But in 'Hamilton,' they saw themselves on stage.

I work with a group of men who aren’t used to seeing themselves in the narrative unless they’re portrayed as villains.

These men are prisoners. They understand that much of America thinks they’re monsters who deserve to be locked in cages. They are the bastard, orphan sons of … every kind of woman you can imagine. They are also beloved sons and husbands and part of close families who come to visit them every week.


Photo by the author, used with permission.

Maybe they understand Alexander’s words in the musical, "Hamilton": “Livin’ without a family since I was a child. My father left, my mother died, I grew up buckwild.” Many of them know all about living impoverished, in squalor, and about fathers who split. A few of them are in college, working on being scholars.

People look at them like they’re stupid. They’re not stupid.

Because our criminal justice system silences these men, I will be so bold as to tell (a little piece of) their story.

We make plays together at the Sing Sing Correctional Facility hidden away behind razor wire and 18-foot-high walls. We rediscover vulnerability and human connection behind faces masked for survival and inside guarded, broken hearts. We perform for the incarcerated population (please, not one more joke about the "captive" audience) and for a few hundred civilian guests.

Right now, we’re two weeks away from this year’s production, which is "Twelfth Night." We’re telling a story about losing a brother, about heartbreak, about discovering what it’s safe to reveal, and what one has to conceal in a strange and possibly dangerous new place. We’re telling a story about not knowing when the joke has gone too far and the consequences of that — a story about wrongful incarceration. We’re telling a story about recovering what one thought was lost forever.

Me and the men in my theater group. Photo by the author, used with permission.

I’ve written before about how theater can teach trust, empathy, compassion, peaceful conflict resolution, deeper cognitive thinking, delayed gratification and how it can create community and understanding.

The men in Rehabilitation Through the Arts have far fewer disciplinary infractions inside the facility and a dramatically lower recidivism rate upon release than the general population.

I often wish I could take the guys to the theater.

You may be able to imagine that a fair number of these men had no access to the arts as children. We make do with production photos and the occasional “adapted for television” viewings.

That is, until the cast of Hamilton beautifully and powerfully performed their opening number from the stage of the Richard Rodgers Theatre for the Grammy ceremony and then performed again at the White House.

The Hamilton Cast at the Grammys. Photo by Theo Wargo/Getty Images.

When Lin-Manuel Miranda freestyled in the Rose Garden with President Obama, I promptly burned the performance onto a DVD and waited for clearance to bring it into the facility.

We watched on video as Miranda performed a piece from his "concept album" at the 2009 White House Poetry Jam, and then we talked about how that audience received his work.

We talked about what happens when people laugh and you’re serious, about the decision to stand one’s ground and follow one’s purpose, which is a hot topic in our rehearsal room as we get closer to sharing our months of work with the population of the prison.

One of the men observed, “He gets more confident as he goes.” Some of the men worry the population won’t understand Shakespeare; some worry they will laugh at the serious parts. One of the elders in our circle said, “We have to tell the story.”

We watched a true Broadway show in the big house.

Well, four minutes of one anyway, in the form of the Grammy performance of “Hamilton” from the stage of the Richard Rodgers Theatre. Heads nodded to the beat; some of the men snapped along. “Can we watch it again?” We could. We did.

We talked about how "Hamilton" is performed on a bare stage, just like we’ll perform "Twelfth Night."

“No one laughed when he said his name this time.” We talked about how Miranda uses language, leverages rhetoric to find each character’s voice, just as Shakespeare did. We talked about working for six years on something you believe in, and we speculated about the long, uncertain nights he might have had somewhere in the middle of year three or year four.

These men know more than the rest of us can imagine about long, uncertain nights in the middle of a very long bid to survive.

Opening night at Hamilton. Photo by Neilson Barnard/Getty Images.

We watched the cast perform “My Shot” at the White House. We whooped. We joyfully beheld the son of Puerto Rican parents and the first African-American president freestyle in the Rose Garden. We cheered. (One or two of us might have teared up, but we don’t need to discuss that.)

These gorgeous, thoughtful, wounded men rarely see themselves represented in the world.

As they fight to become the men they want to be, they still mostly see themselves in the narrative as junkies, dealers, thugs, or the latest black man brutally gunned down in the streets by the police. According to an Opportunity Agenda study, “negative mass media portrayals were strongly linked with lower life expectations among black men.”

"Who lives? Who dies? Who tells your story?"

But, in the midst of our shared creative endeavor, they saw themselves smack in the center of the narrative of creation, possibility, pursuit, and achievement.

Representation unabashedly made me weep as I watched a few of the men lean in.

Representation matters. Representation is beautiful.

And I am not willing to wait for it.

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