Failing Up

by Leslie Odom, Jr.

  I had my marching orders from McElroy.

  * * *

  We were raised with an eye toward college always. My parents didn’t care what we studied. They didn’t care what college we ultimately decided to go to. We just had to go. It was a minimum requirement from them.

  Going back to my days in the Sad-Face Box, I’d always had a tough time with authority and the expectation of unquestioned obedience. By the time I was graduating from high school, I was so bored with the cookie-cutter, one-size-fits-all curriculum. I couldn’t wait to have some autonomy in my education.

  I confidently applied to theater programs at four universities. I had been training formally for about four years and informally for even longer. I had a high school résumé full of competition wins and even a Broadway credit. I thought I’d have a range of college acceptance letters and choices of where to study. I hadn’t forgotten Michael McElroy’s marching orders, but I couldn’t deny the allure of studying in New York so that I might keep one foot in the industry while attending university.

  Rejection letters came in from Fordham and NYU back to back. It threw me. I wasn’t sure how to feel. My ego was bruised for sure, but over time, I’ve come to learn that, try as we might to knock down all barriers, every now and then we have to trust the closed door.

  And so I did.

  New York was out. Both feet would have to be planted in my studies.

  * * *

  I’VE COME to LEARN THAT, TRY AS WE MIGHT to KNOCK DOWN ALL BARRIERS, EVERY NOW and THEN WE HAVE to TRUST the CLOSED DOOR.

  * * *

  I’d been accepted into the University of the Arts in downtown Philadelphia. For some, the possibility of staying close to home for college can be ideal. For me, part of the draw of attending university was getting away from home. I’m sure I wasn’t the first kid to feel that way.

  All my eggs were in the Carnegie basket, and when the thick, perfectly square-shaped envelope showed up at my parents’ door with my name on it, I breathed a deep sigh of relief. I’d been accepted to Carnegie, and best of all, while studying in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, I’d be a five-hour car ride from everything familiar and familial. Close enough to get home quickly in a pinch but far enough to spread my wings a bit.

  The Carnegie chapter of my young life was about to be a defining one.

  I went there thinking I knew the lessons I needed to learn. In reality, I had no clue.

  * * *

  Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, may be one of the most misunderstood of any of the major cities in the US. Known as the center of the universe of the steel industry at one time, Pittsburgh has played a starring role in the history of American innovation in technology, education, and the arts. Pittsburgh natives are tough-skinned and hardworking. The local community is made up of well-educated, super-friendly folks who pride themselves on their authenticity.

  With six major universities practically next door to one another, Pittsburgh is also one of the most happening college towns in the country.

  Just as the ghost of Benjamin Franklin still hovers over Philadelphia, in Pittsburgh, on any city street, you’re never far from the lasting influence of Andrew Carnegie. Once the richest man in the world, he famously spent as many years giving away his money as he did earning it. Carnegie raised himself from poverty by reading and studying on his own. It made sense that his passion was to inspire future generations through the power of education and public enrichment. Evidence of that was everywhere—in the concert hall, museums, and libraries he established and the university he founded in 1900 that was soon to be named the Carnegie Institute of Technology, aka Carnegie Tech. Decades later the name was changed to Carnegie Mellon University after a merger took place between Carnegie Tech and the Mellon Institute of Industrial Research.

  A major step in expanding Carnegie’s dream beyond applied technology and putting Pittsburgh on the international stage came with the 1906 founding of the university’s College of Fine Arts—one of the first in the United States for training in art, architecture, music, design, and drama. Famous names to emerge as a result include Andy Warhol, composer Stephen Schwartz (of Wicked and Pippin fame), Judith Light, Cherry Jones, and Ted Danson. More recent grads include Zachary Quinto, Patina Miller, Josh Gad, Renée Elise Goldsberry, Joe Manganiello, Matt Bomer, and on and on.

  When I arrived on campus in the fall of 1999, I didn’t know all the bits and pieces of CMU’s backstory. But a cursory glance around the campus and a walk down the hallowed marble hallways were enough for me to recognize that the School of Drama was as serious about producing leaders and innovators in the field of entertainment as Carnegie was in all other fields.

  The conservatory program was more intense and comprehensive than I could have known ahead of time. Private voice teachers are selected for you when you arrive. I’m not sure how they matched teachers and students, but I consider myself extraordinarily fortunate to have been paired with Thomas Douglas in my freshman year.

  With the ears, training, and instincts of a symphony conductor, Thomas taught me all about my voice. We studied for a single hour each week over the course of my time at Carnegie, and at the finish, Thomas had taught me how to preserve and protect my instrument. In the years since, I have never lost my voice again. If Thomas’s private voice lessons were the only course I took in four years, it would’ve been worth the price of admission.

  * * *

  If your first year in college was anything like mine, you may have found the workload more challenging than you expected. I went to theater school and it wasn’t all fun and games. So when the chance came to take a break from it for a minute and pursue an alternate route to New York via Broadway once more, my reaction was: Let me think about it for five seconds.

  My plan was to be on the first thing smokin’!

  It was just before the mid-semester break of my freshman year. I got a message at the main secretary’s desk in the drama building to return a call from Bernard Telsey’s office.

  Calls from Telsey’s office were always a good thing. It remains that way to this day. As New York’s premier casting director, Bernie, and his office, put together the original cast of Rent, along with original companies of Wicked, In The Heights, Hairspray, Next to Normal, and countless others, not to mention award-winning movies and television shows. Bernie was known for being unconventional in his casting choices. He is as discerning as they come and a great person to know in the business.

  Not only had Bernie cast me in Rent, he’d made sure to get me involved in a few other projects that were in development while I was in New York. All of my earliest professional experiences came out of that office.

  The last time we’d spoken was shortly before I left for Carnegie Mellon. I’d gone through a very short audition process and been offered a principal role in the Atlanta tryout for Disney’s Aida with music written by Elton John and Tim Rice. The show was slated to come into New York immediately following the Atlanta run.

  My family talked over the terms with Bernie’s office for about a week. We went back and forth about salary and accommodations. We called Michael McElroy for guidance.

  We weighed it all against the Carnegie Mellon acceptance letter. Ultimately, we decided that I would accept the opportunity to become a member of the class of 2003 and forgo the Disney detour for now.

  Six months later, the call from Bernie’s office was again about Aida. They were offering the same role, this time for the Broadway transfer of the show. It was a very different offer and in just six months, I’d become a slightly different kid.

  I thought, I am about to spend four years preparing to fight to walk through a door that’s open right now. And turning down the opportunity twice felt … risky.

  I hung up with Bernie, who’d given me a few business days to think about it and talk it over with my folks.

  * * *

  IT WAS a VERY DIFFERENT OFFER and in JUST SIX MONTHS, I’D BECOME a SLIGHTLY DIFFERENT KID.

  * * *

  I w
as pretty sure of what my decision would be. This job had my name on it. Who knew how long it would take for something like this to come around again? I could take a leave of absence, go do the show, and come back to Carnegie a year or two down the line, with another Broadway credit to boot.

  It was the last weekend in October when I took the bus home to talk the whole thing over with my folks. My grandparents made the trip from South Carolina for the family meeting as well.

  Whenever I came home, I would happily lug my eight to ten pounds of dirty laundry from Pittsburgh to Philly. A weekend with a free washer and dryer.

  My father met me at the door, shouldered my duffel bag, and paused to look me in the eyes. He did this whenever he saw me after I’d been away for some time.

  Dad told me that I would get the final say on all this. The family would weigh in over the course of the weekend. I only had to promise to listen.

  I assured him I could do that.

  A little while later, we took our seats around the dining table and I was given the floor to spell out the offer as it had been presented to me. My family listened first. There was a silence after I finished. My grandfather broke it.

  Lennell “Lenny” Odom, Poppy, my grandfather, was a hilarious and indomitable spirit. In the south, during the period of his youth, the expectation on my grandfather was that after a few years of schooling, he would join the work force and contribute to the household. Poppy, who’d only completed the fourth grade, had one of the most agile and brilliant minds I’d ever known. He warned me not to place the allure of the Broadway offer over the chance to get my degree.

  Though he has been gone for quite some time, I’m not sure that I’ve ever fully mourned his absence. Poppy passed away after a short battle with cancer about four years after this meeting. It’s never made sense in my brain that such a person could ever truly be gone. Somehow, for me, there’s enough of him still here that it doesn’t feel like he abandoned us and disappeared into thin air. I thank God for that.

  “Speedo,” Poppy said in his southern drawl, using another one of the family’s nicknames for me, “I want to see you walk across that stage with your cap and gown on and get that piece of paper. That’ll make me jump up and down. All this stuff will be there for you when you finish.”

  Dad chimed in. “College is a golden opportunity, too. Remember how excited you were when you got your acceptance letter? Give yourself this time to develop. Set aside this time in your life for you.”

  I listened as I’d promised. It was an Odom united front. Mom and Grandma echoed the sentiments of the patriarchs. Even my baby sister got a moment to weigh in. I was certain to have a sympathetic ear from the youngest member of our family.

  “I think you should stay in school,” she said in a quiet but confident voice.

  A united front indeed.

  The end of the weekend came. My grandparents had already started their trek home. My dad and I sat watching a movie on television in the den, killing a little time before the hour came for me to take the Greyhound back to Pittsburgh.

  Dad threw the question casually my way. “Have you made your decision? What do you think you might do?”

  I considered how to break it to him. The simplest and most direct answer had to be the best way.

  * * *

  “WELL, I THINK I’M GOING to ACCEPT the OFFER,” I SAID.

  * * *

  “Well, I think I’m going to accept the offer,” I said.

  Dad looked dumbfounded. He shifted uncomfortably on the couch next to me, put the television on mute.

  I continued, “I will absolutely go back to Carnegie in a year. They will hold my slot for me.”

  “You won’t, though,” he said.

  “I will,” I insisted.

  Dad took a cleansing breath, as if contemplating the next move in a chess match. He hadn’t quite planned for this response from me. I could tell it was tearing him up, but I also believed that if it was truly my decision, then his reaction shouldn’t be a deciding factor. I was prepared to stand firm. The way I saw it, the adults in my life who cared about me most were also underestimating me. They assumed that I would never return to CMU once I left. They were encouraging me to walk away from something very special with no guarantees that it would ever come around again. Maybe they’d taken my early accomplishments for granted.

  “You booked this one. You will book another Broadway show, but the timing will be right,” Dad stated plainly.

  Easy for you to say, I thought.

  He’d started this whole thing by saying the decision was mine, and I’d made my decision. I headed back to Pittsburgh to pack up my dorm room and say good-bye to my new friends for now.

  Early the next morning, far too early, I got a call from Mom on my cell phone. She’d been crying. Her voice was thin and breaking. She said she’d woken up at the crack of dawn to pray, that her spirit was unsettled and her stomach was turning. Through choked tears, Mom begged me to reconsider.

  What could I do?

  Half-asleep and worn down, I agreed not to take the show. But I had a condition of my own. I told my sweet mother that neither she nor my dad would ever get to play this card again. I assured her it would not work the next time, and I meant it.

  That passageway into adulthood is a tricky one to navigate for parents and their children. I was somewhat resentful of my folks for a while for their highly pressurized tactics, but from where I sit today, I don’t blame them. They felt something strongly and they wouldn’t have been able to live with themselves if they hadn’t tried everything within their power to get me to make the decision they felt was the right one.

  As for my development, those four years were beyond price. I am talking about my development as a human being now and not just how I make my living. College and university study can be the kickoff to your adventure as a lifelong learner. If you have the opportunity to give that time of exploration to yourself, you should. All the responsibilities of adulthood will be waiting for you when you finish. Poppy was right about that. There’s no need to hurry it along.

  My folks also guided me to one of the most salient lessons of my whole life. To this day, I cannot be sure if taking the show would’ve derailed my life or catapulted me into major success a decade and a half sooner. I also can’t be certain I would’ve kept my word and returned to Carnegie or if job offers would’ve kept coming in and school would’ve possibly been put off indefinitely or if I would’ve wound up a twenty-five-year-old burnout. What I can say is this: through this process, I learned to say no, and it’ll be as valuable as your yes. Maybe even more so. It was an object lesson in empowerment that has stayed with me always.

  There is a freeing power of an honest no. It’s the yang to yes’s yin. Balance, as always, is key.

  At the urging of my folks, I walked away from a special opportunity, and though the outcome would make me a little nervous, the sky didn’t cave in. Walking away angered some people on the other side of the negotiation table, with one person infamously telling me, “I’ll see you in five years when you’re waiting tables.”

  If that was to be the outcome, then so be it. Do not let your fear, or anyone else’s, rob you of the power of your yes and your no. Own them both and use either as you see fit.

  * * *

  IT WAS an OBJECT LESSON in EMPOWERMENT that HAS STAYED with ME ALWAYS.

  * * *

  I had the time of my life at Carnegie. I learned and grew in ways that are still revealing themselves to me. I made lifelong friends. My professors taught me method and process. They taught me craft. Craft makes you reliable, and reliability gets you work.

  The dissolving of any fear I had left attached to the word no has been useful to me almost every day of my life since that time.

  Come what may, through the fat and lean years, you must retain ownership of your yes and your no. In many respects, it is all you own in this world for a very long time. Yes can come easy. No takes a bit of practice.

  Y
our no, your willingness to walk away when something doesn’t feel right for whatever reason, will be one of your greatest assets. It will set you on a path that you will own as well.

  CHAPTER 4

  HOLLYWOOD OR THE TOKEN

  When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things.

  —1 CORINTHIANS 13:11

  I spent the summer after graduating from Carnegie back at home in Philly for what I hoped would be the last extended stay for a while. There was a tension at home almost always by this point. Fathers-and-sons stuff.

  My plan was, one more summer at home. I’d save money and then move to New York for a fresh start in the fall.

  I was in my early twenties; I had my “piece of paper” from one of the top conservatories in the country. It was time to begin. It was time to pick a place on the map … and begin.

  I always thought I would end up in New York. I went to Carnegie with Broadway in mind. I was going to be Michael McElroy.

  Things had shifted along the way. Somewhere during my third year of school, I think it was, I realized I was never going to be Michael McElroy. I let that go in order to grab hold of something greater. Sixty percent of conservatory training happens in front of a mirror for one reason or another—all your dance classes, some of your voice classes, too, all utilize the mirror as means of teaching you how to self-correct. You learn a ton about yourself. There’s no getting around it. The mirror is literal and figurative; at some point, I seized the opportunity to begin to understand the things that made me unique. I grabbed ahold of the opportunity to become the best version of myself I could be, and I never looked back.