Read Online Dead Man's Bones by Susan Wittig Albert - Free Book Online
Authors: Susan Wittig Albert
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Harley, and his daughters, Jane and Florence (who inherited the entire family fortune after both brothers’ deaths), inherited at least some of their father’s philanthropic inclinations. The two sisters have been known for their willingness to say yes when asked to contribute to a worthy cause, especially when that cause involves the hospital, United Way, or the Adams County Republican Club, where they are big-time supporters of every political campaign. They haven’t continued their father’s support of the arts, however—a major disappointment to several local organizations. The summer arts program and the symphony orchestra both came to an end when the doctor died, for his daughters failed to continue to support them.
So when Jane announced last year that she and Florence were prepared to donate a theater to the Community Theater Association, the news was greeted with pleasure. And with some astonishment, since the sisters had rejected an earlier appeal from the association for funding to renovate the old movie house where they staged their productions. The Pecan Springs Enterprise , presenting an editorially grateful face to the public, described the gift as “remarkable and magnanimous,” although Hark Hibler, the editor, slyly added that it was gratifying to see one of Pecan Springs oldest families stepping forward at last to take a major role in arts philanthropy.
It didn’t take long for the real motive behind the Obermanns’ gift to emerge, however, since the promised theater came with some pretty serious strings attached—in Hark’s memorable phrase (not for publication), this was a gift horse whose teeth needed counting. In order to get their new facility, the Community Theater Association would have to agree to stage as their first production a play written by Jane Obermann herself, about the life of her father. The play, entitled A Man for All Reasons , was to be performed for at least three weekends, so that everyone in town would have an opportunity to attend. What’s more, Jane Obermann reserved the right to approve the casting, the costumes, and the scenery. Quid pro quo , y’all. If the association accepted these conditions, it would get a spiffy new theater. If it didn’t, it wouldn’t.
You probably won’t be surprised to hear that for the Community Theater Association, this set of conditions felt like a deal breaker. Ruby, who serves on the board of directors, told me what happened when Lance Meyers, the chairman of the board, heard about Jane Obermann’s demands.
“Stage her play? Over my dead body!” Lance had thundered angrily. “I’m not going to let some damned amateur playwright—who’s never published a thing in her entire life—impose a silly, sentimental script about her father on us. Why, this is nothing but blackmail, and I’m not going to stand for it. No self-respecting theater company would accept such conditions. Theater or no theater, we are not doing her play!”
Since Lance is a man who means what he says, this might have been the last word. But the Grande Cinema, the old movie house on the square where the theater association has been staging its productions for the last ten years, was falling down around their ears. It had finally been condemned. Unless the association could arrange to borrow the high school auditorium or fit their productions into the Methodist church annex, there would be no more community theater in Pecan Springs. The situation was nothing short of desperate, and everybody—including Miss Jane—knew it.
So a few other members of the board, reluctant to let this stunning opportunity slip through their fingers, quietly went to work. Within a week, Lance Meyers had announced his resignation from the board, and several others had resigned in sympathy with his position. Marian Atkins—who told me that she hated like hell to do it, but didn’t have any choice—reluctantly stepped into Lance’s shoes, and it was announced that the board
So when Jane announced last year that she and Florence were prepared to donate a theater to the Community Theater Association, the news was greeted with pleasure. And with some astonishment, since the sisters had rejected an earlier appeal from the association for funding to renovate the old movie house where they staged their productions. The Pecan Springs Enterprise , presenting an editorially grateful face to the public, described the gift as “remarkable and magnanimous,” although Hark Hibler, the editor, slyly added that it was gratifying to see one of Pecan Springs oldest families stepping forward at last to take a major role in arts philanthropy.
It didn’t take long for the real motive behind the Obermanns’ gift to emerge, however, since the promised theater came with some pretty serious strings attached—in Hark’s memorable phrase (not for publication), this was a gift horse whose teeth needed counting. In order to get their new facility, the Community Theater Association would have to agree to stage as their first production a play written by Jane Obermann herself, about the life of her father. The play, entitled A Man for All Reasons , was to be performed for at least three weekends, so that everyone in town would have an opportunity to attend. What’s more, Jane Obermann reserved the right to approve the casting, the costumes, and the scenery. Quid pro quo , y’all. If the association accepted these conditions, it would get a spiffy new theater. If it didn’t, it wouldn’t.
You probably won’t be surprised to hear that for the Community Theater Association, this set of conditions felt like a deal breaker. Ruby, who serves on the board of directors, told me what happened when Lance Meyers, the chairman of the board, heard about Jane Obermann’s demands.
“Stage her play? Over my dead body!” Lance had thundered angrily. “I’m not going to let some damned amateur playwright—who’s never published a thing in her entire life—impose a silly, sentimental script about her father on us. Why, this is nothing but blackmail, and I’m not going to stand for it. No self-respecting theater company would accept such conditions. Theater or no theater, we are not doing her play!”
Since Lance is a man who means what he says, this might have been the last word. But the Grande Cinema, the old movie house on the square where the theater association has been staging its productions for the last ten years, was falling down around their ears. It had finally been condemned. Unless the association could arrange to borrow the high school auditorium or fit their productions into the Methodist church annex, there would be no more community theater in Pecan Springs. The situation was nothing short of desperate, and everybody—including Miss Jane—knew it.
So a few other members of the board, reluctant to let this stunning opportunity slip through their fingers, quietly went to work. Within a week, Lance Meyers had announced his resignation from the board, and several others had resigned in sympathy with his position. Marian Atkins—who told me that she hated like hell to do it, but didn’t have any choice—reluctantly stepped into Lance’s shoes, and it was announced that the board
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