Dispatches from Home – The Play Closes. The Memories Live On.
Two weeks ago, yesterday, Center Stage’s hilarious production of one of Broadway’s most famous plays, “Arsenic and Old Lace,” closed. After that final performance—and the play’s record-breaking run of ten sold-out performances—everything went back in the box, so to speak. The set. The props. The costumes. And the makeup. All that was left on stage, of that which was, were a few piles of sawdust, bits of paper, a hammer or two, a drill, and, of course, memories.
Anytime the “curtain” rains down on Closing Night, it’s more than just the end of a performance — it’s the closing of a shared emotional journey between the cast, the crew, and their audiences. The stage that once pulsed with energy now stands still, holding onto only echoes of laughter, tears, and applause.
As we left the theater that night, I trust there was a deep sense of satisfaction within each of you regarding our theatrical talents and teamwork that brought the play to life. Perhaps, there was a bit of nostalgia, too, for the rehearsals, the inside jokes, and the bonds that were formed while “waiting in the wings.”
After our final performance, did a touch of bittersweet joy flutter within you? Knowing that while this theatrical chapter in our lives may have ended, its impact will linger in the hearts of those who experienced it.
Riding home in the darkness, did you pause for a reflective moment — on how the play evolved, how each rehearsal and performance deepened the mannerisms that gave life to the characters we portrayed, and how the audience’s reactions—their laughter, their oohs and ahhs—heightened our energy and that of the show?
My friends, we may have taken our final bow for our production of “Arsenic,” but that bow is more than a farewell; it’s a silent promise that the spirit of our play will live on in our memory for years to come. Dear ones, please indulge me with one last sentimental thought: my poem titled The Curtain Falls. Even though we really didn’t have a real curtain to fall. 
The Curtain Falls.
When the final curtain falls, and the stage is empty and still,
When the audience’s applause has faded, and gone is its cheering thrill.
Though the theater seats are empty, and the searing stage lights dim,
Sweet memories still will linger, much like a heavenly hymn.
We wore our sweaty costumes, our characters, to help create,
Their power to do so oft times, up for laughable debate.
We delivered our lines sincerely, and as best we could,
But still went suddenly blank, on the very spot where we stood.
We laughed, we cried, and sometimes cursed,
Still, the show went on, our pains and problems gently nursed.
So, as we waved goodbye on Closing Night,
The theater muses smiled down on us, dancing with delight.
“Arsenic and Old Lace” may have closed, but it’s really not goodbye,
Because treasured memories never fade, and never, never die.
Big hug, y’all! 
