Go back to part 5.

Not surprisingly, I have been thinking quite a bit about Del since I started transcribing those messages. It struck me how almost universally, people's fondest memory of Del was when he was calling them out. We all value those moments when we made Del laugh, but we remember more clearly the moments when we didn't live up to his expectations. It's as if he is still teaching us, we are still struggling with his lessons.

The last time I was in Del's class was about a year before he died. It had been quite some time since anyone had given me any tough notes about my improv. I was a teacher. I was a coach. I was a director. But nobody was teaching, coaching or directing me. I craved a critical eye that could show me what things I was still doing wrong and help me correct them. So I headed back to Del's class.

That was a tough night for me. He stopped nearly every scene I was in and told me to start over or get off the stage. I knew that I needed a little coaching, but this was really picking away at my ego. I thought, hey I know how to do this. I've been performing Harold for 5 years. I'm not that bad. Am I?

The class I was sitting in on, was filled with students I had been teaching a couple of sessions before. I was a little embarrassed in front of them, but I guess I was glad too. Maybe they wouldn't feel so bad the next time Del stopped their scene. Maybe Del was being particularly hard on me because I was a teacher at IO. Maybe he just wanted to knock me down a few notches.

So for three years that is how I thought about that night. I thought that Del's last lesson for me was about humility, but it always still aggravated me. It aggravated me because I couldn't figure out why exactly he had stopped my scenes. Often he would stop me before I said two lines and say, "You're not agreeing! Start again. Make another choice." I thought at the time I was agreeing. I thought I was making good choices. I thought I was setting up the scene well, laying the groundwork for a good game.

Well, while putting together these pages of messages, I think I finally put it together. It was something that had been nagging away at me in my own classes for quite some time. At the beginning of one of the scenes in Del's class that night, my scene partner got down on the ground and started drawing pictures. I think my first choice was sit down on a chair next to her and start reading the newspaper. I was yes anding her, I thought, by becoming her father. Del stopped it. "Start again," he said. I tried again. This time I positioned myself as her therapist or something. Again he stopped it, and it went on like this for a while. I couldn't figure out what he wanted. I was very frustrated.

I think I finally might have the answer now. That night in his class, I responded to every initiation by positioning myself to counter or contrast my scene partner. I wasn't denying their reality. I accepted what they did and made a move to position myself for a game. I think all he wanted me to do was join the scene. My scene partner starts by getting on the ground and drawing pictures. Why wasn't my first instinct to get down on the ground and start drawing too? Why wasn't that my second instinct or third? It was because I had gotten too smart about my improv for my own good. After my years at IO he was just reminding me of the simplest way to adhere to the first lesson of improvisation: agree.

He could have just told what to do. But I probably would have long forgotten that night if he had. So my fondest memory about Del is him calling me out. We all need someone to call us out.

If you want to discuss this go to the thread "The Del Close Messages" at the IRC Message Boards.

Last edited on 01/26/01.