Sarah in the Theatre
Mark Adamo, composer & librettist
Steven Osgood, conductor
CONTENT WARNING: Today’s workshop presentation of Mark Adamo’s Sarah in the Theatre contains strong language and adult themes. Content may not be suitable for those under the age of 13.
Sarah in the Theatre was commissioned by Odyssey Opera (Boston, MA).
Cast
Sarah Caldwell: Sarah Dyer-Jones
Gina Ramos & Imelda Marcos: Kelsey Watts
Icarus & Demarre Hall: Tyrese Byrd
Tim Martin: Joel Clemens
Harpy & Margaret Caldwell: Sara Nealley
Vera Tyrrell: Sarah Rachel Bacani
Benigno Aquino: Brian Linares
Juan Carlos López & Pablo Sanz: Ryan Michki
Ana Maria López & Leocadia Díaz: SarahAnn Duffy
Lily Wasserman Gold & Judith Stein: Faith Adams
Benjamin Cooper Bates & Kurt Jensen: Gabriel Chona Rueda
Mercy Cabot Lee, Meghan Murphy & Laurie Byrne: Sydney Dardis
Charles Ford & Lavar Johnson: Christopher Walters
William Crowninshield, Bob McGill & Pete Simms: Jared Peterson
Musical Preparation/Pianist: Nathaniel LaNasa
Musical Preparation: Carol Rausch
Synopsis:
Over one sleepless day and night: haunting the theater she created, made legendary, and now, by morning, may lose; the director, conductor, and impresario Sarah Caldwell — brilliant, obsessed, intractable — inspires her artists, fends off creditors, relives her triumphs, and battles with ghosts as we wait to learn if she will be given one final chance to continue the work she lives for or whether demons of self-sabotage have, at last, outrun her luck. (Odyssey Opera)
EXCERPT A
DONORS
Seats, fraying: paint, peeling:
Plaster flaking from the ceiling…
TIM (spoken)
(tapping the mike) Is this on? This is not on. Can anybody hear me? No one can hear me. Okay…
DONORS
Doors, sagging: some missing;
Addicts in the alley, pissing…
TIM (spoken)
Can we get sound up here? Hello? Sound?
DONORS
Oh, we should go now.
There wasn’t any need to come.
And knowing what we know, now,
DONORS (continued)
We’d never have agreed to come.
What are we doing here? Why are we doing this?
Pity? Hope? Vanity?
Do the same thing, expect a diff’rent result—
The definition of that?
Insanity.
And yet:
Sarah….
TIM
(into the newly-functioning microphone:) Well, those of you who know and love Opera Company of Boston know that it isn’t Opera Company of Boston without a little chaos. A little—a very little—chaos! Anyway, welcome, tonight: if you’re here, you’ve been part of our family, and we hope that after this evening you will be again. We are running a little bit behind: the amazing Sarah has been delayed, but is on her way…
DONORS
It’s good we came out, yes.
It’s good we could remind her of who remembers.
Given, though, her awful, awful flameout—
Is there any point to sifting the embers?
What are we doing here? Why are we doing this?
Is it—in the slightest—hyperbolic
To liken bailing Sarah out
To enabling an alcoholic?
To enabling a raging alcoholic?
We know: and yet: Sarah…
But don’t forget: Sarah---
The seasons, delayed: Sarah.
The artists, unpaid: Sarah.
The money, “mislaid:” Sarah.
The donors, betrayed: Sarah.
Constantly beset: Sarah.
Blood and tears and sweat: Sarah.
Swing without a net: Sarah
Never not in debt: Sarah!
How many times can we dance this dance?
Offer the hundredth—the thousandth chance?
This is delusional: depraved.
You can’t save someone who won’t be saved…
And yet: no.
DONORS (continued)
We should get out now.
We know this only ends in grief.
And is there any doubt, now?
Disaster is her Leitmotif.
What are we doing here? Why are we doing this?
Whatever we had here is lost.
Whatever we hoped for—whatever we paid for—
End of the day; a sunk cost.
And yet: Sarah…
No: ill-met: Sarah.
Let her demons defeat her.
Only regret: Sarah.
Time to forget Sarah!
And yet…
From the back of the theatre, a resonant mezzo-soprano.
SARAH
Sarah. Is in. The theatre.
As a spotlight finds her in the back of the house, SARAH—sizable, imperious, simply gowned but opulently brooched—makes her way up the center aisle like Moses parting the waves; she assumes the stage to applause—some enthusiastic, some much more measured—and borne on waves of orchestra. A long moment, this: it’s a welcome, a reunion, and a cross-examination, all at once.
GINA RAMOS, Opera Company of Boston’s development assistant, joins TIM onstage.
TIM (sung)
(relieved near to tears:) Friends of opera; friends of the City of Boston; friends of art at its most dazzling, most meaningful, and most original: please welcome—and welcome back—the artistic and general director, the soul of Opera Company of Boston: Miss Sarah Caldwell.
SARAH has achieved the podium. In rapt, hovering recitative
So many old friends here: Mercy, Lily— William, I see you…
New friends as well: Ana Maria, Juan Carlos: welcome, welcome.
And Vera, the incomparable Vera Tyrrell: where is she?
Vera Tyrrell? No?
Well: soon, I’m sure…
HARPY (off)
I have something to say!
SARAH (bitter)
You again.
She turns away from the microphone. A bedraggled WOMAN in her sixties bursts onto the stage—bedclothes barely fastened, she looks as if she could have escaped from her caregivers in a nursing home, except for her surreally colored blue-green hair. TIM and GINA try to keep her from reaching SARAH’s microphone.
HARPY
I have something to say!
TIM
She keeps getting in!
HARPY
You can’t stop me;
I have something to say!
SARAH (oddly heated)
Can’t stop you, can I?
Watch me.
TIM and GINA have restrained the HARPY, who still struggles.
SARAH (to TIM)
Take her teeth.
TIM
What?
SARAH
You heard me.
Take out her teethi!
Take out her teeth, or get out of my way!
As TIM and GINA restrain the wailing HARPY, SARAH forces her mouth open and takes out her dentures; wraps them in a cloth; and secretes the bundle in her purse. The DONORS are embarrassed, but not shocked; it’s as if they’ve seen this before. Losing her teeth subdues the HARPY for a moment; but, as TIM and GINA haul her off the stage, she suddenly aims a weirdly threatening, melodic vocalise at SARAH, which the orchestra supports in surreal colors.
It's a charged, non-verbal duel for a moment.
SARAH breaks the spell.
SARAH (to TIM)
You know where to take her.
TIM and GINA haul the HARPY off the stage. SARAH returns her focus to the DONORS and the house.
SARAH
Apologies.
This, this neighborhood.
The DONORS chuckle.
SARAH
Where were we?
SARAH, and the orchestra, ready themselves. This is the speech of her life.
Independence Day. I was so young.
Was I nine; was I ten?
I reminded my father,
I’d asked him last year;
Now I asked him, once again:
Give me fireworksii: let me make fire!
Let me make rockets, spiralling, higher and higher;
Let me make diamonds and comets, bejewelling, igniting the air.
They only were fireworks;
Anyone’s fireworks.
To me, though, they seemed—still seem
A kind of prayer.
Did I scorch things? Yes.
Even torch things? Yes. But:
The magic I made; those images stayed within you,
Inspiring you, on bad days, to continue;
Such memories. Can anyone live without them?
Some may claim so.
I doubt them.
And now, here we are. None of us young.
The history I wish I could rewrite.
Still, I say to you, now—as I’ve said in past years—
I say again, tonight:
Here were fireworks: here we made fire!
Here we played music, sang poetry, aimed to inspire,
SARAH (continued)
Here we heard voices, ideas, bejewelling, igniting the air.
But these were not fireworks.
Not merely fireworks.
They made opera: to me, to you, always:
A kind of prayer.
Did we scorch things? Yes.
DONORS (skeptically)
“We?”
SARAH (undeterred)
Even torch things? Yes.
DONORS (“you can say that again”)
Yes.
SARAH
But the magic we made;
Those images stayed within you;
Encouraging you, on bad days, to continue.
Such memories. Can anyone live without them?
Some still claim so.
I still doubt them.
This moment is dark as dark can get.
Our theatre is desperately, desperately in debt.
WILLIAM (breaking the spell)
Whose fault is that?
DONORS
Shh.
SARAH (pushing forward)
I’d be lying if I said it weren’t dire.
But with your help;
DONORS
More?
SARAH
With your passion;
DONORS
More?
SARAH (dogged)
With your faith;
DONORS
More?
SARAH
Your generosity;
DONORS
More?
SARAH
We will rise, like the phoenix, from the pyre…
DONORS
To burn again?
SARAH (undeterred)
…To make more fireworks, to make new fire!
DONORS
And, thus, more ash?
SARAH
To launch more rockets, spiraling; higher and higher!
DONORS
Until they crash?
SARAH
We’ll hear new voices, ideas, bejewelling, igniting the air.
Oh, yes, there’ll be fireworks.
But not merely fireworks.
There shall be opera; to me; to you,
A kind of prayer.
The DONORS, savagely, join SARAH on her vocalise on the word “Prayer.” Their mockery is unmissable.
SARAH (humiliated, but unstoppable)
Please, then, bring our theatre back.
Bring us back to life.
From the DONORS, minimally polite applause. But that sixth chair remains empty.
SARAH (sotto voce)
Et tu, Vera?
TIM (reclaiming the podium)
Let us continue on to dinner—I hope you like quinoa—so—
SARAH (a toast)
To Tim and Gina!
DONORS
To Tim and Gina!
GINA
You say that now.
TIM
There’s also kale.
GINA, TIM
Kale salad. You’ve been warned.
GINA leads the DONORS off: caterers strike the chairs. TIM and SARAH remain.
SARAH
I’ll join them for coffee. I need to work.
TIM
They need to see you.
SARAH
They’ve seen me: they know me.iii I need to work.
TIM
This is the work: we need a company—
SARAH
By evening’s end, we’ll have a company. We’ll have a company. Let me work.
Dubious, but game, TIM leaves. SARAH snaps open her purse, shakes, from an amber bottle, a few Benzedrinesiv into her hand, swallows them dry.
SARAH
Fireworks and prayer; fireworks and prayer ….
The light changes. A silvery tenor voice, from on high:
VOICE (ICARUS)
Sarah, Sarah…
SARAH (delighted)
Icarus!
ICARUS—20s, Black, confident—alights from the sky. As in classic portraiture of the character, he is lithe, semi-nude, and winged. We must be meeting him before his fall: his wings—feathers and wax, clearly man-made—are beautiful, intact; and he seems to shimmer, as if dusted with gold. He carries a rehearsal smock.
SARAH
Icarus. I was just thinking of you.
ICARUS
I’m never very far away.
SARAH
Story of my life.
ICARUS
Your wings, Maestra?
SARAH
How kind you are.
He helps her remove her brooch, don her smock.
SARAH
We shall raise this money: we shall save this company; and first thing we do, we revive your opera.
ICARUS
Revive it? The première is Friday.
SARAH
The première was thirteen years ago.
ICARUS
The première is Friday. And you will not save this company. You, and it, will plunge, burning, into the sea.
SARAH
Thanks for the vote of confidence?
ICARUS
You will plunge, burning, into the sea. Take it from me. Unless…
SARAH
Unless? Unless?
ICARUS
You. Accomplish. Three tasks.
ICARUS, SARAH
You/I. Accomplish. Three tasks.
SARAH
Tell me.
ICARUS
One: Perfect my opera’s finale. The staging of it looks like hell.
SARAH
It needs one tech—
ICARUS
Two: Encourage the tenor who plays me. Do what you must: bring him out of his shell.
SARAH
He’s twenty-three—one coaching—
ICARUS
And…three: Pay the IRS. Two-fifty K by Friday, or bid your troupe farewell.
SARAH
Surely not two-hundred and fifty thousand dollars.
ICARUS
Right you are. More like three hundred. Two eighty eight? Ballpark?
SARAH
Jesus fucking Christ.
ICARUS, SARAH
He hates opera. Repeat after me: One!
SARAH
Perfect the finale:
ICARUS, SARAH
Two!
SARAH
Empower the tenor:
ICARUS
Three!
SARAH
Pay the I. R. S…
ICARUS, SARAH
…or bid this troupe farewell.
SARAH
How can the premiere be Friday?
ICARUS
Who is my Sarah? Who is my wonder womanv?
SARAH reviewing her pill bottle
Benzedrine. Right here on the label. I have never—not once—hallucinated on Benzedrine.
ICARUS
Fireworks, Sarah. Make fire.
He rises heavenward.
SARAH
Make fire... to herself, horrified: Two-hundred and fifty thousand dollars!
VOICE OF ICARUS from the sky)
Two eighty-eight!
SARAH
Go to hell!
ICARUS is gone. SARAH commands an unseen crew.
SARAH
Dry tech, cue-to-cue: reset, please, for Icarus finale!
EXCERPT B
LEOCADIA (evenly)
Before you start:
People own cars.
Cars need repair.
People have children.
Children need care.
People need dinner.
Maybe a beer.
So people need paychecks;
Checks that clear.
SARAH
Of course, of course, I know you’re right: still—
LEOCADIA (inexorable)
People get sick.
People need pills.
So people see doctors.
Doctors send bills.
People admire you.
LEOCADIA (continued)
That’s why we’re here;
But people need paychecks:
Checks that clear.
In silhouette, a CREW MEMBER appears far upstage; dressed as a stagehand, but her disheveled hair is strangely blue-green…
SARAH
Two weeks—
LEOCADIA
Nice, that: what you said back there.
“Artists, sculptors of light and air.”
Beautiful. Generous.
Maybe even meant.
Praise like that can lift your heart.
Praise like that can warm your soul.
You know what praise can’t do?
Heat your house;
Heal your kid;
Fix your car;
Buy your food,
Pay your rent.
Yes, Sarah:
Food, gas, bills; rent, rent, rent!
SARAH brittle
You do this for love.
I do this for love!
And the HARPY from Scene One—of course it is she—begins another strange vocalise, in countermelody to LEOCADIA, who doesn’t seem to see or hear her.
LEOCADIA
People do love this.
That’s just it.
People don’t want to
Have to quit.
They want to make opera;
Want this career.
So people need paychecks:
The HARPY’s singing has become deafening, nearly deranging SARAH.
Oh, sing it with me Sarah, you know this tune!
LEOCADIA (continued)
Checks that—
SARAH (screaming)
I CANNOT LISTEN TO THIS—WHINING—ONE MORE SECOND!
SARAH has rattled LEOCADIA, stunned the HARPY; but the latter doesn’t leave.
LEOCADIA murderous
“Whining? Whining.”
Oh, we’re done here.
SARAH
Leocadia, I’m begging you:
Open this opera for me.
I’ll pay all I owe.
And this will never—
LEOCADIA
We’ll open this opera for you.
Don’t pay us? We go.
Forever.
in one breath: consonants like cut glass; a malediction
You will never work with a union crew in this town for the rest of your life;
I will see to it from my deathbed.
“Whining.” Jesus, Sarah.
Her contempt palpable, LEOCADIA leaves the theatre.
SARAH preëmptively, to the HARPY
You have nothing to say.
Unfazed, the HARPY leaves as ICARUS reënters. As before, only SARAH can see him.
ICARUS
Oh, Sarah.
In this ballpark?
Strike one.
SARAH livid
We fixed the cable!
ICARUS
Strike one!
ICARUS dematerializes. As SARAH regroups, TIM introduces the Filipino man.
TIM
Senator Benigno Aquinovi, —
BENIGNO AQUINO
Former Senator Benigno Aquino—
TIM, AQUINO
New to the board…
AQUINO
Honorary…
SARAH, AQUINO
Hello.
AQUINO
I understand that the First Lady of my country has reached out to you?
SARAH, AQUINO, TIM
Imelda Marcos?
SARAH
Not yet. But we’ve heard she plans to…
The orchestra, and AQUINO, become suddenly, terrifyingly intense.
AQUINO
Do not do this.
Please do not take her bait.
You will be lied to: betrayed—
This will be the worst mistake you’ve ever made—
SARAH, TIM
There are no plans—
AQUINO
I am telling you; I am warning you; Miss Caldwell,
do not do this.
I cannot overstate—
Better, now, that you forget her,
Rather than regret the day you ever met her.
True, Imelda: will maintain she’s your friend, but;
To Imelda: you’re a means to an end.
AQUINO (continued)
She’ll play Lady Bountiful,
She will make you play the fool.
With Imelda: realize that nothing comes gratis.
For Imelda recognizes one thing: status.
Don’t let her use your artistry
To whitewash her misrule.
Do not play her fool.
I am begging you; I’m imploring you, Miss Caldwell,
Do not do this.
Your risk is far too great.
Though I’m certain she will offer the most generous of deals;
She will sell you into bondage for a pair of Gucci heels—
The music, abruptly, skids to a halt. The next lines feel suspended in air.
AQUINO
I loved her once, when we were young.
Her husband sentenced me to death.
She held her tongue.
Do not do this, Sarah Caldwell:
It’s not too late.
Thank you for what you’ve given us in Boston.
AQUINO departs.
TIM (to SARAH)
But how does he really feel?
EXCERPT C
SCENE THREE (continuous.) OCTOBER 1981: THE RIALTO. OPENING NIGHT, ICARUS, OCB
And here, at full strength, is the Icarus finale: the set, lighting, and costumes complete, and SARAH leading the orchestra in full cry. Stage left, the top of a sunbaked, windswept stone tower, from which winged DEMARRE, as ICARUS, is poised to leap; to the right, on another terrace of the same tower, VERA as DAEDALA, here portrayed as something of a sorceress---a sheaf of gray-streaked black hair, swathed in rough-hewn, voluminous, billowing robes. Below, lighting and other stage magic gives us the boiling Aegean. VERA, now singing in the written octave, is in glorious voice.
VERA/DAEDALA
And now, my heart, my son, my student,
VERA/DAEDALA (continued)
My child of gold;
Fly, fly from this dark maze!
I’ll find you in mere days.
Recall, meanwhile, what you’ve been told:
To flee Apollo’s gaze,
The sun-god’s fierce rays,
Be bold, but more than bold:
Above all—
Be prudent!
Stay safe, beloved.
Fly not too low, yet not too high.
Stay safe, beloved:
You’ll reach the shore.
Stay safe, beloved.
Not meant for us, the arching sky.
Strive less; strain less—
Gain more.
Wax cannot withstand the sun:
Men obey—not make—the rules.
Birds—not boys—were born to fly:
Poseidon’s ocean swallows fools.
I know you want the wind, the height,
The bright, clean air:
The gods will never grant you them:
The gods don’t care.
The gods will never care.
No, beware, beloved.
Not sun nor sea is on our side.
Don’t dare, beloved:
Just aim for shore.
Stay safe, beloved.
Let self-protection be your guide.
All you need to do is glide.
Another time, another place, another life, I’d urge you:
Soar!
But, for now, don’t chafe, beloved:
Stay safe, beloved.
Ask for no more.
Begin, child:
Extend your arms to their full length.
Breathe: reach: sweep; and then,
VERA/DAEDALA (continued)
Lean in, child.
Repeat, but now, with greater strength.
Breathe: reach; sweep; broader—
Breathe: reach; sweep; stronger—
Again; again; again…
Heeding DAEDALA’s coaching, ICARUS takes flight.
DEMARRE/ICARUS
I fly, Mother: I fly!
I fly, Mother:
I claim the sky!
DAEDALA (in counterpoint with ICARUS)
No: child:
Wax cannot withstand the sun:
Men obey—not make—the rules.
Birds—not boys—were born to fly:
Poseidon’s ocean swallows fools.
I know you want the wind, the height,
The bright, clean air:
The gods will never grant you them:
The gods don’t care.
The gods will never care!
DEMARRE/ICARUS
Wax can withstand the sun:
I break the rules!
I was born to fly;
Only fools would doubt it—
Oh, the wind, the height,
The bright, clean air!
I claim them; I tame them!
I don’t care.
I will never care!
SARAH’s note has freed him: DEMARRE is a different singer here—impetuous, ravenous, charismatic—and his voice is ablaze.vii
DEMARRE/ICARUS
The wind: my sister,
The light: my lover,
The sun: my friend;
Mother, I am strong here;
I belong here;
DEMARRE/ICARUS (cont’d)
Watch me ascend!
I ascend!
But ICARUS’ wings are beginning to melt and smoke.
DEMARRE/ICARUS
I fly, Mother:
I fly!
I fly, Mother:
I claim, I tame the sky!
DEMARRE/ICARUS
I breathe: I reach; I sweep; broader—
I breathe: I reach; I sweep; stronger—
Again; again; again—
Oh!
VERA/DAEDALA
No, child: lower!
Only glide!
Aim for shore—
No!
Time stops. We, and ICARUS, wings ablaze, know that this is the final moment of his life.
DEMARRE/ICARUS
However long I live,
Whatever else I do;
I have touched the sky.
ICARUS plummets into the sea: a hissing billow of steam erupts. When it clears, ICARUS is nowhere to be seen. A coup de theâtre.
EXCERPT D
SARAH
Mrs. Marcos. Ma’am. An honor.
IMELDA
Sarah, Sarah, Sarah. A whole year. The magic you worked with our singers in Manila.
SARAH
Very gifted young artists. A pleasure to work with them.
IMELDA
Let me tell you a story.
IMELDA
We were newly married: and,
for my birthday.
My husband built me a bridge.viii
It was terribly impractical: terribly expensive—
But then, beauty often is.
Oh, how it swoops over the ocean!
The sea below, the curving lanes above…
The world calls it a bridge of beauty.
But my husband, my people call it…the bridge of love.
It still stands, today, glittering;
Our bridge of love.
We’ve built so many projects, my husband and I
It’s important to us that we give.
Oh, they’re always difficult: all-consuming;
But then, beauty always is.
Architecture, art—and opera—
For me, these aren’t hobbies; they’re a passion, a thirst.
Yes, people need food, shelter
But above all they need beauty
IMELDA (continued)
And for me, and for you, I think—
.(an echo, here, of SARAH’s aria from Act One)
Beauty comes first…
SARAH and IMELDA
Art comes first.
SARAH
It is rare to meet someone who truly understands you.
EXCERPT E
HARPY
I tried to tell her.
“Young woman; big woman—
Yes: you have a dream of a career.
You have a voice: alas—which no one wants to hear.
Brave woman; foolish woman—
They would prefer you disappear.”
That’s what they told me.
“Young lady; shy lady—
Why on earth would you want a career?
You have your nursery, your kitchen: that’s your sphere.
Sweet lady; pretty lady—
You seem both gifted and sincere.
It’s just that no one needs you here.”
I acquiesced.
I told myself, it’s likely for the best.
Coldly, I extinguished my desire.
I kept the house,
I kept the books,
I kept my temper,
I kept my looks,
And, sometimes, I’d conduct the little choir.
(Women were allowed to lead the choir.)
But she would tell me:
“Old woman: weak woman!
It’s your lack of courage I deplore.
You claim to love me, yet you tell me not to soar.
Mean woman: craven woman—
I will not shrink from wanting more.
Never will shrink from wanting more.”
But I said:
(DAEDALA’s aria, from ICARUS)
“Wax cannot withstand the sun:
Girls obey—not make—the rules.
Men alone were born to fly:
Poseidon’s ocean swallows fools.
I know you want the wind, the height,
The bright, clean air:
The gods will never grant you them:
The gods don’t care.
The gods will never care!”
You know the rest.
I only wish that she had acquiesced.
How happy I wanted her to be!
But I couldn’t get there.
And if I couldn’t get there,
Why should—
I mean, how could
She?
So now, you’ve told her.
Brave daughter: foolish daughter.
You’ve done her an extraordinary favor.
Thank you for loving my Sarah enough—not
To save her.
My name is Margaret Caldwell.
General & Artistic Director: Steven Osgood
Music Administrator: Carol Rausch
Music Staff: Miriam Charney, Rick Hoffenberg, Nathaniel LaNasa, and Allison Voth
Director of Production: Michael Baumgarten
Production Stage Manager: Valerie Wheeler
Assistant Stage Managers: Hanna Atkinson and Alexandria Griner
Technical Director: JP Woodey
Costume Shop Supervisor: Cristine Patrick
Costume Shop Crew: Claire Gibbons and Natalie Juran
Wig Supervisor: Martha Ruskai
Manager: Helen Hassinger
Company Scheduler: Rick Hoffenberg
Management Associate: Kara Post
Marketing Associate: Nick Kemp
Opera Guild Intern: Mia O’Malley
Composer Intern: Jeremiah Trowbridge
This performance is made possible by the support of The Emily McKnight Corry Endowment and The Miriam S. Reading / Richard H. Miller Fund.
2026 Chautauqua Opera Guild
Archangel ($2500+)
Barton, Constance
Eckert, Eileen
Georgescu, Barabara & Peter
Gorelick, Dr. Cheryl
Norton, Cynthia
Peters, Steven
Angel ($1000+)
Baird, Bruce
Barensfeld, David & Wendy
Branch, Laurie
Cummings, Conrad
Goldfarb, Joe
Goodman, Marylouise
Hajinilian, Arlene
Hopkins, John
Twist, Angela
Benefactors ($500)
Adele Thomas Charitable Foundation
Davis, Richard & Mary
First, Deborah & Ted
Holder, Sallie
James, Olivia
Langston, Nancy
Murrett, Ellen
Nobel, Sanford
Osborne, Rich
Parlato, Mary Lou
Perry, Kimberly J.
Robbins, Mark & Robin
Telkins, Pat & Steve
Tebor, Sue & Gary
Sponsors ($250.00+)
Baum, David & Diane Adler
Benson, Edith
Bowser, Rob
Claire, Judith
Goldman, Judith H.
Goldman, Judith & Elliott
Nickerson, David, list in program “In loving memory of Jean Swope Nickerson”
Osgood, Steven
Saulino, Lorraine
Walker, Mitchell
Zucker, Burton & Sandra