By John Johnston
The Cincinnati Enquirer

PHOTO GALLERY

Renegade Garage Players

James Robb studies the script in his hands. He tries to read his lines aloud, but the words come slowly, haltingly, or not at all.

"It was my fault, Mr. Phillips. I ..."

A pause.

"Teased," says production director Joe Link, who is sitting beside him.

"I teased her," James says.

It's the first night of rehearsals for the Renegade Garage Players production of Anne of Green Gables: The Musical. Joe, James and most of the 20 cast members - some holding white canes, sitting in wheelchairs or cradling bulky Braille notebooks - have gathered at the East End's Pendleton Heritage Center, where they rehearse and perform. They're reading the script together.

It's a struggle for James, 31, who is developmentally disabled and reads at maybe a second-grade level. He has a dimpled chin and balding dark hair hidden by a purple hat from Elder High, where he works as a maintenance man. He's looking to Joe for help.

Joe is 29, a former high school teacher pursuing a doctorate in education. He founded Renegade 10 years ago in the suburb of Wyoming, where he grew up. Since then the group has staged more than two dozen summer plays using actors with and without disabilities.

The cast of Anne is typical: Besides students from local high schools and colleges, it includes people with learning disabilities, visual and hearing impairments, cerebral palsy, neuromuscular disease and Down syndrome.

RENEGADE GARAGE PLAYERS

This show really did start in a garage Joe Link was 19, with no theater experience, when he and some friends decided to put on a play in the summer of 1993. They rehearsed A Doll's House in his parents' garage in the suburb of Wyoming. One of the actors was blind. Afterwards, some audience members were surprised to learn one of the actors was disabled. The next year Link decided to do another play and invite more people with disabilities. Four people with visual impairments participated. Today, Renegade Garage Players stages three to four plays a summer, always striving to maintain a mix of people with and without disabilities. "I think we've made a real impact on people with disabilities, and the way (non-disabled) people view them," Link says. In 1999 the non-profit group formed a board of directors and extended its activities to include community service and continuing education. For years the group, which holds about six fund-raisers a year, has operated mostly on individual donations. This year, the Manuel D. and Rhoda Mayerson Foundation awarded RGP a $10,000 grant, which allows executive director Link to receive a small salary for the first time. During the week of Sept. 14-21, Link plans to walk 160 miles from Cincinnati to St. Mary's, Ohio, along the Ohio Buckeye Trail to raise funds for a new Renegade Garage Players endowment fund. The fund will help ensure the group's long-term survival, he says. Donations can be sent to RGP, 2760 Eastern Ave., Cincinnati, 45202. Information: 328-6300 or www.rgplayers.org.

Ten years with Renegade has taught Joe to see past people's limitations and look at possibilities. This summer he has challenged the group like never before. In July, Renegade staged its first Shakespeare play. Now they're attempting their first musical.

Anne revolves around an unwanted orphan who endears herself to a group of strangers. As usual, Joe has cast people with disabilities in key roles.

Annie Donnellon, a 17-year-old Indian Hill High School junior from Kenwood, and Dennis Runyan, 50, of Roselawn, are blind. They play a brother and sister who think they're adopting a boy to help with farm work. Florence resident Kathleen Ingalls, 16, portrays Anne, the girl who mistakenly shows up. Kathleen is a junior at the School for Creative and Performing Arts and has albinism, a lack of pigment in hair, skin and eyes, a condition that impairs her vision.

The schedule calls for 16 rehearsals. Usually, the troupe would devote every minute to acting, but half the time will be set aside for music. Much of the cast has little or no singing experience.

That includes James. He has the role of Gilbert Blythe, Anne's academic rival and would-be beau. It's by far the biggest part he's ever had. Not only must he memorize a fair number of spoken lines and chorus songs, he'll also sing a long solo in which Gilbert pours out his feelings toward Anne.

During the read-through, James stares silently at the lyrics.

"Do you want me to say it with you?" Joe says.

"Yes."

She has a fiery temper ...

Joe recites a line. He has a god-like voice - deep and authoritative. James repeats it. The words tumble out in a barely intelligible mumble.

Thirty days until opening night, Thursday Aug. 21.

Getting the right notes

Music director Jamie Lewis, a third-year Ohio State student from Hamilton, is counting on the cast being familiar with several of the show's chorus songs. But when the cast attempts "Jesus Loves Me," the look on her face says heaven help us.

"Sounds like we're having trouble from the men's section," she says. On piano, she plays their part an octave lower. It doesn't help.

It's one thing for the chorus to sound awful. But one of the men - and only one - has a solo.

"I looked at Gilbert's song," Jamie tells Joe. "It's in 6/8 time, so that might be a little tricky."

"Just memorizing the words is going to take James some time," Joe says. "I think he can do it. I just think it's going to have to be a combined effort between us and his parents."

Early on, Patt and Mike Robb noticed James, the middle of their three children, wasn't developing normally. Instead of crawling on hands and knees, he pulled himself along on his elbows.

Experts ran tests, noted motor skill problems, recommended speech therapy. Eventually they steered James to Guilford, a school that served students with special needs and developmental disabilities. He never set foot in a "mainstream" classroom. He graduated from Guilford at 18.

"People used to tease me. Sometimes they called me retarded. It hurts me here," James says, touching his chest, "when people make fun of people with disabilities."

A few years after graduation, eager to be on his own, James moved out of his parents' Price Hill house and into a group home in the neighborhood. About that time, Patt and Mike Robb became active with community theater groups. James often tagged along, sometimes helping backstage. That led to some small on-stage roles.

He joined the Renegade Garage Players last summer. After a solid performance in the Shakespeare play, Joe gave James a bigger part in Anne.

"This is a major challenge for him," Mike Robb says.

The second week of rehearsal, Joe teams James with Camilla Hileman, a third-year Miami University student. James needs to understand his lines and song lyrics before he can memorize them.

She's awfully absent-minded.

Her thoughts are miles away.

He starts to recite: "She's awfully..." He stops.

Camilla: "She's awfully absent-minded. Do you remember what absent-minded means?"

"Yes," James says. A pause. "No."

Camilla: "It means sometimes she doesn't think clearly and doesn't always remember what she has to do."

He continues, sometimes losing his place and skipping ahead. She gently corrects him when he mispronounces words. Finally he finishes.

"That was awesome!" Camilla says.

He reads a line in his script, jabbing a finger at each word. Slowly, words become phrases. Phrases become sentences. And together, James and Camilla repeat them over and over.

The right time to be scared

The rehearsal ends with Joe cautioning the actors: "Time is pretty limited. You should be feeling a little bit unconfident right now. Now is the time to be scared. Don't be scared the week of the performance."

"I am nervous," James says. "I've been looking over my lines. I'm trying very hard to do this. I have a lot of things on my mind, but when I go to sleep, I'm dreaming this part."

Eighteen days to dream until opening night.

With rehearsals now in the third week, Jamie listens to the chorus sing "God's in his heaven, all's right with the world." Not much is right with the sound. She urges James and P.J. Ritter to sing louder.

"But I suck," says P.J., a junior at Boone County High.

Later, Jamie and accompanist Larissa Sokoloff spend almost an hour working with James on his solo. He tries to follow in his script, but loses his place. He jumps ahead, sings off key, and even when he's on, the piano drowns him out.

His song is supposed to end with him dramatically belting out these lyrics: Anne of Green Gables, for me ... she's ... the one. If he nails the last note - on the word "one" - and holds it 10 beats, it's a great ending. But he's miserably flat.

"I really want to do it good, and show Joe that he didn't do wrong when he picked me," James says. "I don't want to use my script. I don't want the audience saying, 'He's not doing a good job.' "

During a six-hour Sunday rehearsal - their longest - the actors finally reach the end of Act 1 and start on Act 2. Joe cranks up the intensity. He scolds people for missing entry cues. He chastises James for not singing loud enough in the chorus.

James has increased the volume on his solo, and he's pronouncing more clearly, but he rarely takes his eyes off the script. Then there's that long, last note. He's way flat.

As his father drives him home that night, James says, "I hope I can get it."

In fact, much of the musical is shaky, especially Act 2. Joe knows it's not a good time to take a five-day rehearsal break, but it's unavoidable. He, Jamie and Renegade actor Larry Freeman have planned a Maine trip to the National Theater Workshop for the Handicapped.

When they return to Cincinnati on Tuesday, opening night is just two days away. Everyone's in costume for the first time.

"James? Is that you?" says P.J.

James sports a curly coal-black toupee. A balding Gilbert just wouldn't do.

"I feel like a whole different guy," James says, patting his head.

He acts like it too. He doesn't bury his nose in his script, like most days.

"Hi Kathleen!" he says to the girl who plays Anne. "It's me. It's Gilbert Blythe."

She sees his hair. "Whoa."

The cast hauls wooden platforms out of storage and pushes them together to form a stage. That leaves only enough time to rehearse Act 1.

And only one day left.

Opening night jitters

"I can't calm down," says Jackie Rettig, who has Down syndrome. "I'm nervous about opening night."

They all are.

At Wednesday's rehearsal, actors miss cues. They flub lines. Even Annie Donnellon, a line-memorizing machine, falters. Actors who are blind have trouble navigating the newly built stage. The pace plods.

Finally, Joe explodes: "My patience is running thin," he booms. "This is ridiculous. Let's get it together and do what we need to do."

They need to finish Act 2. But time runs out.

"Tomorrow when we come in, we've got a lot of work to do," Joe says. "I was going to offer to get everybody dinner tomorrow. Let's scrap that plan. Let's come here at 5 and rehearse Act 2."

"He doesn't stay angry long," says Dennis Runyan, a Renegade veteran. "He lets you know what he wants and what he expects."

Joe has altered his expectations over the years. Time was when he judged a play strictly on artistic merit.

"I've worked with so many actors, non-disabled and a few disabled, who just don't try. After 10 years, I'm just looking for people who are going to give it 100 percent."

The audience is coming

At 3:30 p.m. on a steamy Thursday - four hours before show time - James walks out of Elder High carrying his script.

"I see you've been studying," says his father, who picks him up.

"Yes I have," James says.

"Do your best and relax."

James knows his parents gladly would have helped him with his lines or his song, had he asked. He never did.

At the group home, James enters his small, second-floor room, the one with the Elder poster - signed by football players and coaches - taped to the door. He takes a bath, then opens his script.

The pages are well worn now, turned up on the edges, stained with pizza. He has studied it nearly every day for a month; on his lunch break at Elder, on the walk home from work; alone in his room.

He sings his solo. "OK," he says softly. Then he practices the chorus songs, ending with "God's in his heaven, all's right with the world."

At 5:10 p.m., actors assemble and begin rehearsing Act 2. People are still missing cues, flubbing lines.

Joe fumes: "I don't know what's going on here, but let's cut it out! The audience is gonna be here in two hours! If you don't know your lines, get a script. Quit holding up the whole cast. It's crazy! This is absolutely crazy!"

He knows what they're capable of. He won't let them be less.

Tears flow down Annie's cheeks. She wipes them away. She felt confident when she arrived. "But then all these lines totally escaped my memory."

Jessica Levey, an SCPA student whose solo opens the show, looks at her watch: 5:38. "Oh crap," she says. "Somehow, this is supposed to go flawlessly tonight."

Fifteen minutes later, they finish Act. 2. They start to run it again, then Joe tells them to change into costume.

Kathleen hops nervously, trying to enter a crowded conference room. Some actors munch on takeout chicken. Some apply makeup. Camilla searches for a cast member's medication. Annie rehearses with another actor.

James stands alone in a corner, concentrating.

At 7:23, actress Julie Langenderfer writes "Break a Leg, RGP" on a dry erase board.

In the community room, a crowd of more than 70 - not quite a full house - has gathered.

The Garage Players have never performed Anne completely from beginning to end, but they must do it now. Jamie cues the accompanist, and it begins.

The chorus sings loudly, if not always quite on key. Female soloists are strong. A composed Annie knows her lines and wows the audience with her vocals.

Then it's James' turn in the spotlight. He looks straight ahead, and precisely on cue, he sings:

She has a fiery temper.

She likes to hold a grudge.

Jamie stands off to the side, directing. But James rarely looks her way. He doesn't need to. He knows this song, knows the words, knows the pace. He's almost through it.

Anne of Green Gables

For me... she's... the one.

He nails the last note. Holds it for 10 beats.

Applause.

In the audience, Patt Robb's face is a puddle of happy tears.

The Garage Players aren't as sharp in Act 2. A dance number falls apart. Joe runs onstage once to help Annie find her way to the chorus. A few actors miss lines. But the musical keeps moving; there are no train wrecks.

"Overall, great show," Joe says after the audience departs. "I'm very pleased."

He runs through a checklist of ways to improve. He expects them to be better on Friday night.

And they are.

Kathleen Ingalls shines as Anne. The dance number goes smoothly. Actors pick up the lines they missed the night before.

And a standing-room-only crowd claps enthusiastically for an unlikely hero: a school maintenance man who sings with a new-found confidence.

Patt Robb sees it all, again. She cries, again. It's not every day a mother can watch her 31-year-old son discover what he's capable of.

The Garage Players take their bows, then step outside into the muggy August air for hugs and handshakes and heartfelt congratulations. James is still wearing his toupee. And this: a smile that says he gave 100 percent; a smile that says, at this moment, all's right with the world.

E-mail jjohnston@enquirer.com