By Neville Cole

Years ago, as an impressionable teen, I went to a lecture given by Edward Albee. He told a story that I have always remembered but probably never fully understood.

Albee talked about his early days in Greenwich Village living the life of a starving poet and “not a very good one.” About how he “basically tried everything else and writing plays was the only thing I hadn’t tried, so I did that.” Later he admitted he came to that decision with a little help. He said went to a writer’s retreat and Thornton Wilder was there. Albee also said he always travelled with a trunk containing everything he’d written because “you never know…” So, when he met Wilder, he handed him all of his poems to read.

The next day Wilder came up to him and said: “Albee, I want to get drunk with you.” The two of them sat down by a nearby lake and drank bourbon while Wilder critiqued every one of Albee’s poems. After Wilder finished discussing each poem, he set it afloat on the lake. By the time he finished, Albee said, “there was a substantial dent in the bourbon and a good bit of the lake was covered with my poems.” Wilder then said to him, “Albee, I’ve read every one of your poems.” “I can see that,” Albee replied, “They’re all out there on the lake.” Then Wilder said: “Albee, have you ever considered being a playwright?”

After the lecture I went up to Albee and told him I wished I had one of my plays to hand him to critique. Albee said “a writer should always carry his work with him because…you just never know.” (Note: This was, of course, in the days before “I’ll send you an email”)

Anyway, my youthful self became immediately convinced that Albee was sending me a message. One of America’s greatest living playwrights was telling me I had a chance. All I had to do was be ready for my Wilder moment. I began to imagine that every small moment of my life could be transformed into art. I hoarded every scrap and scribble. Every item I gathered, every person I met, every experience I had was rich with dramatic possibility. I could turn any simple conversation into a work of comedic genius. I could turn my journals into memoirs. I imagined that one day critics and scholars would pour through my early works and find keys to my greatness.
It took me six years of struggle to finally realize I had just enough talent to be dangerous. I earned just enough praise, had just enough success to keep pushing on despite all the evidence stacked against me. I wandered aimless as a proverbial cloud through the theatrical underbelly gathering brushes with greatness, witnessing minor miracles and major absurdities, even garnering moments of supreme satisfaction; but all in all my bohemian experiment would probably have to be described as an abject failure…like Albee’s poems I was just another piece of flotsam slowly sinking to the murky depths of obscurity.

Looking back it would have saved me a lot of heartache if Albee just looked me in the eye and said: “Neville, have you ever thought of getting into educational video?” But, if I could take another crack at it – back then, with no family to support, no mortgage to pay – I most definitely would. No doubt about it. And who knows? Maybe this time I’d make it!