Left to right: Jim Provost, Judy Armstrong, Sue Loick
only helpful to me in terms of survival as a person, but it was actively encouraged by the institution. Theater Workshop at Body Politic got me out of my comfort zone. Mural painting on Lower Wacker Drive made me feel connected to my city. I could go on .... I had some problems at home, and left, but no one knew at school. When my senior year was ending, I realized I was short a gym credit because I hadn’t had my gym uniform pressed when at Austin High School. I never made up that credit,but I did get a GED and go on to get a B.A. —Cheri Reid, 1970–’72 Metro and My First Big Life Lesson: I attended Metro during its first years in the early 1970’s. Travelling around the city of Chicago on my own was a thrill in itself. Febru-
ary through June of that first year, Metro was an adrenalin-pumping ride for all of us, a true experiment in education that I do not think anyone involved will ever forget. When we returned in the fall of 1970 to our new location of Dearborn Street I was still on a high of new experiences. Growing up rather sheltered on the Southwest side of Chicago, I never imagined what lay beyond the boundaries of my cookie cutter neighborhood. Metro opened the world to me. By the fall semester, however, I had attained enough of a comfort level to start to take my freedom for granted. That September, I learned a key lesson that served me well during my subsequent time at Metro and in all the years since then. It was a beautiful early autumn day, the afternoon before the first session of John Starrs’ acting class. I was enjoying hours of conver-
sation and quality time with my high school boyfriend, Vince Waldron, and, as happened occasionally, we lost track of time and ended up arriving late. I really loved the class, and by the conclusion of that first one, felt I owed John an apology for my tardiness. But as I expressed my regret and determination to do better next time, John looked into my eyes and merely shrugged his shoulders. “It’s your class.” He said. I hardly knew what to say or to think. Wasn’t it his class? Didn’t I owe something to him? Wasn’t he the judge of how well I was doing, or not? Wasn’t I showing up basically for him? Or, for my mother? For the first time in my life I thought, “maybe not.” It’s my class. Those words made a huge impression on me. Whether it was his explicit intention or not, John made me realize that I am
I never imagined what lay beyond the boundaries of my cookie cutter neighborhood. Metro High School, 1971–1991 55