The Safest Theatre on 4th Ave.

Sandy Harper, co-founder of Cyrano's Theatre Company and Off-Center Playhouse, can find her way through the 86-seat theatre in ink-black darkness. She's had 24 years to memorize each floorboard and uneven threshold that could trip up a newcomer.

"Are you OK?" Harper calls back over her shoulder as we follow the sound of her footsteps. And then lights flicker and warm to reveal the stage.

"This side is ancient Rome and this side is ancient Egypt," she says. A summer production of Shakespeare's Antony and Cleopatra is about to open.

"It really is an intimate theatre," she says, pausing for a moment to take it in. "You can enjoy the show no matter where you sit."

Keeping the seats filled is always on her mind. "In the summer, we hope it rains from 5-7 every evening," she says. Too much sunshine is bad for theatre attendance.

This is Harper's last year running the show at Cyrano's Theatre Company—her legacy season. After two dozen years of Harper-run theatre, Harper announced that they'd brought a new artistic director on board at Cyrano's: Teresa Pond.

Pond grew up on the theatrical stages of Alaska; her father started Anchorage Community Theatre in the 1950s and put her in her first show when she was an infant. She ran ACT when she was in her 20s before chasing opportunities out of state. In January, she relocated from New York to take the helm at Cyrano's.

"We talked for 8 months, 9 months about doing this or not," says Pond, laughing and recalling her conversations with Harper.

"It fell into place. Sandy gets to start traveling and writing her history of the theatre and spend time with the grandchildren, and I get to come in and build on the shoulders of such a beautiful base," she adds. "People have such a wonderful place in their heart for Cyrano's. It combines all that I like: it's community, it's professional theatre, it's high artistic standards for what we're trying to do and it's an intimate space."

The Early Years

Before Cyrano's (a time that's not yet referred to as B.C., for whatever reason), there was a downtown Anchorage that had seen better days and a mayor who was keen to rejuvenate the heart of the city.

Harper and her husband, Jerry, inherited the building on the corner of 4th Avenue and D Street—the Loussac Building—in the 1980s from Jerry's mother, Ada Harper Loussac. "At that time, Tony Knowles was the mayor and he was doing urban renewal. He courted us to rehab the building, so we did. We borrowed a whole bunch of money to do it." They created a "cultural mini mall," complete with bookstore, cinema, cafe, art gallery and performance space.

Longtime Alaskans—and those who pay attention to Alaska history—will remember the late 1980s as the last big recession in Alaska. The Harpers felt the pinch, but it didn't stop them from furthering their investment in Anchorage culture.

As Harper tells it, Jerry—the Mickey Rooney to her Judy Garland—said, "Let's start a theatre!" And they did.

With tight city budgets, the cultural mini mall's anchor tenant (and the resident squares among the artists)—Anchorage's downtown police department—was eager to move into less expensive office space when their lease ended. So, in 1991, the police station was remade into the Playhouse. But they left behind a little something to remember them by.

"This is all bulletproof glass," says Harper, moving a 7-foot feathered fan and peeling back a drapery to reveal the wall of windows in the actors' lounge. "So, we're the safest theater on 4th Avenue."

Next stop on the impromptu tour: the stairs that lead to the basement. The walls along the stairwell are plastered with posters from past Cyrano's productions. The cast and crew have all signed the posters—and, in some cases, the walls around the poster—and written notes to each other and to Cyrano's.

"There's a history there, the fabric of the theatre," says Pond. "You find it all over the place, at any theatre that gets to stick around for awhile. Cyrano's has such a rich fabric. That's my favorite thing about backstage."

Throwing a Party

Before Pond came on board as producing artistic director, she directed four shows at Cyrano's. Although she's not a newbie to the theatre, nor unfamiliar in the Alaska theatre scene, she still feels like she's learning critical information from Harper.

"I've always thought of the job of the producer as it's my job to have everyone's back, to be there for what the artist needs. I think Sandy's way to say it is much more glamorous," she says. "I've adopted this from her, because I think it's lovely. She said, 'My definition of being the producer is I'm the host of the party. My job is to make a good party—bring in the right guests and the right food and music and entertainment and put it all together so that the party can be fantastic.'"

Back upstairs in the theatre, beside ancient Rome, Harper traces a finger on the gold nameplates affixed to the seat arms, stopping at the seat that's front and center.

"This is Jerry's. When he was directing, he often sat there."

She brings the lights back down to inky darkness and we re-emerge into the cafe (once a dress shop, she points out).

In the lobby is a wall dedicated to the Harpers. "There's a whole generation now who never saw Jerry direct or perform," she says. She'd like to see Cyrano's continue to maintain high artistic standards to honor Jerry's memory. She's sure she's picked the right successor.

"I think it's important that once you put your trust in somebody it's carte blanche and they do it. You choose them carefully," she says. "I have a box of plays that I'm not going to be able to put on the table because now it's Teresa's turn."

Harper completes her legacy year in December.

"I love being busy. That's the hard part. This was my identity 24-7 for 24 years."

But the party isn't over quite yet.

Before we say goodbye, she reaches into her bag and sifts through her papers, talking opening night menus: What would the Romans have served? Or the Egyptians? "I thought I had the 'Shakes-beer' labels to show you, but I can't find them," she says, and then laughs and sets her bag aside with a shrug.

Looking around the lobby, she says, "I have no regrets. I mean, we all make mistakes, but generally speaking, I'm never sorry I ate half a gallon of ice cream!"

This article was originally published in 61°North – The Arts Issue. Contact the editor, Jamie Gonzales, at jgonzales@alaskadispatch.com.