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Meet Ron May of Stray Cat Theatre in Tempe

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Today we’d like to introduce you to Ron May.

Ron, can you briefly walk us through your story – how you started and how you got to where you are today.
I had no intention of permanently moving to Arizona. Ever.

I studied acting in Chicago and it was very aggressively drilled into my brain that if there was anything, ANYthing else I could do with my life that would make me happy, then that’s what I should do.

So, I did. I tried an ‘anything else.’
I worked as a psycho-social director in nursing homes for several years. And I liked it. But after hearing resident after resident after resident launch into deathbed monologues about their Rolodex of regrets and how they wished they could go back in time and at least TRY to pursue singing or write that book, or train to be a dancer, or, or, or – I hit a wall.

“I don’t want this to be me,” I thought. “I need to at least go try. If I fail, I fail… but… at least, I don’t harbor some kind of lifelong regret of not trying.”

A theatre professor at College of DuPage in IL where I had attended had pulled me aside right as I was about to hit the real world and said that I COULD pursue the acting thing but that I SHOULD look into pursuing the directing thing. I, of course, took enormous offense at this initially assuming I was being told I was a crappy actor – but – I figured if I WAS going to actually go back to school, directing is what I would spend time on. So, I came to Arizona back in 1995. Because you could study with Broadway legend Marshall W. Mason. As an UNDERGRAD! Between the promise of his name and the promise of constant sun, it was a no-brainer. The plan the entire time was to come here, learn, and then head right back to Chicago with my Marshall W Mason knowledge so I could start “the real work” and conquer the big city.

I drove into Tempe with the car I had at the time, my clothes I had at the time, my boyfriend I had at the time, and a whole lot of not understanding of what “dry heat” really meant.

All those things are gone now.

What remains years later is me… and a theatre company deep in the heart of an incredibly generous community.

We’re always bombarded by how great it is to pursue your passion, etc. – but we’ve spoken with enough people to know that it’s not always easy. Overall, would you say things have been easy for you?
I mean… it could have been a hell of a lot worse?

It took and still takes a lot of way too late nights so my sleep schedule is eleventy shades of fucked up. We didn’t have any semblance of a permanent home until about two seasons ago when we moved to Tempe Center for the Arts. Before that, for 15 years, we boutiqued around to all sorts of other spaces for a few years here and there – every year holding our breath wondering if the following season the venue would shut down.

Your personal life takes a hit – like dating is next to impossible because my schedule is such that I work the 9 to 5-day job before going to the rehearsal which is most nights until 11 and at least one of the days on the weekend.

I am far from rolling in cash. So, I have all sorts of things I would LIKE to do that I can’t – like a broken tooth I can’t afford to fix and busted air in my car. Corporate funding has dried up. As has a lot of giving, frankly. Support for the Arts is super difficult. Arizona is noTORiously horrible. It’s just primarily seen as a kind of ‘luxury’ thing as opposed to a necessity.

But.

September 11th is kind of anecdotal for a lot of people but that was the year we started Stray Cat. I flew out to NYC for my birthday. Friends of mine from ASU had all moved to NYC and as a gift flew me out there. I was to come home ON 9/11. That morning, I actually woke up super late. The friend I was staying with and I headed down right by the Twin Towers because he was working near there and I wanted to check out the basement mall to snag souvenirs for people back here.

When the 1st one was hit neither of us saw it – just the aftermath. We actually split ways because he was worried about being late. I remember thinking, “DUDE! the building BLEW UP I don’t think ANYONE is going to notice if you’re late!” – but I also kind of deer-in-the-headlights kept walking TOWARDS the burning building like a dumb ass.

When the second plane hit I barely saw it? Like I saw something hit obviously but couldn’t fully see WHAT. But it felt like a movie. Like – the explosion was so enormous and so hot I could FEEL it. And I was not THAT close.

My friend and I very, fortunately, were able to quickly re-find each other.

I had no cell phone at the time and actually HAD change and immediately ran to a pay phone to call my boyfriend and let him know he would be seeing some shit on TV but that I was OK so far.

I wound up stuck in NYC for several days. Getting home was challenging as you can imagine for anyone who HAD a ticket for that day.

When I got home, I literally fell to the gross nasty filthy ground outside Sky Harbor Terminal 2 and about made out with the gum-covered sidewalk.

So, I mean – the beginning of Stray Cat is just kind of forever inexorably linked… to that.
So, I am always reminded that things could always, ALways be worse.

The road I’ve taken so far has landed me in a position where I’m fortunate enough in my artistic life to be able to make the plays I want to make – when I want to make them – with the exact people I want to make them with.

So talking about a rough road just feels like whining.

We’d love to hear more about Stray Cat Theatre.
I think it’s safe to say that Stray Cat Theatre is consistently viewed as the leading voice for alternative (indie) theatre in the valley. It took time to get there but I think we’re there.

There’s a movie analogy I tend to use where if most live theatres in town are kind of akin to the AMC’s and Harkins? Like – you can see all the blockbusters at all of those spaces. All the popular titles. The more reliable box office hits. But if you want to go see the weirdo indie art-house flick, you have to usually drive out to some tiny theatre that kind of specializes in that kind of niche film-making where the thing is showing on, like – ONE screen. That’s us. If most local theatres are Harkins and AMC when it comes to programming, we’re like the theatrical equivalent of the Valley Art Theatre off Mill Ave.

You could also, I think take just about every single theatre in the Valley and write their entire season on sheets of paper and put them up on a wall withOUT indicating which theatre is doing what? And I think ours would arguably be the easiest to pick out.

We showcase strictly contemporary material. Which has given us the good fortune to sort of put us on a playing field with some of the larger companies in town since we’re doing the plays that are right NOW a part of the conversation – what conversation there is at least – which is admittedly nowhere near what we all wish it was – but nationally – about theatre and where it is and where it’s going. We had the second production nationally of Annie Baker’s THE FLICK before it even won the Pulitzer. I certainly wouldn’t say we’re necessarily a tastemaker (yet!) – but I would be lying if I didn’t say a lot of people – locally and in other states – every season ask me what we’re reading.

I’m proud as hell we have lasted as long as we have and barreled through the venue issues and lasted through the big recession.

I’m proud that we’re seen – creatively and administratively in terms of the experience you have as an artist when you work with us – as pretty damn good at what we do. I would hold the way we operate up to just about any professional theatre. We just don’t get paid for it is all.

I’m proud (sorry – not so humble brag) that I was named a finalist for the Zelda Fichandler Award last season which was the first nod to Arizona since its inception. The winner and finalists are individuals who “have made, and continue to make, a significant contribution to their community through extraordinary work in theatre in the Western region of the United States (defined as Alaska, Arizona, California, Colorado, Hawaii, Idaho, Montana, Nevada, New Mexico, Oregon, Utah, Washington, and Wyoming).

And I’m proud it’s all happened where it’s happened. There’s a really great network of artists here. Artists that live their lives on a different level than they might in a bigger city like New York or Chicago… so I’ve found at least that it’s easy to find people super hungry and willing to take huge fucking risks.

Because the stakes just aren’t as life or death here so I have found more people willing to jump off the deep end with me not knowing if there’s a net underneath.

And it’s fucking exhilarating.

What were you like growing up?
Oh, man.

I was an only child. So, I was pretty resourceful on my own I guess? Which was good because I wasn’t particularly popular? I had a handful of good friends but they usually weren’t particularly popular either.

When I was younger I always got write-ups for my inability to “exercise self-control in class.” If there was a line you weren’t supposed to cross, I wanted to cross it. We had a teacher who said she had eyes in the back of her head and I was like, “BullSHIT woman” and so one day she turned around and I flipped her off – like – a super huge grand gesture so everyone saw – and she saw. And I about crapped myself. I later saw she had mirrors up at the chalkboard but… still. I think I liked acting out because of the attention it got me from kids who otherwise wouldn’t give me the time of day.

I’m sure a therapist could have a field day with how that somehow echos what I currently do.

I was kind of obsessed with spelling. I actually did very well in spelling bees in grade school. I came in first in 5th grade at the school level and was runner up in 6th grade. That year I went to the district spelling bee and got eliminated on my first fucking word. ‘Raglan’. I’ll never forget it. I have seen it used maybe ONCE in my life since then and FUCK that word.

My very first acting role was in 6th grade I played a young Mexican boy who went door to door trying to sell his burro for cash so he could buy his family Christmas presents.
I wasn’t in brown face but I mean… welcome to MidWestern White America in the 80s!

I got more heavily involved with theatre in junior high.
I was the man in the bowler hat in this play called THE MAN IN THE BOWLER HAT.
And honestly aside from wearing a bowler hat, I can’t remember what the hell the play was about.

Then I was in this play called SPIES AND DOLLS where I was like some German thief with a fake beard that was trying to steal dolls from some warehouse but the dolls were played by students and it was super weird.

I continued in high school.
I remember auditioning for ANNIE my freshman year and I was cast as “Chorus” and I was like, “what the actual fuck is THAT? that’s not even a NAME. like… where’s my SOLO?”
that was a very humbling experience.

In high school, though, I learned people thought I was funny. Which was a totally new high for me. I learned people would be super nice to you if you can make them laugh. It’s such a cliche to be like, “Oh, I was the funny fat kid in high school” but I was totally the funny fat kid in high school.
Who ultimately wound up being in lots of plays.

I wound up losing weight in college, but I’ve kind of come full circle back to being the funny fat guy just – I make plays now instead of being in them.

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Image Credit:
All photos credited to JOHN GROSECLOSE, (l to r) Debra Lyman, Michelle Chin, and Shari Watts in Stray Cat Theatre’s JOHN by Annie Baker directed by Ron May, (l to r) Yolanda London and Tyler Eglen in Stray Cat Theatre’s WOLVES by Steve Yockey directed by Ron May, Eric Zaklukiewicz in Stray Cat Theatre’s and Phoenix Theatre’s HAND TO GOD by Robert Askins directed by Ron May, The cast of Stray Cat Theatre’s THE ELABORATE ENTRANCE OF CHAD DEITY by Kristoffer Diaz directed by Ron May, (l to r) Charles Sohn, Louis Farber, Shari Watts and Melody Knudson in Stray Cat Theatre’s STUPID FUCKING BIRD by Aaron Posner directed by Ron May, (l to r) Katie McFadzen and Ron May in Stray Cat Theatre’s YEAR OF THE ROOSTER by Olivia Dufault directed by Michael Peck, Ron May in Stray Cat Theatre’s THE TRUMP CARD by Mike Daisey directed by Katie McFadzen

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