In April 2000, I was part of the University of Southern Mississippi production of The Rimers of Eldritch by Lanford Wilson that made it to the national level (won, for lack of a better turn of phrase) of the Kennedy Center American College Theatre Festival.

I was a grad student in the MFA-Directing program at USM and I auditioned and was cast as Cora Groves. I cannot begin to describe what a privilege it was to be performing and working with so many talented people, my peers.

But that is where this story of the Kennedy Center in my life only partly begins. Like most middle school students, I participated in the obligatory summer trip between seventh and eighth grade in DC and NYC. We visited the Kennedy Center and saw what I believe was as close to if not the original cast of Sheer Madness (it opened in 1987 and I was there in 1989); and then we Amtrak'd up to NYC where we saw the original West End cast of Phantom of the Opera at the Majestic Theatre. (Quite a double-header.)

Fast forward, and following the final performance of Rimers in the Terrace Theatre, we were led to a small reception outside the entrance to the Atrium on the Hall of States side of the building (this was as I now understand it, long before the JFK gallery was a thought in anyone’s head-but I or the person that told me this could be very wrong.) There we were presented, by KCACTF Artistic Director Greg Henry and Vice President of Education Darell Ayers, with gold-plated tickets exactly like the paper one pictured (my father’s). Sadly, I have not been able to find my ticket. I know it is somewhere safe…but where that is, is a decades long mystery.

On leaving that night, my father and I took that picture together in the Hall of States. He didn't often wear a jacket and tie but he knew this was a special moment in my life and he wanted to look the part. As someone appreciative of Kennedy, and who was born, raised, and who experienced Kennedy's death in 1963 in Dallas, he also had a reverence for the Center.

Immediately after we took this picture, I turned to him and I said, "Daddy, I am going to be working here in five years." And he said, "Mija, I know you will."

Four and a half years later (summer 2004), Michael Chamberlain, who worked in KC Production, called me on a referral from a Dallas Children's Theatre colleague/undergraduate school friend, asking if I would entertain a meeting with the Center about a job opportunity.

I don't know many people who would say no to the Kennedy Center and I certainly was not about to. He and Jeff Hill Amtrak'd me up from Charlottesville, VA, where I was close by, working as Performing Arts Director at an international summer camp; and took me to lunch in the 600 (IYKYK). There they offered me an Equity contract as Production Manager for the KC Theatre for Young Audiences National Tour of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer. I called my father first and told him I was not coming back to Texas. His response: “You beat your five-year goal, Mija. Be careful, and have fun. I love you.”

And once again, I was surrounded by incredible talent and holding a corporate credit card with the name John F. Kennedy on it. Even more, that show has resulted in life long friends there in DC (c’mere babies), and as far away as Athens, Greece. Among so many wonderful people on that production, I met Michael Bobbitt, who was our Choreographer. Michael, a colleague I hold dear and worked with elsewhere in the DMV, is now the new President/CEO of Opera America, an organization I hold dear as well.

Eleven and a half years, and incredible positions across Production, Education, and ultimately Development, and my tenure with the Kennedy Center came to an end last year, this month. The decade plus I spent there was absolute magic. Not perfect (what job ever is) but the trajectory of my career can be mapped by my time and experience at the Center.

What cannot ever fully be mapped are the stories. There are so many stories. I know how many I have, so I can only imagine how many others have as well. Some, I recall people more recently being a little mortified perhaps at my sharing:) But taking a page out of @ourkennedycenter...if I don't share them, where will they go? Who will know what I, we did there? Some may ask does it matter. Unequivocally, yes, it does. Should those of us fighting now to be able to hold the Kennedy Center in our hands once again, these stories will matter. Not because we will use them to recover that magic… we simply can’t. But hopefully as inspiration that will help us create new, even better magic.

So I will continue to share more stories here on my blog (some of them are doozies) and link them to Instagram, Facebook, and LinkedIn, in case anyone wants to venture down the windmills of my Kennedy Center mind.

While you wait for mine, go read more at @ourkennedycenter on Instagram. These stories, not just mine, are worth everyone's time and attention.

What’s Next?

SAA | 9.30.26