Boot Dust and Stage Lights

by Charles Evered

Adopt a Sailor was born from an effort to bridge what I saw as a widening gap between the culture of art and the culture of national service—specifically, military service. Its first iteration, a ten-minute play performed in September 2002 at New York City’s Town Hall, was a reflexive reaction to the horror of the September 11th attacks.

A program called Brave New World was organized, and New York area playwrights were asked to submit dramatic responses to the event. My first reaction to the idea of writing about the attacks was revulsion. Even a year later, it felt untouchable—too radioactive. For me, the connections ran too close.

At the time, I was a visiting professor at a small liberal arts college in the Pacific Northwest and also a Navy Reserve Officer. My unit was based in Manhattan, and after 9/11, I spent days figuring out how to get there and help however I could. A few days later, I landed in New York and saw the plumes of smoke still rising where the towers once stood.

At Ground Zero, I quickly realized active rescues were nearly impossible by then. As a writer, I thought perhaps I could at least witness and document. The images from those days have never left me, nor do I hope they ever will.

When I returned to my relatively cushy life as a theater professor, the contrast was stark. Academic symposiums sprang up, as they should have, but their tone shocked me. What I remember most is blame. Not national introspection, but finger-pointing—how America had brought these attacks on herself.

At one forum, I described what I’d seen at Ground Zero. A young woman told me she felt angry—not at the attackers, but on their behalf. She said she felt bad for them, so aggrieved that they believed flying planes into buildings was necessary.

After one such symposium, I stood on the college green, feeling disoriented, surrounded by colleagues echoing disappointment in our country. Looking down at my boots—the same ones I had worn at Ground Zero—I noticed a ring of gray dust still clinging to them. I wondered what, or who, that dust contained.

The convergence of those experiences shut something down in me. Loud noises and harsh lights became my enemy. I fell into a silent depression that lasted longer than I’d like to admit.

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The First Play

A year later, I had moved to Belmont, Massachusetts, for another academic position. When asked to submit a play for Town Hall’s 9/11 anniversary program, I resisted. But one day, after saying “no” one last time, I walked straight to my kitchen table and wrote the play in fifteen minutes.

I assumed nothing would come of it. But the piece resonated. The setup was simple: a seemingly naïve sailor alone in New York during Fleet Week is “adopted” by an upscale couple in their Upper West Side apartment. Adopt a Sailor referred to an actual program where locals hosted visiting sailors.

The idea that three such disparate people might share a room for ten minutes struck a chord. Within days, actors like Liev Schreiber, Sam Waterston, Eli Wallach, Bebe Neuwirth, Amy Irving, and Neil Patrick Harris were performing it in rotating casts. Even The New York Times gave it a good review.

What was it about this play? I think it was that it dared to express anger—not at ourselves, but at the attackers. Audiences seemed grateful for that. After its run, I put the play away, thankful for its brief life.

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Expanding the Story

Four years later, my friend Andy Breckman, creator of Monk, commissioned me to expand the play. I removed direct references to 9/11, not wanting to add to the glut of post-9/11 works that felt exploitative. The heart of the story, to me, was always about three people bridging their differences.

The expanded version received a showcase Off-Off-Broadway and was later published alongside the original. I thought that was the end.

But in 2006, a chance meeting with a parent at my daughter’s school—producer Kim Waltrip—led to a film adaptation. Soon I was directing scenes aboard the USS Wasp with the support of the U.S. Navy. Ethan Peck starred, with Peter Coyote and Bebe Neuwirth as the couple.

The result was a modest festival hit, with a Palm Springs premiere and a Redbox release. Once again, I thought the project had run its course.

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The National Tour

In 2018, I launched the Evered House, an artist residency for veterans, dedicated to my father, a World War II veteran. To spread the word, we organized a national tour of Adopt a Sailor. The goal was to have the play read or performed in every state.

We kept it simple: twenty minutes, three actors, three stools. No rehearsals required. Many organizations never responded. Some politely declined. But others embraced it.

Performances happened everywhere—stages, coffee shops, apartments, picnic tables. In Kentucky, after a major theater declined, a Motel 6 cleaning staffer read it poolside in her uniform. It was one of the most moving performances I had ever witnessed.

The tour lasted six years, involving more than 150 actors, dozens of directors, and countless supporters. Often, performances sparked discussions about the military, patriotism, and service. These moments of connection convinced me I was right to revive the play.

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Reflection

Adopt a Sailor has become the backdrop of my career and much of my life. In Hollywood, academia, and theater, I often felt like an outsider—someone who loves his country but hesitates to express it.

The play has been a plea for bridge-building, unity, and tolerance of differing opinions. More than anything, it has been a vehicle for connection, bringing me closer to the heart of my country. Time and again, I thought I had outgrown it, but the truth is that in all its forms, it has been nothing less than a blessing—born of tragedy, and one I will always be grateful for.

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As the Voice of the Veteran Community, The Havok Journal seeks to publish a variety of perspectives on a number of sensitive subjects. Unless specifically noted otherwise, nothing we publish is an official point of view of The Havok Journal or any part of the U.S. government.