Brother Rick Curry, S. J. · May 27, 04:13 AM

Brother Rick Curry’s father sent Rick to theatre school when he was in first grade and every year on his birthday he’d drive Rick from their home in Philadelphia to New York City to watch a Broadway show. His mom never pushed the acting thing, though she herself was an actor, and his father never really pushed the acting thing either. Rick’s dad saw the acting classes as preparation for the career as a lawyer he envisioned for his son.

Rick Curry was born with one arm. He’s been physically handicapped since birth yet one of his superiors once exclaimed, “You weren’t handicapped until you went to New York.” This came after Rick told the man that he was not going to the University of Georgetown to oversee the building of a new theatre, opting instead to stay in NYC to found and run the National Theatre Workshop for the Handicapped (NTWH).

Through his theater Rick supplies an arena for physically disabled men and women to discover their sense of worth and beauty through the creative processes of writing, producing, and acting in original works. He’s also taken his theatre to Maine where he runs a summer program for newly disabled veterans of the Iraq and Afghanistan wars. While he’s providing a tremendous service he’s quick to admit that he benefits from the experience as much or more than the men and women he teaches.

Young Philosopher: Where did you grow up? Did you have a mom and a dad, brothers and sisters?

Brother Rick Curry, S.J.: I’ve had all of that. I just celebrated my birthday last Sunday and then I celebrated my vow day as a Jesuit on Monday. I was 21 on the 18th of March and I was vowed on the 19th of March, 43 years ago. I grew up in Philadelphia. I have an older sister who is 18 months my senior and she is a nun and I had a brother who was 18 years my senior. He was an attorney, married, lived in Mundelein, near Chicago, for a while, had nine kids, seven sons, a girl at either end, and he has died, along with my sister-in-law.
I was born with one arm, which was a shock to my family, not because I was born with one arm but because they didn’t realize I was going to be born with one arm. It was a surprise.
I went to a parish school in Philadelphia, then to St. Joe’s Prep, which is a Jesuit high school in Philadelphia. I fell in love with the Jesuits and wanted to become one after high school. I’ve been a Jesuit ever since. They trained me as a baker and as a cook. They eventually sent me to school where I got my bachelor’s degree in English and my master’s degree in Theatre at Villanova. I went to India and came back, taught at St. Joe’s University, started a theatre program there. I came up here [New York City] to do my doctorate. While I was doing my doctorate I founded the National Theatre Workshop for the Handicapped, which is now 30 years old.

Young Philosopher: Where did your love of theatre come from?

Brother Rick Curry, S.J.: When I was in first grade, my father sent me to acting school. I think he did it because he thought I was losing self-confidence. It was a great jolt for me because I had been raised in a very secure environment. There was no children’s theatre so I went to an adult acting school. I loved it. He really sent me there because he thought I could become a lawyer.
I couldn’t be a soldier and in those days I couldn’t be a priest because you needed these two fingers [thumb and pointer finger] of both hands to be a priest.

YP: Why did you need fingers to be a priest?

BC: These are the fingers that are anointed and it’s actually Jewish and not Christian [law]. The book of Leviticus says that no priest can have a blemish or a physical defect.
My dad used to bring me up to New York to see a Broadway play every year for my birthday. Although my mother was an actress, she never pushed the theatre, but my father did.
When I entered the Jesuits I thought, that’s my end of theatre. Oh, contraire.

YP: Starting anything is difficult. What kind of opposition did you face in starting your theatre company?

BC:I think the Lord guarded me from a lot of adverse criticism that was out there. More personally, when you’re born with one arm you have to learn how to do things on your own. You can’t look for models. I adored my older sister; I adored my parents, but they had two hands so I thought there were areas where they couldn’t teach me how to do some things. I had to figure it out on my own. So, when I started the theatre I thought, I just have to figure it out on my own and I just went and did it.
It wasn’t until years later, when it was successful, that I began to hear that people said that starting the theatre was a stupid idea and that it was going to fail. I didn’t hear it.

YP: What do you mean the Lord protected you from the criticism?

BC: It was out there but I didn’t feed into it or walk into it. I’m sure in some areas, the Lord deflected them, I don’t know. I think it’s really stubbornness.

YP: Jesuits are men and women for others but when you were starting the theatre was it something for you, for others, or a combination?

BC: It has to be a combination. You can’t be a person for others and totally diminutive toyourself. That’s bullshit, to be honest with you.
Would I love to be as self-effacing as John the Baptist, I must decrease so Jesus increases? Yeah, of course. Is that my prayer? Yes. Is that my hope? Yes. Is that my reality? No.
I felt that I was gaining a voice, gaining a pulpit that I never had as a brother, and that the disabled were a people I could really speak to and for and with. The more closely I got to know them, they were empowering me. Although I was born with one arm I didn’t really know what it meant to be disabled. I didn’t go to a one-armed school. I’ve always kind of lived in a two fisted world although I knew I was disabled but at the same time I couldn’t really celebrate it. What the disabled were doing was allowing me to celebrate my differences. It was for me. I was getting a lot out of it. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have had the courage to keep doing it. It was enhancing my prayer life. It was enhancing my integrity. I saw it was helping other people. You give people theatre and you have to turn your eyes because what they do with it is extraordinary. The program is unbelievable. Did I found it? Yes. Am I responsible for it? Absolutely not. The arts have a creative energy unto themselves. What I’m doing is providing it. That’s all I’m doing.

What a good educator does is just provide the atmosphere where a student can learn. I don’t think we teach anyone anything. We can open it up and spell it out. All education is self-education. We create an atmosphere where the students get so excited about something that they start devouring it. You can coach them but you can’t teach them.
When I founded the theatre I founded it out of a Kennedy-esque model, an Ignatian model. I was going to give a group of people who had been denied something, that which they had been denied. And, that’s all true but what I wasn’t ready for was how much talent there was. I thought: ‘Holy shit, now what do we do’?
So, we started doing plays and getting scripts and writing stuff. It had its own life. It was and does continue to be very simpatico.
I’m generous by nature but I’m not selfless.

YP: Did you have your mission statement when you began or did it develop? [“The National Theatre Workshop for the Handicapped believes that the integrity and growth of the disabled artist is in direct proportion to the artist’s acceptance of his or her disability as a gift.”]

BC: I actually saw it. The students who couldn’t accept their disabilities were getting no where. I was shocked to see the students who did accept their disabilities; the gates would open up. I was absolutely shocked.

YP: Do you think that holds true for actors without physical disabilities?

BC: It holds true for any one, about anything.

In my experience and in my belief, in my faith, I truly believe that we are called by God, by name, and as Christians, through baptism, to be exactly who we are. That’s tough because the “who” has lots of “whats” to it. Many of the disabled wanted to be disabled; that is to say they were identifying themselves as disabled. It’s who they were. That’s bullshit! Disabled is what they are. The “who” is so much more wondrous, so much more extraordinary, so much more exciting, but in regard to their calling, they are called to express the “who” through their disability.
I believe that in minorities all minorities are asked to express their “whoness” through their minority status. So, I believe that African Americans in the United States are called by Jesus to be African Americans, to celebrate it. I believe that people who are gay are called to be gay and to celebrate it. I believe that people who are disabled are called to be disabled and to celebrate it. I don’t think that we should accept it or be passive or that God is allowing us to be fill in the blank…I think we are called to be that.

YP: That’s difficult because it’s not like there is a Platonic ideal for gayness or African-Americanness. How do you know how to act as someone who is of a minority?

BC: By shutting up and listening! But you shut up and listen as a black person or as a gay person or as a disabled person or as a distraught person or an angry person or a horny person or a young person or a gifted person or a confused person or a scared person. That’s how you do it. Look it straight in the eye. It’s great stuff. It’s a great invitation. It’s a great vocation. We’re all called to know, love, and serve God and to be happy in this life and happy in the next. But how do you do it? You do it the same what he created you. You can only praise the creator with the face he gave you. It’s the only way. I am not apologetic for people becoming disabled, nor am I saying, “Oh, God allowed this evil.” I don’t think it is evil. I think it’s an opportunity for great goodness. It is an opportunity for their salvation.
There was that wonderful poster from the 60’s of that little black kid from the ghetto that said, “God Don’t Make No Junk.” That’s profound in many ways.
This Albin kid grew up in a family in Chicago, skateboards, finds his way to San Francisco, goes to the Jesuit Volunteer Corps. There are no accidents, this is the divine plan for you; you have to reflect on it.
I was getting my doctrate and I was supposed to go back and teach at Georgetown. I was actually locked in to a tenured position at St. Joe’s University. The provincial wanted me to look at Georgetown because they were going to start a new theatre. Tim Healey was the president at that time and he was going to build a new theatre. He wanted me there at that time so I could direct the whole building of the theatre. They wanted it to rival any other theatre in Washington. But, I just backed in to working with the disabled. It was a total embarrassment to my superiors because they never dealt with me as disabled. My provincial called me up and said, “You weren’t disabled before you went to New York.”

YP: Is The National Theatre Workshop of the Handicapped only open to people with physical disabilities?

BC: No. We have able bodied college students who come to work with us and they take classes too. Our mission is to the able bodied who want to learn about the disabled in the arts, the disabled who want to learn about the arts, and the military who want to learn about what it means to be disabled.
This war is awful my friend. It is a total human failure. Kids are coming back maimed and lame, for the rest of their lives, when they’re 18, 19, 20 years of age, joining the ranks of the permanently disabled, which is a group they would never have wanted to join. But, now they’re a part of it and they have to learn to accept it and find joy after disability. That’s our job, to teach them that there is joy after disability. Tough job. Disability is everyday. It’s not like you take two aspirin and call the doctor in the morning.
I don’t wake up and say, another day to have one arm. That’s absurd. It does inform the day though, especially in New York. People stare at you all the time. People talk louder to me, (screams) Hello. It’s hard for me to shake hands, shoe laces are tough. These are so minor though, and I was born this way. I was graced with this at birth. Can you imagine if at your age, you were to lose an arm or leg or both. What would it do to your self-image, your sense of prowess, your sense of attractiveness to other people, your sex life, even your intellectual affirmation of what you can do? What I’m saying is that the arts have a chance of enhancing the human spirit. Then, the body becomes secondary to the human spirit. In theatre there are no physical boundaries. In softball there are physical boundaries, in skateboarding there are physical boundaries. In theatre, you use your imagination; there are no physical boundaries. You can soar. It’s unbelievable what that does to the human spirit.

— Young Philosopher

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