In Praise of Open Mic

by Kevin Reilly

I came back to teach at Buxton after a ten-year hiatus. It’s hard not to be reflective when you return to an old home, and as I navigated the adjustments and reacquaintances throughout this complex year, I often found myself wondering what was at the core of my love for this place.

Nine months in, I didn’t come up with a succinct answer, but I knew it when I saw it, and I saw it all the time. In the boisterous conversations at meals, in the astonishing artwork and theatrical productions, in the stewardship that arose during Work Program—it was all around. But for me, this nebulous core was nowhere more obvious than during the student-organized performance smorgasbords we call “open mics.”

The final one of the spring term stands out. Nearly the entire school was in attendance on the basketball court. Students set up the chairs, the drum kit, the amps, and the lighting. As the sun set, the proceedings opened with a lengthy improvised duet on thumb piano and harmonica, sounding something like a floating sequence from a Studio Ghibli film. This weirdness went on and on, because it was really a smokescreen for an actual horse carrying actual yearbooks, which the seniors had arranged to amble towards the group at just the right time. Once the cargo had been gleefully distributed, the show resumed. There were three stand-up comics, two scenes from musicals, a folk-rock band, an Appalachian acapella trio, a couple singalongs, some karaoke, and even a set of high-flying basketball theatrics. By the end of this array, the magical yearbook horse had almost been forgotten.

Was this because everyone sang on key, remembered the lyrics, and nailed their comedic timing? Of course not. While real skill and talent are often on display, Buxton open mics are wonderfully slapdash affairs, full of acts that succeed on energy alone. Attend a few of them and you’ll see their most essential piece is the audience. And this gets me back to the core of the place: I’ve never seen another group of teenagers stay so enthusiastically supportive while their peers take risks, get dramatic, or act silly in public. Wild and sincere bursts of applause are the norm, even for the most haphazard routines, and this generosity makes each performer’s light shine a bit brighter. This was true in 2005 and it’s still true in 2021.

So, don’t worry too much about how Buxton made it through this masked and distanced year. The core is intact, the kids are alright, and they did more than just make it through: they made it fun, weird, significant, and beautiful, as always.