Tom Selleck writes of post 9/11 struggles: "After a time, we asked the same question: 'Should we go back to work?'"Tom SelleckShow Caption
When it comes to memorializing the 9/11 terrorist attacks, Tom Selleck is renowned for the powerful 2012 “Blue Bloods” episode “The Job,” which revealed that his NYPD Commissioner Frank Reagan was inside the World Trade Center’s North Tower on Sept. 11, 2001, and later struggled with survivor’s guilt as an old partner died from a 9/11-related illness. The episode also made “Blue Bloods” the first scripted TV series to film at the newly opened 9/11 Memorial.But the "Magnum P.I." star was working on Broadway on Sept. 11, 2001, starring as Murray Burns in a revival of Herb Gardner’s “A Thousand Clowns” at the Longacre Theatre. The production, Selleck’s Broadway debut, had opened July 11 and ultimately closed Sept. 23, earlier than planned after attendance plunged following the terrorist attacks.Below, Selleck writes this "postscript" to the tragedy 25 years later.I was working with Dave Muntz – actually, ever since "Magnum" days – and a little before 9 a.m. on a Tuesday, he woke me up with a phone call.“Tom, turn on your TV," he said.I couldn’t see the World Trade Center towers from my Midtown apartment. But I saw the mass of black smoke billowing toward Brooklyn. I turned on the TV and watched as the first tower collapsed. Tuesday, September 11, 2001, 8:46 a.m., my life, New York City’s life, and the life of our nation were forever changed.Mayor Rudy Giuliani stepped up in the aftermath. He wisely wanted his city to go back to work. Especially Broadway. Dave and I walked around Midtown and talked to people, mostly cops. And we always asked the same question: “Mayor Giuliani wants Broadway to go back to work. What do you think?”The answer was always the same: “You have to go back.”The Longacre Theatre was pretty old, and there was a firehouse around the corner on Eighth Avenue. When they responded to a call, you could hear the engines and their sirens during a performance. They were just doing their duty. So when it happened, our only hope was that it didn’t occur during an important moment in the play. If it did, so be it.Dave’s and my last stop that day was to pay our respects to Engine 54, Ladder 4, Battalion 9.When we turned the corner from 48th Street, we saw it. The front of the firehouse entrance was blocked by flowers. They must have been six feet deep.We had come unannounced, but we were welcomed and invited in. There were tables set up with food provided by people in the neighborhood. And there was a gathering of FDNY members, family and friends. Nothing can prepare you for something like this. But we at least tried to say the right things. We met a woman standing with friends. Before we were introduced, we were told that her husband and her father were both killed at the World Trade Center.We did our best, and she did her best to put on her brave face. This single firehouse lost more people than any other in the Fire Department of New York. All fifteen members of Engine 54, Ladder 4, who were on duty that morning died when the North Tower collapsed.After a time, we asked the same question: “Should we go back to work?”The answer was always the same. “You must.”The word came down. Broadway was going back to work, starting on Thursday, Sept. 13. Oh-kay! Well, don’t know where I’m going, but there’s no use being late. Time to cowboy up and do our part.Nicolas King, who played Murray’s ten-year-old nephew, Nick, was only nine when we started. Usually, they cast an older kid to play younger, but Nicolas was kind of a middle-aged kid, the same quality the character Nick had in the play.I got a call from Nicolas’s mom in Rhode Island. “Nicolas doesn’t want to come back to New York. I think he needs a talk with Uncle Tom.”Nicolas came to the phone, and in his usual grown-up way, he said, “Hello, Tom.”“I hear you don’t want to come back.”“Tom, I don’t think I should.” And then he added in his most grown-up voice: “You see, Tom... I’m just afraid the buildings will fall in on me.”It was very clear that my little friend was scared. After some back-and-forth, he put his mom back on the phone. I told her: “Look, if he stays in Rhode Island, yes, he will be safe. But there is no lesson in that. If he comes back in the face of all that’s happened, he’ll never forget it."On the Thursday before our first performance, our cast gathered in front of the Longacre – all the cast, including my courageous young friend Nicolas King. All of Broadway was about to dim their marquees in honor of those lost on 9/11. About then, two F-16s screamed overhead on a low pass. Nicolas instantly moved behind Dave and me, kind of hiding.Dave said just the right thing: “Don’t worry, Nicolas. That’s the sound of freedom.”So, after being shuttered for just two days, we were coming back. I found out we had maybe a little over two hundred people in the audience. The Longacre had a capacity of a little over a thousand, and we were used to being sold out.But this small group of courageous citizens of New York City had honored Mayor Giuliani’s request just as we had, and we were determined to give them "A Thousand Clowns" at its best. No small task on this particular evening. But still."A Thousand Clowns" is a comedy, but it is a comedy with heart. If a good performance has to put the comedy in tragedy – and the tragedy in comedy – on this night it would lean toward the latter. On this night, the color and shape of the audience laughter changed.When I went back to my dressing room after the first act, there was a fax on my desk. Herb Gardner, our playwright and my friend, wrote something he wanted me to say to the audience.When "A Thousand Clowns" ended that night, we got a very warm reaction. There were some tears in the audience and more than a few on the stage. Then, the whole cast did something we had never done. We remained onstage. Our cast all thanked the audience.And I’m pretty sure I paraphrased the philosopher Edmund Burke when saying, "All that is necessary for evil to triumph is for good people to do nothing.""Thank you for doing something," I added.Then, I read Herbie’s message.Theater, at its best, is community. A free community. We get together without projectors, screens, and gimmicks; live people telling other live people a story. Whatever story we please.American theater at its best, at its most alive, is a place of infinite variety. Home of the subversive and the sublime, the maverick and the madman, the inspired and the inspiring, the sage and the clown, and, most important, the brave.And the free.As different as each human thought, as varied as each mortal response, we honor that America and that theater tonight. We can applaud Murray or Arnold or nobody at all. All of you, the American theater audience, show your love of freedom by cheering, booing, holding fast, or walking out; and, as is the case tonight, by simply showing up.We here onstage applaud you all.Well done, my friend.
