In Conversation With Come From Away‘s Irene Sankoff and David Hein
Reader’s Digest Canada: Come From Away has returned to Canada after a successful Broadway run that garnered seven Tony Award nominations. Are you still pinching yourselves?
David Hein: Every step along the way has been a pinching-ourselves moment. We were never focused on writing a Broadway show. We always just wanted to share an incredible story about these amazing people.
The musical is about the 38 airplanes forced to land in Gander, Newfoundland, on September 11, 2001—and the town’s touching hospitality for all those travellers. How did you first become involved in writing that story?
Irene Sankoff: We had closed our previous show, My Mother’s Lesbian Jewish Wiccan Wedding, and were having trouble finding our next project. Toronto theatre producer Michael Rubinoff asked to meet us. He shared the idea for Come From Away.
Hein: From there we were fortunate enough to get a Canada Council for the Arts grant, which funded our trip to Gander on the 10th anniversary of 9/11. All of these people who had been stranded there a decade ago—passengers and flight crew from around the world—came back to commemorate what had happened. Gander is a hard place to get to, but they all wanted to be there.
Did the idea of writing a 9/11 musical feel daunting?
Sankoff: I don’t think it felt that way. The story of what happened in Gander was immediately familiar to us. On Sept. 11, 2001, we were living in New York in a residence with students from 110 different countries. By the end of that day, someone pulled out a piano and started playing, and we all gravitated to the music.
Hein: What I remember from that time in New York is that you could walk up to any person in the street and say, “Are you okay?” And that’s what we saw 10 years later when we went to Gander. Strangers invited us to stay in their homes.
Did you worry about accurately representing the wide range of their experiences?
Hein: Yes. We joke that we had 16,000 stories to tell because there were 7,000 people on the planes and 9,000 residents in Gander. While we couldn’t include everything, we wanted the real people to come to the show and feel like we got their story right. One of the things that happened in real life is that the air traffic control crews didn’t have anything to do after the planes landed so they spent days making chili. Originally, we had three scenes in the show about chili. In the end, it was just one line, but it’s in there. The positive reactions we have gotten from the real people who inspired the show have been so rewarding.
Do you now have a favourite Newfoundland tradition?
Sankoff: Mine is more of an idea. It’s a line from Les Misérables—“What we have, we have to share.” If someone shows up at the door, you help them.
Hein: I love the kitchen parties, the whole concept of getting through the winter by bringing over instruments and singing and dancing together as a community. That’s what we wanted to do with Come From Away—create a kitchen party for our audience every night.
What is it like to be a husband-and-wife writing team?
Hein: People always say they can’t imagine working with their spouse, and it’s not for the faint of heart. When Irene has a plan A and I have a plan B, we have to work our way through that, but coming up with a plan C together is our strength.
Sankoff: We have rules about trying not to work on the show when we’re hungry or angry or in bed. It’s incredibly not-sexy when the show gets brought up in bed. Also, over the years, we’ve learned that it’s better for us to work in public because there are witnesses.
You wrote Come From Away long before the current political landscape came to be. How does it feel to be at the helm of a musical about inclusiveness and tolerance during the Trump era?
Hein: It’s been healing. With the things you see in the news and on social media, it’s been good for us—and everyone else, I hope—to celebrate human kindness and to tell a story about people coming together despite their differences.
For an interview with an iconic Newfoundlander, check out 15 Minutes With Rick Mercer!
Who was John Thomas Laver?
My grandfather John Thomas Laver stood five feet four inches tall, just like his father, like my father and now me. But at five years of age when I wasn’t yet that height, he scared me. He was a quiet, private man who, as they say, kept himself to himself. One morning, I found him seated alone at a table in an old wooden shed attached to the kitchen, having his breakfast, drinking tea. In hindsight, the tea part wasn’t unusual. He was born in England. But it was how he was drinking it that I remember thinking was odd. He poured if rom his cup into his saucer and then drank it from the saucer—like a cat lapping milk from its dish. When I stared at him, deep in his own thoughts, he looked up at me only for a second, said nothing, and continued to sip his tea.
Every Christmas, six siblings and their families would gather for dinner at one of my grandparents’ homes in Orillia, Ontario. I never understood why they had two houses, but I remember that these occasions were fun. Lots of presents, lots of food, and for the adults, of course, lots of booze—which helped to keep whatever liquor stores were called in the late 1940s profitable. After everyone had packed away the turkey, unlike the family in the Dylan Thomas work, A Child’s Christmas in Wales, none of the men had a nap. Instead, everyone gathered around the piano, where my Aunt Joyce played carols and other seasonal tunes while we all sang along. It was a joy-filled time. At precisely 9 p.m., however, my grandfather got up from his chair, wound the old grandfather clock that his father had brought from England in the late 1880s, and without a word left the carollers to their party and went to bed. Again, he confirmed my childhood opinion that this was an unusual man; a strange, unfriendly, remote man. A man to be avoided; and that was what I did. I don’t recall having any other interactions with him: no conversations, no bedtime stories, nothing.
But when my grandfather died suddenly from a heart attack in February 1954, my father, sitting with us at breakfast the day after his dad’s death, suddenly did something I had never seen before. He burst into tears, but only briefly, because like his pop, he kept himself to himself. From then on and for the rest of his life, my father from time to time would sing the tender lyrics from the old 1950s Eddie Fisher hit, Oh! My Papa. Obviously, I had missed something. I suppose that was my grandfather’s fault, as he was in his 60s and I was only five. But after seeing my father’s short, but immensely sorrowful, reaction to his death, and hearing him sing about his papa for the next 34 years until his own death in 1988, it was clear that in not knowing my grandfather, I was the big loser.
Ironically, I not only share his first and last names—he was called John, everyone knew him as Thomas—but at 75, I now look just like him.
Next: Why the closing of Sears makes me miss my mom.
Me, My Mom and Sears
I had heard the rumours, but I didn’t think it would really happen. Yet, while sipping coffee one morning last October, I saw the headline that proved otherwise. Sears, the unsinkable department store, had hit an iceberg.
Initially, I felt embarrassed that the news made me emotional. If I’m being honest, Sears hasn’t been a staple in my life for a couple of decades, so I feel a little culpable for its permanent closing this past January. I should’ve bought more appliances and comforter sets, just to support it. But it’s Sears. Isn’t it always supposed to be there? In this fast-paced, virtual world, it was a bricks-and-mortar constant that promised overhead fluorescent lighting, sensible slacks and sales ladies with perms.
Sears was, arguably, the preferred store of every 1980s mother, which is really why I miss it—because I miss mine. My mom was a Sears mom. You know the type: practical, strong-willed and understands the value of a dollar. She had a Sears card that she paid off with an actual cheque on the first of every month. On those days, Mom would pull up to the secret back lot of the store in Peterborough, Ont., by the “Women’s Wear” door. She would then tell me or one of my sisters to run in with the bill and “make sure you get it stamped.” I felt very grown up, and when I got back, she’d remind me, “Never buy something unless you have the cash to pay for it.”
My mom has been gone for five years now. It’s true what they say: it gets easier. But when this past Christmas neared, I still missed her terribly. So on one particularly cold and snowy December night, I drove myself to the Sears of my youth, just to be near some essence of her. Pulling open the heavy double doors, I was instantly transported back to my childhood. (Read about a mother’s and son’s memories of family, friends and food.)
Sears was my family’s go-to store for everything, from washing machines and vacuums to perfume and clothes. I’m the second of three girls, so most things I wore were hand-me-downs—except in September. That’s when we’d make our annual family pilgrimage to pick out a new outfit and supplies for the first day of school. On one of those trips, before the start of Grade 7, I got the blue and yellow L.L. Bean backpack that saw me through elementary school, high school and Europe. I still use it today.
Once there, my mom would also shop for herself. As a part-time nurse, full-time mom and overtime extrovert, her sense of style was wholesome but a bit fancy. I was allowed to sit on the floor of the change room while she tried things on for what seemed like hours. My mom was notably fond of sweaters with collars already sewn into them, which she called “cheaters.” She liked to look presentable but only spend 10 minutes getting ready, and these gave the illusion that she had gone to the extra effort of layering. The best part was when she’d ask for my opinion, a habit she maintained as I moved into adulthood; it never failed to boost my confidence.
As for my clothes, when high-end brands not carried at Sears became popular—such as Vuarnet and Chip & Pepper—my mom was immune to the social pressure.
“If all your friends jumped off a bridge, would you jump, too?” she would ask.
“Yes, I would,” I’d say.
“Then at least you’ll be wearing something sensible when we come to identify your body.”
Shopping at Sears began long before we pulled into the parking lot. When the store’s catalogue arrived in the mail, I’d flip through it and circle things I wanted for Christmas—an Easy-Bake Oven or a Snoopy Sno-Cone Machine. I would tear the page out and carry it with me, the original Pinterest board. When our order finally came in, we’d head to a special area upstairs, where the lady behind the counter would fetch it from a mysterious place called “the back.”
When I was 10, I had the privilege of staying up late to accompany my mom to a midnight madness sale. As we hopped into the station wagon, I was bleary-eyed but excited to have her all to myself. I got to sit next to her in the front seat, feeling more like her friend than her daughter.
That night the store was bustling with Sears moms, and it was like spying on a secret society of womanhood. My mom ran into people she knew, made small talk and joked with the sales staff. I noticed how she did all this with such ease and began to see her as not just my mom but as a woman. She was interesting and funny, and I was proud of her. I knew that, with her as a role model, someday I’d have these qualities, too.
A few years later, Sears played an integral part in my coming of age. It’s where I learned the term “intimates.” I remember blushing as I wandered through the sea of undergarments, red-faced and terrified that someone I knew might spot me. But it’s not because there were any provocative bras or underwear there. Thongs? No way! Just your run-of-the-mill, full-bottomed nude briefs. Sensible, utilitarian and suitably Catholic.
When my mom suggested buying me my first training bra, I caused a scene—I wanted to deny the very existence of puberty. So we compromised and she took me to Sears to get a sports bra—after which we agreed to never mention my unmentionables again. My mom was witty and feisty but also a fan of modesty and strictness. When my sisters and I were teenagers, she enforced a “no boys on the second floor” rule and an 11 p.m. curfew because “nothing good happens after midnight.” She taught us to respect ourselves and to expect the same from others, a lesson that filtered down to our clothing choices: “There’s no need to put it all on a silver platter; leave a little something to the imagination.”
My mother couldn’t make the rules forever, though. In my third year of university, I decided to get my first double bed. My mom disapproved—it might encourage a second person to join me—but since I was well into my voting years, she reluctantly took me to Sears to buy a “bed in a bag”: matching sheets, comforter and two pillowcases in one practical satchel. Then she took me to church. (Mother’s Day can be painful after losing your mom. Here’s how to survive—from women who have been there.)
When I graduated from university, my professors were on strike. The whole event felt anticlimactic, and I didn’t bother to have any pictures taken. My mom was furious and marched me down to the Sears portrait studio, where they supplied us with a cap and gown. When she died a decade later, that photograph was still in her wallet.
I’m scared that the shuttering of Sears erases my mom a little bit more. Just one more time, I’d like to sit on the floor of a fitting room next to a pile of discarded sweater-blouses and dig out a scotch mint from the bottom of a purse. Sears was more than just a dependable department store; it was a place to spend time with my mom, one where she taught me lessons on how to be a woman.
Looking for more heartwarming stories about parents? Try these three odes to dad!
A lot has changed since aluminum arrived on the scene back in 1910, after the first aluminum foil rolling plant, Dr. Lauber, Neher & Cie, opened in Emmishofen, Switzerland. The first use of foil in the United States came about in 1913, when it was used to wrap Life Savers, candy bars, and gum. Eventually, aluminum foil made its way into North American kitchens as a way to bake fish or roast vegetables on the barbecue, to line baking pans, and to trap steam when cooking.
And we’re using tonnes of it—so much that experts are getting concerned. Because according to research, some of the foil used in cooking, baking, and grilling leaches into your food, which can pose health problems over time.
According to the World Health Organization, human bodies are capable of properly releasing small amounts of aluminum efficiently, so it’s considered safe to ingest 40mg per kilogram of body weight of aluminum per day. Unfortunately, most people are ingesting far more than this.
Scientists have been looking at the potential threat that overexposure to aluminum may have on human health for years, and have found some disturbing results. For example, researchers have found high concentrations of aluminum in the brain tissue of patients with Alzheimer’s disease. Studies have also found that high aluminum intake may be linked to a reduction in the growth rate of human cells, and may be potentially harmful for patients with bone diseases or renal impairment.
A 2012 study published in the International Journal of Electrochemical Science investigated the amount of aluminum that leaches into food cooked with foil. The amount varied based on factors such as temperature and acidity (fish and tomatoes are highly acidic), but the findings showed conclusively that aluminum foil does leach into food cooked in foil. “Aluminum foil used in cooking provides an easy channel for the metal to enter the human body,” the study authors wrote. “The increase in cooking temperature causes more leaching. The leaching is also highly dependent on the pH value of the food solution, salt, and spices added to the food solutions.”
Ghada Bassioni, Associate Professor and Head of the Chemistry Division at Ain Shams University, conducted research with a group of colleagues that explored the use of aluminum for cooking and preparing food particularly at high temperatures. “The acidity of the food would enhance further leaching of aluminum into the meal,” she said, adding: “How aluminum will actually harm your body depends on many factors like your overall well-being and consequently how much your body can handle accumulation of it in relation to the allowable dosages set by the World Health Organization.”
So should you stop cooking with aluminum foil? It seems the general consensus is that we should, at the very least, cut way back.
For grilling veggies, you can get a stainless steel grilling basket, or even reusable skewers. Use a glass pan when roasting veggies in the oven; use a stainless steel cookie sheet under baking potatoes as opposed to aluminum foil to catch the mess; and even try replacing foil with banana leaves when wrapping foods for baking!
Plus: 20 Delicious Summer Grilling Recipes
We use our middle names when filling out official documents, coming up with a new email or username, and when we write our initials on something. But other than that we don’t use them on a daily basis, so why do we even have middle names in the first place?
Some people might answer, “It’s so my mom has three names to yell at me so I know I’m in trouble.” But there is actual history behind it, and it dates back to ancient Rome.
Many Romans had three names, a praenomen, which was a personal name, a nomen, which was a family name, and a cognomen, which indicated what branch of family you were from. The more names you had the more respected you were by others. Women only had two names, and slaves typically had one. An example you may be familiar with, Gaius Julius Caesar.
This tradition of multiple names spread over to Western cultures in the 1700s. Aristocrats would give their children long names to show their high place in society. Spanish and Arabic cultures would give their children paternal or maternal names from previous generations to be able to keep track of the child’s family tree. (Discover the middle name traditions in eight countries around the world.)
But the way we use middle names today originated in the Middle Ages when Europeans couldn’t decide between giving their child a family name or the name of a saint. They eventually settled on naming their children with the given name first, baptismal name second, and surname third. The tradition was spread to America as people started to immigrate overseas.
As time went on people started to stray away from religious middle names and get creative with the second name of their child. A common tradition was making the middle name the maiden name of the mother.
Today, some people don’t even have middle names, some prefer to be called by their middle name, and some never even use theirs. But, just be grateful that we don’t trace our lineage back with multiple cognomina like some aristocratic families used to and end up with 38 names. That would be a mouthful!
Plus: 11 Things You Never Knew Had Names
The next time you reach for an aspirin, consider cracking open a brew instead.
A 2017 study from The Journal of Pain found that drinking beer, besides giving you a pleasant buzz, can actually make you feel less physical pain. Study author Trevor Thompson, PhD, told The Sun that alcohol could even be “compared to opioid drugs such as codeine,” and that “the effect is more powerful than paracetamol” (comparable to Tylenol). According to their findings, drinking two beers is more effective at relieving pain than taking painkillers.
For their research, the scientists—from London’s Greenwich University, conducted a total of 18 experiments in which 404 participants were given either an alcoholic or non-alcoholic beverage. Next the team administered 13 pain-threshold tests as well as nine pain intensity ratings. What they found was that alcohol had a significant analgesic effect, meaning it greatly reduced pain. The tipping point was a legal driving blood alcohol content (BAC) limit of .08.
Although the effect was clear, the research team couldn’t determine whether the pain relief came from an effect on pain receptors or just maybe a lowering of anxiety, which could lower perception of pain. Regardless of exactly how beer works to ease pain, the researchers did note that people who suffer from chronic pain tend to drink more due to the pain-dulling effect.
While a few drinks a day could dull your pain, the study caution that there are numerous unhealthy effects that may not make beer your go-to analgesic (in short: keeping your drinking in check is the way to go). And as with any study, more research is likely needed to confirm the results.
Plus: This Type of Alcohol Is Scientifically Proven to Make You Feel Sexier
The new royal baby, the third child of Prince William and Kate Middleton, is here, and the Internet is ecstatic. Like his brother Prince George and sister Princess Charlotte, the new little prince was welcomed into the world at St. Mary’s Hospital in Paddington. But compared to most of the royal family history, these events were outliers.
The birth of a royal child was always considered an event, but the specific setting of it was very different for several centuries. On June 21, 1982, Prince William made history by becoming the first royal baby born in a hospital. Prior to William’s birth, heirs to the throne were born in palaces, castles, and other royal estates, frequently in front of bystanders, who would serve as witnesses to confirm the legitimacy of the birth.
It wasn’t until 1936 that the practice of having an Anglican archbishop and other officials present at the birth was phased out. Privacy proved to be more paramount than some 17th-century aristocrat rolling over in his grave about monarchs switched at birth.
In the 1970s, one of the former royal gynecologists, John Peel, published a widely circulated and influential report which convinced many British women to phase out home births for hospital births, and sure enough, the royal family followed suit. The man responsible for the big switch to royal hospital births was John Pinker, Queen Elizabeth’s surgeon gynecologist.
Pinker followed the advice of his predecessor and eventually was able to put the long-standing royal birth tradition to bed. Pinker would deliver Prince William at St. Mary’s, and then go on to deliver eight more royal babies in his tenure. Princess Diana would enjoy much more privacy than the regal women before her, having an entire hospital wing to herself.
Some royal traditions seem destined to stay in place for a while. But it’s probably for the best that this one went out the door. Just one less job for the archbishop to worry about.
Plus: 15 Surprisingly Frugal Habits of the British Royal Family
[Source: Mental Floss]
