For about four years Jennifer Liu ran a highly regarded youth drama program at Holstein Park. Then one day last month she quit–the latest victim of budget cutbacks the Park District says don’t exist.
As part of her job, she ran Holstein’s after-school youth drama program and was part of its summer camp. She also directed community productions featuring adults and children. “I loved those productions,” she says. “I did everything. I built the sets, I made the costumes, I auditioned the actors and directed the shows. I’m not complaining–I loved it.”
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In 1999 she put together an intensive performing-arts camp for grade-schoolers. To get in, students had to audition–though anyone who did generally got in–and pledge to dedicate six hours a day, three days a week to a rigorous ten-week program. “This was not just slapping together a big talent show in a week–this was a real class,” says Liu. “The students understood that they were going to work and learn–that’s why they had to audition. We wanted them to take it seriously, the way soccer players would take it seriously if they were trying out for a traveling all-star team.
But at the end of last summer Alex Zamora, the supervisor at Holstein, gave Liu some bad news. “He said not only were they not going to make me a full-time employee, but my hours were going to be cut from 35 to 20 hours a week,” she says. “He said, ‘Don’t take it personal. It’s not just you. All the part-time employees are getting their hours cut. It’s one of those unilateral budget cuts that comes from the top.’”
Four days later 17 kids showed up for theater camp. “Alex brought them into his office and told them that Jennifer had quit,” says Elias. “He tried to sugarcoat it–you know how adults break bad news to kids. He told them that she wanted to move on and pursue her acting career. What crap.”
Zamora didn’t return a call for comment. But other Park District officials say there’s just not enough interest to justify more than 20 hours a week for a drama instructor at Holstein. “Only 12 kids registered for Jennifer’s theater class,” says Art Richardson, operations manager for the district’s central region. “We were able to recruit five other kids to sign up. That means that only 17 kids registered.”
His explanations don’t satisfy Liu or Elias. “I can’t believe he gave you that line about the so-called play production class,” says Liu. “There was never any such class. It was just Zamora’s way of justifying my hours. When I told him that I spent more than 20 hours a week buying materials and building sets to put on plays, he said, ‘What you should do is create a class called “play production.”‘ I said, ‘That’s absurd. What am I supposed to do, take the kids to Home Depot with me?’ So they created a class I had no intention of teaching–and then they hold it against me when no one signs up. Well, of course no one signed up–it was a nonexistent class. It’s just the same old stupid bureaucracy giving you the same old runaround I’ve been getting for years. They always talk about numbers. I’m talking quality–and they’re talking quantity. This is not about filling up a gym with 100 kids and then throwing out a ball.”
