March 23, 2026

 

Recently — between closing You Stupid Darkness! and opening Athena — I spent two days on my hands and knees ripping up old flooring — both in the theater and in the second bathroom. Laying new flooring. Replacing a toilet. Leveling platforms. Cutting legs. Painting. Moving seats into a configuration we've never used before, because this next show demanded it.

 

This is normal for a small theater company. I know that. But here's what I also know:

 

I'm the Artistic Director. And somewhere between the toilet brush and the circular saw, the larger vision is losing ground.

 

My iPhone signature has been a running joke around here — Ted Rooney: Janitor, Maintenance Guy, and Artistic Director. It's funny because it's true. But it's also a problem. And it's not just me.

 

Our core leadership right now is: four people running the theater — two volunteers and two part-time at 12 or so hours per week, along with the BareBones Manager at 12 hours per week. Even for a small theater, that's lean. For a growing one — one doing what 21ten is doing — it's a ceiling we've quietly been bumping against for a while.

 

So let me just say it plainly: we don't need money right now. We need hands. (Money, sure — always! But that's not what this letter is about.)

 

This letter is for anyone who's ever thought: I'd love to be part of something like that.

 

Look at what’s already happened when people simply stepped forward:

 

Chris Brantley heard me describe a dream once — a simple site where anyone in Portland could find every show in town, no algorithms, no favoritism, just shows and dates and links. He didn't say, "Great idea!” He built it. In his spare time. That's PDXonSTAGE, and we offer it freely to the community because it felt needed.

 

Tyler Shilstone told me he liked what was happening here and wanted to know how he could help. Tyler has improv and sketch comedy skills up the wazoo. I didn't hesitate: "Head up late-night programming." One of my missions is to fill the building as much as possible. The theater had been sitting dark after shows. I'd imagined comedy, music, and storytelling — a reason to linger. Tyler is now building that into what will become our After Hours wing, and it's about to launch.

 

Last spring, Scott Stevens volunteered to host the Coffee Lounge for our first pass at it — my idea of offering 21ten as a free "third space" during the daytime. Three months. Four hours a morning. Some days it was just the two of us. Scott would sweep the floor, set out the coffee, and open the doors, anyway. That kind of quiet dedication is the spirit I want to protect.

 

And just last Monday, I put the word out that we needed help tearing down the YSD! set. Instead of set designer Julianne and I handling a big job alone, four others showed up. The work got done. People got to know each other. It was fun. That's it. That's the whole thing. None of those people were recruited. None of them were pressured. They saw something they could help with and they moved toward it. That's the model. That's what I want more of.

 

Right now, 21ten has more programs alive and growing than at any point in its history — main stage productions, BareBones performances, After Hours shows, partnerships, readings, the Summer Residency, the Street Fair, Sunday morning Actorcise, and acting classes with five teachers and more to come. And there are just as many programs waiting to be launched. What's held us back from going further hasn't been a lack of ideas. It's been the ratio of vision to capacity.

 

I need to be dreaming and building relationships and tending the larger vision. More of our team needs to be doing similar things. And we need more people holding the whole thing with us — not because we're drowning, but because what we're building is genuinely worth building, and it deserves more hands than we currently have.

 

But for now, I just want to ask:

 

Is something stirring in you as you read this?

 

A skill. A curiosity. A few hours a month. An idea you've been sitting on. A connection you could make. The pull of community. It doesn't have to be big. Some of the most valuable contributions to this place have been quiet ones.

 

If anything in this letter sparks something, reach out. Tell me what you're good at or what you care about. Together, we'll find the fit.

 

And if all you ever want to do is come see plays — that’s enough. Truly. Just linger after and say hi, please.

 

Look for Part Two soon — a full picture of the roles, the hats, and the possibilities. Something on that list might be exactly the right fit for you or someone you know.

 

But if you are chomping at the bit to respond right now, drop me a note at: ted@21ten.org

 

Gratefully,

Ted

Artistic Director — and Dreamer