Some Thoughts on the Past, Present, and Future of Historical Education/Chautauqua

Prologue

For three weeks in June 2019, I had the honor of touring as part of the Oklahoma Chautauqua. Prior to this experience, in 2013–14, I was a Chautauqua Scholar (CS) for Voices from the Earth, based in West Virginia, under the direction of Ilene Evans. During both of these experiences, one in which I portrayed Civil War Captain Luis Emilio and for the other, Marxist revolutionary Ernesto “Che” Guevera, I had the opportunity to work with and learn from with some of the best-known Chautauquans in the field.

Since then I have portrayed Mariano Vallejo, Edgar Allen Poe, and “Black” Sam Bellamy, Allen Ginsberg (with cooperation from the Wylie Agency and the Ginsberg Project).

I am currently preparing Cyrus Avery, The Father of Route 66, for a 2026 tour in celebration of the Mother Road Centennial.

During these 12 years I have been part of many discussions about the state of Modern Chautauqua, which came to life in 1976 in the Great Plains, modeled on the traveling tent Chautauquas that started in New York in 1894 (in a town that gives the form its name) and became a traveling form by 1900.

There are several excellent historians of Chautauqua. I was fortunate to see a presentation by one, Dr. John Provine, in Enid, Oklahoma during the recent tour.

Listening to Chautauquans and the committee and board members, volunteers, funders, and other organizers involved in putting on a Chautauqua (and the work to do so is considerable), it is clear that the form is at a crossroads. Shrinking Humanities (and currently frozen) funding and involvement, smaller and older audiences, and an aging stable of CSs has everyone concerned.

Parallel with these challenges, as often happens, there are plenty of voices raised and fingers pointed about how this has happened, what to do about it, and, in some cases, if it is worth it to carry on.

Add to all of this the opinions, some forceful, about the role of historians, Humanities professors, and actors in the creation and live presentation of History. I have read in many places that historians call Chautauqua “history lite”; Humanities scholars frown upon actors being involved and many are careful to say that Chautauqua is not theatre but a lecture in costume.

This essay does not take sides, nor does it debate the merits of the thinking of any of these “camps.” It is merely one Chautauquan’s thoughts about what I have seen work best and most impact an audience. Because, like with any other public endeavor, it is the Audience that matters most. Are they moved to action, be it showing up for presentations/performances (they are called different things by different camps) and workshops, reading the Companion Reader, asking questions, and carrying forth the discussions and enacting new practices after they leave the tent?

I hope these thoughts will prove helpful in not only continuing with but strengthening what is an indispensible and powerful form of civic engagement and civil dialogue during a period in history when complexity is a casualty of socioeconomic warfare, confrontation is the new communication, and most citizens are inclined to join a “camp” on any issue.

Act I: The Form

If you are unfamiliar with the form, Modern Chautauqua comprises a monologue from the point of view of the historical character, in costume. The monologue, depending on venue, lasts 30 to 45 minutes. Most monologues I’ve seen come in around 38 to 42. The monologue is followed by a question and answer period in two parts (so, in total, you have a kind of three-act play): in the second act, the historical character answers questions about things that only he or she would know. In the third act, usually signaled by the presenter/performer removing a hat or eyeglasses or other costume piece, the audience can ask questions of the CS.

The combination of a monologue with the Q and A is what makes Chautauqua  unique and so valuable as a form of communication and catalyst for civic engagement and civil dialogue.

In order to handle the Q and A with success, the CS must know much more about the character and the context in which they live than could ever fit in a 40-minute monologue… or three of them. This is always the way with writers and actors. And many CSs have several versions of their monologue that they use, depending on the circumstances and needs of the hiring organization.

It was essential for me to come from a few different starting places when I portrayed Che. The decision to include this Marxist-socialist revolutionary in the program upset more than a few. Several were very vocal in emails and there were others that “protested with their feet” by not showing up, but no one was disruptive at the performances, as I choose to call them, and workshops. The most vocal chose to stay away, rather than engage in respectful dialogue or learn something new about this very complex and controversial figure.

I was confronted (I use the word purposely) at one workshop by an attendee who had read the Companion Reader (CSs are required to write a roughly 500 word essay about their character—and audiences do read them) and could not believe that the United States had been anything but wholesome and fair during their part in Che’s execution. There was no discussion possible. Only one-way statements. That was unfortunate. And it happens. It then becomes about your knowledge, respect, and patience as a CS. Because a lot of people were watching.

My essay on Che will be posted in tomorrow’s blog entry.

Knowing there would be opposition and strong opinions when it came to Che, who intensely disliked the United States, I did not want to spend the 42 minutes bashing Los Estados Unidos. That would be unproductive. So, I eased them in with stories of Che’s childhood, humanizing him. It’s a strategy that would work for any audience, because we react to and invest in stories because of Characters, not Themes. More on that later.

Chautauqua is also unique because you are, in essence, writing a one-act, one person play. So choosing a complex, interesting character with lots of layers is essential. Although I prefer to look as much as I can like the character I am portraying, that is not necessary. And by no means are you doing an impersonation or trying to bring that person exactly to life. That’s impossible. Sam Rockwell and Philip Seymour Hoffman, speaking separately about their turns as Chuck Barris and Truman Capote, said they were doing an interpretation. That is very wise.

There are lots of debates and “camps” about whether or not to use a script, how much to memorize, and the like. But, no matter how you categorize it, as a longtime writer and actor, you are writing a script. There is a form to it, if it is done correctly. It has narrative arcs, unifying themes, and some strategic reveals. It uses humor and drama. It’s not a good move to go chronologically from point of birth, but the themes inherent in the historical character’s life (which tie to a larger theme that constitutes the specific program of which you are a part) have an organic unfolding.

How does one generate the material for the monologue? By undertaking time-consuming research. It is because of the importance of this research that there are “camps” around who should be able to be a Chautauquan. Most Humanities councils want—no surprise—Humanities scholars with advanced degrees in their accepted fields (history, philosophy, theology, etc.) although they will settle for advanced degrees in other fields. So, in many places, it is difficult or impossible for a non-higher-degreed Chautauquan to get work.

This is unfortunate, which I explain in Act III.

Having a background in writing is essential, for both the monologue and the Companion Reader article—both of which provide the necessary context for a productive Q and A, and what comes after. And writing is a muscle that can be strengthened through the act of writing itself. Same goes with research.

To me, the form should have enough of a theatrical element that the audience sees this historical character as a real person and not a dressed up conduit for the CS to relay facts and figures. During the recent tour there was a wonderful mix of theatrical levels in the troupe and I believe the audience benefited from the varied approaches. From nontraditional elements like singing and audience participation to whether or not a complete script was adhered to, to the variation in tone and atmosphere, the audience saw five very different approaches, all with a clear commonality—the audiences invested in the story told beneath the tent. They were provoked and inspired, and the richness of the questions—which spilled over every night to those lingering to continue engaging with that night’s presenter after most of the audience had left—proved the strength of the form has nothing to do with excluding certain backgrounds or approaches, but creating moments of connection between the character and the audience.

How one gets there is mostly beside the point.

What I am suggesting is an alchemical mix of the Analytical and the Intuitive, a subject I have been writing and lecturing about quite often after being asked to write a blog article about it for a Hollywood networking group. The research and scholarship—the Analytical—only get you so far. The rest is Intuitive. The person-to-person inspiration that allows you take full advantage of the potential of Modern Chautauqua’s function.

Act II: The Function

As I already mentioned, the primary function of Modern Chautauqua is civic engagement. Civil dialogue. Akin to the work of Bertolt Brecht and Augusto Boal and the engaged pedagogy of Paulo Freire, if we have failed to evoke a response from the audience, or they do not leave the tent or workshop and return to the world with new thinking or without sharing the experience or acting on some of what they have learned, we haven’t succeeded.

You can tell a lot about the level of success from the Q and A. I am proud to say the questions in Oklahoma were consistently excellent. They showed a knowledge of the subject matter that reflected the information in the Companion Reader and the monologue and also the passion of the people for whom Chautauqua is so important—the audience. I also heard of other positive actions taken outside the tent, as people were inspired by both performances and workshops.

Chautauqua also functions as a cultural core for many communities. So a little theatrical flair is not a bad thing for contributing to that important aspect of people’s lives. I was never interested in history through school. It was not until I started reading Civil War biographies in my twenties that I became interested, because then it was about the complexities and flaws of those at the forefront of history and not the dates and places.

If we can feed and at times instill that same kind of interest in our audiences, then the value of Chautauqua will be clear and indisputable.

So we need to choose our characters carefully. And not be afraid to retire the ones whose lives are perhaps not as relevant as they once were. Choosing characters with great complexity and contradiction in their lives, especially ones that did a lot of writing about their experiences—the two reasons I chose Che—goes a long way toward fulfilling the vital functions of Modern Chautauqua.

Act III: The Future

This is never an easy subject, and it’s more difficult than ever in such an uncertain world, where funding is diminishing in the Arts and Humanities and live audiences are down across the boards in this CGI, sound-bite Age of the Digital.

But I believe there are ways to ensure and strengthen the future of Chautauqua without lowering standards or diminishing expectations. On the contrary, in order for Chautauqua to survive and to flourish, the standards and expectations need to be exacting.

But there is more room to accomplish those goals than is considered in the typical discussion.

What we do as CSs—history, performance, writing, scholarship, and teaching—is a complex alchemical process with demands that any one of these specialties, each of which has its own exacting demands, does not face on its own.

In a word, CSs are extraordinary. And that makes it difficult to recruit new ones. It is time consuming and the skill set to do this work well is considerable.

Be we can help each other. I have been blessed to learn from some of the most accomplished CSs in the country. I took up this form twelve years ago assuming I knew nothing. Sure—formal schooling since childhood and 25 years as a professional actor, writer, director, and teacher and as a researcher with a lot of experience because of the historical education programs I have done and the many plays and books I had written that rely on extensive research. But having to put it all together for Chautauqua—well… I took a cue from Socrates. Knowing I knew nothing, I was hungry to listen and learn.

In the past twelve years, that has not changed.

Let’s be honest—None of these specialties are a mystery religion. All can be learned. And therefore, we need good instructors to provide training in Chautauqua. There are some hard at work, doing great things. We need more.

As a creative director for a historical education and entertainment company for several years, I saw that the workload was daunting to many potential hires—especially young ones. But I also had those who did the work, hard as it was, and really thrived. Even those in their early twenties.

So we need to do our best to bring what we do to the schools. I know the challenges there. Having a theatre for young audiences company for 15 years and being a teaching-artist, I know how No Child Left Behind, Race to the Top, and other teach-to-the-test government programs have diminished the presence of the Arts—and especially outside artists—in the schools. But we must try. It was great to have a few dozen college students in the audience and at workshops in Enid. Their Winter Chautauqua is a great success in public schools. We need to find ways to use our varied specialties to reach students of all ages as best we can.

Having a specialty in one area does not mean you will shine equally in all of the others. That is where a troupe synergy and strong leadership by the veterans becomes key. You can become proficient in most and shine in a few. And that will equal memorable civic engagement. Civil dialogue. Because we must always keep these in mind.

Another area is one I spoke about earlier. Themes and characters must be carefully chosen for both popular appeal and complexity. And you can have both.

We should make that a mantra in Modern Chautauqua: “We can have both. It needn’t be either/or.” That is a problem with twenty-first-century life. People are convinced they have to choose. That there is an enemy, an Other, standing in the way of their goals. Someone to blame when things are not as good as they used to be.

CSs are uniquely suited, because of their varied skill sets, to rise above this petty, limited thinking. We should make it our duty to do so.

We ourselves, and the characters we portray, are connections to other times and avenues of discussion and dialogue for our audiences. If we think a theme or a handful of historical data on their own will get the job done, we are making a mistake.

And we really can’t afford it.

Epilogue

In closing, I thank you for reading. Again, these are one Chautauquan’s ideas. One without a long history in Chautauqua or an advanced degree. But they are based on experience. On a willingness to learn and contribute. On what I have observed as not only a CS but through three decades of working with audiences of all ages and varied socioeconomic and geographic backgrounds as a social justice activist, living history educator, and immersive, participatory theatre artist.

I hope it has some value. Because Modern Chautauqua undoubtedly does and it deserves to not only survive but to thrive.

For more on my historical education/Chautauqua work:

https://joeymadiastoryteller.blogspot.com/2025/02/my-work-as-chautauqua-scholar-and.html