Mark L. Williams Scholarship

I was fortunate enough to attend my first drama class in third grade. The class was conducted during the school day at Third Street Elementary School by the theater instructor, Mr. Pratt. He was a tall, intimidating figure that quoted Shakespeare and Oscar Wilde on a regular basis. He spoke to us as if we were his equals, always listening intently to what we had to say and responding with elegance and deep devotion. He revered theatre with such love and adoration that you couldn’t help fawning over it as well. He taught me how to remain present both on and off the stage, and he fostered an environment that allowed one to make mistakes on their journey to self-discovery. If I could gift him with every grain of salt from the Earth and every star from the sky and every droplet of water from the oceans, it still wouldn’t be enough to pay off the debt I’ve incurred. Mr. Pratt’s class allowed me to express the more creative aspects of my personality that had been restricted by the insecurity of my youth. I auditioned for school plays and reveled in writing short stories for my teachers. The turbulence that rocked my life at home took a backseat to the sensation that overcame me when I picked up a pen or recited a monologue. The theatre was my sanctuary. Unfortunately, this love was put on pause as I took a brief hiatus during my middle school years. This hiatus was not my decision; quite the opposite, in fact. I wanted nothing more than to act, but my escape from reality was barricaded by my father’s authority and abrasive treatment. Depression and anxiety engulfed me, and I began to resent the aspects of myself that were drawn to the creative arts, for they reminded me of the person I used to be, a person I no longer recognized. When it came time to select the high school I wished to attend, a part of me dared to dream of a future where I was acting once more. The Hollywood High School Performing Arts Magnet program challenged the cynical voice in my head that threatened to keep me under its thumb for the foreseeable future. It was during my freshman year of high school that I met the new theatre teacher, Mr. Tourtellotte. He blended his sardonic personality with a dash of sincerity to create a person who genuinely relished in the idea of teaching his students the ins and outs of theatre (both from an actor and crew member’s point of view). My inexperience wasn’t seen as a detriment; in fact, he implored me to embrace it, as it supplied me with the potential to ascertain a situation from a place of curiosity and wonder. I was transfixed by him! I couldn’t understand how I had gotten so lucky to be in the same room as this thespian. The following year, I found myself in his class yet again, this time for tenth-grade English. His class reignited the flame that drew me towards storytelling years prior. I sought out writing short films and scenes that had been percolating in my head for weeks. Mr. Tourtellotte encouraged me to continue writing at times where I felt mediocre and subpar. He revised my work and helped me improve at every turn. He was the only person I trusted with my words, for he understood the significance of sharing them with others. The guidance and support given to me by Mr. Pratt and Mr. Tourtellotte encouraged me to pursue a career in the arts.