It was a cool night in March, sitting outside the M Bar in Hollywood. The only factor distinguishing this building from the rest in the surrounding strip mall being an A-frame sign placed outside and painted with its namesake on it. I was waiting eagerly in a booth next to the front entrance, awkwardly looking up at various attendees, trying to discern if they were the one I was looking for. I was early.
“I think that’s her,” said Nabil, my photographer for the night, as he gestured toward a petite woman in a dress gliding through the crowd gathered outside to smoke, greeting everyone like a hostess at her own party. She was making her way to the entrance when she heard Nabil’s reference to her, then quickly came over to our booth and kindly introduced herself. “Hi Ben, I’m Natasha. So glad you could make it.”
She escorted us in, and as soon as we crossed the threshold she took off, maneuvering herself through the small crowd to get things set up, still managing time to make small talk with the performers, greet the staff and procure two drink tickets for Nabil and myself. She was graceful, and never stopped moving.
After figuring out the right settings for taking pictures, we took our seats, directly next to the small stage. The place was starting to fill up, and the only waitress, along with the manager, were hurrying from table to table to take as many drink orders as possible before the show started. The bar was accented with red tapestries, which caused the entire room to glow even when the main lights went dim, allowing one to see everyone’s face in the crowd. And just then, from the opposite side of the stage came our hostess.
Natasha Vargas-Cooper started Public School, a monthly storytelling event, about two years ago with friends Dave Holmes, Joey Slamon, Stephen Falk and Noah Nelson. Originally entitled, “For Days” (an inside joke with Vargas-Cooper and her friends), the event was re-named Public School to reflect the look and feel of the show. Having been a union organizer for six years, Vargas-Cooper knows how to assemble crowds, giving an audience to those who have something to say.
“We wanted the show to feel like a bunch of friends telling stories around a campfire,” said Vargas Cooper. “The M Bar is perfect for what we’re doing: the room is small without being too small, there are no TVs, and of course there’s plenty of booze. One of the reasons we renamed the show Public School is that the whole thing just seemed to be different, interesting, weird even, kind of like public school kids.”
“So how many people out there, you’ve been to one of these shows before?” Vargas-Cooper asks the crowd of one hundred or so. About three-fourths of the people applaud, shout out or make some sort of noise so as to be heard. But it hasn’t always been this way. Vargas-Cooper admits that starting out, she and her friends expected each month to be the last for Public School, with only 12 performers in front of their friends and family at the very first show. But, somehow, more people kept showing up, and the word began to spread.
And as the show started to build momentum, a structure to the night was put into place, allowing Public School to take on a life of its own.
“We decided to tell each performer the theme for the show two weeks in advance, allowing them enough time to fine tune and shape their stories,” said Vargas-Cooper. “We weren’t going to allow the performers to use any notes on stage, which gives each night a raw, spontaneous feel,” she added.
And when Jason Cozier, the night’s first performer—first timers to Public School have to go first—told the funny, touching and emotional story of having his bike stolen in broad daylight, you felt like you were his friend, listening to him while the two of you sat on your front porch.
Indeed, each performer and their story seemed to resonate with the audience, who gasped at hearing near-death tales, laughed at the story of Laura Krafft vomiting on her company’s CEO while trying to explain to him her great idea, and cried at Joey Slamon’s excerpt of her week with her grandmother with Parkinson’s at a convalescence home.
And for Vargas-Cooper, that’s exactly what Public School is all about.
“Each month we do this, we want the performer and audience to be in sync. We don’t want to be didactic with art; we want people to take away something. Audiences want to be moved, and we seek out the stories and storytellers who we know will do that.”
For more information visit PublicSchoolShow.com.