Arts programs are often the first to get cut, and the ramifications of that trend go deeper than the inability to rattle off the first 20 digits of pi. I’ve never needed to use my barely-formed knowledge of imaginary numbers (I have quite enough imaginary nonsense floating around my head as it is, thank you very much). Sure, my seventh-grade math teacher will always be my favorite. But sorry, Mr. W, I have yet to find a use for alternate interior angle theorems in my career as a snarky journalist.
Music? Now that’s a different story — one of a girl who avoided going home at the end of the day and needed somewhere to be dramatic that wouldn’t land her in the vice principal’s office (again). When I have a bad day, I belt the entire Aidasoundtrack. And every time I join the shark-infested waters of a red carpet, I channel the charisma of a 9th-grade drama kid who skateboarded down the auditorium aisle during High School Musical to get the interview.
Not only do the arts teach us who we are, but they also tell us it’s okay to be that person.
When arts programs get axed, it’s always the most vulnerable kids who lose out. I was lucky enough to be low-income in an affluent area, which meant that I received the same resources and opportunities as the kids whose parents had a few extra zeros in their bank accounts. My mom chose the Moorestown School District to give me that, and it saved my life in more than one way.
I was in my 20s when I realized the book fair “contest” I won each year without entering was rigged in my favor. My school even stepped in for things like field trips and other opportunities we couldn’t afford. The arts were no different. I didn’t have to miss out, but so many kids do.
For three years in high school, I got a scholarship to French Woods: one of the most celebrated performing arts camps in the world. Each session was akin to the cost of a semester of state college tuition, and I never would have had that opportunity without the Hancock French Woods Arts Alliance. The Moorestown-based Friends Enrichment Program, run by Monique Begg, also lent a hand. The program helps local low-income kids go to camp and take classes throughout the year. Without it, I wouldn’t have gotten weekly vocal lessons that eventually led me to perform in Carnegie Hall with my college chorale.
People look back at their college years the way I do French Woods. I was invited to the 54 Below French Woods Celebration, and the utter joy of being in that space again reminded me why I still refer to it as ‘my Hogwarts.’ Translation: It was home.
(Note: we do not support Joanne Rowling in this house.)
The same people who dismiss the arts enjoy the results of them every day without even realizing it. Try watching a movie without the soundtrack that was probably brought to life by a former band geek. Look up your favorite celebrity. I’ll wait. Tell me they didn’t participate in some kind of arts program. Sure, mock the music major for embarking on a ‘fruitless’ career path while you wait in a three-hour-long Ticketmaster queue to pay $300 for nosebleeds.
Who do you think is bringing these experiences to life? Those same kids who lived on-stage in middle school. The teens who performed on the field during homecoming in pinstripes and shakos. The middle-schoolers who always got picked during popcorn to read during English class. The arts save lives. They did mine.
Seeing that the 54 Below show would donate a portion of the sales to the Hancock French Woods Arts Alliance genuinely brought me to tears. All of my camp memories came flooding back: my endless costume changes for The Wizard of Oz, going over the heads of the sexist woodshop counselors to get permission to use the table saw, and begging to be in Aidamy first year even though I was cast in a coveted Ron show (something that never happened again, whoops). Even my counselors dragging me out of bed at 7 am is a nostalgic memory.
54 Below recreated a magic I’ve never experienced since my French Woods days. The show didn’t need Tony winners or a Broadway-level production. It was the camp reunion I never knew I could have again: a little simple, a lot nostalgic, and passionate in a way that only former French Woods camp kids can understand. I even got to watch a recreation of a performance I witnessed a decade ago. But nothing could top camp founder Ron Schafer getting on stage and singing “When the Saints Go Marching In.” Even in his ’80s, he’s got it.
French Woods would be nothing without Ron, and that passion for giving theater kids a space to shine is why the camp is still going strong over 50 years later. Getting to experience that joy again is something I never thought I would be able to do. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: French Woods needs a 5th alumni session after the kids go back to school. But until then, 54 Below gave me back a little piece of home.
Xandra Harbet 
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