Learning New Lessons From ‘West Side Story’

Karina Ruiz has never had to play the role of tough girl before. Small and slight, she is more used to simply being that shy student who quietly takes the seat nearest the teacher in class, that young woman who dutifully brings her brother’s dinner to his bedroom when he tells her.

But here she is, playing the role of a wannabe gang member in her school’s production of the musical “West Side Story.” Onstage, three nights before the play’s much-anticipated opening this Friday, her eyes gleam with anger like a mean little cat of the streets.

“I’m tough,” she says convincingly. “Don’t mess with me.”

It’s a transition made by many of her classmates, foreigners all, who not only struggle to learn their lines but sometimes just to pronounce the words. Or fight to stay awake after a long and tiring day of minimum-wage work and school.

Because this is not your typical Westside story, an often-told tale of pampered high school teenagers presenting plays for easy-to-please parents. These thespians are too old for high school and most of their parents are scattered throughout Europe and Latin America.

This production is the work of 24 dedicated drama students at the Venice-Hamilton Community Adult School, young actors and actresses who are first and foremost English as a second language students working on their general equivalency diplomas.

Ages 20 to 40, they work full time as gardeners, domestics, baby-sitters and bicycle mechanics, even truck drivers on the graveyard shift while attending night school four days each week.

When the other adult students are scurrying for home, from 9 to 11 each night, these students are skipping dinner to stage the theatrical rehearsals that have become a labor of love and English.

“Once you give them the opportunity,” said drama teacher Gwyn Gorg, “you see all these great personalities evolve.”

Just ask Karina Ruiz.

If the 21-year-old immigrant from Oaxaca, Mexico, has learned anything, it’s to put her foot down.

“My brother knows not to tell me to bring his dinner to his room,” she says, a small fire lighting in her eyes. “Because now I’ll just tell him to get it himself.”

Ruiz and her classmates are part of an ambitious experiment that began a year ago when Gorg, an actress and drama coach, conceived the idea of a night school drama class and eventual performance. Their abridged version of the story of Puerto Rican gangs in New York City in the 1950s is a first for an adult school in Los Angeles.

Gorg said the Los Angeles Unified School District is sending a crew to videotape the 90-minute performance in the school auditorium. She hopes that the project will result in the staging of such plays at other adult schools.

For an entire year, her students have practiced. And practiced.

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They started by stumbling over their lines. They didn’t know how to project their voices and often turned their backs to the audience while performing. But with only a few precious rehearsals to go before the big night, they seem ready. One gang fight scene they staged Tuesday night had the shouts, clenched faces and racing adrenaline of the real thing.

“Their energy and dedication brings me great joy,” said Gorg, a stylish woman with a black beret. “They have worked hard, even during spring break when all the other students were off. These are people who work tedious full-time jobs and have other schoolwork to do, including practicing their English. Still, they find time to learn their lines.”

Already, their onstage work is getting rave reviews.

Gorg said: “Teachers will stop me and say, ‘What has happened’ with this student or that one? They’ll say they used to be so shy. Now they’re speaking up in class and helping other students. I know the answer: Once the performance bug touches you, it stays with you forever.”

Many students harbor goals of becoming professional actors, actresses and comedians. But this is also a realistic bunch, young people who work hard to make ends meet and help support their parents and families in Chile, Honduras and El Salvador. They know this could be their one shining moment under the bright lights.

“Whatever happens, Gwyn has taught us a lot,” said Veronica Areas, who came to Los Angeles from Nicaragua with the dream of performing in commercials. “She taught me how to carry myself. And that’s something I’ll always have.”

Jaime Ziga, a 25-year-old house painter from Oaxaca, says his acting provides an outlet from the frustrations of making a living and the discrimination he says he meets every day.

“It’s hard for Latinos here, to have to fight every day for what you can get,” he said. “But this helps a lot. It’s therapy. It’s a way to release your anger.”

For Mexican native Luz Becerra, it is a path to self respect.

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The 42-year-old mother of five never attended formal school until a few years ago, when she decided that obtaining a college degree was a good way to set an example for her children.

“I want to be a role model,” said Becerra, who will earn her general equivalency degree next year. “I want them to see me up on that stage.”

The drama students are writing proud letters describing their acting exploits, letters that accompany the checks they send to their families. And although almost none of their parents will be able to attend the show, the school has nonetheless sold out the first 450 tickets for the Friday and Saturday performances and has had to print more.

When the lights finally go up, the performers say they will have Gorg to thank.

“She’s like our mother and we love her,” said Eloy Mendez of Oaxaca. “For us, she’s Snow White. And we’re her 24 dwarfs.”