Invisible Hands: Stagecraft at NMH
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Selina Zha ’26
“The goal of tech is often not being noticed, which unfortunately sometimes makes the work invisible,” says Emily Salfity, NMH Theater’s technical director. Who are performers gesticulating at during curtain call? Who cues the prop banner to drop at the perfect timing? And who maneuvers the overhead light from blue to purple? It’s the backstage crew (and, maybe, also, the ghost). Through a closer look at four backstage objects, I invite you to share with me a rare moment behind the scenes.
The Ghost Light
Every theater has its ghosts, and NMH’s own Chiles Theater is no exception. Though modern enough to avoid real hazards that turn more people into ghosts, Chiles Theater still houses a spirit named Ruth, ready to goof off after backstage whistles or the forbidden word “Macbeth.” Only one object can appease Ruth: the ghost light.
Ghost lights burn in theaters around the globe. On a practical level, they are lights of precaution, illuminating sets still in the making. But NMH’s technical director Emily Salfity has a more sentimental definition for the ghost light. It “illuminates the hardship, exhaustion, and intense moments of joy and success that come with closing night,” Salfity says.
At NMH, the ghost light holds a unique memorial ritual. After a tearful ceremony following each show’s closing, the stage manager—the coordinator who holds a company together—wraps autographed ribbons around the light. By doing so, they entrust Chiles Theater to take care of their spirit forever.
Izzy Li ’28 served as stage manager for last year’s Spring Dance Show, How Then Shall We Live. Likely the youngest to have her spirit kept in the ghost light, Li hopes to become a “legendary senior.” “I definitely want to have my mark in the community,” she says.
Backstage, Li flips through ribbons of familiar names, some worn by time and a few marked with sad faces. When those markings come to Salfity’s attention, she says they reflect moments where a production didn’t fully come together, proof that the theater ghost can be the technical crew’s “best friend or worst foe.”
Still, Salfity adds, the ribbon tradition gives people a place to express those experiences. “Even when they’re difficult, they’re part of our history. We would never tamper with that ribbon; it belongs there.”
The Soundboard
I operated the sound board for NMH’s fall dance concert, Muscle Memory. Dressed in all black, I clicked the mouse and pushed the faders vigorously. From the two giant consoles before me, digital sound files were translated into melodies. Through a smudged booth window and a wired walkie-talkie, I experienced the show inside an exclusive sound bath.
Operating the sound board—handling all audio effects and scenic projections—is enjoyable, if sometimes stressful. Connor O’Reilly ’26 shares a technical glitch from his time running the board for Les Misérables, NMH’s 2023 annual musical. He recalls putting up the iconic projection of Cosette before a quick water break, and returning to find the board shut down.
The performance was halted for about half an hour. Amid the audience’s chatter and the director’s “sorry for the technical difficulties” speech, the crew scrambled around the control booth cluelessly, attempting to restart the board. An Apple TV connector was desperately sought, and even IT came.
“Maybe it was a ghost. Maybe it was Ruth,” O’Reilly says of the eventual reboot. “I heard somebody say that they were never so excited to see a poor girl’s picture.”
Still puzzled by the crash, O’Reilly admits it taught him that a seemingly crew-to-blame outage is often no one’s fault. As the sticker on the scene shop’s paint closet affirms, there are “no mistakes, only happy accidents” backstage.
I used to be the kind of audience member who sighed at technical difficulty announcements. But now, with someone’s big moment at my literal fingertips, I understand how much this high-stakes role depends on mutual trust and respect between everyone who makes and enjoys the show. A high-five with your sound board operator friend, or a simple knowing smile when the wrong music slips through the speakers…You’ll never know how much those mean.
The Bulletin
On the second floor of the Rhodes Arts Center, just around the dressing room corner, hangs a crimson brocade threaded with golden paisleys, serving as a bulletin board.
While the board’s significance might not be obvious at first glance, look closer, you might spot a few familiar names tucked between paper checklists, lining up under titles of NMH’s recent theatrical productions.
Performing arts department coordinator Gretel Schatz put the board up shortly after the RAC was built in 2008. To her, it best embodies the spirit of NMH Theatre by being a “passing place” where every performer engages with and inherits from those who came before.
Touching the puckered fabric, you can imagine the countless hands that have brushed across it for good luck. Before each performance, the company gathers at the board to sign in. Over time, the board becomes as creative as the people who shape it. Rather than bearing ticks, crosses, or uncomfortable blanks, sheets on the board are filled with doodles, fancy signatures, and characters from many languages.
As the make-believe comes to life, practical notes on the board are joined by more playful ones. A backstage crew member recalls that after the winter musical Hadestown took its final bow, a prank review signed “D.L. Moody” appeared on the board, complaining that “[the department] should’ve done Heathers instead.”
Standing before the board, you see strings of fairy light draped across overlaying flyers. The board could be in any theater, anywhere in the world, but here it stands, silently watching the magic unfold in its creases.
The Hall of Fame
Urinetown. Opening Night. Act II, Scene 1. A plaque carved with the words “Secret Hideout,” fixed to poles, descended into center stage. Two days earlier, the plaque—built for NMH’s 2015 version of Urinetown—was still chained above the scene shop, heavy with a decade of dust. As I helped lower it, I felt its history firsthand in rust flakes and prickly chicken wire.
Below where the plaque once hung is NMH Theater’s “Hall of Fame.” Ensconced between the two garage doors opening onto the stage, the hallway is lined with hand-painted bricks. Started by longtime theater director David Rowland in Northfield and later brought to the joint campus, the brick-painting tradition records the theater’s history. From stagehands to musical leads, everyone who has engaged with the space is honored. Look closer, and you’ll even find current theater director Eddie Yankow, whose remark spans five contiguous bricks.
After discovering the space, I often wonder how many of those names go on to carry NMH Theater’s spirit, especially those who once worked backstage. Fortunately, I found one clear answer in Matthew Dews ‘13, a former stagecraft member who specialized in lighting and audio design. After NMH, he joined ETC—the company that makes the sound board his hands once hovered over—and has since worked on local productions.
Asked about his understanding of the theater’s legacy, Dews says it is a “collaborative way forward.” He values the hands-on transmission of backstage knowledge. For this reason, Dews says technical theater often means doing “the slower and seemingly less efficient thing that is ultimately better.”
Ten hours of weekly call time that doubles during tech week make each production possible. When Dews learns that backstage immersion is now accredited as a full E-block commitment, he fails to hide his envy.
“If I had just been born 10 years later, I wouldn’t have had to take all those sports that I didn’t enjoy as much,” he says, smiling.
