I first arrived in New York in my early twenties to study acting at Neighborhood Playhouse School of the Theater. My parents were footing the bill for the school, but they wisely kept my funds limited so that I needed to get a job to supplement my income while in school.

Fairly soon after I got here, I landed a job selling orange drink in an intermission refreshment stand at Carnegie Hall. I fairly quickly rose through the ranks to assistant bartender in the intermission café.

One of my duties every Saturday afternoon was to restock all the refreshment stands on each tier of the hall. I would come in around 2:00 in the afternoon before the evening concert and schlep cases through the empty hall to the tiers.

On one particular Saturday afternoon before a James Taylor concert, being a big fan of Sweet Baby James, I was fascinated with the setting up of the stage for the concert.

As the afternoon went by and I schlepped and the roadies worked on stage setting up speakers and platforms, mics and monitors, while all this was taking place, I couldn’t help but notice that there was one man who wasn’t working at all. Instead, he sat in a chair facing the empty house and quietly read a book while all those around him worked away.

I’m a bit nearsighted and so, since I was schlepping through the back of the house, I couldn’t quite make out the face, but as I would sometimes just stop and watch, he would read, sometimes stop reading and just look up and out into the house lost in thought – and then go back to his reading. He was in his own world.

As I finished my last trek, I decided to walk down the aisle and get a closer look at the stage. They too were just finishing their set up and the musicians in the band were wandering onto the stage and beginning to tune and sound check.

As I got about halfway down the aisle, I was taken aback to see that the loafer who spent the afternoon reading a book while all around him worked was none other than James Taylor. I sat in fascination as then they did their sound check and then all left the stage to go to dinner – all that is, except James Taylor. He went back to reading his book alone on the empty stage.

The wonderful thing about my job was that I really only worked before and after the show and at intermission. The rest of the time, besides a few minutes set up here and there, I was free to watch the concerts. In the two years that I worked at Carnegie Hall I saw the greatest artists of the day at their best. It was an unexpected secondary education that I will never forget and always be grateful for.

That night James was James. The consummate pop artist at his laid back best. Of all the artists I saw during those incredible 2 years, this man seemed to me most at home on stage. That night we, the audience, were in James’ living room. At one point a drunken heckler up in the third tier got carried away and made a fool out of himself during one of James’ raps. James simply stopped talking, looked up in the direction of the man, smiled and said, “I’m gonna ask y’all up there to help me out here.” That’s all he said.

At once ten people in the seats around the heckler got up and physically escorted him out of the hall as James went back to the business at hand.

I learned something about performing that day I shall never forget. In order to make your audience feel right at home, you, the performer have to be at home. That afternoon James made Carnegie Hall his home. That night we all went over to James’ house for a concert.

I’ve used and taught this technique for many years now. It’s good for performers, actors, teachers and speech makers. It’s called Make The Space Your Own. Thank you, James.

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