The 29th Annual

A CHRISTMAS CAROL WRITING CONTEST

With generous support from

www.greatlakestheater.org

2017

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The Twenty-Ninth Annual “A Christmas Carol” Writing Contest

Every year since 1989, Great Lakes Theater has partnered with the Cleveland Metropolitan School District in producing our annual “A Christmas Carol” writing contest. Over two thousand CMSD students per year, in grades six, seven, and eight compose original stories inspired by the universal themes in Charles Dickens’ timeless classic. Then, each school selects one winner per grade level to submit to Great Lakes Theater for judging. Of these submissions, a panel of judges vote for the top six grand prize-winning entries. Grand prize-winning student writers attend a reception attended by GLT staff, their teachers and CMSD representatives, where their achievement is celebrated and they receive awards of recognition. The 2017 grand prize stories are:

“Dirarse Vichades” by Alia Ali – page 1 Grade 6, Dike School of the Arts; Teacher: Silvia Boxley

“The Song of Change” by Caitlin Dean – page 4 Grade 6, Riverside K-8 School; Teacher: Joe Gilbert

“The Mirror” by Celene Goodwin – page 5 Grade 7, Riverside K-8 School; Teacher: Domenic DiPuccio

“Return to Christmas” by Jabhari Hugley – page 8 Grade 7, Kenneth W. Clement Boys’ Leadership Academy; Teacher: Dr. Kevin O’Connell

“A Christmas Carol” by Tannayia Thomas – page 11 Grade 8, Marion C. Seltzer Elementary School; Teacher: Lindsay Rados

“The Girl Is Want” by Emily Williams – page 12 Grade 8, Wilbur Wright Elementary School; Teacher: Robert McClelland

Great Lakes Theater “A Christmas Carol” production

photography by Roger Mastroianni.

The company of Great Lakes Theater’s A Christmas Carol.

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Dirarse Vichades By Alia Ali

Dirarse Vichades was a filthy rich kid. His parents died in a house fire when he was very young. He inherited their estate. He was stngyy sell-centeredy darky and misanthropicy He had no hope in the worldy Dirarse never had a role model to look up toy When his parents were alive they did not make tme lor himy not even to say I love youy son.” Il he had any lriends at his private schooly it was just because he was a Vichades. Howevery Dirarse had one real lriend he grew up with. The only person that could give him hopey but they died one month prior to his parentsy lrom a concussion. Dirarse had no close relatvesy so upon his parents’ death he was sent to live with his dad’s cousin twice removed. Dirarse and his cousin had no relatonship whatsoever. They did not even know each other existed untl this tragedy occurred. ne would never think that a 14-year-old could be so morose and capable ol so much hate. But Dirarse wasy and so his story goes... It was my first day moving in my long-lost cousin’s house. His name was Eben Malrioet. Quite queer. I could care less about showing homage to him, because if it was up to me, I’d just buy my own house. I could care less about my parents dying. They were dead to me anyways. I could care less about the world, and the people in it. The house was big but trifle, nothing compared to my house. I had a bedroom the size of a middle-class family’s basement, and a huge walk-in closet, with a special playroom atached. How pathe�c this is. When I first met Eben, he was dark, as if he didn’t care about anything, not even himself. He was very pale, his hair was all over the place, and what’s with those dark circles around his eyes. I would’ve never thought that a rela�ve of mine could be so unatrac�ve. And he had the stupid thought of speaking to me. Ugh! Such impropriety. “You will not go anywhere but through the corridors to your room and the kitchen. Walking to the kitchen will be unnecessary because your servant, Mia, will bring you a meal or snack every two hours. You will go to the kitchen in �me for dinner every night, 30 a�er nine. You will not go out of this house without an escort. Don’t worry I’m not trying to take your money, I have enough of my own, as you can see. “These are the rules! You will not ques�on where I go. You shall not wonder around the house, And you will mind your own business,” Eben said as if it were so per�nent. I walked away presumptuously, as if he didn’t say anything. Why was he so ominous? Oh well, I’m not supposed to ques�on him! Huh, like

Dougfred Miller as the Ghost of Jacob Marley in the Great Lakes Theater produc�on of A Christmas Carol.

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I’m going to obey him. I do what I want, when I want, and how I want. I know I’m a dark person, but I have reasons, he doesn’t. Oh, my life is horrible. I’ve been here for a week now, doing nothing but reading books, I’m so isolated that is the only thing that keeps me entertained, according to Eben’s rules. But today I am going to do something else, wonder around and explore, and I am going beyond the corridors, kitchen, and bedroom. As I roamed around I no�ced the place was bigger than I thought. It had at least twenty rooms. That is only on the second floor. Most of the rooms were empty, except two. When I walked in the first room it had a whole bunch of pictures of what looked like a family. It was two boys, a girl, a woman, and a man. One of the boys looked familiar. He has similar features as Eben, Maybe he had a family. But that wasn’t all. There were many other pictures with birthday cakes. Pictures where the family was at school and a boy that looked similar to Eben had a diploma in his hand. Wait, on the diploma it read, Eben Malrioet. Oh my gosh, this is Eben’s family. But where are they now? They couldn’t all be dead, because the children in the picture looked younger than young Eben. Wow! Just then I heard footsteps coming towards the room I was in. I ran and hid behind an old brazier. A ray of light came in the room. I heard the footsteps coming towards me. I panicked. I wrapped one arm around my knee and with the other hand I covered my mouth. Then everything stopped, no more footsteps. I peeked behind the brazier and it was Eben looking around. He walked towards the biggest picture which he and his family were in. He started, “I miss you all, I don’t know how I lived this long without you. I wish I hadn’t. I’ll see you soon.” He walked out of the room. What did he mean by that. I stretched my leg to get up and hit something. It looked like a book. I picked it up and it read, ‘This book belongs to Eben Malrioet.’ O Lord! Another book I have to read. I grabbed the book and ran out of the room and into mine. That night I ate some of my dinner, then le� to start reading the book. A week later I finished reading the book. I found out a lot. So, the picture of Eben ge�ng his diploma was the day that his family were killed. They were all shot to death in a mass school shoo�ng. Eben barely escaped with his life. The book was his journal. He started wri�ng in it the day his family died. He had it to write down his feelings, to explain what happened, and to express himself. According to the book only two people survived. Him and a female classmate. Wow, he lost all the people he loved on the same day. No wonder why he appears so dark. No wonder why he looks so miserable. No wonder why he is so unhallowed. He lost his family, just like me. Maybe we aren’t so different. I went back up to the garret to explore the second room. I walked in and it was a shrine of flowers. I walked toward the shrine and say a picture of a woman, right beside it was a picture of Eben and the woman holding hands. The picture read, ‘Mary and Eben Malrioet.’ He was married, but where is his wife now, I asked myself aloud? A voice replied, “She died from cancer.” I looked over and saw Eben.

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“I’m so sorry, and I know how it feels to lose someone. Even though my parents didn’t show much love to me, it was s�ll hard losing them and I was already going through so much trauma from my best friend’s death,” I said. “Yeah, she was diagnosed a week a�er we got married. She was a perfect wife. I miss her so much,” Eben said sadly. That day we talked and talked and talked some more. We talked about losing our loved ones, about how life was before, and how it is a�er. Each day, Eben and I got closer. We started ea�ng every meal at the dinner table together. I finally have someone I could talk to who cares about me. Eben was now like a dad to me. Wow, I never thought this would happen. We finally moved into another house. Somewhere I could go to school as just Dirarse and not be known for my Vichades legacy. Where I wouldn’t be known as the rich kid whose parents died in a fire. People finally knew me for me, I gradually became a beter person. I found myself being nice, who would have guessed. I learned to accept people for who they are and not by their appearance. You cannot judge a book by its cover. You never know what you will find inside. Although I dealt with a lot of life changes at a young age, losing my best friend, losing my parents, and being forced to live with a man I didn’t know and had never met, suddenly, those were blessings. I wouldn’t have met Eben. I wouldn’t have a father figure in my life that loves and cares for me and says it and shows it. I have someone to talk to and grow with. We support each other. Eben gradually changed too. He became nice and giving, even a bit more atrac�ve. I never thought I could be happy, but through it all, I am very happy.

~ End ~

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The Song of Change By Caitlin Dean

We go our whole lives changing so much and we never no�ce Stuck in what seems to be a never ending cycle Every day growing stronger and beter from who we were before Funny how a person can change their ways Going from stubborn to kind in such litle �me From hate to love and lost to found Slowly dri�ing away from who we used to be I never really understood why we’re like this And litle things like memories can have such an impact on human beings They make us cry. They make us laugh. They make us somewhere in between lt’s those things that make us change our ways I guess we can’t really change by force You can try but you’re s�ll you on the inside Just stop trying to hide It takes a miracle to change your life Yeah we go our whole lives changing They’re litle, big, or even somewhere in between Yeah we go our whole lives ...

~ End ~

Mr. Fezziwig (Aled Davies, center) dances with his employees in the Great Lakes Theater produc�on of A Christmas Carol.

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The Mirror By Celene Goodwin

I was running from my brother down the hall that I’ve run down hundreds of �mes, with iden�cal wooden doors on each side. There was a tall, narrow mirror at the end of the hall. I was s�ll running, when all of a sudden, I tried to stop myself, but I just couldn’t, and I went face first into the mirror. All I could think about was the outcome, though. Will I bleed a lot? Will I have a broken nose? I hope I wouldn’t bleed a lot, and I definitely hoped I hadn’t broke my nose, but when I opened my eyes, I was fine.

I stood myself up, confused as to why I was completely fine, looking at the wall, realizing that the mirror was gone, and the walls were no longer blue, and they were white now. I turned around and no�ced I was in a wide room with dark brown leather couches, a television, and a gaming system that someone had le� on. This was definitely not the hall I was in before, nor was it my house.

I walked around, remembering the house, but not remembering where I had seen it. I opened a door that revealed a dull, boring room with a bed, and a girl si�ng on the bed facing the wall.

I had no clue what to say, because I was in someone else’s house somehow, so I hesitantly said, “um, excuse me?” The girl si�ng on the bed didn’t move at all, so I repeated myself. I walked in front of the bed and got a brief look at her face. It was me. Not me now, but me in a younger form.

It scared me, and I had so many ques�ons, but the only one I could force myself to ask was, “Who the heck are you? The girl s�ll didn’t move. “Can you not hear me, or are you ignoring me?” There was s�ll no movement from the girl. “Answer me!” I demanded.

Finally, I came to the realiza�on that she couldn’t hear me. I tried to get a closer look at her, and as I got closer it became clear that she couldn’t see me, either, because she s�ll didn’t move.

The girl got up off the bed, and she walked out of the room to a group of children. As soon as she got into the group, I realized that I was in my old foster home.

A�er a few minutes, younger me was playing with a few kids, and she was pushed onto the floor. As she was trying not to cry, she got up and pushed the kid back. The girl was bigger than younger me, but she

Laura Welsh Berg (center) as Mother Cleaveland in the Great Lakes Theater produc�on of A Christmas Carol.

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fell and started bawling like a newborn baby. Younger me stood there in incredulity, and she looked choked up when the foster mother ran in and knelt beside the litle girl.

The litle girl was a freckled blonde, who looked fragile, but was anything but that, and she was a very biter, mean child. The women helped up the girl who was s�ll crying, and she turned to younger me, grabbed her hand, and slapped it. Younger me looked embarrassed, and her face was flushed.

The women picked up the litle girl, and turned to take her to a different room, and the biter girl looked over the woman’s shoulder and flashed a wide, devilish grin, like the Cheshire Cat.

Younger me turned, slumped down on the couch, waited for the other children to leave, and started to cry, because she was alone again, and she didn’t feel loved.

Suddenly, everything became blurry, and I was dizzy, and I had no clue what was happening. I closed my eyes for a brief second, and when I opened them, I was home.

I was home, and I ran downstairs to call my best friend and tell her about the crazy dream I just had.

When I got to the botom of the stairs, I saw my family and I heard them yelling at each other, but I also heard my own voice yelling back. I ran into the kitchen and saw myself yelling and figh�ng with my family. It wasn’t me in a younger form anymore though, it was me now.

The figh�ng, bickering, and arguing lasted for about an hour un�l I stomped off up to my room and slammed the door. My grandma was downstairs crying quietly, and my grandpa was clearly upset. My brother was trying his best to comfort my grandma, but he was angry, and it clearly wasn’t working very well, because she con�nued to cry.

I went downstairs to see what present me was doing. I was si�ng on my bed with headphones on, and my nose and eyes were red, like they are a�er I cry.

Suddenly, I started to feel dizzy like before, and I slowly dri�ed off as I felt my body fall to the floor with a thump. When I woke up, everything was dark. I couldn’t see anything, but when my eyes adjusted to the dark, I no�ced a door handle in front of me, so I opened the door.

I stumbled out into a dimly lit room, with a long red rug underneath a long, beau�ful, wooden carved table.

Many people were gathered at the table, and on the table was a giant turkey, cranberry sauce, stuffing, mashed potatoes, green beans, casseroles, and a pumpkin pie.

It was Thanksgiving, which has always been my favorite holiday because I get to visit my mom, and family members that I rarely get to see, and the food is always amazing.

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I no�ced a girl with a full wine glass, who was wearing a cashmere sweater. It took me a while to no�ce, but it was me in an older form. I looked like I was in my late thir�es, and I looked very unhappy.

A woman with short, grayish-red hair turned to older me and sympathe�cally said, “It’s a shame that Mike and Julie couldn’t be here.” Mike and Julie were my grandparents, but what did she mean by, “they couldn’t be here?” Older me frowned. “I know, I miss them so much. It’s been hard since they passed, and I wish I was nicer to them while they were s�ll around.”

They passed. Older me had looked so torn. They had helped me through so much a�er all, like ge�ng me out of foster care, and even though they weren’t technically my blood, they were my family.

Shocked, I turned around, but I ran straight into the wall, and everything went black.

I woke up and looked up, and I saw myself in the mirror. The same mirror in the same hallway and in the same house. I jumped up immediately. “I’m back!” My brother swung his bedroom door open and looked at me as if I had two heads. “Back?” He said it with an eyebrow raised. “Yes, I’m back!” I touched my forehead, and I had a scrape with some dried blood on it. It was all just a dream. I should’ve known, because it was all too weird not to be a dream, and to physically see my past, present, and future self is impossible.

I stumbled down the stairs and ran up to my grandparents, bringing them into a �ght embrace.

“Oh, I love you, grandma and grandpa! I love you so much!”

~ End ~

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Return to Christmas By Jabhari Hugley

Once upon a �me, there was an evil old man named Mr. Jefferson who lived just across the Street from me on Cranwood Avenue. He was your typical old man who was short and fat and had a big bald spot on his head. He always wore a buton down shirt, black dress shoes with white socks, and pants pulled up at least 8 inches too high. What did make him unique was his personality. He wasn’t cheerful and jolly and definitely didn’t laugh like he had a bowl full of jelly. In fact, he was the complete opposite. As a mater of fact he hated Christmas — probably even more the old Ebenezer Scrooge himself. While he never yelled, “Bah Humbug” at anyone, he never seemed to be at a loss for words if someone wished him a Merry Christmas or Happy Holidays responding with, “Forget you” or “Shut up about it.” I am not sure what he had against the season but it was obvious he never wanted any part of it. Everyone knew when it came to holiday cheer stay clear of the old miser Mr. Jefferson.

Now that I come to think of it, Mr. Jefferson never celebrated any holiday for that mater as his biter old self just won’t have it. That’s right – why even on Halloween he would keep his front porch light on just to tease the trick-or-treaters into thinking they would get a holiday treat. His gi� was a sore set of knuckles on litle kids’ knocking hand. If you did dare to stare into his window, and check if he was home to give treats he would just wave his cane in the air from his recliner and yell, “Buzz off.”

One night, the whole neighborhood was throwing a Christmas party for all to enjoy—that is except for Mr. Jefferson. They had planned events like this for years but Mr. Jefferson NEVER EVER showed up. On Christmas he would celebrate by si�ng in his house and watching movies that didn’t have anything to do with the Christmas theme. It seems as if he hated the lovey-dovey roman�c Christmas shows, the lack-luster cookies shaped like reindeer and even the horrible music made him shuter!

As the party began people were enjoying holiday hams, mounds of mashed potatoes, and even a secret gi� exchange with games for the kids to enjoy. The party went on as normal and everyone was having a great �me. But then a small young boy named Roger walked over to his grandfather and gently tugged on his dark red and green sweater. “Grandfather, can we ask Mr. Jefferson to come to the party?”

“Aaaa, no,” replied grandfather.

Lynn Robert Berg as Ebenezer Scrooge in the Great Lakes Theater produc�on of A Christmas Carol.

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“But why not?” asked the young curious boy.

“He doesn’t like Christmas at all Roger. Remember we went sent over Christmas cookies and placed them on his front porch last year?”

“Yes, that was fun, I really liked doing that for him!” answered Roger.

“Well if you remember, he didn’t eat a single Christmas cookie that we gave them. They sat there out on that porch un�l the spring thaw! As a mater of fact, I think it was some neighborhood strays that took that pail full of cookies off his porch and ate them.”

“But Grandpa, isn’t Christmas about giving and sharing? Let’s get some neighbors together and plan a Christmas holiday that Mr. Jefferson wouldn’t want to miss!”

Certain he wasn’t going to change the young boy’s mind, Grandpa agreed and they both sat down and began to make plans. The plan starts with a few neighbors on his porch singing Christmas carols and dressed up in holiday ou�its. Next, we will have a group of people take all of their extra Christmas lights and decorate his home for the holiday. Then Roger wrote Mr. Jefferson the most heart-felt leter a litle boy could write and he taped it to his front door. Afraid he wouldn’t see it, Roger knocked 5 �mes hard on the door and ran away as fast as he could.

Mr. Jefferson immediately jumped up from his chair and ran to the door ready to yell and scream and throw a fit. He opened the door and opened his mouth wide to yell … when suddenly he saw his neighbors singing on his porch. Then his eyes gazed le� and right and saw his house decorated in bright twinkling green and red Christmas lights. Astonished, he didn’t know what to say as a small tear trickled down his cheek. Then he read the note taped to his front door by litle Roger. He gently tore open the leter and read the simple statement, “Please come to our Christmas party we miss seeing you! Love, Roger.”

“I’m not really sure what to say,” he whimpered. “Why I haven’t celebrated Christmas since Erma died six years ago.” Suddenly the caroling started ge�ng quieter and quieter un�l not even a sound could be heard on the porch besides the sniffling of Mr. Jefferson. “She died on Christmas Day a few years back. Ever since then I can’t bring myself to celebrate the holiday that took the woman I loved so much.”

Saddened by the news, everyone in the neighborhood felt guilty for trea�ng Mr. Jefferson in such a nega�ve way. “We never knew that about you Mr. Jefferson, we are sorry.” Everyone close to Mr. Jefferson dropped their head in shame and embarrassment.

“It is not your fault, I have kept you out of my life as I have tried to keep her memory out of my heart – but I just can’t, I loved her and s�ll miss her today,” as he shrunk his head in sadness and regret.

“We love you,” shouted young Roger, “we are here for you and will help you with anything you need! Come celebrate life with us!”

Soon a large smile ran across Mr. Jefferson’s face as he wiped away his tears.

“Thank you everyone – maybe you are right – I need to appreciate what is around me instead of living in the past.”

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The collec�ve neighborhood gathered around Mr. Jefferson and gave him a huge group hug. Soon a smile that was bigger than life shone across his face. “Let me join you in the year’s fes�vi�es!”

Soon Mr. Jefferson was singing Christmas karaoke, decora�ng Christmas cookies and reading stories like ‘The Night Before Christmas’ to the litle children of the neighborhood. Finally, Christmas on Cranwood Avenue was back to the way it was intended to be—full of love, friendship and joy!

Mr. Jefferson was relieved to have loving and caring neighbors who were there to make his season brighter and make Christmas a fun and loving holiday once again.

“Although I miss Erma, I now realize that Christmas is about love and caring. While my Erma may be gone, her memory and dedica�on remains. You have all given me your love and support and I promise, from now on, to accept your support and enjoy the Christmas spirit once again.”

Litle Roger smiled a large grin and hugged his grandfather with a large and boisterous hug. “Thank you grandpa for helping me realize how much I can make a difference.” Together they embraced and forever promised to share the holiday spirit with anyone who needed a boost of holiday cheer without judgment or inquiry.

~ End ~

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A Christmas Carol By Tannayia Thomas

Once upon a �me there was a �me when I loved Christmas. I loved the smell, the food, the atmosphere, and the gi�s. And then there was a �me when I didn’t. The �me when I could care less about it, a �me when I dreaded it, a �me when I didn’t feel loved. I am going to tell you all about it.

It was 2012 at about 9:00 a.m. on Christmas Day. A day when we were looking forward to the best Christmas ever. My brothers and I woke up to the smell of both breakfast and dinner cooking. Cole, Calvin and myself (Carlece) smelled bacon and eggs cooking on the stove, macaroni and cheese, ham and cornbread were baking in the oven. These are my favorite smells.

The Christmas tree was full of life and color. The vibrant green on the oddly pointy leaves on the tree and the colorful lights and decora�ons that were so nice even the people down the street wanted to see. The presents, oh the presents, were so large and so heavy I was so excited to open them but we had to eat breakfast first.

We opened each present carefully but rapidly a�er breakfast. Like I said before, I loved Christmas! A�er that the day went smoothly and it was absolutely fun. Family came over and ate dinner with us. We all enjoyed our �me together. That was the last Christmas that I enjoyed. It was ended because of this...

… Drugs. It all ended because of drugs and alcohol. But no one just starts drugs just to start drugs unless you aren’t in your right state of mind. There was a reason and that reason was controlling and manipula�ve and abusive. A violent human being with no heart whatsoever. Him. My mom’s boyfriend. A man set on being in control of what she does at every given moment at any given �me.

He moved in the house on the west side of Cleveland in August a�er our perfect Christmas. This is when we started school and you can see how my grades were affected with knowing that my mother was turned into a punching bag whenever he wanted it.

Growing up witnessing such destruc�on and abuse changes a person. It changes how someone views the world. Christmas lights never sparkled again, smells never wa�ed, and the only gi� I wished for was for my family back. I realized as I grew older that the key to finding Christmas joy again was to find forgiveness. I never forgot, but I did forgive my Mother for opening the door to such violence. I forgave myself for slipping into the darkness. Once I forgave … lights began to sparkle again.

~ End ~

Neil Brookshire as Bob Cratchit and Xander Smits as Tiny Tim in the Great Lakes Theater produc�on of A Christmas Carol.

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The Girl Is Want By Emily Williams

{sung} The girl is want she does not have the proper necessi�es nor perfect proper�es of the rest of these, people who walk with shallow neediness and constant approval to be the best. She does not have but only wants, while you cry about call of duty taunts, she says that she’s ok this Christmas Day but her famine and depression are here to stay. {sung) So give her some respect she didn’t know, that her life was doomed to be unhappy and slow. When you see her walking on the streets alone she is dealing with the constant fear of being unknown, unfed, being put down for not having a permanent bed. {sung} Pity the girl she only has one wish, to grab it from the blue and white streamers in the sky that seem hold it down but it’s like they’re going to let it fly. She just knows squalor and famine and being �red of the constant unending barrage of directed fire for her mind. {sung) They want to shoot her down but she’s never been up or even proud, she’s had to steal to eat and had to cheat to beat death along with all the rest, of the people that can’t take the pain that’s part of the game they call life. {spoken} Now look you may not care, but she needs a place to call home with a warm bed and caring people with some love and food to give, to spare. That’s all she wants all she needs and this girl could be anyone you or me, or your friend or their family. {spoken} See this litle girl isn’t one person she’s everybody. We all had to struggle for something at least once but this “girl” she is struggle but she’s also why we get up and try even when were kicked down, so stand tall and proud. No mater who you are. Stand tall for yourself and for those who can’t stand, stand for them and with them.

~ End ~

David Anthony Smith as the Ghost of Christmas Present in the Great Lakes Theater produc�on of A Christmas Carol.

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ABOUT GREAT LAKES THEATER

Charles Fee, Producing Artistic Director

The mission of Great Lakes Theater, through its main stage productions and its education programs, is to bring the pleasure, power and relevance of classic theater to the widest possible audience.

Since the company's inception in 1962, programming has been rooted in Shakespeare, but the company's commitment to great plays spans the breadth of all cultures, forms of theater and time periods including the 20th century, and provides for the occasional mounting of new works that complement the classical repertoire.

Classic theater holds the capacity to illuminate truth and enduring values, celebrate and challenge human nature and actions, revel in eloquent language, preserve the traditions of diverse cultures and generate communal spirit. On its mainstage and through its education program, the company seeks to create visceral, immediate experiences for participants, asserting theater's historic role as a vehicle for advancing the common good, and helping people make the most joyful and meaningful connections between classic plays and their own lives. This Cleveland theater company wishes to share such vibrant experiences with people across all age groups, creeds, racial and ethnic groups and socio-economic backgrounds.

The company's commitment to classic theater is magnified in the educational programs (for both adults and students) that surround its productions. Great Lakes Theater has a strong presence in area schools, offering an annual series of student matinees and, for over 30 years, an acclaimed school residency program led by teams of specially trained actor-teachers.

1501 Euclid Avenue, Suite 300 • Cleveland, Ohio 44115 • Tel. (216) 241-5490

greatlakestheater.org

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The 2017 “A Christmas Carol” Writing Contest is made possible through a leadership grant provided by The Abington Foundation.

Additional support provided by:

Harry K. and Emma R. Fox Foundation The George Gund Foundation And more than 500 generous individual contributors including Matnee Idols and aise our addle donors

at Great Lakes Theater’s BACKSTAGE BASH! (2017) Benefit.

Special thanks to all participating CMSD teachers and staff, and to our reader-judges:

Dalia Baker Chelsea Cannon DeLee Cooper Gail Cudak Carol Dolan Kelly Schaffer Florian Adam Graber

David Hansen Diane K. Hupp Greta Insolia Kate McVoy Zyrece Montgomery Shaun ’Neill Lisa rtenzi