Ted Kosmatka

“My father was a steelworker, as was his father before him…”

 Steel and Roses has been, bar none, the most fulfilling project I’ve ever been a part of.  For me, it started with a writing class at Valparaiso University and a burning desire to tell the story.  I was involved in the play from its earliest incarnation in Chicago, when a one-act piece I wrote called Steel was performed on stage to an audience of around a hundred souls.  Since then, I’ve seen Steel and Roses grow to two full acts, absorbing the gifts of many talented people.  In its final form, the play tells a dozen stories from a dozen writers.  Some of those stories are uplifting, some funny, some serious.  Some have even been called dark--mine, perhaps, darkest of all.  I've had the honor of seeing this funny, serious, dark piece of theater performed in Chicago, Hammond, and finally now, in New York City.   

The fact that New York City embraced a play about steel workers still amazes me.  I will forever be grateful for my opportunity to work with such an incredible group of writers, actors and theater professionals. 

          In a mill, everything is either hot enough to burn you, sharp enough to cut you, or heavy enough to crush you.  And then there's the poison gas.                  

                                                                                --Advice to a new-hire.

                  General Foreman’s at the door.  “Is this the home of Widow Par?”

                  "I’m no widow.”

                  "The fuck you are.”

                                                                                 --Old mill saying (Jeff Manes).

On a side note, while in New York for the production, I was invited by Sheila Williams, esteemed editor of Asimov's, to swing by Park Avenue for a visit.  If seeing Steel and Roses performed in the Big Apple wasn't enough, I actually got to see the Asimov's offices, too. 

It was surreal to stand there in the lobby and stare at the postal box that I'd been sending stories to since I was seventeen.  I took a picture of it with my cell phone.  I was mesmerized.  The wonderful and gracious Sheila Williams and Brian Bieniowski showed me around the Asimov's digs, and I even got a close look at several of the Hugo Awards that seemed to be scattered all over the place.  Sheila and Brian ended up taking me out to a great restaurant for a wonderful lunch and conversation.  I was very nervous at first, but they're both such genuinely nice people that it didn't take long for the butterflies to leave my stomach, and I could actually eat.   :) 

Sheila attended the play later that night with a friend, and I noticed them front and center in the audience.  All in all, it was a great cap to a great year.