ONE

Will's decision to pursue acting shattered his father's dream ofhim being a useful adult.

His father had tried to teach him the ins and outs of trans-missions but Will had elected to sing in a church choir instead.

"You behave like you're better than your own family, singingwith a bunch of uppity Anglicans rather than attending theUnited where you were baptized!" his father had roared whenWill announced that he and Christopher McBain were joining St. Luke's Men and Boys' Choir.

"You never go, so why should it matter?" Will had arguedback.

He had a point. If he was going to be a Christian, then hisfather was the worst kind, the hypocritical holiday type preferringto tinker in his workshop rather than attend Sunday service. Will'sGreat Uncle William, his namesake and a Mason, had orderedWill's mother to leave her family's Methodist church and join theCrosswell family at St. Paul's United, a condition of marryingWill's father.

His father eventually gave up on Will and showered his giftson his younger brother.

"Theatre school is a funhouse of mirrors," announcedDouglas Carmichael, the school's director, greeting the newrecruits on day one. "In Shakespeare's day, great plays werethought of as mirrors. When you are acting, you are looking intoa mirror--a special mirror that reflects the world in a way thatallows you to see its true nature. It not only reflects the worldaround you, but you as well. "

Will quickly learned how smudged that "special mirror" reallywas and how distorted its world. For there was nothing politicallycorrect about actor training in the late seventies: professors sleptwith their prized students, kept scotch in their desk drawers, andchain-smoked in class. They were meddling Gods, mind-screwingthe impressionable students into their clutches and conflictingmethodologies. The devouring of the students' self-esteem wasa foregone conclusion. Most of the students wouldn't tough itout and would never work in the industry, becoming elementaryschool teachers or high school drama teachers.

Will was an exception. A childhood of arguing with his fatherhad prepared him for acting boot camp.

Ms. Morrison, his movement and dance instructor, was abitter ex-dancer who began teaching at the school after a kneeinjury ended her ballet career. Ms. Morrison chain-smokedRussian cigarettes down to one long ash until it fell to the floorwith little regard to the "sanctity of the rehearsal hall" as decreedby Lawrence Richardson, the school's acting instructor, a refinedNew Yorker of the loose-fitting cardigan variety. Ms. Morrisonparticularly hated the two beautiful, lean girls in Will's class whocould actually dance.

She ordered the students to parade before her in theirbathing suits.

"It's like they're boarding the train for Auschwitz," mutteredWill, pointing out those girls with poor body images to the youngFrench Canadian beside him. Which was pretty much all of them.