“I am not throwing away my shot. I am not throwing away my shot,” I quietly chanted to myself as my friend, Kelley, and I approached the glowing marquee of the Richard Rodgers Theatre. This was the moment we had been waiting for since we first heard the soundtrack to Hamilton, a musical that had brought together my love of history, theatre and rap in what was quickly becoming the biggest cultural phenomenon in America. Now, it was finally happening. I was about to walk into the theatre, take my seat and hear the initial triumphant beats of “Alexander Hamilton.” I would just have to wait for it first. For 96 hours, to be exact.
It was never my intention to spend four days and three nights on 46th street with about forty other Hamilton-obsessed strangers in order to get tickets to this phenomenal show. Kelley and I thought that we would simply try for the digital ticket lottery and spend the rest of our time galavanting around Manhattan. Then, we heard about the cancellation line. At every show, unclaimed tickets are sold to anyone waiting in the cancellation line at box office price instead of the ridiculous resale tickets going for thousands of dollars. The only catch? After Hamilton swept up every major award at the Tony’s and Lin-Manuel Miranda announced that he was leaving the show, the demand for tickets was higher than ever before. This meant that people were waiting in the cancellation line for days, sleeping on the street and forfeiting all other conveniences for the chance to buy extra tickets. This line was for die-hard fans willing to give up showering, a comfortable bed, human dignity and all earthly conveniences for the sake of one show. Almost immediately, we decided we were in.
Kelley and I are obsessed with Hamilton. We snapchat each other videos of us rapping Daveed Diggs’ insanely fast verses in “Guns and Ships” and frequently reference Angelica Schuyler to inspire us during finals week. We talked endlessly about the show’s masterful writing and practically weep anytime someone plays “Burn.” So when the opportunity to see the show that had moved us in such a profound way came up, we knew we would do anything to take it.
Our first day of voluntary homelessness went a lot better than I expected. We added our names to the cancellation line list, which was created and run by people within the line in order to ensure fairness. Kelley and I were numbers 61 and 62, which troubled us, but we decided that we had to try anyway. We quickly forgot about our worries, however, as a beloved facet of Hamilton—mania was about to begin: Ham4Ham. The Ham4Ham show is a short performance led by Lin Manuel-Miranda to entertain the entrants to the Hamilton ticket lottery. Ham4Ham offers 21 front row seats to winners for just $10. Kelley and I had watched many of the previous Ham4Ham shows on YouTube, so it was absolutely surreal when we finally saw Lin’s signature hoodie rising from the ecstatic crowd. That day’s show featured Aaron Tveit, who played Enjolras in the film version of Les Mis, singing tunes from the Book of Mormon, making it a Broadway fan’s dream. Although we didn’t win the ticket lottery, I already felt lucky to have witnessed something I had seen so often in iPhone videos and envy-inducing Snapchat stories.
I was beginning to feel better about the insane predicament we had gotten ourselves into, which was largely aided by the incredibly compassionate and energetic people who made up the rest of the line. Kelley and I referred to one woman fondly as our “line mother” as she always made sure to ask us if we had eaten something. Every person I spoke to was friendly and helpful. More shockingly, they were a fairly diverse group. Some had come from LA while others lived only a subway ride away. Some were high school counselors and interns while others were students like me. Some were newbies in the world of cancellation lines while others were veterans hoping to see Hamilton one last time. Despite our differences, we were all united by a common love for this musical. I talked with fellow women of color about how empowering it was to see actresses like Renée Elise Goldsberry playing dynamic roles in a white-dominated art form. I spoke with others about the clever rap and historical references sprinkled artfully into the show’s music. It was then that I realized the true power of Lin Manuel-Miranda’s masterpiece. I saw firsthand how Hamilton had spoken to so many different aspects of American culture and identity, and how it had unified people of different backgrounds. I was glad for this early camaraderie, as we sat around singing “Satisfied” like kids at a summer camp. I knew I would need it as I prepared for my first night on the streets.
Up until this point in our adventure, I had been feeling okay with our decision. Now, with the prospect of lying defenseless on a Manhattan sidewalk, I wasn’t so confident. When I voiced my concern to another line member, she responded by saying “Oh honey, good luck even shutting your eyes.” I soon understood what she meant. After we had all laid out our sleeping bags, I felt better after seeing the sheer number of people surrounding me, plus the fact that the police were patrolling the theater’s perimeter. I wasn’t worried about my safety anymore, but I knew now what the woman had meant. The sounds and sights of the city seemed to bombard my senses as screens from Times Square flashed obnoxiously and car horns blared long into the night. On top of this, the Richard Rodgers is located across from the Church of Scientology, which continuously plays videos of women singing wistfully in the background as scary statistics about crime pop up on screen. Our sleeping bags did not provide much help either, as they failed to cushion the hard concrete and aided the late June heat in smothering us. Yet, I still managed to get through the night.
With our first full day and night under our belts, Kelley and I were feeling significantly more comfortable in our new situation. The days passed shockingly fast as we played card games, talked about our favorite books and kept each other laughing with anecdotes about drunk people approaching us in the middle of the night. Our long hours of waiting were also rewarded by breathtaking moments of stardom as we got to meet many of the cast members. Since we were stationed directly by the stage door at all hours of the day, we had many opportunities to get autographs and even talk to our favorite actors. In the span of 48 hours, I got a picture with Jasmine Cephas Jones, the autographs of Anthony Ramos and Okieriete Onaodowan and the opportunity to briefly converse with Daveed Diggs. The true pièce de résistance, however, came at an odd hour of the night when we didn’t expect anyone to be at the theater. We were lounging around the stage door when suddenly a figure in a hoodie approached us and said, “Good luck you guys! I’m rooting for you!” It was Lin Manuel-Miranda! I couldn’t stop shaking for a good half an hour.
Before I knew it, it was our last day in New York. Our flight flew out early the next morning, so if Kelley and I didn’t get tickets today, we would have waited in line for nothing. All those hours of sitting in front of the theatre, eating pizza from across the street and seeing who could rap all of “Washington On Your Side,” would be a waste. That day at the matinee, we held our breaths and waited expectantly with the people we had grown so close to in just a few days. Then, the box office worker came out.
He had two tickets for us.
As our fellow line members applauded us, Kelley and I walked into the Richard Rodgers Theatre and burst into tears. After all those days and nights, we had finally made it.
Watching Hamilton was an entire emotional experience in and of itself that would require another article to do it justice, so the real question now is, was it worth it? The truth is that seeing Hamilton without all of the hardship would have been just as amazing, but I would have missed out on a unique experience that brought me closer to so many people. Even now, I keep in touch with the people I met in line through a Facebook group called Homeless4Ham Cancellation Line (look it up—it’s public). Kelley and I also became a lot closer on that trip, and I am forever grateful for that. Waiting in the cancellation line not only reaffirmed my belief that Hamilton is worthy of the hype, but showed me physical evidence that art can bring people together in astounding ways. I am forever grateful for this experience, and if you were to ask me to do it again, I know I could never say no to this.
Image credits: Vahni Kurra, Leonela Nuñez