In the final months of the Fellowship, the 2024 TYA/USA Emerging Leader Fellows reflect on their research trips and how the experience has impacted their TYA practice.

In July of 2024, I had the privilege of traveling to Tulsa, Oklahoma, to visit the Woody Guthrie Center’s American Song Archives as part of the TYA/USA Emerging Leader Fellowship. These archives are home to over 10,000 pages of handwritten lyrics, notebooks, manuscripts, and a vast collection of audio and video recordings. Though best remembered for “This Land Is Your Land”, Woody wrote over 3,000 songs during his lifetime, which was cut short by Huntington’s Disease in 1967. To borrow some language of his, many of these songs could best be described as “Hard-Hitting Songs for Hard-Hit People”, written on the front lines of a labor strike, in the depths of a merchant marine ship, or anywhere else injustice inspired Woody to act through his music.

My own songwriting journey began in an effort to reconnect with my heritage. I’ve spent many years now relearning Nicaraguan Folk Music, and this artistic inheritance opened my eyes beyond the limitations of commercial theater. In my practice, understanding the lineage and legacy is of equal importance to innovation. Young people are incredible innovators, and I’ve been fortunate to spend the majority of my time as a songwriter collaborating with children as a Teaching Artist for New York City Children’s Theater, and now as the Manager of Education Programs.

My family’s musical legacy is firmly rooted in the Nueva Canción movement. Poetic lyrics calling for social change, accompanied by a mix of Indigenous, West African, and Spanish musical traditions. The lyrical parallels with Woody’s unique brand of American roots music are easy to see, but both are deeply informed by the times that created them. I wondered what true youth-led music activism could look like today, and what wisdom could be pulled from the past to inform our present. I’ve spent the past few years developing a curriculum with this goal in mind, so the opportunity to conduct research on the subject became an invaluable experience. I also wondered how my own artistic voice could evolve to honor these many worlds I inhabit, Theater for Young Audiences included. So with the generous support of TYA/USA and the Woody Guthrie Center, I began my research.

Upon arriving, I was greeted by Stephanie Stewart, the archivist who had kindly helped to arrange my visit. We spoke as I finished my coffee, taking in the moment. I had spent the past year learning everything I could about Woody’s life, and now I was here. When I looked around at his writings, his art, his possessions, it was like meeting a penpal in person for the first time. Just beyond the entrance hung a portrait of Marjorie Mazia Guthrie, a principal dancer for the Martha Graham company, and Woody’s second wife and caretaker for much of his later life. It was through her preservation efforts that the archives were made possible, and the Center is dedicated to her memory.

As we made our way towards the Archives reading room, we passed a small rotunda, and at its center were the original handwritten lyrics to “This Land Is Your Land”, dated February 23, 1940. While normally preserved in storage, they were on display in celebration of Woody’s 112th birthday. I had read a story once that towards the end of Woody’s life, he took his son Arlo into the backyard to teach him all of the lyrics to “This Land Is Your Land”, because he was worried that in its popularity folks had forgotten what the song was really about. There was this incredible letter written by Pete Seeger, arguing the same and suggesting that Woody would be proud to know people have gone on to write their own lyrics to the song, including this one:

“This land Is your land, but it once was my land
Before we sold you Manhattan Island
You put my nation on the reservation.
This land was stole by you from me.”

Standing there I noticed a small note Woody had scribbled at the bottom of the original lyric –
“All you can write is what you see”

Once we entered the reading room, I locked up my belongings aside from a notebook and a handful of pencils. I think I ended up sorting through over 300 pages worth of notebook entries on this first day, and there was a pretty clear, if unexpected theme:

Respect for children and their intelligence. One entry in particular stood out to me. After attending a local dance studio’s Christmas pageant, Woody wrote a letter critiquing the instructors for overcrowding their classes and detailing the ways this will discourage students who would otherwise become passionate artists. He argues that these kids would gladly share what they want out of their education, if only someone would bother to ask. It then becomes this moving direct address to the students:

“…You know kids, I really believe you’re a whole lot smarter than we really think you are. I think you get just fed up with this kid and baby stuff – you really want to cut loose and sing and dance and think and talk and you want to do something thats got some sense to it – yes – you really do. You’d like to shout and sing about work and the war and the serious and the funny things – in a sensible way – but oh-oh-oh- how my heart feels for you when I have to sit and see your teachers pour these gallons… of pure old junk down your throats… I only wish I had about a hundred kids just like you and we had a big new york theater stage to use every night. We’d have most of Brooklyn and all of the Bronx in our seats every night and Manhattan would be standing up with Queens around the walls. And we would be singing and acting, speaking just as much sense, horse sense, nonsense, as anybody’s theater anywhere –
We’d make a lot more sense than Broadway is making.”

On my second day, Stephanie generously gave me a tour of the archival storage, sharing items such as Woody’s shirt from the Brooklyn State Hospital or his naval cap from the merchant marines. I was awestruck to see how an entire life could be represented by this collection of items in front of me. I later came across a single manuscript that somehow captured everything I was looking for, “How To Write a Balladsong and Get Away With It”. Woody not only outlined his songwriting method and philosophy, but shared memorable examples of how his songs had made a tangible difference for the causes he championed.

Research Notebook modeled after one of Woody's. Photo By: Frank Ruiz.

One of Woody's Guitars. Photo By: Frank Ruiz.

Before I could fully process what I had found, my songwriting workshop, “I’m Gonna Say It Now: Exploring Protest Through Topical Songwriting” began the following week. I would work with teenagers in Harlem to create original songs that engaged their community in conversation on the issues that mattered most to them. This was my first opportunity to share this work with students, and collaborating with them reminded me how vulnerable it is to voice your fears when so many choose to speak for you. Instead I would need to meet them where they were, and offer the tools I had recently honed to uplift them. I carried Woody’s advice with me, learning as much from my students as I did from him. At the end of our time together, I wanted to ensure that each student could repeat this process on their own and in community with others, like spreading seeds in a garden. Our sharing had a surprising turn of events when a local volunteer joined us to register people to vote. I reminded our audience that if what they heard moved them in any way, they had an opportunity that these young folks did not.

“…I never would have craved like I did to write so many high piles of ballad songs, anyhow, if I’d not been able to tell you what I think is wrong with the world we’re living in.”

On my last day in Tulsa, I had the joyous opportunity to attend Tiny Troubadours, an interactive music workshop for children under 5 and their caregivers. Partnering with artists from 108 Contemporary, the participants created their own tambourines that they then used to explore rhythm.This experience connected me with Rebecca Roseberry, Education and Outreach Manager for both Centers. We’ve since met via Zoom to discuss her plans for the Center’s growing Education programs, and how we could continue to support each other’s work. I also took the opportunity to explore the Bob Dylan Center, an audio-visual journey through Dylan’s many eras. It’s no coincidence that the Archive of American Song became the permanent home for both of these incredible collections. An entire generation of would-be singer-songwriters made the pilgrimage to New York City to follow in Woody’s footsteps, Bob Dylan among them. They all tried to emulate him, but if you ask me, what makes Woody so compelling is his humanity. His songs recognized the dignity in people, and challenged the systems that forced hardship upon them. I think we should all treat each other with this kind of radical compassion.

I had spent three days sorting through hundreds of notebook entries, holding handwritten manuscripts, and transcribing them as best I could for future reference. While I found so much of value, it’s fair to say I only scratched the surface.
How do I make the songwriting process accessible for students with disabilities?
Are traditional theater models compatible with songs of protest?
Are audiences who are attracted to protest theater the intended audience?
In spaces where children lack autonomy, how can they learn and engage with activism on their own terms?
I suppose this entire experience has left me with more questions than answers, but I think that’s a good thing. Questions help us make sense of the world around us, and when we spend too much time trying to find the “right” answer, we stop ourselves from imagining something new.

“…I must write things down as though I were the first man on earth to think them. Otherwise, I would get lost in a maze and I couldn’t write a word.”

Author Frank Ruiz

Frank Ruiz

Lessons from Woody Guthrie on his 112th birthday: Why Children’s Voices and Their Songs Should Guide the Way Forward