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The old Stage Coach Trail in Greensboro was once a distant outpost on the fringe of town, a drive out into the country away from the glow of city lights. On this dimly lit road, you’d pass by pastureland, a few industrial buildings, a roller-skating rink. Then, there on the roadside: The Barn Dinner Theatre would come into view, its antique stagecoach parked in front, its rustic, red gambrel roof rising toward a star-studded sky.

The Barn opened its doors in 1964 as a novel concept, a combination of gourmet dinners and Broadway-caliber plays, all within the unique setting of a theater-in-the-round.

By the time I first stepped into The Barn as a high school senior in the late ’80s, it was already filled with layers of history, the lobby’s wood-paneled walls plastered with playbills and black-and-white photographs bearing autographs of casts long past.

Until then, my experience with theater had been limited to high school productions — Our Town, Guys and Dolls — performed in a school auditorium by classmates I’d known since kindergarten. But The Barn Dinner Theatre offered something else entirely — a whole new world of drama and excitement.

I remember how I fussed over my outfit — an argyle sweater, a matching skirt — and I took notice on arrival that everyone else had dressed for the occasion, too, in sparkling tops and polished shoes. We were ushered to our table and encouraged to fill our plates from an elaborate buffet: roasted potatoes, delicate halibut, tender slices of roast beef carved at the station by a server in chef’s whites.

After the meal, as tables were cleared and the buffet station in the center of the floor was whisked away, an emcee emerged, dressed to the nines, his voice booming as he made announcements, congratulating guests on milestone birthdays and anniversaries, making us laugh, warming up the crowd.

Then, the lanterns on the tables flickered, cut to black. A stage, circled with twinkling lights and powered by a hydraulic lift, slowly descended from the ceiling, and in one flurry of motion, actors burst from every corner, rushing onto the stage in a choreographed whirlwind, sweeping us all into the story with them. It was a night I never forgot.

Years have passed now, and I’ve since experienced North Carolina’s vast theatrical landscape, from grand productions at Thalian Hall in Wilmington to intimate shows at The Little Theatre of Winston-Salem. Still, I hold a soft spot for the place where I first felt the pull of theater, the thrill of a story unfolding right there in the middle of everything.

I went back not long ago, for a sold-out production of Ain’t Misbehavin’. The road is no longer on the periphery of town, but The Barn itself, now the oldest continuously running dinner theater in America, hasn’t changed at all, the iconic red roof still pointing skyward, the energy inside as electric as I remember. The meal was delicious, the performance exceptional, and at the end, the entire crowd rose to their feet, all of us cheering, the magic of the moment and the making of memories converging to create a true showstopper.

Elizabeth Hudson
Editor in Chief