It’s opening night at the Temple Theatre, and the sharpest- dressed man in the audience is a 13-year-old who’s as devoted to this old playhouse as an aged preacher is to his worn pulpit. As the curtain goes up, Tristan Edwards tilts back his black derby and leans in, bending his finely turned-out frame over the balcony railing to get just a smidge closer to the action.

When the actors in this adult comedy, ’Til Beth Do Us Part, crack wise about middle-age malaise, the young’un chortles right along. When his hero, one-time Broadway star Peggy Taphorn, aces a bit of slapstick, he explodes in applause. At intermission, the boy sweeps into the lobby — its air perfumed by a brand-new popcorn maker — to trade gossip and reviews with fellow fans and neighbors.

And the night is just getting started.

On opening night, arts enthusiasts from Sanford flock to the Temple Theatre. photograph by Alex Boerner

The century-old theater, a fully renovated vaudeville house with a leaky marquee, changed Edwards’s young life at a critical moment. Just as it changed Taphorn’s trajectory when she rewrote the script of her life in order to take the reins here. Just as it changed the city of Sanford.

But the dramas that play out inside the Temple — both real and staged — aren’t unique. Across the state, small theaters deeply rooted in their communities entertain, empower, and, against all odds, endure. They usher neighbors into a space, Taphorn says, “where they can be themselves and feel cared for. We invite everyone who might not have another place, particularly in a small town.”

And, particularly at the Temple, the plot twists are juicy.

• • •

Taphorn made her Temple entrance weighing a momentous decision. The year was 2007, and the high-spirited, auburn-haired actress had spent more than two decades singing and hoofing, joking and emoting in such Broadway spectaculars and touring productions as Chicago and Show Boat.

“I’d had a great career in New York,” she says, “but I needed a change.”

She’d heard that a professional theater in Sanford needed an artistic director and inquired. Taking a break from the national tour of Sweet Charity in Greenville, South Carolina, she rented a car and came up for an interview.

Early in her career, Taphorn was already wooing top New York City theater critics. In 1988, Newsday’s Howard Kissel hailed her lead performance in No, No, Nanette as “especially vivacious.” photograph by Alex Boerner

Here, the plot took a romantic turn: Taphorn “fell in love” with the Temple. Although, true to the playwriting trope, the match was not obvious. She had no connection to North Carolina. She was reared in a most Midwestern stretch of Illinois.

As for the Temple: It was a faded beauty. Built in 1925, the Colonial Revival-meets-Art Deco two-story had been a superstar of showhouses in the rural South. Thanks to the nearby train depot, performers chugging up and down the East Coast had made it a regular stop. Dolled-up locals flocked to the Temple for top-flight frolics.

By the second half of the century and into the current one, though, the 330-seat theater had sunk lower and lower on the list of ever-increasing entertainment options. And it was in constant need of care. Yet the Temple spoke to Taphorn — like a dusty script full of still-potent poetry. “I realized that they’re not making gems like this anymore,” she says of the majestic structure. “I wanted to continue to polish it. To make a difference. To make joy and kindness. That doesn’t always happen in the big leagues.”

Having impressed the theater’s board of directors, she signed on. What she couldn’t know was that the Temple would soon be in danger of signing off. From 2007 to 2009, the U.S. economy took an epic downturn. Shaken by the Great Recession, major donors canceled their pledges to the tune of $90,000. With the Temple teetering, one local leader suggested to Taphorn that she should just go back to New York.

“But I knew that if the theater went dark, it would never reopen,” she says. So with a determination that would make Les Misérables’ Javert blush, Taphorn campaigned for small-dollar donations. “People came from everywhere with five-, 10-, 20-dollar bills,” she recalls. “It was like the final scene in It’s a Wonderful Life. I still get choked up.”

By the mid-’60s, the Temple Theatre was unrecognizable, having housed a furniture store and clothing shop before shuttering altogether. When renovations first began in the ’80s, raccoons were living inside. Now, it’s been restored to its former glory. photograph by Charles Harris

The rally was a showstopping affirmation of the bond between local theaters and the people they serve. The Temple is not, per se, a “community theater,” a term that generally means that most productions are strictly amateur. It’s a regional theater, meaning that those involved in the productions get paid. The stars can come from down the lane or from the Great White Way.

No matter what their fiscal setup is, each one of the 200-plus local theaters across North Carolina flies or flops based on how well it connects with the community.

“They all have one thing in common: The theater feels like family,” says Angie Hays, the executive director of the North Carolina Theater Conference. “They’re creating a home. They teach us how to talk to each other, how to listen, how to think about ideas in new and different ways.”

• • •

At the Temple, there are lots of different ways to engage. Exploration isn’t limited to the main spotlight. Once Taphorn had steadied the theater’s finances, she raised the stakes by expanding its offerings and footprint. Classes on dance, acting, auditioning, and more now spill into three once-empty neighboring buildings. And all of this set the stage for another life transformation.

Tristan Edwards made his Temple entrance following a gut punch. Two years ago, at just 11 years old, he learned that his father had cancer. “It really took me hard,” he says softly. “I didn’t enjoy things the way I usually did.”

He trudged through his familiar routine — “school, then off-school” — feeling detached, drab, powerless. Heading into sixth grade, he happened into a drama class. That’s when the infamous theater bug bit him. The following spring, enchanted and energized, he enlisted in several of the Temple classes that Taphorn had created. He landed roles in Finding Nemo Junior, Leap Day, and A Christmas Story.

At just 11 years old, Tristan Edwards was facing an existential crisis. That’s when Peggy Taphorn and the Temple Theatre entered his life. Now, he’s tipping his hat toward Broadway. photograph by Alex Boerner

To Edwards, the can-do camaraderie and boundless horizons of theater felt anything but humdrum or hapless. At the Temple, characters overcame all manner of challenges onstage, while offstage, convivial neighbors worked together to mount the transporting dramas — replete with happy endings. “What I love about the theater is the community inside it,” Edwards says. “Everyone comes in lively, happy to be there, ready to work. It took my spirit. It kept pulling me along.”

It also influenced his sartorial choices. Discovering a taste for old-school flair, the youngster became a wardrobe department of one, combing thrift shops for derbies and bow ties, slacks and suspenders, vests and topcoats. In the spade of a few months, he went from dejected to a debonair young man-about-town. Now, he’s gearing up to join the esteemed youth ensemble, the Temple Teens, and will also be part of the children’s chorus in Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat in September.

Edwards’s mother, Fanta, marvels at the transformation. “We were the typical parents who put our kids in sports — T-ball, soccer,” she says with a laugh. “But theater brought so much happiness to him out of nowhere, at a time when he really needed it.” Along the way, the medical prognosis for Edwards’s father improved. And Fanta went from soccer mom to stage mom, volunteering with the Temple Theatre Guild.

• • •

On opening night of ’Til Beth Do Us Part, Fanta mans the will call office, handing out tickets. After the performance ends, the cast, crew, and their supporters gather near the snack bar for a champagne toast and a buffet of homemade cookies courtesy of the Guild. A glowing Taphorn raises her plastic cup to the production, and then, switching to her business role, she says, “Let’s spread the word and have some sellout shows!”

Soon, Taphorn will retreat to the basement dressing rooms, remove her wig and false eyelashes, and join the staff in prepping for tomorrow’s performances. But for now, this is as close as a small town gets to a glitzy showbiz after-party.

A beaming husband presents flowers to his actress wife. The show’s visiting New York-based director extols the troupe’s talent. Stage parents encourage their children to hobnob with the local arts vanguard.

And then, through the thick of the well-wishers, a black derby floats by. It’s Tristan Edwards, zipping his way toward Taphorn. Grinning, he wraps her in a hug and squeezes tight — then tighter. And the one-time Broadway star hugs right back. For a moment, both close their eyes. They’ve found their place. They’ve found each other. And it’s one of those scenes that requires no words.

Temple Theatre
120 Carthage Street
Sanford, NC 27330
(919) 774-4155
templeshows.com