To be or not to be
Jerzy Limon takes pride strolling through Gdansk's Old Town passageways, reciting a litany of antiquities: crenelations on medieval ramparts, an iron draw gate housed in a 16th-century tower and an old four-story, brick monastery tucked away on a back street.
"Why four stories?" he queries. "Because there were four monks, no kidding."
Attention to detail is only part of Limon's passion, and he's no simple tour guide. The 48-year-old professor at the University of Gdansk has a higher calling: to resurrect in Gdansk a 16th-century Elizabethan theater with $8 million that he doesn't have.
Raising those funds is likely Limon's last feat on the road to building the three-story, square theater, an authentic replica similar to the Fortune Theater in London. Although the outcome remains unknown, this theater historian-turned-fundraiser has gathered some practical business expertise, from deciphering the tax code to networking and negotiating a land deal with a formidable opponent - the secret police.
"It's a long birth, a long labor," said Limon, founder and president of the Theatrum Gedanesnse Foundation (Gdansk Theater Foundation). Limon's philosophy: He needs business and business benefits from culture.
The seed for the theater project was planted in the mid-1970s when Limon researched a treatise on English theater here, circa 16th century. "I discovered to my amazement that Gdansk was a center for the English actor," he said. He published the discovery in "Gentlemen of a Company," a 190-page book on English theater in Central and Eastern Europe.
But the idea lay dormant until after the big bang of 1989. During the early transition years, stories ran rampant of companies starting from scratch and raking in millions, Limon said. And in those tall tales, Limon eyed big fish. Limon initially sold his project to a group of five friends - a lawyer, architect, journalist, poet and theater critic. It was an easy sell: nobody had any money. But they had ideas and skills. The lawyer wrote the bylaws and registered the foundation, the architect sketched out the design with a $6 million-$8 million price tag and the rest set out to launch the fundraising campaign.
The kickoff was a reception in 1991, during which a Renaissance troupe serenaded the 200 in attendance, the British Ambassador included. "I was impressed by the number of people that came," Limon said. "And they were all so nicely dressed."
As the evening wound down, Limon prepared himself to gather the checks. Then, he said, "I noticed some of the guests were snatching bottles of wine, which somehow contradicted my expectation."
The bounty of checks never arrived. "I had this naive, wonderful idea that money would start pouring down like manna from heaven," he said.
The first business lesson: Networking. About his gala guests, he admitted: "I didn't know a single person."
With the big take in abeyance, the foundation eked out an existence holding "artistic events" and auctions every four to five months, raising just enough money to help finance the next event, Limon said.
"I think we wasted about three years by starting without seed money," he said. Perhaps out of boredom or desperation, Limon struck on the idea of pursuing big name talent. Writing Prince Charles in 1992 "came out of the blue," Limon said. "My wife had a good laugh." The shocker came mid-year, when the Prince summoned Limon to the royal palace to give ear to the plan.
That audience never materialized. The Prince had fallen off a horse, Limon said. But within a short time, a second communique arrived: The Prince accepted the deal on paper. Prince Charles wouldn't author checks, but the patronage proved a jackpot.
"It's not so much the money, but the contacts," Limon said.
The contact with British royalty leveraged Gdansk city elders to agree to donate land to the project. The official ceremony took place during Prince Charles' visit to Gdansk in spring 1993. It was a lavish, $10,000 affair, held at King Arthur's Court, formerly a merchant center and now a museum in the heart of the Old Town on Dlugi Targ.
It was also "the first time we used the royal visit as a fund-raising event," he said. "Whoever wanted to be our sponsor had to make a donation."
Limon raised about $30,000 from private donations, netting $20,000 for the foundation, he said. Up to that time, Limon had funded activities from $5,000 in revolving funds.
The fete was a turning point in two ways: A big take and nobody stole the wine, although the caterer made off with the beer mugs, Limon said. It was also a starting point, which spawned a more sophisticated marketing campaign and signaled the advent of tough negotiations with the local office of a national government ministry.
Concerning publicity, the event shed an international spotlight on the project and led to significant fundraisers in Britain, Limon said. It was also the largest one-time haul that fueled a $30,000 theater festival, Shakespearean Days.
While the premier festival featured new works by British and Polish theater companies, it has grown into an eight-day, multinational venue in recent years. Last year, for example, it featured eight, full-scale productions from England, Ukraine, Belarussia, Switzerland and Germany in addition to several Polish troupes.
What's good for thespians has also been good for Limon's pet project. The week-long draw helps win over local business and political circles to the value of cultural events. The price tag now runs $120,000-$150,000 and is covered by sponsors and ticket sales. Actually, the foundation doesn't sell tickets, it takes donations at the door, thereby avoiding sales tax, Limon said. But little, if any, of the proceeds are left over to fuel the grand construction plan. No matter, Limon said.
"We have become an important cultural institution," he said. "Everybody knows us and we've managed to create an important corporate lobby."
Limon said he will tap that lobby when the major fundraising gets underway. That effort, however, has been delayed because of a protracted tug of war over the land with the National Security Office (UOP), formerly known as the secret police.
In 1996, the city issued the foundation a permit to build on the site, Limon said. "And then our neighbor appeared out of the blue," Limon said. The local UOP office protested the building permit and a 1991 decision whereby the voivod had originally given the city the land. The UOP claimed it needed a protection zone, which has served as an employee parking lot, Limon said.
In spring 1997, a local voivod court upheld the permit, but a Warsaw-based national real-estate court sided with the UOP and returned land rights to the voivod.
To gain support and pressure the local security office to accept his project, Limon lobbied the political field including the deputy interior minister, a member of the Freedom Union (UW), who had direct influence over the local office. But the minister would not intervene, saying it was a local issue, Limon said.
Then, at a meeting with UOP this summer, Limon proposed a compromise. The parking lot-cum-Elizabethan theater sat on an 11,000-square-meter plot of land. The city would get about half of the overall plot, the foundation 3,000 square meters and the remainder, slightly less than 3,000 square meters, would be under UOP's legal guardianship. Local UOP chief Wlodzimierz Hodysz agreed.
"He still has his parking-lot protection zone," Limon said.
Whether broad-based support helped swing the deal remains unclear, Limon said. Certainly, getting the backing of local politicians had a significant effect, he said. After the Warsaw court decision, the local UOP office still faced a continuing battle with city and voivod officials, who Limon had swung to his side over the years singing the virtues of culture and its positive effects on business development.
Presently, title to the land is winding its way through the bureaucratic maze. Limon said he expects to receive approval in two months and start archeological digs by year-end. The two-year construction project, he said, could begin as early as next spring.
"It all depends on the fundraising," Limon said.
He added that he has pledges from local sponsors, but the real test has yet to come. He has also set up foundations in Britain and the United States, and will pursue funding from the European Union (EU) as well as the Polish government.
"We still have a long way ahead," he said. "We've lost two years because of this bloody UOP."
"Why four stories?" he queries. "Because there were four monks, no kidding."
Attention to detail is only part of Limon's passion, and he's no simple tour guide. The 48-year-old professor at the University of Gdansk has a higher calling: to resurrect in Gdansk a 16th-century Elizabethan theater with $8 million that he doesn't have.
Raising those funds is likely Limon's last feat on the road to building the three-story, square theater, an authentic replica similar to the Fortune Theater in London. Although the outcome remains unknown, this theater historian-turned-fundraiser has gathered some practical business expertise, from deciphering the tax code to networking and negotiating a land deal with a formidable opponent - the secret police.
"It's a long birth, a long labor," said Limon, founder and president of the Theatrum Gedanesnse Foundation (Gdansk Theater Foundation). Limon's philosophy: He needs business and business benefits from culture.
The seed for the theater project was planted in the mid-1970s when Limon researched a treatise on English theater here, circa 16th century. "I discovered to my amazement that Gdansk was a center for the English actor," he said. He published the discovery in "Gentlemen of a Company," a 190-page book on English theater in Central and Eastern Europe.
But the idea lay dormant until after the big bang of 1989. During the early transition years, stories ran rampant of companies starting from scratch and raking in millions, Limon said. And in those tall tales, Limon eyed big fish. Limon initially sold his project to a group of five friends - a lawyer, architect, journalist, poet and theater critic. It was an easy sell: nobody had any money. But they had ideas and skills. The lawyer wrote the bylaws and registered the foundation, the architect sketched out the design with a $6 million-$8 million price tag and the rest set out to launch the fundraising campaign.
The kickoff was a reception in 1991, during which a Renaissance troupe serenaded the 200 in attendance, the British Ambassador included. "I was impressed by the number of people that came," Limon said. "And they were all so nicely dressed."
As the evening wound down, Limon prepared himself to gather the checks. Then, he said, "I noticed some of the guests were snatching bottles of wine, which somehow contradicted my expectation."
The bounty of checks never arrived. "I had this naive, wonderful idea that money would start pouring down like manna from heaven," he said.
The first business lesson: Networking. About his gala guests, he admitted: "I didn't know a single person."
With the big take in abeyance, the foundation eked out an existence holding "artistic events" and auctions every four to five months, raising just enough money to help finance the next event, Limon said.
"I think we wasted about three years by starting without seed money," he said. Perhaps out of boredom or desperation, Limon struck on the idea of pursuing big name talent. Writing Prince Charles in 1992 "came out of the blue," Limon said. "My wife had a good laugh." The shocker came mid-year, when the Prince summoned Limon to the royal palace to give ear to the plan.
That audience never materialized. The Prince had fallen off a horse, Limon said. But within a short time, a second communique arrived: The Prince accepted the deal on paper. Prince Charles wouldn't author checks, but the patronage proved a jackpot.
"It's not so much the money, but the contacts," Limon said.
The contact with British royalty leveraged Gdansk city elders to agree to donate land to the project. The official ceremony took place during Prince Charles' visit to Gdansk in spring 1993. It was a lavish, $10,000 affair, held at King Arthur's Court, formerly a merchant center and now a museum in the heart of the Old Town on Dlugi Targ.
It was also "the first time we used the royal visit as a fund-raising event," he said. "Whoever wanted to be our sponsor had to make a donation."
Limon raised about $30,000 from private donations, netting $20,000 for the foundation, he said. Up to that time, Limon had funded activities from $5,000 in revolving funds.
The fete was a turning point in two ways: A big take and nobody stole the wine, although the caterer made off with the beer mugs, Limon said. It was also a starting point, which spawned a more sophisticated marketing campaign and signaled the advent of tough negotiations with the local office of a national government ministry.
Concerning publicity, the event shed an international spotlight on the project and led to significant fundraisers in Britain, Limon said. It was also the largest one-time haul that fueled a $30,000 theater festival, Shakespearean Days.
While the premier festival featured new works by British and Polish theater companies, it has grown into an eight-day, multinational venue in recent years. Last year, for example, it featured eight, full-scale productions from England, Ukraine, Belarussia, Switzerland and Germany in addition to several Polish troupes.
What's good for thespians has also been good for Limon's pet project. The week-long draw helps win over local business and political circles to the value of cultural events. The price tag now runs $120,000-$150,000 and is covered by sponsors and ticket sales. Actually, the foundation doesn't sell tickets, it takes donations at the door, thereby avoiding sales tax, Limon said. But little, if any, of the proceeds are left over to fuel the grand construction plan. No matter, Limon said.
"We have become an important cultural institution," he said. "Everybody knows us and we've managed to create an important corporate lobby."
Limon said he will tap that lobby when the major fundraising gets underway. That effort, however, has been delayed because of a protracted tug of war over the land with the National Security Office (UOP), formerly known as the secret police.
In 1996, the city issued the foundation a permit to build on the site, Limon said. "And then our neighbor appeared out of the blue," Limon said. The local UOP office protested the building permit and a 1991 decision whereby the voivod had originally given the city the land. The UOP claimed it needed a protection zone, which has served as an employee parking lot, Limon said.
In spring 1997, a local voivod court upheld the permit, but a Warsaw-based national real-estate court sided with the UOP and returned land rights to the voivod.
To gain support and pressure the local security office to accept his project, Limon lobbied the political field including the deputy interior minister, a member of the Freedom Union (UW), who had direct influence over the local office. But the minister would not intervene, saying it was a local issue, Limon said.
Then, at a meeting with UOP this summer, Limon proposed a compromise. The parking lot-cum-Elizabethan theater sat on an 11,000-square-meter plot of land. The city would get about half of the overall plot, the foundation 3,000 square meters and the remainder, slightly less than 3,000 square meters, would be under UOP's legal guardianship. Local UOP chief Wlodzimierz Hodysz agreed.
"He still has his parking-lot protection zone," Limon said.
Whether broad-based support helped swing the deal remains unclear, Limon said. Certainly, getting the backing of local politicians had a significant effect, he said. After the Warsaw court decision, the local UOP office still faced a continuing battle with city and voivod officials, who Limon had swung to his side over the years singing the virtues of culture and its positive effects on business development.
Presently, title to the land is winding its way through the bureaucratic maze. Limon said he expects to receive approval in two months and start archeological digs by year-end. The two-year construction project, he said, could begin as early as next spring.
"It all depends on the fundraising," Limon said.
He added that he has pledges from local sponsors, but the real test has yet to come. He has also set up foundations in Britain and the United States, and will pursue funding from the European Union (EU) as well as the Polish government.
"We still have a long way ahead," he said. "We've lost two years because of this bloody UOP."
