Now that I’ve finished with my adventures in Wooster, Ohio, and Ohio Light Opera, it’s time to head down Route 250 and get to New Philadelphia, Ohio to see Trumpet in the Land.

Haven’t heard of that one? It’s one of those many outdoor dramas that Paul Green wrote. Though Green (1894-1981) was a Pulitzer Prize-winning playwright, he essentially gave up Broadway to write what he called “symphonic dramas” – outdoor shows that blended history with pageantry and music. Among these works were Faith of Our Fathers, Wilderness Road, The Founders, The Stephen Foster Story, and, most famously, The Lost Colony, which has been done annually in North Carolina since 1937. Compared to that, Trumpet in the Land is a mere piker: This is its 39th season in northeast Ohio. Still, most shows ever produced wish they could say that they amassed that kind of run.

First, though, I have to find it. A stop at a convenience store yields a mere shrug from the clerk. A sojourn at a gas station has an attendant scratching his hair and asking, “Oh, the one with the hoop dance?” I make an embarrassed I-don’t-know face, as a vision goes through my head of Anna, with her hoop skirt, shall-we-dancing with the King.

But the third time’s the charm, at yet another gas station, though from a woman pumping gas. She pleasantly and even enthusiastically gives me directions, then, with a smile that suggests someone just put a nice piece of chocolate on her tongue, she says, “Wait till you see the hoop dance.”

I’ll have to wait, for as it turns out, I’m still quite a way from the Schoenbrunn Amphitheatre. But I eventually get there, and park in a generous sized lot that sports very few cars. Soon I’m walking into an outdoor theater about half the size of the Delacorte, and join the people ready to watch – about 150 of them.

The set is as big as all outdoors: There’s a nice big series of red-rocked cliffs at stage right, and a genuine fort on stage left. Finally, the lights do not dim, and the show starts with a Native American’s riding in on a horse, while two others walk in wielding torches. Soon Caucasians are addressing, “O, Chief Wide Eyes” – no, wait, a check of the program informs that he’s Chief White Eyes, who’s greeting “Our white brothers.” Out steps missionary David Zeisberger, who insists, “We are here to speak good words,” to which the Chief says, “We ask you to share our land with us.”

Really? The Native Americans were that accommodating and so quickly? Soon, though, a contrary Native American named Captain Pipe emerges to say, “I smoke the black pipe of death,” and turns to a Native American who’s been engaged in peaceful relations with the whites. He snarls at the traitor, and gives him the ultimate insult: “Call yourself woman!” Then he spits at him. There’s one asset of being outdoors on a dirt stage; you can spit freely, and not worry about anyone’s slipping.

Actually, the Caucasians will have to pay for the land (“Bring forward the white wampum!”), and the transaction so pleases the Native Americans that they spin into a nice dance of peace where everyone’s smiling and carrying bountiful baskets. That doesn’t mollify Captain Pipe, who feels, “In this land, my father sleeps,” so it should remain in Native American hands.

The next scene has David in Bethlehem. That religious man would go there is no surprise, except that this Bethlehem is in Pennsylvania, where David’s family and friends live. David tells them that he must continue to help “hundreds of thousands of our brown brothers out there,” but his colleagues are more concerned that the country may become involved with a revolutionary war with England. (It’s 1772, by the way.) David’s biggest supporter tells him, “You are a trumpet of the lord, and a loud one.” In fact, the actor is – to his credit, because he and all the other actors out here are unamplified. While that could be a budgetary decision, the sound nevertheless emerges pure, and there’s something to be said for that.

Meanwhile, David’s sisters argue about which of their prayers was the ones that got him back home safe and sound. No one wants him to return to the uncharted territory. “David, you are somewhat past the prime of life,” he’s told, to which David roars, “I am not!” Certainly one person thinks he’s right; a lovely, much younger lass named Susan, who says semi-seductively, “Wouldst thou converse with me, Brother David?” While he’s flattered, he flatly tells her, “In my heart, there is no room for a woman.” But she won’t take no for an answer. “Corinthians 7, Verse 34,” he says, having the Bible make his decision for him. (What is that, by the way? When I get home, I discover it’s “A married man is concerned about things of this world, that is, about how he can please his wife, and so his attention is divided. An unmarried woman or virgin is concerned about the affairs of the Lord, so that she may be holy in body and spirit. But a married woman is concerned about the affairs of this world, that is, about how she can please her husband.”) Anyway, his Bible-citing cuts no ice with Susan, and soon David uses as his defense a desperate, “I’m past my prime,” which gets a laugh.

Back to Ohio. Everyone comes in singing a hymn, before Chief White Eyes says to the missionaries, “Welcome home!” David plants the flag of peace. Comic relief is provided by a black woman who complains of sore feet. (Did Green write this for Pearl Bailey?) Then comes some foreshadowing of conflict (“Where there are British and Indians, there’s bound to be trouble.”), before some ear-splitting gunfire.

Eventually things calm down to everyday life. “It was work, work, work, labor, labor, and a song in every heart,” we’re told. Indeed, young women are twirling their brooms over their heads. “But all was not serene,” intermittent narrator John Heckewelder says soberly. David’s trying, though, as he tells the Native Americans, “I come to help you forget about the suffering. Join us. You’ll have warm clothing in the winter, and you’ll earn to read this book.” It’s the Bible, of course. Native American Captain Pipe reacts with a good line: “White men need a book to tell them how to be good.”

David has other problems, we can tell, when he meets a man and then says, with no joy in his voice, “We meet again, Simon Girty” – to which Simon says, “And I am as sinful as I was when I met you. There is more God in a bottle of this rum than in a dozen of your sermons.”

Just as I’m coming to the conclusion that Trumpet in the Land is probably more successful at educating than entertaining, there is a happy Native American party. (Why are Native American men so often personified with shriekingly high voices? Are they all castratos?) In the middle of the party, one Native American picks up a hoop, brings it to the campfire, and half of it is soon on fire. In and out of it he throws himself, and then uses it as a jump rope.

Ah. The hoop dance! When he runs off, so do I.

You may e-mail Peter at pfilichia@aol.com