My passion was to be on Broadway and to be part of this community

The words of Max von Essen—“My passion was to be on Broadway and to be part of this community because I saw what it was like from the outside as the young kid in and around New York, and I would see things like the 'Easter Bonnet' or 'Broadway Bares,' things I would sneak into”—carry within them the timeless fire of aspiration, that sacred flame which drives the dreamer to cross the threshold between longing and belonging. His words speak not merely of a career, but of a calling—the pull of destiny that whispers to the soul from beyond the walls of the ordinary world. To stand outside the shining gates, to glimpse the brilliance within, and to vow quietly, “One day, I will be part of that light”—this is the beginning of every great journey.

In his reflection, von Essen captures the ancient and eternal hunger of the artist: the desire to belong to beauty, to breathe the same air as those who create wonder, and to contribute one’s own heartbeat to the rhythm of a larger symphony. As a boy watching from the shadows, sneaking glimpses of the stage, he was like the apprentice standing beyond the temple doors, eyes wide before the mystery of art. Those “Easter Bonnet” parades, those daring “Broadway Bares” performances, were more than shows—they were visions of communion, of artists united in joy, courage, and creative freedom. From that vantage point of youth and distance, he understood that to join such a community is not simply to perform, but to belong to a living tradition of expression and light.

So it has been since the dawn of civilization. The young have always looked upon the masters with awe, yearning to step into their world. In ancient Greece, a child might watch the poets and actors of the Dionysian festivals, their masks gleaming in the sun, and feel that same longing to one day join them upon the stage. In the Renaissance, an apprentice in Florence might gaze at the frescoes of his master and dream of laying his own colors beside them. Art has always been a bridge between generations, where the dream of the young keeps alive the work of the old, and passion becomes inheritance. Von Essen’s memory, though set in modern Manhattan, carries that same sacred pattern—youth beholding the divine fire, and choosing to carry it forward.

The community of Broadway he speaks of is more than a profession—it is a fellowship of spirit, a brotherhood and sisterhood of those who dedicate their lives to storytelling. It is a place where laughter and sorrow, song and silence, blend into a single hymn to the human condition. To “sneak in” was not rebellion; it was reverence. It was the act of one who could not yet be part of the world he loved, but who refused to let distance silence his devotion. For sometimes, those who love from afar love the deepest, and it is that love that eventually grants them entry.

His story reminds us of a profound truth: passion is born in the margins. It grows not in comfort, but in yearning. To see greatness from the outside is often what ignites the will to enter. Many of history’s most luminous figures began as outsiders—Beethoven, poor and overlooked, pressing his ear to the heart of sound; Josephine Baker, denied dignity, dancing her way into the world’s soul; or Max von Essen, peering into Broadway’s glow and promising himself that one day he would stand in its center. Their journeys remind us that the boundary between the spectator and the performer, between the dreamer and the doer, is drawn not by fate, but by courage.

The lesson hidden in von Essen’s words is one of devotion and persistence. To those who dream: do not despair if you begin at the edge. Watch, study, absorb, and let your longing mature into skill. Passion without patience burns out; but passion married to perseverance becomes destiny. The world of art, of achievement, of mastery, is not closed—it waits for those who love enough to learn, who respect the craft enough to begin humbly, and who remain faithful to the fire that first called them.

So let the seeker remember this: every great artist was once the child outside the door, listening to the music within. The difference between the outsider and the insider is not privilege, but persistence. When the time comes, the door will open for those who have waited not in en