For a trans kid, ‘Civility of Albert Cashier’ was a life saver

On Oct. 17, 2017, the trajectory of my life shifted forever. I was 19 years old, living in middle-of-nowhere Kansas, pursuing a dead-end degree in Christian ministry, closeted as a transgender person. On that day, I drove 12 hours to Chicago to see my childhood hero, Dani Shay, in a new musical. Shay was bringing to life the story of a Civil War veteran who ultimately saved my life.

In the tapestry of American history, the thread of Albert Cashier merits far more attention than it has received. Cashier, born in Ireland as Jennifer Hodgers in 1843, enlisted in the Union Army during the Civil War and navigated the battlefield and societal gender constraints with remarkable fortitude. When Cashier was outed and put on trial, causing an uproar in his Midwestern town, his life and his pension were threatened, prompting his brothers-in-arms to come to his aid and recount the losses, life lessons and acts of heroism they shared on the battlefield all those years ago.

“The Civility of Albert Cashier” is more than just a historical recounting; the musical is a nuanced exploration of identity, courage, camaraderie and the essence of civility. The work’s creators — book writer and lyricist Jay Paul Deratany and composer-lyricists Keaton Wooden and Joe Stevens — meticulously researched Cashier’s life and brought to light a story that embodies the quiet strength and dignity that civility demands. It’s a lesson that reigns more timely than ever.

Producers Christine Russell, Robert J. Ulrich and Deratany are bringing Cashier’s story to the Colony Theatre in Burbank, with previews starting Saturday and opening night set for Sept. 7, with performances through Sept. 22. I’ve helped with the show’s production photography and video.

“The Civility of Albert Cashier” altered my reality and propelled me into the authentic life that I’m living today. A few months prior to my introduction to Cashier, I had closed my own run as Randolph MacAfee in Friends University’s production of “Bye Bye Birdie.” That character provided me with a chance to reveal what always had been my best-kept secret: that I’m a transgender individual.

In rural Kansas the queer community was not talked about, much less accepted. I remember being as young as 10 and telling myself over and over and over, “I’m not a boy, I’m a girl, and I’ll always be a girl.” If little Asher only knew what was to come.

As I moved out of my dad’s house, exploring the world more independently, I began to question the gender norms I was built upon. During tech week for “Bye Bye Birdie,” I bound my chest for the first time. Despite the costuming director’s profuse apologies, I found myself crying in front of the mirror in the women’s dressing room — not because I felt misaligned, but because I felt so aligned with my mind and body playing a male character that I couldn’t help but be awestruck by that groundedness.

The part of “The Civility of Albert Cashier” that shook me to my core was Albert’s last number, “Breathe. Walk. Home.” Albert reiterates the strength, resilience and authenticity that he has demonstrated time and time again. It was in that moment that I made the decision to “Breathe. Walk. Home.” into myself. I became my own home that night; I came into myself, into being.

After the show Dani, my friend Jamie and I got dinner, and we talked about my life as a closeted nonbinary person. I began to question my authenticity for the first time in my life. That day marked the first time I had asked anyone to use they/them pronouns for me, to affirm my gender.

Out of that day, my future was born. Two months after seeing “Albert Cashier,” I visited Los Angeles for the first time. Six months after that visit, I stepped into myself and my truth. Since then, I’ve been lucky enough to live in the city of my dreams, out as a trans person, making my dreams of becoming a professional photographer a reality, with the most incredible chosen family a human could ask for. All because of Albert.

I’m struck by the parallel between the life of a closeted trans Civil War infantryman and the modern American trans teen. During the end stages of his life, Cashier had his identity and dignity violently stripped away. All across the United States, anti-transgender legislation is persecuting and ruining youths’ lives in small-town America. Cashier had his identity put under a microscope and his life put on trial in a way that seems not unlike my experience of coming out to my Midwestern evangelical family.

I hope this essay finds the eyes of a reader just like me all those years ago — confused, closeted, wondering and wandering — and that Albert might have as deep an impact on their life as mine. Or, if nothing else, that it might change one single closed mind about the humanity of the transgender community. I know that it opened my mind and life to the possibility of affirming my trans-ness, and I can’t help but wonder what my upbringing might have been like if my family had been exposed to “The Civility of Albert Cashier.”

On Oct. 17, 2017, the trajectory of my life shifted forever. I was 19 years old, living in middle-of-nowhere Kansas, pursuing a dead-end degree in Christian ministry, closeted as a transgender person. On that day, I drove 12 hours to Chicago to see my childhood hero, Dani Shay, in a new musical. Shay was bringing to life the story of a Civil War veteran who ultimately saved my life.

In the tapestry of American history, the thread of Albert Cashier merits far more attention than it has received. Cashier, born in Ireland as Jennifer Hodgers in 1843, enlisted in the Union Army during the Civil War and navigated the battlefield and societal gender constraints with remarkable fortitude. When Cashier was outed and put on trial, causing an uproar in his Midwestern town, his life and his pension were threatened, prompting his brothers-in-arms to come to his aid and recount the losses, life lessons and acts of heroism they shared on the battlefield all those years ago.

“The Civility of Albert Cashier” is more than just a historical recounting; the musical is a nuanced exploration of identity, courage, camaraderie and the essence of civility. The work’s creators — book writer and lyricist Jay Paul Deratany and composer-lyricists Keaton Wooden and Joe Stevens — meticulously researched Cashier’s life and brought to light a story that embodies the quiet strength and dignity that civility demands. It’s a lesson that reigns more timely than ever.

Producers Christine Russell, Robert J. Ulrich and Deratany are bringing Cashier’s story to the Colony Theatre in Burbank, with previews starting Saturday and opening night set for Sept. 7, with performances through Sept. 22. I’ve helped with the show’s production photography and video.

“The Civility of Albert Cashier” altered my reality and propelled me into the authentic life that I’m living today. A few months prior to my introduction to Cashier, I had closed my own run as Randolph MacAfee in Friends University’s production of “Bye Bye Birdie.” That character provided me with a chance to reveal what always had been my best-kept secret: that I’m a transgender individual.

In rural Kansas the queer community was not talked about, much less accepted. I remember being as young as 10 and telling myself over and over and over, “I’m not a boy, I’m a girl, and I’ll always be a girl.” If little Asher only knew what was to come.

As I moved out of my dad’s house, exploring the world more independently, I began to question the gender norms I was built upon. During tech week for “Bye Bye Birdie,” I bound my chest for the first time. Despite the costuming director’s profuse apologies, I found myself crying in front of the mirror in the women’s dressing room — not because I felt misaligned, but because I felt so aligned with my mind and body playing a male character that I couldn’t help but be awestruck by that groundedness.

The part of “The Civility of Albert Cashier” that shook me to my core was Albert’s last number, “Breathe. Walk. Home.” Albert reiterates the strength, resilience and authenticity that he has demonstrated time and time again. It was in that moment that I made the decision to “Breathe. Walk. Home.” into myself. I became my own home that night; I came into myself, into being.

After the show Dani, my friend Jamie and I got dinner, and we talked about my life as a closeted nonbinary person. I began to question my authenticity for the first time in my life. That day marked the first time I had asked anyone to use they/them pronouns for me, to affirm my gender.

Out of that day, my future was born. Two months after seeing “Albert Cashier,” I visited Los Angeles for the first time. Six months after that visit, I stepped into myself and my truth. Since then, I’ve been lucky enough to live in the city of my dreams, out as a trans person, making my dreams of becoming a professional photographer a reality, with the most incredible chosen family a human could ask for. All because of Albert.

I’m struck by the parallel between the life of a closeted trans Civil War infantryman and the modern American trans teen. During the end stages of his life, Cashier had his identity and dignity violently stripped away. All across the United States, anti-transgender legislation is persecuting and ruining youths’ lives in small-town America. Cashier had his identity put under a microscope and his life put on trial in a way that seems not unlike my experience of coming out to my Midwestern evangelical family.

I hope this essay finds the eyes of a reader just like me all those years ago — confused, closeted, wondering and wandering — and that Albert might have as deep an impact on their life as mine. Or, if nothing else, that it might change one single closed mind about the humanity of the transgender community. I know that it opened my mind and life to the possibility of affirming my trans-ness, and I can’t help but wonder what my upbringing might have been like if my family had been exposed to “The Civility of Albert Cashier.”

On Oct. 17, 2017, the trajectory of my life shifted forever. I was 19 years old, living in middle-of-nowhere Kansas, pursuing a dead-end degree in Christian ministry, closeted as a transgender person. On that day, I drove 12 hours to Chicago to see my childhood hero, Dani Shay, in a new musical. Shay was bringing to life the story of a Civil War veteran who ultimately saved my life.

In the tapestry of American history, the thread of Albert Cashier merits far more attention than it has received. Cashier, born in Ireland as Jennifer Hodgers in 1843, enlisted in the Union Army during the Civil War and navigated the battlefield and societal gender constraints with remarkable fortitude. When Cashier was outed and put on trial, causing an uproar in his Midwestern town, his life and his pension were threatened, prompting his brothers-in-arms to come to his aid and recount the losses, life lessons and acts of heroism they shared on the battlefield all those years ago.

“The Civility of Albert Cashier” is more than just a historical recounting; the musical is a nuanced exploration of identity, courage, camaraderie and the essence of civility. The work’s creators — book writer and lyricist Jay Paul Deratany and composer-lyricists Keaton Wooden and Joe Stevens — meticulously researched Cashier’s life and brought to light a story that embodies the quiet strength and dignity that civility demands. It’s a lesson that reigns more timely than ever.

Producers Christine Russell, Robert J. Ulrich and Deratany are bringing Cashier’s story to the Colony Theatre in Burbank, with previews starting Saturday and opening night set for Sept. 7, with performances through Sept. 22. I’ve helped with the show’s production photography and video.

“The Civility of Albert Cashier” altered my reality and propelled me into the authentic life that I’m living today. A few months prior to my introduction to Cashier, I had closed my own run as Randolph MacAfee in Friends University’s production of “Bye Bye Birdie.” That character provided me with a chance to reveal what always had been my best-kept secret: that I’m a transgender individual.

In rural Kansas the queer community was not talked about, much less accepted. I remember being as young as 10 and telling myself over and over and over, “I’m not a boy, I’m a girl, and I’ll always be a girl.” If little Asher only knew what was to come.

As I moved out of my dad’s house, exploring the world more independently, I began to question the gender norms I was built upon. During tech week for “Bye Bye Birdie,” I bound my chest for the first time. Despite the costuming director’s profuse apologies, I found myself crying in front of the mirror in the women’s dressing room — not because I felt misaligned, but because I felt so aligned with my mind and body playing a male character that I couldn’t help but be awestruck by that groundedness.

The part of “The Civility of Albert Cashier” that shook me to my core was Albert’s last number, “Breathe. Walk. Home.” Albert reiterates the strength, resilience and authenticity that he has demonstrated time and time again. It was in that moment that I made the decision to “Breathe. Walk. Home.” into myself. I became my own home that night; I came into myself, into being.

After the show Dani, my friend Jamie and I got dinner, and we talked about my life as a closeted nonbinary person. I began to question my authenticity for the first time in my life. That day marked the first time I had asked anyone to use they/them pronouns for me, to affirm my gender.

Out of that day, my future was born. Two months after seeing “Albert Cashier,” I visited Los Angeles for the first time. Six months after that visit, I stepped into myself and my truth. Since then, I’ve been lucky enough to live in the city of my dreams, out as a trans person, making my dreams of becoming a professional photographer a reality, with the most incredible chosen family a human could ask for. All because of Albert.

I’m struck by the parallel between the life of a closeted trans Civil War infantryman and the modern American trans teen. During the end stages of his life, Cashier had his identity and dignity violently stripped away. All across the United States, anti-transgender legislation is persecuting and ruining youths’ lives in small-town America. Cashier had his identity put under a microscope and his life put on trial in a way that seems not unlike my experience of coming out to my Midwestern evangelical family.

I hope this essay finds the eyes of a reader just like me all those years ago — confused, closeted, wondering and wandering — and that Albert might have as deep an impact on their life as mine. Or, if nothing else, that it might change one single closed mind about the humanity of the transgender community. I know that it opened my mind and life to the possibility of affirming my trans-ness, and I can’t help but wonder what my upbringing might have been like if my family had been exposed to “The Civility of Albert Cashier.”

On Oct. 17, 2017, the trajectory of my life shifted forever. I was 19 years old, living in middle-of-nowhere Kansas, pursuing a dead-end degree in Christian ministry, closeted as a transgender person. On that day, I drove 12 hours to Chicago to see my childhood hero, Dani Shay, in a new musical. Shay was bringing to life the story of a Civil War veteran who ultimately saved my life.

In the tapestry of American history, the thread of Albert Cashier merits far more attention than it has received. Cashier, born in Ireland as Jennifer Hodgers in 1843, enlisted in the Union Army during the Civil War and navigated the battlefield and societal gender constraints with remarkable fortitude. When Cashier was outed and put on trial, causing an uproar in his Midwestern town, his life and his pension were threatened, prompting his brothers-in-arms to come to his aid and recount the losses, life lessons and acts of heroism they shared on the battlefield all those years ago.

“The Civility of Albert Cashier” is more than just a historical recounting; the musical is a nuanced exploration of identity, courage, camaraderie and the essence of civility. The work’s creators — book writer and lyricist Jay Paul Deratany and composer-lyricists Keaton Wooden and Joe Stevens — meticulously researched Cashier’s life and brought to light a story that embodies the quiet strength and dignity that civility demands. It’s a lesson that reigns more timely than ever.

Producers Christine Russell, Robert J. Ulrich and Deratany are bringing Cashier’s story to the Colony Theatre in Burbank, with previews starting Saturday and opening night set for Sept. 7, with performances through Sept. 22. I’ve helped with the show’s production photography and video.

“The Civility of Albert Cashier” altered my reality and propelled me into the authentic life that I’m living today. A few months prior to my introduction to Cashier, I had closed my own run as Randolph MacAfee in Friends University’s production of “Bye Bye Birdie.” That character provided me with a chance to reveal what always had been my best-kept secret: that I’m a transgender individual.

In rural Kansas the queer community was not talked about, much less accepted. I remember being as young as 10 and telling myself over and over and over, “I’m not a boy, I’m a girl, and I’ll always be a girl.” If little Asher only knew what was to come.

As I moved out of my dad’s house, exploring the world more independently, I began to question the gender norms I was built upon. During tech week for “Bye Bye Birdie,” I bound my chest for the first time. Despite the costuming director’s profuse apologies, I found myself crying in front of the mirror in the women’s dressing room — not because I felt misaligned, but because I felt so aligned with my mind and body playing a male character that I couldn’t help but be awestruck by that groundedness.

The part of “The Civility of Albert Cashier” that shook me to my core was Albert’s last number, “Breathe. Walk. Home.” Albert reiterates the strength, resilience and authenticity that he has demonstrated time and time again. It was in that moment that I made the decision to “Breathe. Walk. Home.” into myself. I became my own home that night; I came into myself, into being.

After the show Dani, my friend Jamie and I got dinner, and we talked about my life as a closeted nonbinary person. I began to question my authenticity for the first time in my life. That day marked the first time I had asked anyone to use they/them pronouns for me, to affirm my gender.

Out of that day, my future was born. Two months after seeing “Albert Cashier,” I visited Los Angeles for the first time. Six months after that visit, I stepped into myself and my truth. Since then, I’ve been lucky enough to live in the city of my dreams, out as a trans person, making my dreams of becoming a professional photographer a reality, with the most incredible chosen family a human could ask for. All because of Albert.

I’m struck by the parallel between the life of a closeted trans Civil War infantryman and the modern American trans teen. During the end stages of his life, Cashier had his identity and dignity violently stripped away. All across the United States, anti-transgender legislation is persecuting and ruining youths’ lives in small-town America. Cashier had his identity put under a microscope and his life put on trial in a way that seems not unlike my experience of coming out to my Midwestern evangelical family.

I hope this essay finds the eyes of a reader just like me all those years ago — confused, closeted, wondering and wandering — and that Albert might have as deep an impact on their life as mine. Or, if nothing else, that it might change one single closed mind about the humanity of the transgender community. I know that it opened my mind and life to the possibility of affirming my trans-ness, and I can’t help but wonder what my upbringing might have been like if my family had been exposed to “The Civility of Albert Cashier.”