A Thank You to Assistant Stage Managers

Hanover Theatre & Conservatory

by Chris Peterson, OnStage Blog Founder

There are names on the front of the program, and then there are names on the back.

And while the audience may applaud for the performers, and critics may gush over a director’s bold vision or a designer’s exquisite detail, there’s a group of people in black clothing, on headsets, with clipboards in hand (or sometimes duct tape in their pockets), who rarely get the spotlight they deserve.

Today, I want to thank the Assistant Stage Managers.

Yes, the ASMs. The people who live in the wings, in the shadows, in the quiet—but whose work literally holds a production together. If you’ve ever been part of a show, you already know that the ASM is the person who notices the small things so the big things can happen. They are the calm in the chaos, the voice in the dark, the person who gives you your prop and your cue and your confidence all at once.

It’s easy to overlook the contributions of the ASM because their success is in their invisibility. If they’re doing their job well, you don’t even realize how many fires they’re putting out, how many cues they’re calling or relaying, how many last-minute changes they’re absorbing with grace. The costume doesn’t make it to quick change? The ASM runs it. A spike mark disappears? The ASM re-tapes it before anyone notices. A fog machine malfunctions? They troubleshoot mid-show. A cast member’s having a panic attack five minutes before curtain? It’s often an ASM who gets them grounded again.

They are the thread in the fabric. The ones who remember where everything goes when everything goes wrong.

I’ve seen ASMs take on roles that were never in their job description—therapist, tailor, traffic cop, confidante, crisis manager, human stopwatch. They keep track of entrances, exits, props, costumes, set pieces, and sometimes even egos. And they do it with a level of poise and humility that would put the royal family to shame.

They’re often the first to arrive and the last to leave. They’re resetting the stage while others are celebrating. They’re checking notes while others are bowing. And they’re always, always ready for the next thing before anyone else even realizes there is a next thing.

I’ve worked with ASMs who’ve duct-taped broken set pieces in the dark while a scene change was happening—flawlessly. I’ve seen them learn entire call sheets for replacements on the fly. I’ve seen them hold space for a scared understudy, fix a sound pack, and refill the fog machine… all before the second number.

They don’t do it for applause. They don’t do it for Instagram. They do it because they love the art form, and because they understand what it means to be part of something bigger than themselves. That’s the heart of stage management—of being an ASM. You’re the glue, but you’re also the pulse.

So if you’re reading this and you’ve ever passed off a prop mid-scene, stood in a wing awaiting a cue, or waited with an anxious breath for that blackout—you probably have an Assistant Stage Manager to thank.

Say their name. Thank them at curtain. Get them a coffee. Mention them in your bio. Because they’re the reason your light came up on time. They’re the reason your chair was there. They’re the reason the illusion held.

To every ASM I’ve worked with, watched in awe, or called a friend—thank you. Your work matters. Your calm matters. You matter.

And while your name might be on the back of the program, it’s front and center in the hearts of those who know the truth:

The magic of theatre isn’t just onstage. It’s standing quietly in the wings, headset on, ready for anything.