Jami Jacobs walks into Centralia High School’s cafetorium a bit differently than most; she doesn’t just see a lunchroom or a stage. She sees a space that belongs to every student—the athletes and the artists, the quiet observers and the natural leaders, the dreamers and the doers. In her world of choral and theater education, there is no bench, no second string. Everyone has a role, and every role matters.

Jacobs, a 2008 graduate of CHS, has been back home teaching since 2015. Her own journey took her from the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign to a stint with the Disney College Program, where she spent time working rides at Walt Disney World before returning to Illinois and eventually stepping into the choir and theater director role at CHS. Now in her 11th year at the school, she laughs at how natural her career choice seems in hindsight. “Both of my parents were teachers,” she recalls. “For the longest time, I didn’t really think there were any other professions. I just assumed that’s what people did.”

Her parents may not have been musicians, but they believed deeply in the value of music. With a piano passed down from her great-grandmother in the family home, Jacobs started lessons at age five and never looked back. That foundation—paired with a love for performance—made teaching choir and theater a calling that felt both natural and profound.

What sets Jacobs apart, though, is her vision for theater as a place of belonging. She explains, “Whatever you’re interested in, I can probably find something for you to do in theater. If you’re into electronics, you can run the light board. If you like carpentry, you can help build sets. There’s something for everyone.” She has seen shy students transform into leaders, the quietest voices in class belting out solos on stage, and teenagers who once doubted themselves finding new confidence in the warmth of the spotlight.

One of her favorite stories involves a student who seemed barely audible in day-to-day life. “A parent asked me, ‘Who’s that blonde kid on stage?’ They couldn’t believe it was the same student they knew—because up there, they were leading the show, singing at full volume. That’s the magic of theater.”

This fall, Jacobs and her students mounted Murder on the Orient Express, with 64 students involved in cast and crew—the largest production since before 2020. That number is greater than most athletic programs can boast, a point Jacobs acknowledges with pride, when I point out, “It’s bigger than the golf team, the basketball team, the baseball team. Other than football, there’s not much else that compares in the scale of participation.” And unlike sports, where some players might sit on the sidelines, every theater student plays an active role.

For Jacobs, the process is just as important as the final performance. Tech week may feel like chaos, with props breaking and cues going awry, but it always pulls together in the end. She calls it “theater magic.” “Two weeks before, you think, ‘There’s no way this is going to work.’ And then somehow, it does.”

The benefits extend well beyond the stage. Theater students learn teamwork, problem-solving, time management, and adaptability. I shared that I’ve heard counterparts of hers say that employers have told them, ‘Hire a theater kid.’ Jacobs agrees. “They’re the ones who know how to improvise, how to juggle a million things at once, and how to show up ready to work.” Many of her students balance theater with athletics, part-time jobs, church activities, and academics—an intricate juggling act that teaches them resilience and collaboration.

Support from the Centralia community has been unwavering. 

Performances regularly fill the cafetorium, whether the play is a well-known favorite or something a little outside the box. Jacobs credits the students’ own promotional efforts, including a student-led social media team, but she knows the real draw is the town’s commitment to its kids. “No matter what we put on, people show up. We have four performances, and they’re almost always packed. That kind of support means everything.”

The cafetorium itself is a story of community generosity. While the old high school had a traditional auditorium, the new building did not. For years, CHS borrowed space at the Cultural Society downtown. Then, thanks to a significant donation earmarked for the theater program, Jacobs and her students were able to transform the cafetorium into a working performance space, complete with curtains, lighting, sound equipment, and projection. It may not be Broadway, but it has become a home for students’ creativity and courage.

In that space, under Jacobs’ leadership, a family has formed. Older students mentor the younger ones, making sure no one gets left behind, even offering rides when transportation becomes a barrier. They sing karaoke at cast parties, cheer for each other’s successes, and create memories that bind them together long after the curtain falls.

For Jacobs, it’s not just about music or theater. It’s about giving young people a safe place to grow into who they are meant to be. “They really do feel like they can be themselves here,” she says. And in a world that often feels divided, that sense of belonging may be the greatest lesson of all.