Local Opera Super's Fancy Footwork Produces Startling Lighting Effects

When the opera began we were too far backstage to hear well, and we got more and more curious. Led by the intrepid Harry Newman we tip-toed back to the wings of the stage to watch and listen. We needn't have tip-toed. No one bothered about us. Stagehands and stars were scattered through the wings in profusion, and they didn't even notice us. We all crowded in and had a fair view of the proceedings. Until I stopped the show, Or almost.

With a Twist of the Foot

I couldn't quite see all of Martinelli as he was engaged in his gab-fest with the high muckymuck, so I looked around for a more satisfactory vantage point. Besides, I hate standing up. I finally saw a little nook half-hidden almong some pieces of scenery, and I figured I could sit in it and see the whole opera. I maneuvered myself through the throng and crawled into the opening that led into my secluded box seat. Just as I put my foot down on the last step the lights flared up on the stage and I heard a sputtering over my head that sounded like a whole battery of spots. Someone pointed in my direction and yelled "Get that guy out of there!" I lifted my foot and the lights went down. I moved rapidly, and mingled with my fellows so that I couldn't be singled out and booted. I was a little too flustered to listen when he lights were shooting up, but I have a vague remembrance of hearing a surprised and un-operatic note creep into Martinelli's recitatif when the scene suddenly changed from evening to high noon with no plausible excuse.

For We're Jolly Good Fellows

The first act ended and the crowd applauded vigorously. I was amazed at the way Martinelli and the other singer took their curtain calls. They seemed as happy as kids. (I'll admit that when I was a "kid" and an eminent actor in my own small way I was usually not happy in a jovial sense when the curtain come down but rather happy in the sense of being-relieved. However, it is true that my curtain calls were rare, and besides, "happy as kids" makes a pleasant if inaccurate simile.) They danced around and grinned at each other and slapped each other on the back behind scenes and then disappeared in front of the curtain and came back and shook hands and laughed and disappeared for another bow and then came back and repeated the performance, practically jumping up and down for joy.

Doing the Grand March

The second act contains the Grand March (da daaa, dadadadaan da de da daaadadaaa, etc.) and we went downstairs to take our places. Two minutes before the curtain went upon the second scene it didn't look as though the various grand marchers would be organized come Michaelmas. But the opera is strange, and everyone seemed to gravitate into place. Not that the audience could have told in that mob if one or two courtiers or kings were on the wrong side of the stage.

Marching was difficult. I have been brought up in the U. S. Army tradition, which demands in a rather brusque manner that the left foot hit the ground on the strong beat. The ballerinas (who were very charming) tried to give us our marching beat, but the Grand March isn't designed for a quick step and besides the ballerinas with their count got our right feet in midair on the heavy beat. I figured this might be a hold-over from the Egyptian Army regulations, or it might be simply a ballet habit of spending the better part of one's working time up off the ground. I tried to look as though I were returning from a successful Ethiopian campaign (i. e. I tried to look like Mussolini) and minced onto the stage.

Harvard Shines

Bung Young was the real prima donna. He carried on the golden bull (a vital part of the scene), carried it off, came back on, went back off, brought back the bull, and, in general, made a cynosure of his sinecure.

Harry Newman tried his best to steal the show. He joined in with the chorus and sang most lustily until an alto in the chorus gave him a dirty look and he shut up. He blushes prettily now when referred to as "The Singing Soldier-boy".

The others of us were completely undistinguished. Most completely undistinguished of all was Wade Rockwood. He must have had the makings of an opera singer, for he was selected for a special post--that of "dignitary".

Rockwood Misses His "Brief Hour"

But there was a drawback. He had claborate instructions about who to follow and where to stand and he spent most of the evening trying to memorize them. The leader in his game of follow-the-leader was a petulant Italian who repeated his commands some six times. Then about thirty seconds before his cue. Wade got nervous.

"Which way do I turn when I get upstage?" he asked.

The Italian threw up his hands. "Ahh, you do notta know by this time what it is thatta you are to do. Stupid, stupid, stupid. You cannot go on the stage or you would be the ruin of the opera!" And he pushed him back into the wings. Wade never saw the footlights.