Dites-moi

My temporary father passed away yesterday. I really only knew him for a couple of months and have spoken to him just once (at a chance meeting in JC Penney) since the summer of 1976. Reading of his passing took me back to that wonderful summer and the experience that lives in my heart today.

It all began in the late winter - my sisters and I went to the big church on the corner of Dill Avenue and Bentz Street to audition for the upcoming Fredericktowne Players production of South Pacific. It was my intent to get a part in the chorus as a sailor or something. This was more of a "go along and see what happens" trip for me - my sights were not set on anything in particular. During the audition they had me sing a few lines and say a few lines - nothing too difficult. A week later a letter arrived announcing that I had gotten the part of Jerome, the son of the French plantation owner and his now-deceased Polynesian wife. I had no real understanding of why I got a part for which I hadn't auditioned - but in later years I've realized that the boy with blond hair and blue eyes got the part because he was the only pre-teen boy to show up for auditions.

That spring was filled with twice-weekly play practices, first at the church, then at Waverly/Rock Creek school, where they had an actual stage. Play practice was a wonderful mix of social time and... social time. Funny thing is that I don't remember feeling particularly awkward, even though my "sister" Ngana (whose name was Susan - and was a couple of years younger than me) was the only other cast member even close to my age. Maybe because my sisters and their friends were always close at hand, or maybe because I was enjoying the whole thing. By the time the actual performance came around, I knew every word of every line of the entire show.

As the weeks rolled past, the performance date quickly approached. At some point the director asked if I would be willing to color my hair for the show. Team player that I was, my blond coif became jet black. I clearly remember my friend Carla Stitely's wide-eyed surprise - having no idea who was calmly walking into her house - until I spoke.

Opening night. Butterflies? Nope. Bats and flying dragons in my stomach. The orchestra plays the overture to the packed house at the Maryland School for the Deaf auditorium. The curtain opens and Ngana and I run onto the stage - she skipping and running merrily while I trailed behind dragging a box kite. The orchestra begins and we sing out:

Dites-moi
Pourquoi
La vie est belle,
Dies-moi
Pourquoi
La vie est gai,
Dites-moi
Pourquoi,
Chere Mad'moiselle,
Est-ce que
Parce que
Vous m'aimez?

Of course, it was all a blur. There were a total of six performances over two weekends - each beginning with Ngana and me singing and playing on that tropical island, somewhere in the South Pacific. But the voice that I remember most was that of Ed Lehmann; his rich baritone mesmerizing the audience and Nellie Forbush. Those were very Enchanted Evenings!