Tales of Junior High: Stage Fever and a Great Idea

When I was twelve my family moved from a blue to a white collar neighborhood within the same city. We moved during the summer which was without a doubt the most wonderful summer of my entire youth. After a series of auditions my younger sister and I  were selected to be in the large cast of children for Rogers and Hammerstein’s “The King and I.” This musical inaugurated a new facility offered to Centenary College which bore the name of the major donor, The Marjorie Lyons Playhouse. It was state of the art and the premiere production was meant to be a statement of excellence for the Shreveport cultural community. It was directed by a very savvy man, Joe Gifford, who was given carte blanche to obtain the leads and specialized choreographer that he needed. They were brought in from more sophisticated cities, Houston and New York. No expense was spared for sets, lighting, costumes, and make-up. It was grandiose. It was SRO for the six weeks that it ran. Those who saw it or were in it never forgot it. 

The theatre was constructed so that backstage the kids-- there could have been twenty-five from ages 4 to 13--would not disturb the show in progress. We had a double classroom room, divider pushed back, at our disposal to play and talk quietly. Between our scenes the older children were allowed to go outside when they got tired of indoors. The stage manager was happy for the kids to be happy and knew how to call us in time. 

Chula-longhorn, the Prince, had a few more scenes with the King and some superb chances to emote, especially at the end when the King, his father, dies. Some of us were really into theater and very impressed with every aspect of the production. Others were less so, but still enjoyed “the smell of greasepaint & roar of the crowd.” We all made instant friends, as kids will do. In the case of the Prince, he staked out a special girlfriend, a beautiful, dainty 8th grader. His romance took place only outdoors with the tweens ogling & listening to the pair’s “love talk.” Poor Prince! The beautiful 8th grader did not return his affections, though she was very kind about it. He was crestfallen! It was drama before our very eyes under the moon and stars, in the summer heat, more than 90 degrees. My interest in love-stuff had yet to awaken, so, for me, the failed romance of the Prince was a passing side-show. 

The passion of some of us was to be just like the grown-up cast, to be able to do everything they did, & just as well.  My not-so-secret desire was to be a singer onstage. I found Jordan, a girl of 11 and an aspiring dancer, who matched my verve.  At the end of the production we, the King’s kids, wanted to perform the ballet, “Uncle Tom’s Cabin”: Jordan would choreograph the other kid-dancers and, of course, dance Little Eva. I would lead the chorus telling the story, as Tuptim--the captive Burmese Princess, grouped and sitting on far stage left.  Everything we said & did was about our project. Actually, it was a joy to put everything together because we, as little mimics, had our parts down pat. We had learned every line, every dance step, and every song. All the participants invited the adult cast, our parents, and friends by word of mouth. Our show would take place after the last Saturday night show of the run. Even after 10:30 p.m., they did not disappoint us: they all came to clap and cheer our big effort. 

Jordan, who had a last name for a first long before it was fashionable, and I were stagestruck. We were thrilled for our chance to show what we could do.  As it was, we already had dyed black hair and a topknot. But Jordan said that to be really complete we needed body make up. Jordan was wearing the Little Eva Headdress but she still needed body make-up…..on her exposed legs, of course. They must look dark tan, just like the Siamese people. As Tuptim, I only needed face and neck because the rest of my body was modestly covered by a brilliant costume--borrowed and altered--of silks and brocade satins. In the dancer’s dressing room Jordan had whitened her face and drawn on exaggerated slanted eyes & brows. She returned to the children’s quarters with a round, shallow tin, resembling Kiwi shoe polish. I eyed it curiously. 

“What’s that?” I asked. 

“Well, it’s pancake make-up, but we’ll have to spread it on with water,” She added confidently, “We have to do our makeup like the grown-up cast.”

“Where are we going to do that?” I asked.

“Well….let’s just slip into the toilet stall in the ladies bathroom.”

“For what?”

“Well, to use the water in the toilet and apply the make-up.” 

I was shocked but, also amazed at her brilliant idea.  “Are you sure about this?” 

“It’s okay”, she said and added to reassure me, “I’ve seen it done like this before.” 

“Really?…. Sure it’s okay?”

“Of course. I promise, it’ll be okay.” 

“But isn’t the water dirty?”

We entered a completely deserted ladies room. Jordan chose a stall and once we were both inside I latched the door. With a look that said, see-I’m-checking-it-out Jordan peered into the toilet bowl. “Water looks clean enough to me.” We got busy fast. If anyone came in, no one would know what we were doing. After all, do grown-ups need to know everything? Our task took about ten minutes after which Jordan squeezed out the round sponge applicator & I  flushed the cloudy toilet water. After all, we were conscientious to a flaw and did not want to leave any traces. We walked out perfectly turned out for our long awaited presentation. We felt so Siamese! Our show was a howling success.

As it turned out Jordan did make a career as a dancer in NYC and she also did stage directing for opera. But as things go, our friendship only lasted for the show’s run. Jordan was in 6th grade at elementary school & I was entering 7th grade in junior high. A few years hence, she danced the bird in “Peter & the Wolf,” while I got to turn pages for the pianist. How I admired her! There was envy, but not a shred of jealousy: She was the dancer and I was the singer.  Oh, but that girl had brilliant ideas.