My Career in Musical Theatre

When I tell you I was in The Music Man, your first thought would probably be: “Oh, were you Marian the Librarian?”

No, I was not Marian the Librarian! Just because I wear glasses and read a lot and look like someone who should know the Dewey Decimal system and my mother’s name was Marian does not a Marian the Librarian make me. You think you’re so smart.

I was in the band. At the end. They did the whole show with this wonky kids band and then our band (the Sacramento Youth Band, a real band, with instruments and everything – I played the piccolo) would barrel down the aisle in all our glory representing what the wonky kids band had allegedly become. I guess the dramatic build-up of this poor wonky band was effective because we killed.

We marched onto the stage in our red, white and blue wool-jacketed uniforms during the 100+ degree summer night in the outdoor Theatre-in-the-Round. The tent-like roof befitted the name of the theatre: The Music Circus. But it was hot. Hot, hot, hot.

We were supposed to be the big “shock and awe” finale and according to reviews, we were. The audience was delighted and surprised and stopped fanning themselves with their programs for a minute when we stomped onto the stage and belted out “76 Trombones”. And in spite of the heat, when I saw the audience’s reaction, I got goosebumps. For three minutes and fourteen seconds, we were stars, man!

The stage rotated a complete circle (maybe two, I don’t remember, it was one song’s worth, anyway) while we played. Then we marched right off to thunderous applause.

That season’s Music Man starred Van Johnson. He came over to us once during rehearsal to say hello and we were giddy, even though most of us had no clue who Van Johnson was, being a bunch of self-absorbed hick-town teenagers. If he wasn’t under 25, we didn’t know who he was. But he was “a celebrity”!

My mother told me that her friend had met Van Johnson twenty-some-odd years earlier and that he was known to always wear red socks and that I should ask him to show me his ankles.

Me. Ask him. A celebrity.

The show only played for one week, but at some point after rehearsals, I saw him on the street near the theatre. Overwhelmed with a rush of adrenaline, I couldn’t move. My body had started rigor mortis-ing or something. My brain was telling me to run after him or else I’d miss my chance. Go, dummy! He’s alone, but he’s across the street already. He’s getting away! Go, Go, Go!!!

I broke free of my solid state and darted across the street, surely looking like a stalking fool.

“Mr. Johnson!” I called out weakly. (At least I hope I said “Mr. Johnson”. That was something my mother never taught me – to use such formality when addressing people or saying “Sir” or “Ma’am” or anything like that. Surely, I wouldn’t have blruted out: “Oh Va-AAAaaaaannnnn!”   Ack! That would have been so uncouth.)

He turned around and I said I was in the band and he shook my hand, and my legs got all jello-y and my voice got shakier but I soldiered on. If he said anything else, I couldn’t tell you what it was. I was far too focused on the task at hand and spat out everything I was supposed to say. Never mind any art of conversation. The world closed in around me as I rattled off that my mother said that her friend said that blah blah blah and could I see his socks.

He looked me square in the eye for a moment, almost pleased, and he reached down, yanking up the leg of his trousers.

And showed me the red.  

* * *

R.I.P. Van Johnson  (August 1916 – December 2008)

Link to video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WxASXzcmQqc

I want to thank Tiffany and Heather for making me the Featured Blogger over at SITS today.

And hello to all my SITStas!