1 August 2017
I appeared as a shepherd in the 1966 pageant. That was the year that a few guys played an outrageous practical joke during one of the last rehearsals, just as the choir came marching down the central aisle, singing Cantique de Noel. I can remember the name of only one of the perpetrators – I knew him then and later. During this rehearsal, the curtains should not have opened, this was to have been only a run-through of the procession and singing. But they did. Open. What they revealed was hilarious, barbaric, and/or sacreligeous, depending on your particular belief system, sense of humor, or point of view. The fabled red robe choir was stopped dead in their tracks. Dozens of cast members sitting in the auditorium, waiting to be called to the stage, all laughed and gasped, or screamed. As the shock died away, the directress of the pageant – I believe it was Audrey Seidel but am not certain – flew down the aisle like a veritable fury rushing toward those suddenly gaping curtains and what they had revealed.
Needless to say, the coterie who had plotted and carried out this irreverent coup de main were banished from the pageant. I do not remember whether they met the vice principal’s board of education, but would not be surprised if they had been forced to bend over and take that medicine.