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Soapbox Philosophy: Failing to keep roomful of kids quiet
by Gregory R. Norfleet · Op-Ed · August 14, 2014
My job this particular Sunday afternoon primarily involved saying “Shhhh!”
The Young Footliters production of the Wizard of Oz needed parent volunteers to monitor the green room, keeping the noise under wraps so the young cast did not disturb the production on stage, which just happened to be on the other side of a cinder-block wall connected by a short stairwell and a door that never, ever closed.
I wondered why the Coralville Center for the Performing Arts even bothered to spend money on that door.
Part of the challenge of this three-hour job lies in the fact that there are other doors — SEVERAL other doors — connected to the green room, primarily changing rooms, that children opened and closed A LOT. More than enough to make up for the always-open stage door. You can’t effectively tell a door to be quiet — heaven knows I tried.
From the Munchkins to the lead roles, this Young Footliters production needed thespians ranging from 5 years old up to teenagers. All of them seemed to come hard-wired with an unquenchable desire to open those doors, whether they needed to or not.
And these were heavy, thick, wooden doors with relatively new closing mechanisms — the CCPA is only three years old — that worked wonderfully and closed loudly. Why the heck not some light, thin, hollow pine doors?
My son, Logan, had two costume changes, which took place in one of the principal dressing rooms, and two makeup changes, which took place in an ensemble dressing room. And he only had three minor roles. There were roughly 60 children in this production and only Dorothy, the North Witch and Toto remained unchanged from start to finish.
That left up to 57 other children running around from door to door, changing costumes, changing makeup, or just darting about looking for someone to talk to or something to do until their next turn on stage.
Three or four waves of this race from door to door reminded me of a slapstick comedy chase through a big house or hotel hallway. I should have set up a video camera and scored it with Keystone Kops music. High speed playback? No need. Not by a long shot.
In between the madhouse running, less-frantic stretches of time did not mean things got much quieter.
The green room included a flat-screen television and three speakers to allow actors and parents to follow the performance on stage, often helping groups of Munchkins or the Lollipop Guild get lined up in time for their cue.
But many parent volunteers forgot their duties from time to time, locking eyes on the screen for Johnny’s or Suzie’s part, no matter how minor. Almost unconsciously, these moms and dads engaged in a melodramatic lip-syncing pantomime with such intensity they appeared to believe they could, by sheer will, project line upon line of dialogue into their children’s mouths.
All the while, the child actors scattered about the green room kept chattering, which was fine when kept to a whisper. However a couple of the catchier, better-known songs gripped this particular teenage girl with such force that she could not help but to sing along.
Don’t get me wrong, she had a great voice, but I had a duty to perform! “Please keep your voice down!”
The best she could manage was to lower her head into her chest, yet I could tell by her shaking body it knew that she had to — HAD TO — throw back her head and ...
“Sommmme-WHERRRRRE, OHHH-ver the rain-BOOOOWWW …!”
Ah, well, I tried.
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