The Leader

THE ROUTINE

 

The large fake crystal chandelier dims. Twenty-five or so musicians in the pit are tweaking their instruments (or anything or anybody they want to tweak) while there are still a few minutes before the red velvet curtain opens. John Holiday, the maestro, is hit by the central spotlight from the balcony and polite applause from the filled audience. Candy wrappers and crunchy popcorn can still be detected as the rude audience nibbles and gets fatter by the minute.

 

The men stop nibbling as soon as the chorus girls enter, kicking in unison as high as their feathered hats. That is, all kick in unison except the end one, stage right, whose left leg is the same height as the other dancers whose right legs are at full extension. Laughter roars from the ground floor. Guffaws echo from the balcony. The poor befuddled dancer pulls back and the line closes as she disappears behind the curtain. Chorus girls smile with wide bright red lips. Only those in the first few rows can tell they have pencil thin black eyebrows. Tap shoes with big black satin bows click in military perfection. Routine is re-established and all is going well. The single long line breaks so smoothly it is almost un-noticed.

 

Suddenly still tap tapping, the girls have formed two lines alternating into a red and white stripe with a corner blue field. Fourth of July sparklers light and the stars twinkle as the production number leaves the stage. It's awesome until those in the balcony start stomping their feet, calling out ,'More, more.' Those who can whistle, whistle. The balcony begins to shake. The chandelier shivers.

 

John Holiday signals the orchestra to stop playing. They understand and sit in their places like frozen snowmen. Another private signal and the group stands as one, begins walking and playing their instruments as half go along the right wall aisle and the other the left. Only the pianist and the drummer stay put and continue playing. All lights are on except the chandelier that is totally dark. Trumpets blow. Saxophones join in and the dancers, somewhat out of step, a few feathered hats crushed, do another routine. The drummer does a double paradiddle, does it again. Its ear splitting enough to stop what could become a deadly panic. Holiday makes it to center stage, adjusts his cummer- bund, uses a hand mike, calls the one dancer who had been the laughing stock of the show to come on stage.

 

Out she comes, in a dressing gown, her face glowing in the spotlight. She nods to the orchestra that plays the opening music from the show
'Hello Dolly.' Blond wig askew, Carole Channing belts out the tune, parades back and forth across the stage to whistles and applause, no foot stomping. The thunderous clapping reddens hands. Smiles are on every face.

 

John Holiday is the hero. Miss Channing the icing on the cake.