 |
| Click to enlarge |
April 13, Tuesday - Felt less tired today. Cold and damp today. Patty called, said her doctor recommended surgery. Hope she doesn't put it off too long.
(tilt)
April 14, Wednesday - Didn't get check from union. Called Roberta. She called and then turned it over to (unknown name).
April 15, Thursday - Marv and I went to Northeast's Easter Assembly. Bud was in it. Very good. Depressed today. Talked on phone a lot - an hour with Florence.
The Pattons continue to help keep up the doctors' Lincoln payments.
Roberta is mom's Union Shop Steward. The union provided for lost wages during sick leave. Retail Clerks Local 782 was a monster union in grocery retail in Kansas City, outmuscled only by the Amalgamated Meat-cutters Union. This association by proximity will become more evident later in the year.
The Easter Assembly. This seems hard to imagine here in 2018, when religion in public schools is relegated to the close cover of the individual. In 1965, the schools didn't so much as participate in the establishment of an official religion as allow the majority Judeo-Christian faction to express its majority openly. It's just the way things worked back then.
We had a Christmas Assembly, an Easter Assembly, and others as needed to support the beliefs of the residents of Northeast. As a musician, I was always somewhere in the mix, usually in the horn section, playing Christmas carols or other music in support of the holiday.
The Easter assembly was one of the few school functions held during school hours that was well-attended by parents and family. It was a big deal, a series of living tableaus staged by the previously mentioned freshman Drama Club, "Taming of the Crew". It depicted The Last Supper, The Crucifixion, and the Resurrection and Ascension. If the school year lasted another 40 days, they probably would have celebrated the Pentecost, but I digress.
The scenes depicted were taken from famous works of art - The Last Supper was modeled on Da Vinci's 15th century mural in Milan. The Crucifixion was actually the Descent from the Cross, as depicted by Rubens. The source of the Resurrection's artwork is lost to me, but I remember it being a simple depiction, probably also by Rubens.
Here's how it worked. The stage was set with the basic set pieces and props, but without actors. In my part, The Last Supper, there was a long table center stage, set with plates and cups, Judas' salt cellar and various other pieces designed to recall the Da Vinci fresco. I kept imaging the whole thing laid out with Fiestaware,
Melmac, and depression glass. The cups and the Holy Grail might have been some of those colorful anodized aluminum tumblers.
 |
| Aluminum Grails, Non-Holy Variety |
Between the stage and the audience was a semi-sheer scrim in white. It lowered the amount of detail visible on the stage, and gave the scene a painterly effect, with several small lights sweeping across parts of the scrim. More light equalled less detail.
 |
| Portrait of the artist as a disciple. Bartholomew, the missionary; also Nathanael |
At a signal, the orchestra began to play. I don't remember the music, but I'm sure it was something subdued and reverent, probably a simple Bach piece rendered entirely unlistenable by the screeching eighth-grade violins and shrill clarinets. On the same cue, the actors started to drift onstage, in full costume and makeup, and made their way to the table. It looked like total chaos, until, at the last possible moment, the players snapped into the positions depicted in the painting. There was a crescendo from the orchestra, an audible gasp from the audience, and we heard someone in the auditorium exclaim, "Oh, my God". We were truly awesome.
Offstage, someone read the account of the Last Supper from the Bible, probably from Mark 14. I can't imagine who it would have been, as no one in our group had the voice to carry it off, and most were on stage. You certainly didn't want a pre-pubescent male channeling "Our Miss Brooks'" Walter Denton. It might have been Mrs. Womack, the drama teacher. I don't know. I knew a couple of eighth-grade guys that were shaving twice a day, and might have been able to lend a solid baritone to the proceedings, but it was unlikely that they were actually able to read, much less evade detention long enough to participate.
I was Bartholomew, on the far left, mostly because I was so tall that I could lean over the table next to James and Andrew and still maintain the height relationship. St. Bart had flowing robes, and greasepaint-enhanced facial lines and wrinkles. I don't remember who played Jesus or some of the other major characters, but I do remember being relieved that I didn't have to play Judas. My dad, the Sunday School teacher, would have had a litter of three-legged calico kittens if I had been chosen to portray the betrayer of Christ.
Parenthetically, many years later, one of my professors at seminary was known to say that the actual event, if it happened at all, would have been a rough, crowded, and a wholly unruly affair. He should have seen the level of chaos that a bunch of Junior High School kids brought to the story. Maybe they should have had it in the cafeteria.
In retrospect, it's probably a good thing they didn't try this with Christmas, too. Anyone playing a 14 year-old pregnant Mary would have been the laughing stock of our rowdy and somewhat unruly blue-collar school, although I know who they should have picked for the part.
Ahem.
