Summer Shows (1,195 words)
During the 1970s, Hillsborough County Public Schools in Tampa had enlightened and enriching summer programs for students. One was a class in which middle school students earned biology credit by going to a different beach in the Tampa Bay area every day to collect specimens and learn about marine life.

Another was supported by a grant from the Florida Fine Arts Council and the National Endowment for the Arts. This “Theatre-in-the-Schools” program provided a summer supplement for high school chorus, band, theatre, and home economics teachers—as well as a choreographer—to work with students to create and perform a play. The performances were viewed not just by the families of kids in the shows, but also by 2,000 youth who were bused in from county parks and recreation programs.

These “summer shows” were produced and performed at Chamberlain High School, but included students from Hillsborough, Plant, and other high schools. 80-100 rising 10th-12th graders participated each year, mostly from CHS and its arch-rival, HHS. From scratch, with teacher supervision and assistance, the students created almost every aspect of the shows—devised a plot, wrote the scripts, built the sets, composed the music, sewed the costumes, played all the music, ran the lights, and, of course, performed all the dramatic roles.

The shows themselves were frothy, silly musical comedies full of sophomoric plots, dialogues, and humor (a lot of the students were sophomores, after all). The 1976 show, Funnies You Should Mention That, featured comic book characters in zany situations. The 1977 show, B-Roots, was a spoof of/homage to the landmark television series based on Alex Haley’s book, Roots. In 1978, The Uncouth Sleuth was a detective mystery with a private eye who had a personality split between Sam Spade and Charlie Chan.

Characters in the plays had deeply meaningful names like Capt. Rootbeard, Dolly Dimples, Luigi Linguine, Wee G. Board, Claire Voyant, Pearl Drops, Ma Cho, Inspector Kojerk, Heidi Way, Perry Scope, Howard Seashell, and Rollin N. Dough.

B-Roots involved Rollin N. Dough (played by Mark D. from HHS) sailing his great-great-great-great grandfather’s ship, the Leaky Teaky, to an uncharted island in search of treasure supposedly left there by the original crew, whose ancestors still lived on the island among the savage natives. After a lot of silly songs, 4th-rate puns, sight gags, pratfalls, and cliffhangers, the show had (surprise!) a big happy ending featuring two weddings and the discovery of the treasure, which had been on the Leaky Teaky all along (i.e., it was B-ROOTS--“Buried Right on Our Treasure Ship”). Ba-dump-bum!

It was a blast doing these shows, which provided avenues for just about everyone to shine in one way or another. I couldn’t dance, build things, or play an instrument, so I worked on the script and had a part in the play (Howard Seashell, the big-word-using narrator). Mr. Copeland, the CHS chorus director, and Mr. Skora, the HHS chorus director, ran the program, and their strong friendship was a model for us students to also look past school rivalries; we formed lots of friendships.

The drama director, Mr. Ryan, was a church youth leader, but I think the cast and crew were a little secular and rowdy for his taste. He would, for example, grouse at us when we goofed off for hours at a time (“Jeez, what’s his problem?”). He “had a cow” in one performance when I missed my cue to end Act II and left the entire cast frozen on stage for two minutes (I was playing cards backstage), but everyone ended up improv-ing the scene, breaking character, and making the band and audience laugh, so I did not see what Ryan was all worked up about. My main goal was to ad lib lines and cause my fellow actors to laugh anyway, so it seemed to me that it had inadvertently worked out for the best.

It was a challenge for 50 actors to put on costumes and make-up before each performance, so it was done in stages. Everyone then met in the chorus room to warm up and get final instructions from Mr. Ryan. Mark D. and I were in the boys’ dressing room for the last shift, and we were hanging out with other guys, telling jokes, and making Mr. Ryan wait.

Mark, who was very bright and engaging, was in rare form. In addition to relating funny stories, he was punctuating his punch lines with tremendously loud and resonant farts that reverberated off the cinderblock walls and left us practically in hysterics. He was especially funny because of his all-white costume, which made him look like Colonel Sanders or a TV evangelist. Finally, just he and I were left in the dressing room. We had already ignored two warnings that we were overdue in the chorus room.

Mark let another one rip, and I laughed as before. But this time, he did not laugh along. A moment passed, then he said in a low voice, “Oh no.”

“What?” I replied.

“Oh Nooo!” he said again, higher this time.

“What is it?”

“Oh, Joe. Oh NOOO!”

“Mark, what’s the matter?” Another pause. “WHAT? Are you alright?”

“I . . . oh noooo . . . I let a wet fart”

“A what?”

“A Wet Fart. A WET FART!! In my costume—in my white pants!!”

Now, I had never heard this term before, but sometimes you can pick up the meaning of a word or phrase from the context. “Omigod Mark, curtain is in ten minutes! What are you going to do?”

Another pause. “You have to go and tell Mr. Ryan,” he said.

“Tell him what? You go tell him.”

“Joe!” there was genuine panic in Mark’s voice now. “I can’t go out there! You’ve got to go and tell him!”

The cast was getting ready to head backstage when I walked into the chorus room 20 seconds later. Mr. Ryan gave me a dirty look, and I beckoned him over.

“Where have you been?” he hissed in a stage whisper. “The show is about to start and you missed the warm-up. Where’s Mark?”

“Uh, Mr. Ryan, Mark’s in the dressing room, and he has a little problem.”

“What problem?”

“Um, you just need to go and see.”

The curtain rose six minutes later with the show’s song-and-dance opener. The script called for my part to narrate the opening lines, and then Mark (Rollin N. Dough) was to be introduced and sing a big song. I kept looking for him backstage, but could not find him. The curtain rose, and then there he was in place, just in time. He was wearing a pair of brown pants that did not fit him very well, but he made it. I tried to get his attention, but he knew that we would both start laughing if our eyes met, so he never looked me in the face during the entire performance, even when our two characters were face to face and talking to each other.

I give Mark a lot of credit, as he only laughed once during that show, when I “accidentally” called him Rollin N. Dung. He deserved a Tony for that performance.