Last Updated: May 31, 2000
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One of six articles in a winning series by Ken Fuson of The Sun,
Baltimore that won the non-deadline writing category of the 1998 ASNE Distinguished
Writing Awards.
Friday June 6, 1997
Chapter VI: Opening Night!
The Curtain Rises, And Our High-School Actors Step Boldly Into The Spotlight,
Into A Pure Moment They Will Have Forever
Wayne Shipley looks at the clock.
1:55 p.m.
The school bell rings. Most of the students flood the halls of North
County High School and scamper outdoors to begin this April weekend, but
a few race to the auditorium.
This is opening night.
At 7:30 p.m., the orchestra will begin playing the overture to West
Side Story, and 40 cast members who have been working at an exhausting
clip for the past two months will finally have their moment on stage.
But not yet.
There's too much to do.
Mr. Shipley, the director, surveys the auditorium. Some of the sets
still need final touches. He must review scene changes with the stage crew.
He wants to practice the opening scene and the rumble one more time. He
needs to make sure the key actors know where to stand so the spotlight
hits them.
"This is the thrash," he says. "Everybody loves the thrash."
"What time is it?" Eli Senter asks.
2:45 p.m.
The 17-year-old Eli has reached some metaphysical state where testosterone
and adrenaline converge.
He's wired, bounding across the stage, singing lines from the musical.
And there's nothing for me but Maria...
Eli plays Riff, the leader of the Jets. He will sing the first song
in the entire show, a prospect that has given him nightmares. But he's
too jumpy to worry.
Every sight that I see is Maria...
Lisa Rolman, a North County High teacher and the assistant director,
grabs him. They head to a grocery store to buy produce for a fruit and
vegetable stand that's used in the opening scene.
Ms. Rolman knows Eli needs to get out of the auditorium for an hour
or so. She does, too. She's almost as hyper as he is.
Last year, on the afternoon before opening night, Ms. Rolman and Eli
worked off their pre-show jitters by reupholstering a couch.
"I want to get you something for dinner," she tells Mr. Shipley.
"Just grilled cheese," he replies. "That won't kill me."
As Ms. Rolman and Eli depart, Angela Brown arrives.
This is the night her dream comes true. Last December, Angela watched
a touring company performance of West Side Story at the Lyric Opera House
in Baltimore and fell in love with the part of Maria.
"It's not just like I'm acting like another person," she says. "You
feel like another person."
She carries a dress, humming to herself. Her throat hurt so much the
previous day that she was told to quit talking.
"It's better," she says. "I didn't talk all night."
In fact, the healing power of opening night is astonishing. Students
who looked ready to faint the day before now bounce into the theater.
Angela skips down a hall.
"What time it is?" she asks.
3:17 p.m.
Starr Lucas, the student director, the 18-year-old senior who calls
herself the Drama Queen, arrives, lugging a chair. She has taken all the
chairs and several old Coca-Cola signs from her parents' kitchen to use
as props.
"My Dad's asleep," she tells Mr. Shipley. "Boy, is he going to be surprised
when he wakes up."
Starr wears a silver jacket and black slacks. She's almost fluorescent.
"I got the money," she whispers.
No wonder she's so happy. Last night, when she returned home from the
final musical rehearsal, Starr learned that she had qualified for almost
$10,000 in financial aid to attend Shenandoah University, a Virginia college
where she will study theater. This is what she has been waiting for: The
campus is small enough that Starr, who has cerebral palsy, can walk around
without weakening her legs.
"That's fantastic," Mr. Shipley says, patting her back.
Four hours to go.
FILL YOUR HEAD WITH HAIR,
Long beautiful hair...
The dressing room rocks with taped music.
Josh Gembicki, who plays Doc, is first on the hair schedule. He wears
a bald cap. A girl flattens his hair by soaking it in laundry soap.
A freshman boy brings in a bucket of fried chicken and a cooler of soda
pop.
"My Dad couldn't be here tonight, but he wanted to do something, so
he bought this," he says.
In another corner, Anna Schoenfelder brushes her formerly blond hair.
She has dyed it black to play Anita in the musical.
She shivers.
"I just thought about it," she says. "We're going on!"
Ms. Rolman and Eli return from the grocery store, carrying sacks loaded
with fruit and vegetables.
"Don't eat the props!" Eli yells.
He jumps in the air. He snaps his fingers. He practices the mambo dance.
Mr. Shipley watches him. This is why he loves the theater. This is why
it will be so hard to retire after these shows are over.
"You can't walk away from this without experiencing something you're
not going to experience anywhere else," he says. "There's no other experience
like this in education. Everything else is about competition.
"You take a kid like Eli. He has all this energy, all this aggression,
and he channels it into something creative.
"Eli's heroic, really."
He looks at his watch.
4:20 p.m.
"Come with me," Neil Ewachiw, the music director, tells Brian Forte.
"I want you to hear something."
They head outdoors, to Mr. Ewachiw's car, where he has a tape of West
Side Story songs. He wants Brian -- who plays Tony, the leading man --
to hear the song, "Tonight."
"Right here," he says. "Listen."
Tuh-nut...
"Hear that?" Mr. Ewachiw says.
Brian grins. For weeks Mr. Ewachiw (pronounced e-WALK-q) has pleaded
with him to sing the word tonight as if it sounds like tuh-nut. Doing so
will make it easier to sing the high notes. Now here's the proof.
"It's still not natural," Brian says.
"All you have to do is just do it."
Angela Brown is still humming Maria's songs.
"I feel like bouncing off the walls," she says, adjusting a white headband.
"I'm getting so excited I can't stand it."
4:55 p.m.
The makeup room is full. Angie Guido puts lipstick on Mark Miller, one
of the Jets.
They have been dating for more than a year. Two months ago, Angie and
Mark left school for the day after Angie lost the role of Maria. They were
going to skip the musical, then reconsidered. That feels like a million
years ago.
"I can't work with people like this!" Angie jokes. "These actors' egos!"
In the hallway, Keith Jeffcoat limps. His left ankle is purple -- he
tore ligaments last weekend -- but he's ready. Maybe too ready.
"I'll tell you the truth," he says conspiratorially. "I pick up more
girls in make-up."
Two boys sprint the length of the hallway, leap and slam into each other's
chests.
"Guys are really scary," Angie Guido says.
On stage, Eli Senter jumps on another boy's back.
Starr enters the makeup room at 5:45 p.m. There are two huge lipstick
kiss marks on her cheek. She leaves them there all night.
"Anybody seen Pat?" she asks.
Pat Reynolds is late. He plays Bernardo, the leader of the Sharks gang.
Starr sighs. "If I laid down to take a nap, I'd never wake up."
Cast members roam the hall between the stage and the hair and makeup
rooms. Brian Forte rummages through the costume rack.
"Anybody seen my tennis shoes?"
In the auditorium, Mr. Shipley vacuums the stage.
6:30 p.m.
An hour to go. Orchestra members arrive.
Pat Reynolds is still missing.
"Where could he be?" Starr asks. "He knows he's supposed to be here."
A few minutes later, to everyone's relief, Pat storms into the makeup
room. Apparently his ride never showed.
"Where have you been?" somebody asks.
"Obviously, I wasn't here," he snaps.
Angie Guido quickly applies his make-up.
"You look very good," she says. "Very Spanish."
"Yeah, a Spanish transvestite."
At 7:15 p.m., a crowd mingles in the school. A line forms at the ticket
table and stretches down the hall.
"Usually, right now, I feel so nervous," Anna Schoenfelder says. "I
don't even feel nervous."
A beat.
"I don't think that's a good thing."
Another beat.
"I'm nervous now."
Starr's voice fills the hallway.
"To the green room!"
This is what the cast calls the classroom where they gather before and
after the show.
They squirm in their chairs.
Eli taps his foot.
Angela hums another of Maria's songs.
In my eyes, in my world...
"Quiet, guys!" Starr says. "We have a full lobby out there."
A roar.
The teachers enter at 7:24 p.m.
"We have one of the best opening nights I have ever seen," Mr. Shipley
says.
Another roar.
"It's been a semi-hoot," he says. "I've never been so tired and so energized
at the same time. Let's get in a circle."
The cast members form a giant circle and hold hands.
"Thirty seconds," Mr. Shipley says.
They close their eyes. The room is silent. Somebody's lucky charm --
a Beanie Baby -- tumbles to the floor.
"Go have some fun," Mr. Shipley says.
Off they go.
"I need the Jets!" Eli shouts. "WHERE ARE ALL THE JETS?"
The overture begins.
The stage lights come on.
Forty years after it opened on Broadway, West Side Story comes to North
County High School in Anne Arundel County.
Alone, on stage, stands Eli Senter.
He snaps his fingers. He looks at Mr. Ewachiw for his cue, takes an
enormous gulp of air, opens his mouth wide and --
When you're a Jet,
you're a Jet all the way...
Let the record show that at 7:49 p.m. on April 18, 1997, Eli Senter
does it.
He hits the note that has eluded him for two months.
He actually sings.
Like an expectant father in a hospital waiting room, Mr. Shipley paces
the back of the theater, his arms folded, grinning.
It is not a perfect opening night.
Angela Brown's microphone goes on the fritz during one of Maria's scenes.
The buzzing makes it sound like she's surrounded by locusts; her soaring
soprano is mostly lost during the quintet.
The lights come on too late during the big dance number.
A police siren sounds too soon.
During the dramatic rumble, one of the Sharks can't open a gate; the
audience laughs as he and the gang members crawl through a hole in the
fence instead.
The lights come on too soon before Act II. Angela Brown, Angie Guido
and several of the Shark girls improvise on stage for several awkward minutes
while the orchestra plays the second-act overture.
As Brian Forte -- Tony -- sneaks out of Maria's window after their love
scene, he accidentally kicks down the curtain. The audience laughs.
When Tony is shot in the dramatic final scene, the gun is so loud everyone
in the audience jumps, then laughs again.
And none of it matters.
They are the best they have ever been.
"Great job, guys," Mr. Shipley says in the green room. "We have some
technical things to take care of for tomorrow night, but it was lovely.
The audience said it all. Go see your folks."
"Wait!" Mr. Ewachiw says. "I have an announcement."
Slowly, he puts his hands together and begins to applaud.
"Where's Anna?" Brian Forte says in the hall. "Have you seen Anna?"
He looks frantic. The carefree Brian has been replaced by an urgent
young man. Suddenly he realizes that it's almost over. He's a senior. He
has less than a month before this safe harbor called high school is gone.
He has fallen for Anna Schoenfelder, and she with him, and now Brian understands
that some things in life deserve to be taken seriously.
"I've got to get revved up for tomorrow night," he says. "Then I've
got to get revved up for the rest of my life. I need to find Anna."
The hallway is a mob scene -- parents, friends, roses, balloons.
When Brian finds Anna Schoenfelder, he hugs her tightly.
Holding on.
Angela Brown needs to find someone as well.
During the song, "I Feel Pretty," Angela's eyes gave away her panic.
It's the look singers get when they suddenly realize they can't remember
the lyrics.
Angie Guido, one of the girls in the chorus, sensed the problem. So
Angie -- the girl who desperately wanted to play Maria, who sobbed when
the cast list was posted, who nearly quit the show in anger -- helped the
girl who won the role instead of her.
Her back turned to the audience, Angie looked at Angela and mouthed
the words, "I feel charming."
That's all Angela needed.
I feel charming,
Oh, so charming --
It's alarming how charming I feel...
She didn't miss a beat.
Now, in the hallway, the girls find each other.
"Thank you so much," Angela says.
The next morning, a Saturday, Angela Brown sings the National Anthem
at the opening of the Brooklyn Park Little League. Starr Lucas drives her
blue Volkswagen Beetle, the one covered with West Side Story posters, in
the parade.
"That was good," Starr says of opening night. "But we can do even better."
And so they do.
It begins, again, in the green room.
"I want to thank you for giving me the opportunity to do this show,"
the 53-year-old Mr. Shipley says on his last night as the
director of a high school musical. He's retiring this year. "It is a
perfect cast. I find very little in life that is perfect, but this comes
close."
Mr. Ewachiw is next.
"Last night never happened," he says. "Tony and Maria have never met.
Riff and Bernardo are still alive. You have to do it again and you have
to be at the top of your game."
The orchestra begins.
The stage lights come on.
Magic.
Eli Senter hits his cue. Brian Forte sings tonight as tuh-nut. The dance
number sparkles. The rumble works; Riff gets killed just as the music reaches
a crescendo. Angela Brown has a new
microphone -- and the voice of Maria leaps from the stage, so strong
and powerful the audience gasps. Brian wraps his arms around her in "Tonight,"
and they sway to the words.
Tonight, tonight,
The world is wild and bright...
Cast members are improvising, performing stunts they never have tried
before. The audience feeds on their energy. When Brian and Angela finish
singing, the audience is not just applauding. It's cheering like a football
crowd.
One of the Jets -- Adam Mehok -- steals the "Gee, Officer Krupke!" number
when he wraps a handkerchief around his head and sings like an old woman.
The audience interrupts the song with applause.
Not long ago, Adam and his best friend, Brian Forte, fell for the same
girl. Brian won, and Adam was crushed. He needs this victorious moment.
"I nearly stopped singing -- `Wait, we're not through yet,' " he says
later.
Look at Angie Guido. The girl who longed to play Maria commands the
stage in the "America" song. She sings the same line twice, but the audience
is too enchanted with her scene and her voice to notice.
And listen as Angela Brown and Anna Schoenfelder harmonize during the
final duet.
When loves comes so strong,
There is no right or wrong,
Your love is your life!
Goose bumps galore. The audience cheers before the two girls finish.
During the show's final scene, after the gun is fired and Maria cradles
Tony's lifeless body, a small child in the rear of the auditorium turns
to her mother.
"Was that real?"
The audience stands and cheers as the curtain call begins.
Last night, Starr Lucas remained backstage. Directors, even student
directors, don't make curtain calls. But this is different. This is her
last high school musical.
Beaming, shining, Starr walks on stage, heading straight for the spotlight.
Then she and the cast members point to Maria's balcony, where a boy unfurls
a banner with this message:
A Bow For Shipley.
The tears begin on stage and escalate in the green room. The cast members
can't stop crying. They hug and cry and hug some more. The boys who aren't
crying are spitting out one-liners as fast as they can to keep from crying.
Eli stands in the middle, his face a puddle.
All the girls -- Angie, Angela and Anna -- are bawling.
"You have just experienced a pure moment," Ms. Rolman tells them. "It's
infrequently in life that you can say, `On this day, I did my very best,'
but you can say that tonight."
Each of the seniors receives a red rose, a North County High tradition.
"We have one more senior tonight," Starr says.
She hands Mr. Shipley his rose.
Mr. Shipley -- the old cowboy -- maintains his composure. His moment
comes later, when the room is mostly empty. The piano player, David Richardson
-- Dave the Piano Guy -- comes to say goodbye.
"I was sitting there, listening to that last duet, thinking how I will
never have an experience quite like this again in my life," he says. "I
just sat back and enjoyed it."
A willing suspension of disbelief ...
Mr. Shipley blinks back the tears.
After the show, Angela Brown hands Mr. Ewachiw a thank-you card.
I don't know how you did it, but you're right -- my voice has completely
changed. Today at a Little League opening day ceremony I sang the National
Anthem and people actually cried!
Mr. Ewachiw cradles her face in both hands and kisses the top of her
head.
A junior, Angela will have another year to see where this voice can
take her. But tonight is for basking.
She races to the auditorium.
"Wait for me!"
You can't take a cast photograph of West Side Story without Maria.
As Angela hurries to the stage, her arms overflowing with roses, balloons
and congratulatory notes, a Mickey Mouse balloon floats gently to the theater
floor.
She doesn't even notice.
Later that night, after tearing apart the set, the cast celebrates at
an ice-cream shop that remains open just for them.
Let's leave them here, giddy and triumphant -- the fedora-topped Eli
Senter nuzzling his girlfriend; Brian Forte and Anna Schoenfelder flirting
with each other; Angie Guido laughing as her boyfriend clutches a rose
in his teeth; the shimmering Starr Lucas digging into a mountainous ice-cream
sundae; and Angela Brown wearing the exultant expression of a young woman
who has discovered this wonderful gift -- a voice so pretty people cry
when they hear it.
Years from now, Angela will happen upon a copy of the West Side Story
program from the 1997 spring musical, and the memories will wash over her
.. the first time she hit the high C ... seeing her name next to Maria's
on the cast list ... watching Eli persevere ... Angie's help ... the duet
with Anna ... Starr's curtain call ... Mr. Shipley's final show.
The program will have faded, but if Angela closes her eyes -- if she's
willing to suspend her disbelief for just a moment -- she will feel it
again, all of it, every instant of that stage when the girl she was became
the woman she is, two glorious nights when the world was wild and bright
and time stood forever still.
