9:37 pmWhen I was in the fifth grade, I sang "Put Your Hand in the Hand of the Man" at the monthly Friday talent show. The winnger of the first show of the day got to skip class later in the day to go back for an encore performance. I got asked back that first time I performed and was hooked. I had an LP of songs that were supposedly "truck drivers' favorites," the back cover of the LP looked like the rear-end of an 18-wheeler trailer, it actually opened in the middle like the real doors would. Inside were the names of the various songs and the liner notes - although I didn't know what "liner notes" were at the time. "Put Your Hand in the Hand..." must've been a trucker favorite, 'cause it was on the album. "I'm Just a Girl Who Cain't Say No," from the Broadway musical Oklahoma! was on the album, too. Curious that that was a trucker favorite, but there it was. I imagined cheerful truckers driving down the highway whistling along to "I'm Just a Girl..."
Those two songs were my favorites on the album, mostly because they had easy-to-learn lyrics. For the second talent show, Lanny Thompson sang "Flying Blue Angels, Up in the Sky," and he was very good. Not only did he have a great voice, but he had great stage presence. He did this thing with his hand that is burned vividly into my memory: it turned into a flying blue angel every time he sang that line. You could almost hear the jet engines roaring past overhead.
The students always clapped for every performer in the talent show. It was a requirement, and it was easy enough to fulfill the requirement because not doing so would meant school instead of assembly. You couldn't usually tell if most of the students liked or didn't like most of the acts in the talent show by their applause, but you could certainly tell that they liked Lanny Thompson. I don't remember any other acts in the talent show besides Lanny's and mine.
The second time I was in the talent show was the first time Lanny was. I hadn't had much competition in my first talent show, I guess; none that I can remember. I guess I didn't really even know what competition was, not in that arena. Competition always had to do with sports, not the arts.
It was obvious, however, that Lanny was my competition on this day. Only one of us would be asked back for the encore performance and get out of class later in the day. You have to give me credit for being able to think on my feet, if not for being able to make wise artistic choices. I had to do something like what Lanny did with his hand. I had been pretty good about that in the previous talent show. My mother had given me lots of encouragement and some tips, too, for "Put Your Hand in the Hand..." I "stilled the water" and "calmed the sea" with my free hand.
My gimmick for "I'm Just a Girl..." was to sit on the edge of the stage and sing to the auditorium, to the music teacher or art teacher on the front row - the judges - to perform for them in hopes of keeping my title, as if I were the character singing the song, the "Girl."
The teacher's aide who put my album on (we just sang along to records, back then; karaoke was years down the road) lifted the arm and placed the needle in the groove right before the track number I'd instructed her to play. The introduction started, I was in place on the edge of the stage, one foot dangling, one foot on the stage, my free arm resting at the elbow on my bent knee, feeling pretty good about my aw-shucks choice. But before the singer and I had a chance to start singing, the teacher's aide lifted the arm and needle off of the player. She held the record player arm in one hand and the album in the other, the back doors of the 18-wheeler flopped open. She called from the wing, "Is that right?"
I said, "Yeah, that's it."
She shrugged and put the needle back down in the groove and I sang:
The smiles on the faces of the judges bore into them and must've hurt to hold them there.
The usual unenthusiastic applause was unusually sparse as I took the LP from the expressionless teacher's aide and handed her the microphone. She announced the next act and I slipped into the audience. I don't remember having any remorse about my song choice. I do remember feeling embarrassed and a failure as I sat in Mrs. Bussey's math class while the second assembly was going on.
I remember plotting my next act. It had to be bigger and better than sitting on the edge of the stage, bigger and better than stilling water and calming the sea; better even than a blue angel flying off the end of my arm. But, alas, I had waited too long into my fifth year of school to perform. Summer break came the next month, and then sixth grade, which meant a new school.
Those two songs were my favorites on the album, mostly because they had easy-to-learn lyrics. For the second talent show, Lanny Thompson sang "Flying Blue Angels, Up in the Sky," and he was very good. Not only did he have a great voice, but he had great stage presence. He did this thing with his hand that is burned vividly into my memory: it turned into a flying blue angel every time he sang that line. You could almost hear the jet engines roaring past overhead.
The students always clapped for every performer in the talent show. It was a requirement, and it was easy enough to fulfill the requirement because not doing so would meant school instead of assembly. You couldn't usually tell if most of the students liked or didn't like most of the acts in the talent show by their applause, but you could certainly tell that they liked Lanny Thompson. I don't remember any other acts in the talent show besides Lanny's and mine.
The second time I was in the talent show was the first time Lanny was. I hadn't had much competition in my first talent show, I guess; none that I can remember. I guess I didn't really even know what competition was, not in that arena. Competition always had to do with sports, not the arts.
It was obvious, however, that Lanny was my competition on this day. Only one of us would be asked back for the encore performance and get out of class later in the day. You have to give me credit for being able to think on my feet, if not for being able to make wise artistic choices. I had to do something like what Lanny did with his hand. I had been pretty good about that in the previous talent show. My mother had given me lots of encouragement and some tips, too, for "Put Your Hand in the Hand..." I "stilled the water" and "calmed the sea" with my free hand.
My gimmick for "I'm Just a Girl..." was to sit on the edge of the stage and sing to the auditorium, to the music teacher or art teacher on the front row - the judges - to perform for them in hopes of keeping my title, as if I were the character singing the song, the "Girl."
The teacher's aide who put my album on (we just sang along to records, back then; karaoke was years down the road) lifted the arm and placed the needle in the groove right before the track number I'd instructed her to play. The introduction started, I was in place on the edge of the stage, one foot dangling, one foot on the stage, my free arm resting at the elbow on my bent knee, feeling pretty good about my aw-shucks choice. But before the singer and I had a chance to start singing, the teacher's aide lifted the arm and needle off of the player. She held the record player arm in one hand and the album in the other, the back doors of the 18-wheeler flopped open. She called from the wing, "Is that right?"
I said, "Yeah, that's it."
She shrugged and put the needle back down in the groove and I sang:
It ain't so much a question of not knowing what to do.
I knowed what's right and wrong since I was ten.
I heared a lot of stories and I reckon they are true
About how girls're put upon by men.
I know I mustn't fall into the pit,
But when I'm with a feller,
I fergit!
I'm just a girl who cain't say no,
I'm in a terrible fix
I always say "come on, let's go!"
Jist when I orta say nix...
The smiles on the faces of the judges bore into them and must've hurt to hold them there.
The usual unenthusiastic applause was unusually sparse as I took the LP from the expressionless teacher's aide and handed her the microphone. She announced the next act and I slipped into the audience. I don't remember having any remorse about my song choice. I do remember feeling embarrassed and a failure as I sat in Mrs. Bussey's math class while the second assembly was going on.
I remember plotting my next act. It had to be bigger and better than sitting on the edge of the stage, bigger and better than stilling water and calming the sea; better even than a blue angel flying off the end of my arm. But, alas, I had waited too long into my fifth year of school to perform. Summer break came the next month, and then sixth grade, which meant a new school.
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