Can you sign this?
When I was in the 4th grade I signed my first autograph.
I was Tom Sawyer in the Woodfill Elementary production of "Tom Sawyer" in Mrs. Bonds' class. Mrs. Bonds was angel. I was an extremely shy, awkward little boy and yet she saw some potential in me. After auditions I was convinced I was so bad the best I could hope for was the part of the chair. Next day in school I was shocked - the lead? What had I gotten myself into?
Rehearsals started. Scripts were mimeographed (ah, that smell!) and instantly doodled all over. I spent several days going over my highlighted lines... no idea what I was doing, but darn it I'd be prepared. My beautiful costar Nancy glowed everytime she threw the crystal doorknob... I couldn't keep my eyes off her and yet I had no idea what it was like to have a crush. I learned the songs, somehow, even though I couldn't read music or listen to the soundtrack at home... the music teacher would coax the notes out of me every other day... dress rehearsals, learning to dance together, wearing straw hats... Finally the big opening night arrived, with all the parents filling the cafeteria/theater. The musty curtain opens and everyone else sings "Hannibal Moooooooooo-sori!"... or something like that. The indelible memory from the evening is standing out at the edge of the wooden heavily varnished stage, hands in my pockets, singing "How Come" to a single spotlight at the back of the room. The musty curtain brushed against my elbows. The parents heads were encrusted in slivers of light from the spotlight, their glasses glinting in the darkness. As I reached the end of the slow ballad the crowd was sniffling, handing each other tissues, eyes soft with tears. I hung my head in sorrow and exited stage right, pushing aside the curtain... and breaking into the largest grin ever to grace my 8 year old face. Mrs. Bonds hugged me in her frilly blouse and chattering necklaces, her face damp with tears. All the time I felt like laughing out loud - ha ha, I got you all, I tricked you... it was the ultimate prank! I had convinced the entire audience to come along on this journey with me, and they had! They had bought it! They had followed me...
At the end of the night congratulations were being handed out between beaming parents and embarrassed children. My oversized raggedy costume flannels were hanging awkardly over my hands... and a couple of children in a grade below me came up with their single page folded programs and their mom's blue pen with a local bank engraved on it.
"Could you sign this for us"?
I mumbled an shocked afirmative and scribbled my name in lower case (cursive was still many challenging years away) on the cover of their program. I remember thinking what a strange sensation this was - autographs are for famous people, and I'm not famous. I'm a fourth grader in a small school in a small town.
Fast forward almost 3 decades and I signed an autograph after a recent show. A dear friend who I haven't seen in years insisted on the whole band signing her recently purchased disc. She knew us all and made us feel like rock stars for a few moments with her earnest praise. As I scribbled my name and a doodle on the cover art I had designed almost 2 years ago I thought back to that Tom Sawyer program from the late 70's and wondered if it's still in around - did some keep it or did it head to the trash heap at the end of the school year? I still have my script. Somewhere there was a hat with the entire cast's signatures on it... I'm sure it's long gone. An 8mm film of some of the big choral pieces is out there somewhere, but I only remember my dad threading it up once and yelling at me for standing in front of the camera as he panned the stage. I wasn't trying to be a camera hog, I was the lead and I was told to stand there. I don't think I'd like to see that actually, it would probably tarnish my memories of my prepubescent voice.
I ask for autographs occassionaly, but mostly only from folks I know. The Swarthy Band has entertained and thrilled me at every one of their shows, so at their CD release I made every one of them sign my CD. Our good friend Jim (the really tall guy with long blonde hair who shows up at the second half of the set and stands in the back) did the same to us at our CD release. Katie Reider was sweet enough to sign a couple of CDs that I'd been carrying around for years for me recently and then followed it up with a wonderful glossy photo in the mail. What a dear.
My autograph isn't worth the ink it was written with in the open market. But the few times I've been flattered by a request for one from a fan or friend makes an indelible memory for me that will last much much longer. And on those insecure days when I think I'm only good enough to get the part of the chair at the audition, that's a good keepsake to have.
I was Tom Sawyer in the Woodfill Elementary production of "Tom Sawyer" in Mrs. Bonds' class. Mrs. Bonds was angel. I was an extremely shy, awkward little boy and yet she saw some potential in me. After auditions I was convinced I was so bad the best I could hope for was the part of the chair. Next day in school I was shocked - the lead? What had I gotten myself into?
Rehearsals started. Scripts were mimeographed (ah, that smell!) and instantly doodled all over. I spent several days going over my highlighted lines... no idea what I was doing, but darn it I'd be prepared. My beautiful costar Nancy glowed everytime she threw the crystal doorknob... I couldn't keep my eyes off her and yet I had no idea what it was like to have a crush. I learned the songs, somehow, even though I couldn't read music or listen to the soundtrack at home... the music teacher would coax the notes out of me every other day... dress rehearsals, learning to dance together, wearing straw hats... Finally the big opening night arrived, with all the parents filling the cafeteria/theater. The musty curtain opens and everyone else sings "Hannibal Moooooooooo-sori!"... or something like that. The indelible memory from the evening is standing out at the edge of the wooden heavily varnished stage, hands in my pockets, singing "How Come" to a single spotlight at the back of the room. The musty curtain brushed against my elbows. The parents heads were encrusted in slivers of light from the spotlight, their glasses glinting in the darkness. As I reached the end of the slow ballad the crowd was sniffling, handing each other tissues, eyes soft with tears. I hung my head in sorrow and exited stage right, pushing aside the curtain... and breaking into the largest grin ever to grace my 8 year old face. Mrs. Bonds hugged me in her frilly blouse and chattering necklaces, her face damp with tears. All the time I felt like laughing out loud - ha ha, I got you all, I tricked you... it was the ultimate prank! I had convinced the entire audience to come along on this journey with me, and they had! They had bought it! They had followed me...
At the end of the night congratulations were being handed out between beaming parents and embarrassed children. My oversized raggedy costume flannels were hanging awkardly over my hands... and a couple of children in a grade below me came up with their single page folded programs and their mom's blue pen with a local bank engraved on it.
"Could you sign this for us"?
I mumbled an shocked afirmative and scribbled my name in lower case (cursive was still many challenging years away) on the cover of their program. I remember thinking what a strange sensation this was - autographs are for famous people, and I'm not famous. I'm a fourth grader in a small school in a small town.
Fast forward almost 3 decades and I signed an autograph after a recent show. A dear friend who I haven't seen in years insisted on the whole band signing her recently purchased disc. She knew us all and made us feel like rock stars for a few moments with her earnest praise. As I scribbled my name and a doodle on the cover art I had designed almost 2 years ago I thought back to that Tom Sawyer program from the late 70's and wondered if it's still in around - did some keep it or did it head to the trash heap at the end of the school year? I still have my script. Somewhere there was a hat with the entire cast's signatures on it... I'm sure it's long gone. An 8mm film of some of the big choral pieces is out there somewhere, but I only remember my dad threading it up once and yelling at me for standing in front of the camera as he panned the stage. I wasn't trying to be a camera hog, I was the lead and I was told to stand there. I don't think I'd like to see that actually, it would probably tarnish my memories of my prepubescent voice.
I ask for autographs occassionaly, but mostly only from folks I know. The Swarthy Band has entertained and thrilled me at every one of their shows, so at their CD release I made every one of them sign my CD. Our good friend Jim (the really tall guy with long blonde hair who shows up at the second half of the set and stands in the back) did the same to us at our CD release. Katie Reider was sweet enough to sign a couple of CDs that I'd been carrying around for years for me recently and then followed it up with a wonderful glossy photo in the mail. What a dear.
My autograph isn't worth the ink it was written with in the open market. But the few times I've been flattered by a request for one from a fan or friend makes an indelible memory for me that will last much much longer. And on those insecure days when I think I'm only good enough to get the part of the chair at the audition, that's a good keepsake to have.
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