We had choir practice three nights a week when I was a kid. It was fun to see the other boys so regularly. A club atmosphere. Mainly, I believe we all enjoyed the singing itself. We learned a lot about discipline, self-control and responsibility.
I’ve carried many of those lessons with me to this day.
Plus, we got paid. Every two weeks there would be an envelope with cash inside, stuffed into our individually numbered cubby’s where we kept our sheet music. I was number 22.
It was serious business though. No fooling around after things got started. Mr Connolly could shrink you into nothingness, right in your chair, with his laser stare, if you weren’t paying strict attention.
Being a boys choir, we would cut up before and after, but never during. Sometimes we had things to show the other guys. A live round from a 30 06 rifle, a cool geode. One guy brought the first 17-year Locust any of us had ever seen. It was alive, inside a waxed cardboard milk container from school. That was two days before you couldn’t walk down the sidewalk without crushing dozens of them underfoot.
The most memorable share was an atomically correct drawing of a vagina a kid had ripped out of a medical book. Like the 17-year locust, none of us had ever seen one before. The boy kept that one close though as it was dangerous stuff, like having a human thumb in his pocket. Only his main buddies were allowed a quick look.
One night a kid brought a fake vomit to choir practice. We were all seated, tiered, semi-circled, waiting obediently for the choir master, as was the routine before rehearsals. Everything very formal and staid. All of us had seen that rubber prank in the back of comic books, right next to handshake buzzers and whoopee cushions. Toothpaste that turned teeth black. We passed the rubber vomit around with much admiration, in awe of the realism of the milky rubber with bits of nasty stuff encased inside.
We dared the boy who brought it, mocked the manhood he didn’t even have yet. until he stood back up defiantly and placed that thing on the linoleum floor, front and center, right next to the grand piano. He then bent over the rubbery mess, making very convincing vomit sounds. It was important that he time his act to coordinate with the choir master’s grand entrance. We watched intently, concentrating with him, lost in a group effort to fake vomit on cue.
Mr. Connolly finally rushed in looking harried and stern the way he always did when it was time to get down to business. We were on the edge of our seats as we had been trained to be but this time we were mentally on edge as well, not knowing how Mr Connolly would react to such a prank.
Everything immediately exploded into chaos. That boy had psyched himself up so much that he actually started vomiting right onto the fake rubber vomit the second Mr. Connolly entered the rehearsal room. Splashing soupy chunks onto his own shoes and pants. Seeing and smelling that, five trebles and one alto that had concentrated along with him, joined in, all vomiting in unison. Seven boys throwing up on themselves, their sheet music, chairs, socks, shoes... as soon as Mr Connolly made his appearance.
.
We were well trained to hit our mark, sitting up straight, vomiting out sounds, emptying full stomachs of family dinners we had wolfed down one-hour prior, in perfect pitch. A well-trained choir, many gagging voices in unison, sounding like one.
I hope Dr Connolly was proud.
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