And while they talked, she thought about the notes again, and she realized she hadn’t discussed the notes with him, hadn’t even come near discussing the notes. She told herself it didn’t matter because she knew Rick loved her now, but she couldn’t forget the notes in spite of what she told herself. And so she thought of Lois Hammond again, dark and busty and there at Manual Trades all day long, and she condemned herself for not discussing the notes when she should have, but she listened to him talk and she nodded and she smiled and she thought. How could I have doubted him, doubting him all the while.
Part three
11
William Small, in his own words, and through his own voluntary admission, had “the memory of an elephant.” And since William Small had fondly clasped the hand of Richard Dadier in a warm let’s-forget-it-all handshake, he could not really be blamed for the persistence of his memory, or for the unconscious power it held over his alleged mind.
That memory, elephantine as it was, could not ignore the fact that Richard Dadier, a snotnose barely out of college, had in effect told Small to shut up. In reality, he had simply shouted, “That’s enough!” but this was the equivalent of “Shut up” and snotnoses barely out of college don’t go around telling principals to shut up, not when principals have memories as enduring as that of William Small’s.
So when the yearly chore of producing the Christmas Assembly rolled around, a task which any teacher at North Manual Trades would have happily shirked. Small was not to be condemned for choosing Richard Dadier as the man best suited for the job. Did he not have Stanley’s word that Dadier had done a lot of college dramatics, could indeed reel off obscure passages of Shakespeare at the drop of a leek?
And was not Dadier a young man, and did not students respond most eagerly to teachers who were not too far removed from them in age? Especially in something like a Christmas Assembly, where brotherhood prevailed?
This is what William Small told himself. This is what William Small told Stanley. And this is what Stanley told Rick at a meeting in the English Office. It is doubtful that Small ever realized the important role his memory played in deciding to choose Rick as the unlucky producer. For in truth, Small had completely forgotten the incident in his office, had forgotten that a snotnose barely out of college had told him, William Small, to shut up. Nor did William Small have an analyst with whom he could discuss that tricky dog of a memory. He was just a hard-working slob, William Small was, and Richard Dadier was obviously the best man for this particular dirty detail, and so Rick inherited it and — simple soul that he was — considered it a plum rather than a crumb.
Of course, Small could have relieved Rick from his third-period Hall Patrol, or even from one or two of his classes, was he of a mind to be magnanimous. He was not of a mind to be that, and so Rick carried a full program, and he was left to his own devious means in the matter of the Christmas Assembly. These devious means meant that he would have to devote his Unassigned sixth to the preparation of the assembly, as well as a good many after-school hours. Considering the fact that he would never even get to see the results of his labor, a fact of which he was not aware during his feverish preparation for the event, a more suitable punishment could not have been contrived — even if Small had consciously remembered Rick’s outburst, which he hadn’t.
Rick was truly happy about the job, and he got to work at once. He knew he could use the mimeograph in The Trades Trumpet office whenever he wanted to, whereas he might have to wait for a free opportunity to use the one in the English Office. However, he waited for that opportunity, rather than willingly bring himself into Lois Hammond’s presence. He ran off notices for every teacher in the high school, notices which heralded the approaching assembly and announced that a search for talent was on. Any interested students could contact Mr. Dadier at once. After the notices had been distributed and, he hoped, read to the classes, he then spoke to the teachers he knew, asking them to plug the assembly and generate some sort of interest among the boys. He needed talent badly. As a matter of fact, he would settle for no talent, just so long as he got some boys to turn out. Without the boys, he couldn’t very well put on a show, and he wanted very badly to put on a decent show.
He spoke to all his classes about the assembly, and at night — forsaking his lesson plans — he wrote a show. It was not intended for Broadway or Brooks Atkinson. It was intended for the enjoyment of the students and teachers of North Manual Trades High School. As such, it wasn’t a bad little thing. It dealt with Santa’s visit to North Manual Trades, accompanied by a host of angels. Rick didn’t know where the angels logically entered into the show, but he figured he’d get some of the senior boys into sheets and halos, and the costumes alone should be good for a laugh. He broached Solly Klein on the possibility of his playing Santa Claus, but Solly flatly refused.
He had to soft-pedal the play because the tendency to write what he really thought was overwhelming. He had Santa visiting various classes throughout the school, always accompanied by the angels of course, and finally deciding that North Manual Trades was a damned fine school, and leaving presents all over the place. The presents varied from the strictly cornball (like “And for all of you, all of you wonderful kids, a high school diploma, and the wish that you’ll use it wisely and well”) to the humorous (like “And to Mr. Clancy, of Carpentry and Woodworking, a great, big economy-size box of bonbons!”) He’d have liked to do a real satire, but he knew Small would be present at the assembly, and it wasn’t nice to stab a man on the Wednesday before Christmas. So he portrayed the school as an earnest beehive of learning and activity, portrayed the kids as wonderful little adolescents who wanted to learn a trade, portrayed the teachers as part of the “little family” Small thought existed.
He told his classes about the show as soon as he’d completed writing it, hoping he’d get additional interest that way. His notices had brought paltry results. Aside from a handful of kids who’d have turned out for anything from a chess competition to a discussion of nuclear energy — and there were such kids at Manual Trades — he had nothing to work with. And so he plugged harder in every one of his classes, and he rode the teachers harder, and he told Solly Klein that if he wouldn’t be Santa Claus, he could at least see that some of his kids turned out for the show.
His first break came when George Katz volunteered for the Santa Claus role. Rick accepted his services gratefully, and gave him a carbon copy of the script. The Santa Claus role was, naturally, the most difficult one in the show, and Rick had planned it with a teacher in mind all along. Katz’s arrival was a godsend, and when Katz came to the teachers’ lunchroom the next day and announced that he’d memorized the part overnight. Rick could have kissed him.
The second break came in 55-206, and that was a real surprise. It came from Miller.
The boy remained in class after most of the other boys had left, and then he walked to the front of the room and stood near Rick’s desk. Rick was inking in the absences on his Delaney cards, and he looked up, saw Miller there, and asked, “What is it, Miller?”
“Got a few minutes, Chief?” Miller asked.
“What is it, Miller?” Rick asked again, annoyed. He still felt that Miller was the boy who’d complained to Small, and he had still not forgotten that day in the principal’s office.