The speaking roles, as Rick had written them, were not really individual parts. He surmised correctly that the success or failure of the angels would depend upon their actions and reactions as a group. Everything they said, therefore, was said in chorus. All of their actions were performed simultaneously. If one angel blew his nose, the other five angels blew their noses at the same instant. If one angel said, “Oh, yes,” he could be certain that five other angels were mouthing those same words at the same time.
But rather than simplifying the individual roles, the chorus setup made it more difficult. If all six angels had to shout, “Hi, Santa!” together, they simply had to shout it together. If one angel were a beat behind and another a beat ahead, the resultant chorus would become a hodgepodge of incomprehensible sound.
Rick knew there would be difficulty on this score during that first fourth-period rehearsal. There were eight people at the rehearsaclass="underline" George Katz, the six angels, and Rick. The rehearsal took place on the auditorium stage, with the curtains closed, and with a pile of lunch-eating students sitting in the auditorium seats, most of them unaware of what was going on behind the curtains.
Rick introduced Mr. Katz to the boys and told them he’d be playing Santa Claus, and that the angels and St. Nick would have to work very closely together because they’d really be carrying the largest burden of the show between them. The boys were respectful in acknowledging the introduction, as if being introduced to a teacher was something they were not used to. Rick handed out copies of the angels’ parts, and then they all sat around on chairs in the center of the stage and began reading the parts, with Rick filling in by reading the minor roles in the script.
They’d read a few paragraphs when Rick noticed that one of the angels was silent. He called a halt and asked, “Is there any trouble there? I’m sorry, I don’t remember your name.”
“He Brown,” Miller said. “He can’t read so hot, Mr. Dadier.”
“Oh, I see,” Rick said, disappointed.
“We’ll teach him his part,” Miller assured him. “Don’ worry. He can’t read so hot, but he’ll be all right. He got a good memory.”
“Well, all right,” Rick said reluctantly. “Let’s take it from Santa’s second speech.”
George Katz had memorized the role, and he gave it all the stiffness of the Magna Charta. Rick let that pass because he was sure the stiffness would work out once he began walking the show through. Besides, the choral speaking was presenting more of a problem than George Katz’s interpretation of St. Nick. The boys weren’t together. Some were behind, and some were ahead, and the result was chaos, without a word being understood.
They went over one passage several times, with Rick trying in vain to synchronize them. He was saved, finally, by Miller’s intrusion, and by the boys’ innate sense of rhythm.
“We tacklin’ this all wrong,” Miller said. “We not givin’ what Mr. Dadier wants. You want this together, don’ you, Chief?” Miller asked.
“Yes, I do,” Rick said, convinced already that the angels simply would not work out.
“Yeah, well we ain’t doin’ that.” He looked at the script in his hand and said, “Look, fellers, you see there where Santa Claus he say, ‘How’re all my heavenly messengers today?’ You see that spot there on the paper, where he say that?”
The boys nodded and mumbled, and Miller said, “Okay, so his last word there is ‘today.’ Now, here’s the beat. One-and-two-and. You got that? One-and-two-and. Then we suppose to say, ‘Oh, we jus’ fine, Santa.’ Okay, so we speed up that one-and-two-and, an’ then we come in on the down beat. We say ‘Oh’ on the downbeat, an’ then we stop a beat, an’ then we say, ‘we jus’ fine, Santa.’ Now, you got that?” The boys talked it up a little more, nodding and studying the script, while Rick watched in amazement.
“You want to give us that speech, Mr. Katz?” Miller asked.
George Katz dug into his memory and stiffly said, “How’re all my heavenly messengers today?”
Miller said, “One-and-two-and Oh, beat, we jus’ fine, Santa.” He paused and looked at the boys again. “Okay, you got that? I’ll give you the beat one more time, then we’ll try it in our heads. Could we have that line again, Mr. Katz?”
“How’re all my heavenly messengers today?” George Katz asked stiffly.
“One-and-two-and,” Miller whispered.
“Oh,” the boys said in chorus together — and Miller whispered “beat” — “we jus’ fine, Santa.”
“That was very good,” Rick said, grinning broadly, surprised and pleased, amazed that Miller had recognized the boys’ talent for rhythm and utilized it so effectively. “Let’s mark that down on the scripts. The one-and-two-and, and then the beat. We’ll do that for every speech you boys have.”
“Could we try it silent, Mr. Dadier?” Miller asked. “Doin’ the countin’ inside our heads?”
“Why, certainly,” Rick said. “Sure. Geor—, Mr. Katz, would you give them their cue again, please?”
George Katz dutifully said, “How’re all my heavenly messengers today?”
“Oh,” the boys said in chorus, “we jus’ fine, Santa.”
“Very good,” Rick said, excited now. “Very good. That was excellent. Now if we can do that for all of your speeches...”
“We can do it,” Miller said confidently. “It’s jus’ like singin’, Chief, ’cept there’s no melody.”
They went through as much of the script as they could during that fourth period, marking out the rhythm of the speeches. Rick deciding where the pauses should be, where the emphasis should come, tailoring the lines for their maximum effect. When the bell rang at the end of the fourth period, he reluctantly walked up to Room 206 to greet 55-206. Miller was in the room already when he got there, having left the auditorium while Rick stayed behind to exchange a few words with Katz.
“Hey, teach,” Miller shouted. “You better watch that stuff.”
Rick, still happy over the first rehearsal, pleased by Miller’s behavior and co-operation, smiled and asked, “What stuff, Miller?”
“Draggin’ yo’ ass in after the late bell, Chief. You settin’ a bad ’zample for the pupils here.”
The class laughed, and Rick stared at Miller, surprised.
“Well, ain’tchoo, Chief?” Miller asked, his eyes roguishly innocent. “Wunt you draggin’ ass, man?”
Rick, still a little stunned, said, “I suppose so, Miller.”
“You s’pose so? Hell, man, don’t you know?” Miller asked. “You can’t be that stupid!” and the class roared its approval.
“He’s confused,” West sneered. “He’s gettin’ nervous in the service.”
“That’s enough of that,” Rick said tightly, suddenly shocked into reaction. “Let’s just knock it off.”
“Knock it off!” West shouted. “You heard the man.”
“He say ‘Knock it off,’ ” Miller put in. “An’ when he say ‘Knock it off,’ by God...”
“He means knock it off,” West concluded happily, clapping Miller on the shoulder in glee.
Rick blinked at Miller, not able to understand the change in the boy. Was this the same helpful co-operative kid who’d worked out the speech rhythms in the auditorium just a period ago? Could this be the same kid? This wiseacre who had just now initiated a new series of jibes against the teacher? He couldn’t believe it, and so he let it pass because he couldn’t understand it. But in the days that followed he learned a basic fact, and he also learned to live by it.