It's Playtime!!!

Directing the school plays was absolutely my favorite activity while teaching. There were nights at practice that I just couldn't stop laughing; and the harder I laughed, the crazier the cast became. It was my goal to ensure that everyone had fun. Unlike other school activities, there was no pressure except to learn your lines which wasn't always easy. But they learned to be creative whether it was writing their lines on huge pieces of paper stapled to the back of furniture or plastering their palms or props with clues.

However, I didn't always feel that way, especially those first few years. At times I felt like a huge stress ball of nerves. Then again, all I had to do was look at my students who weren't exactly motivated to execute a command performance. It seemed as though it were more like "execute the director." Earlier in the school year, I had caught three boys purchasing beer while I was chaperoning them, several were accused of being intoxicated in school at 8 a.m., and they were all very, very much in love.

Love may conquer all, but it almost ruined my first production. The night before the play, a cast member failed to show up. When I asked where he was, no one volunteered any information until I became quite upset. "Mrs. C., he's at the bar." "WHAT? He's at the BAR? What is he doing at the bar?" "Ummm...playing pool?" was NOT the response I want to hear. Not funny!!! (though it was an idiotic question on my part)

As I left the cast to practice on their own, I headed out the door to retrieve my student. Once I found him, he bluntly yelled, "I QUIT!!" Explaining to him that this was not an option, I needed to know what the problem was...why would he quit? He unwillingly admitted that he had a fight with his girlfriend, and she dumped him. He didn't want to be anywhere near her. It's hard enough to convince a stubborn 18-year-old of "anything," let alone that "the show must go on." He did eventually return, but I believe he left his mark ...

...that mark being empty beer cans outside the stage door, like so many cast members before and after him. I heard about it every Monday morning following the production. "Really? There were beer cans outside the back door? How many? Only 6? I had no idea." Of course, I knew it was my responsibility and I did inform the students of the drinking rules, but in reality I was the director, not the babysitter. "What was that again?" as I was pondering to myself, "Let me see...I have a stage to check, makeup to put on 25 cast members, boys' hair to fix, money and programs to give to the ticket takers, and now you want me to check the playgrounds for stashed beer? This has to be a joke." And so it went until the school switched to coal for heating and the back door was blocked. Whew!

I did get other lectures, but one particular instance "sticks" in my mind. I couldn't imagine why "MY" boys would string chewed bubble gum back and forth across the stall doors in the elementary restroom. What a waste of good gum!! Oh yes! Then there was the feminine hygiene problem. I don't know who was more embarrassed--the superintendent telling me that the boys were playing with the tampons in the girls' restroom--or the boys when I told them, "I know you are the curious type, but please do not play with the tampons." I've never seen so many red faces in one place!

The students were extremely creative when it came to conjuring up costumes and props. We did have a little trouble finding heels big enough for Jason Nelson, but he could "walk the walk" with the best of them. Then there was Ron Etzel who had a plastic Brownie camera for an eye and a plunger for a leg. He, too, could "walk the walk" of a different sort. It seemed like we always had problems with those plastic swords and knives breaking, but it did get laughs...as well as the planned buckets of water being dumped on fellow cast members or plates of spaghetti being thrown across the stage and just praying that it would actually be caught. THAT TOOK PRACTICE!!
I always felt that the boys enjoyed going to the extreme when it came to playing tricks on fellow cast members. Most of them I never knew about until after the fact, such as Daren Reynolds sharing his tale of inserting Tabasco sauce into Zane Reed's medication during the matinee. That happened several times later in years as well. (I'm wondering if Daren didn't pass that trick along to others.)

The cast members were responsible for pre-selling the tickets and turning in the stubs and money before the play. I'll never forget the day that one young fella came to me with ticket stubs in hand and very, very meekly said, "I know I have to turn these in now, but I...I...I don't have the money." I was obviously quite surprised and asked, "What happened?" "I...I...I spent it--on cassette tapes, but I'll pay it back." I laughed uncontrollably because it had never ever occurred to me that anyone would actually do that. I responded by telling him that he didn't owe me the money, he owed the class fund, so he just needed to take care of it...and he did.

Our productions were always comedies, but when things went wrong, they became even funnier according to the audience comments. They always waited in anticipation for the "goofs." I can still picture students forgetting lines and the person next to them saying it for them, or hearing the prompter over everyone else on stage, or the actors and actresses ad-libbing ... which always caught me off guard. I remember them trying to hold back their own laughter, which just made it all the funnier. But, I'll never forget the time an actor skipped about 3 pages of the play and left everyone staring at each other on the stage in a dead silence. Whoops! The recovery was awesome, but it was definitely the topic at the cast party afterward.

The class productions were memorable moments for me, and I hope that they were for you as well. It is definitely what I miss most now that I'm no longer with you.

PS: Glenn McRae is searching for another copy of his class play because his tape is almost worn out from his kiddos watching it. If anyone has videos they would like to share with fellow classmates, please let me know.

A Huntin' I Will Go!

It is said that "opposites attract." What that really means is once you are married or have a partner, you spend your entire lifetime trying to understand and participate in activities that your other "half" enjoys. It could be a hobby, a sport, a type of entertainment, an enterprise, a pastime, or a project just to mention a few. It's my impression that the male may make an attempt at various activities his wife loves, but I'm totally convinced that the wife is more apt to continually pursue whatever it takes to be with her loved one.

TC and I are total opposites if there ever was such a pair. I'm a city slicker--he's a farm boy. I'm an indoor person--he's an outdoor person. I'm not competitive--he is. I am easily upset--he's easy going...and the list goes on. Over the years, I HAVE made attempts at various activities he loves, but I must admit, most were failures.

The second year we were married, TC decided that I should go hunting with him. As I was purchasing my deer tag, I asked him if this wasn't putting the cart before the horse (or deer) because I had never even held a gun, let alone shot one. "Oh, that won't be a problem. We'll go target practicing." "Yeah, right!" I mumbled under my breath, but I was willing to try anything, especially for him. (What we women won't do for a man! or vice versa)

The day before we were to go hunting, we drove into the country and stopped by a small sagebrush-covered hill. He proceeded to place a Copenhagen lid on the hillside, walked back to where I was standing, approximately 100 yards away, and handed me his rifle. He gently adjusted my hands and fingers, propped the gun against my shoulder, explained how I was to look through the scope and zero in on the lid, and then very gently squeeze the trigger. He briefly mentioned that I should brace myself because the gun might have a "kick" to it. I'm thinking to myself, "Forget the KICK! Does he expect me to hit that little lid from way back here?"

But I did exactly as I was told, except brace myself. Slowly pulling the trigger, I anticipated the sonic boom that would ring through my ears, but nothing prepared me for that "kick" which knocked me off my feet and buried the barrel of the gun into the ground. While he was helping me up from my "seat," I calmly said, "I don't think I hit the target." I thought he was a man of patience, but I knew that practice was over as we headed for the car. He kept reassuring me that I would do better tomorrow. I could hardly wait.

Early the next morning, TC, Bill (a hunting partner), and I headed for deer country. We stopped at Fred and Irma's farmhouse to let them know we would be hunting on their land that day and was treated to a great cup of coffee. Of course, I had to relive TC telling the story of my target practice debacle, but I just kept smiling. Am I having fun now or what?

Within the hour, Terry knew we had found the best hunting spot. As we were walking toward the edge of a cliff surrounded by deep tree-filled coulees, he started giving me instructions. "You lie on the ground right here (pointing downward) and Bill and I are going to go down into the trees and spook the deer toward you. Just keep looking through the scope until you see one, aim, and fire. It's easy!" Once again, I did as I was told.

Lying on the ground with the gun propped against my shoulder, I waited so patiently--and waited--and waited--and looked through the scope only to find nothing except trees. All of a sudden I heard someone screaming at me. It was TC, but I couldn't understand him because of the echo bouncing throughout the coulees. Looking through the scope, I slowly moved the gun to the left and then to the right until I spotted him jumping up and down, wildly waving his arms, and yelling. Why would he be acting like an idiot while I was engaged in some serious hunting here!

As if that wasn't strange enough, I instantly felt the earth move, so I placed my ear to the ground like we probably all did as children to feel the vibrations of our surroundings. When I looked up, I about died as I stared directly ahead. That deer and I saw each other at exactly the same moment; and as my piercing scream rang out, he skidded to a halt less than three feet in front of me, throwing dirt into my face and hair. I don't know which of us was more scared.

It took me more than a moment to realize what had happened; and by the time I grabbed the gun and stood up, the deer had already jaunted away. He actually didn't seem too concerned that I was going to harm him. It dawned on me then that TC was trying to tell me the deer was coming and I should be ready. Within minutes both boys were standing in front of me with the strangest looks on their faces as if they were holding back the laughter. TC approached me, placed his hand ever so gently on my shoulder, and said, "Dear, now that you know what one LOOKS like, do you think you could shoot one?" What a smart aleck! He could have at least told me that I was lying in the middle of a deer trail!! At least he wasn't upset with me--but my first day of hunting had just begun!

Shortly thereafter, we came upon eight to ten deer grazing in a clearing. They must have already heard the rumor of the "huntress" wandering the hills because they never flinched as we drove within 50 yards of them. As I opened the door of the pickup, Terry suggested I place the gun on the edge of the open window to steady the gun. This would make it much easier for me to shoot a deer. I did as I was told...including bracing myself. I shot and not one deer moved or fell. They kept grazing as though I weren't there. So I turned to TC and whispered, "Can I shoot again?"

By now his patience was running slightly below empty as he grumbled, "Yes, dear!" Well, I did try but nothing happened! No shot. No sonic boom in my ear. No deer falling to its knees. I might not be a hunter by any standard, but I did know that I had to empty the used casing in the chamber, (or whatever its called) It seems that TC failed to show me how to do that. In the meantime, the deer decided to move on to greener pastures. Does this mean it times to go home now? I was certainly hoping so...

I eventually shot a deer that day from 250 yards away and at the bottom of a ravine. If you're a hunter, you can imagine the dismay TC felt as he spent the next two hours dragging my prize hunt to the top of the hill. He was very proud of me but continually reminded me that it would have been nicer if I had hit the one only 50 yards from the vehicle. It would be 13 years before he asked me to go hunting with him again. Bless his heart!

"I'm Ready...Willing...and Able!!"

As I was lugging my belongings into my new summer apartment, this tiny, gray-haired pip-squeak of a lady was trailing me closer than my shadow. The continuous questions reminded me of the "Energizer Bunny": "What's your name? Where are you from? Do you like boys? Do you have a car? Are you a clean person? How old are you? ... Oh...my name is Janet, and I'm the boss here!" I would never have guessed that in a million years.

Moving from the "questioning phase" into the "order" mode, Janet wanted to inform me of the house rules as I nonchalantly began unpacking. "There will be no loud music or partying. Don't forget to empty your trash. NO BOYS ALLOWED because I'll beat them with my baseball bat. Don't leave your clothes in the washer and dryer. No screaming or yelling. Feed my cat if he's hungry. Did I tell you that no boys are allowed? I think I'm wrong. Boys are only allowed from noon until midnight. No boys after midnight! Make your bed and clean your room every day." Even my mother didn't tell me to make my bed every day, but somehow I felt Janet was quite serious about her "rules."

By the end of the first day, I knew her life story. She had never been married but had one daughter, whom she referred to as the "BRAT," and lived with her daughter and son-in-law in California. (Had I just met the "Little Old Lady from Pasadena"?) According to Janet, she was leading a lonely, unhappy existence until the summer she toured Yellowstone National Park by stagecoach. While she jounced through mountain canyons, lodge pole pine forests, sprawling grasslands, and gagged from the sulphur smell of the geyser basins between Mammoth Hot Springs and Old Faithful, she fell in love with the awe-inspiring wonders of nature and knew unquestionably that she would someday return.

When I met Janet, she had been working in Yellowstone every year from April through October for the past 42 years. She never revealed her age to anyone, but it was meaningless--her actions and comments made her as young as the rest of us. However, we ascertained that she was in her mid-seventies.

Janet loved her beer! She had a 6-oz. Olympia beer every night before bedtime, reminding us always that it made her sleep better. "Oh, of course, Janet." When any of us went to Livingston, it became our duty to stop at Safeway's and get her beer, which she stockpiled under her bed. She would place one beer in her fridge an hour before bedtime to "chill" it. I found that to be somewhat quirky--why not put in the entire six-pack? It's not like there wasn't room. But that was Janet!

Every evening following dinner, Janet wanted us to gather together in her room so she could reveal the "gossip of the day," (and she truly knew everything that happened) and tell stories of past years. After being with her for seven summers, we knew the stories by heart but always listened attentively. As we left her room, I would always check to see if she wanted me to lock the door behind me though I knew what her reply would be: "No! No! No! If a handsome young boy wants to come in, I'm ready, willing, and able!" I had no doubt that was true, even if the baseball bat was within reach at all times.

She actually used that bat upon discovering several young gentlemen, which we learned later were lost tourists, roaming the hallway. When she saw them, she asked no questions but darted into her room for a split second and returned "swinging" and screeching at them in her high-pitched wail. She nailed one of them in the arm, and they vanished within seconds. They knew they had truly met their match!


There were occasions when employees or tourists were wed in the Chapel at Mammoth. Janet loved weddings, but loved the receptions even more; or should I say she loved the champagne (pronounced cham pag' ne by Janet) even more. The photo depicts her being carried home by Nick following one of these special galas. We made her put down the magnum of champagne before shooting the picture. We naturally didn't want to give anyone the wrong impression. She truly knew how to have a great time!

I was forever intrigued by her mind--how she could remember the most minute detail about a particular event and yet forget where she placed her roomkeys. Once I took her to Livingston for an eye appointment and never laughed so hard in my life. After she paid her bill, she barked at the receptionist in her gruffiest voice, "Well!! Where are my glasses, you idiot! Give them to me!" Baffled beyond belief, the woman timidly replied, "Ummm...they are on your face. You are wearing them." Janet grumped, "Yah, yah, yah" as she stomped out the door. The receptionist and I exchanged glances and roared as I explained, "It's just Janet. No harm intended."

One afternoon as I walked into the laundry room hoping to find an empty washer and dryer, I saw Janet busily at work. She hadn't heard me because the room was echoing a THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! "Janet, are you drying your tennis shoes or what?" After I frightened the "jaheebies" (her favorite expression) out of her, she glanced down at her feet. "No! I'm wearing them!" She approached the dryer, carefully placed a hand on top as though she could tell what was inside, and mumbled to herself, "What's that?" She quickly opened the dryer door and out sprang her CAT! That cat disappeared for days and I didn't blame him.

The apartments were located above the kitchen and restaurant area. I loved the aroma of food drifting through my window but late one night I met an unexpected surprise. Around 3 a.m. I was awakened by a fierce pounding on my door. It was Nick, my neighbor. He was hysterically yelling, "The building is on fire! GET UP!!" Forget the aroma of food. As I opened my eyes, all I remember seeing were billows of smoke rolling in through the open window and the reflection of red lights flashing across the walls. Panic didn't come close to describing what I felt at that moment. As I searched for my slippers, I kept telling myself, "I do NOT want to die! I do NOT want to die!" I grabbed my afghan and hustled outside...

...only to find firetrucks, Park Ranger vehicles, and what appeared to be hundreds of onlookers. I needed to find Janet to assure myself that she was safe. Minutes later as I approached her, the anxiety I had felt shifted to disbelief. Not only was she safe, but she was fully clothed and guarding a suitcase filled with her belongings. It appeared that she even took time to comb her hair. Not awakening the residents was a minor oversight I'm quite sure. She had other business at hand. (What a woman!)

Janet was undoubtedly the most extraordinary, memorable lady I had ever known. Several years after leaving the park, I received news that she had passed away in her sleep at her "home away from home." Her funeral was held at the Chapel in Mammoth Hot Springs; and her lifelong wish was granted as her ashes were scattered over Yellowstone National Park.