My Producer — Directorial Triumph
When the venue is for free and the talent cost nothing; how can you lose? Continue reading, I’ll show you.

Photo by Ben White on Unsplash

In our constant quest for money, with no money to invest ourselves my cousin Kit and my options for earning were limited.

We’ve already tried a lemonade stand using Aunt Betty’s lemons, sugar and water. That was a success but it was now winter. We sensed a diminished demand for cold lemonade from a stand encrusted with a layer of snow and ice.

No, we decided to use the talent possessed by our neighborhood friends and allow them to show it off in a variety show.

We’d stage it at Aunt Betty’s house. In the cellar that my uncle Shirl had recently cobbled into being what was in style at the time — a recreation room.

Conveniently, there was a piano for when my aunt tried to interest Kit in lessons.

You’ll be so thankful when you get older and you’re out somewhere, you’ll be able to play the piano and everybody can sing. You’ll be the life of the party.

Kit wasn’t convinced.

Betty planned to use the same propaganda on Ricky when he was old enough to reach the peddles. Betty had high hopes for Ricky’s talent — for something.

He WAS a pretty outgoing kid for a 2-year-old.

With this incredibly cost-efficient venue available, how could we lose?

Kit and I lined up our friend Oren, who took tap dancing lessons; Emmy Lou, who was not our friend but she didn’t know it, to play the piano; Kit would sing the only song he was able to sing in his monotone, the old Nat King Cole ditty “Hajji Baba” and I would whistle the Nat King Cole classic “Mona Lisa” in my five different whistles.

My father taught me how to do that.

We’d charge 25 cents admission and make a fortune. Everyone’s parents would come and probably a lot of the other neighbors too. We’d nail up signs on trees.

Everybody thought it was a great idea!

Aunt Betty, the most important person in this equation, said we could stage it in her new recreation room on one condition — we include Ricky in the show.

WHAT? RICKY IN THE SHOW?

He wasn’t old enough to talk, much less have any talent.

Deal breaker?

Not for the producer — directers of this variety show.

Blasted our ad signs all over the neighborhood. We were admonished to put them on telephone poles and leave the trees alone.

We complied.

Finally, the day of the variety show came.

We never gave it a thought; maybe we should rehearse. Oren WAS taking tap; Emmy Lou COULD plat the piano: we both knew, Kit knew “Hajji-Baba” and I could whistle “Mona Lisa”

Aunt Betty’s recreation room was filled with parents and neighbors. Anticipation was high among the 8 or 10 adults who had set aside the hour to endure this production.

All the acts went reasonably well. No big mistakes. My lips turned dry toward the end of “Mona Lisa” and I couldn’t finish with my flutter whistle but pulled it across the finish line. I simply switched to my between the teeth straight out screecher.

The one my Dad uses to call my brother and me in for dinner when we’re out playing.

We drew the whole thing to a triumphant close and were really to thank everybody for coming went Aunt Betty stood up and asked to see Ricky’s act.

Oh, Oh! We’d forgotten that.

Kit, always the quick thinker!

“No Mom, he was our last act!” Kit exclaimed.

“Hey, Rick, come here!” he called to his brother.

Rick went waddling up to the front of the room.

“Rick, say smoke,” Kit requested dramatically.

“FUUUCK,” Rick said plainly.

Kit tittering, “Say it again!”

“FUUUCK,” Rick obediently repeated.

Kit giggled, I laughed out loud.

We had no idea what the word meant but we knew it was — NAUGHTY.

Parents sat silent — stunned.

Aunt Betty dragged Kit upstairs by one arm his body bumping on each stair unable to right himself.

“FUUUCK, FUUUCK, FUUUCK,” Ricky repeating, thinking he was doing something wonderful.
['Brian Dickens Barrabee']
['Performing Arts', 'Kids', 'Family', 'Humor', 'Making Money']