Don’t Yell “Fire” in a Crowded Theater

Saturday night was our school’s last performance of The Wizard of Oz.  For me, the production fell into that Type-2 fun category.  I’m not the most organized person, and my role as leader of the tech crew really called for someone with some organizational skills.  I don’t possess them. It also calls for someone with tech savvy. I don’t really possess that either. As a result, I stress about the details I’ll likely miss and the time I’ve likely squandered.  I spend a significant amount of time each year relearning the ins and outs of the equipment that I never use for the other nine months of the year.   It’s fun.

But the real Type 2 moment came last week on Tuesday, when we staged the Understudy Show.  This year 160 kids signed up to participate in the musical.  Finding roles for all 160 kids proved challenging.  Many wanted to be on stage and in the spotlight, but a surprisingly large number of kids requested roles behind the scenes, either as stage or technical crews.  The Understudy Show, was the big moment for a lot of kids, both on stage and in the background.  We invited parents to attend, but warned them that it would be a very rough rehearsal, as it was still two days before our first performance. We also warned them that it might run late. 

We scheduled it for 5:00, so that more parents could make it, and we ran a regular rehearsal beforehand.  Around 5:00, the understudies were all in their costumes and getting mic’d.  The tech crew readied the sound system, which involved using microphones and headsets that we had just received the day before.  Another crew member fiddled with a new computer program to display projections that we had just purchased.  The spotlight operators flipped through their scripts figuring out who would cover which entrance or which solo.  The stage crew scrambled to move some of the recently completed set pieces that had just arrived on stage.  I would characterize the atmosphere as frenetic, maybe a bit chaotic.  Parent volunteers manned the costume rooms.  Others distributed props, while still others assisted with special effects hardware and kid wrangling.  The parents of the understudies filed in and took seats in the auditorium, no doubt wondering if a show could really begin in the near future.

That’s when the fire alarm went off.

Really.

Did I mention that it was pouring rain?  Oh, I forgot to mention that?  Well, yes, cats and dogs, as well as lions and tigers and bears fell from the sky.  Oh my.

Compared to the chaos that had preceded this moment, the next two minutes actually featured some order.  The cast and crew and parent volunteers and audience members all dutifully filed out of the building into the pouring rain.  I had on a headset, a rented headset, a high quality and expensive headset.  I must have looked very silly as I first whipped it off my head, fearing it would get wet and die, and then replaced it fearing that if I weren’t wearing it, and I somehow needed to communicate with another adult in, for example, an emergency situation, I might really regret leaving it in the burning building.  I took it off and put it back on twice, before deciding that this could actually be an emergency, and I’d better keep it with me.  

As we stood in front of the building, umbrellas popped up, and kids and adults huddled in small groups.  Makeup streaked down cheeks.  Hairdos wilted.  Shoes squished. Costumes drank up the rain..  I tried to quiet groups of kids.  Who was I kidding?  This was 160 kids and at least 70 adults.  Our producer had a list of the rehearsal attendees and immediately started counting children.  Other adults tried to keep the kids from changing positions.  I saw one man standing off to the side with a very large umbrella.  I asked him if he might head toward the flagpole, where a group of tech crew kids stood in t-shirts with no protection from the elements.  

“Actually, I’m looking for my son.  I don’t see him.”

“What’s his name?” I asked. 

“Jonathan.”  

“Oh, I know him.  I’ll help you look for him.”  I spent the next frantic minutes running up and down the sidewalk scanning the costumed, hooded, and umbrella’d crowd in search of Jonathan.  I couldn’t find him.

Around that time we heard the sirens as the fire engines rounded the bend in the road and sped toward our parking lot.  I finally found our producer and told her I couldn’t find Jonathan.  

“Oh, he’s on the other side of the building with Amy and some parents.”

I hadn’t realized that this huge crowd of people in the front of the building wasn’t even our whole group.  I ran to Jonathan’s dad and let him know about the group in the rear.  

As I continued to pace up and down the line, shielding my headset from the rain, while the rest of me had turned to a soggy mass of clothing, I took in the questions from every kid. 

“Are we still going to do the show?”

“Why are the fire engines here?”

“Did someone pull the alarm?”

“Is this a drill?”

I loved that one.  In their defense, I don’t think the kids who asked that last question really meant drill.  I don’t think they really believed that some sadistic adult thought that 5:00 in the pouring rain with 160 costumed, mic’d, made-up and hyped-up kids provided the perfect opportunity to practice fire safety procedures.  I think they really meant, “Is this a real fire?”

I tried to answer patiently, but I think I mentioned earlier that I was a bit stressed to begin with.  Now, imagining ruined costumes, ruined electronics, soggy humans, and an extended stay in the rain while firefighters inspected the building, it was hard to remain calm.  I decided that stepping off to the side might be a good strategy. 

As I stood at a distance, I surveyed the scene.  Our line of kids and adults stretched at least fifty yards along the road in front of our school. Most stood on the sidewalk in some semblance of a line.  Adults tried to keep kids sheltered.  Some kids laughed and joked.  A few others cried.  I wasn’t sure if it was out of fear for their safety, disappointment about a missed performance, or concern for their soggy costume.  

Sooner than I had feared, the firefighters emerged from the front door and gave the all-clear.  We all filed into the building and gathered in the auditorium to regroup.

When everyone had found a seat, our director said, “Well, I guess we’ll never forget this rehearsal.  Maybe someday we’ll all laugh about it, but today, we’re going to try to do our Understudy Performance.  This means a lot to those people who spent hours at rehearsals and hours learning lines.  Let’s try to make the best of this crazy day.”

Miraculously, the kids rallied, refocused, and ran the whole show.  Maybe it was sloppy at times, but they pulled it off.  Type 2 fun, to be sure. 

Postscript:  The firefighters said the alarm went off not because of a fire, but because of water leaking into an area that caused a sensor to falsely detect a drop in sprinkler pressure.  

Or something like that.

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