We Three Kings. My Singing Debut

A promising career started and . . . ended.

My son Chris gave me an early present, “Sonny Boy” by Al Pacino. As I became absorbed by Pacino’s remarkable story, I was taken by the fact that early in his life, Pacino, once smitten by the stage, knew he wanted to be an actor. The power of expression became his, and thus a career was born. He enrolled in The High School of Performing Arts.

And so it reminded me of my acting debut. Though it had a hint of excitement, it did not lead me to an acting career or any school other than the mundane one that we all attended. I don’t recall any actor wannabees in my classes.

The performing arts, save for a brief stint as a drummer, started (and ended) for me at The Academy Avenue Elementary School.

Academy Avenue School Friends. I’m on the right.

I walked to school three times a day, past the governor’s, teacher’s, and singer’s homes, the bakery, the flower shop, the funeral parlor, and the variety store. Hidden from the street, the Academy Avenue School was bunkered by a high, dark, cranberry-colored stone wall.

Atop the wall was a black wrought iron fence. Homes bordered one side while the other side reached along the Cambridge Street hill. The rear of the school, deep in a well and bordered by the same wall and fence, was one of the top three neighborhood stickball arenas.

The front yard was a tarred, open area where we waited in line for the bell at the start of school, upon return from lunch, after recess, or a fire drill. During recess, I traded or pitched cards to the wall alongside the outdoor staircase; a ‘stander’ requiring the throw of three more cards to knock it down. I pitched pennies. I played tag, touch football and dodgeball or just huddled with friends. One day, terrified and frozen, I paid Gilbert and Robert a nickel for protection.

A huge structure of two stories, Academy Avenue School had wooden stairways and creaky, uneven wooden floors. Its globes hung from the high ceilings. Next to one of the tall windows stood a stick with a hook used to open and close it.

It had an auditorium.

It was Christmas and time for our annual play; the one that readied us for the holiday season of 1951. Christmas decorations of snowflakes, dancing snowmen holding hands, and interlocking rings of red and green splashed across the classroom windows. It was the memorable year of my singing debut that started with Mrs. Dooley. I loved her.

“Edward, how would you like to be one of the three kings in the story of the Christ Child?”

“A king?”

“Yes, and you can sing the part of one of the kings.”

“Where.”

“On the stage.” My only other time on that stage was when I gave a book report in front of the entire school. I knew stage fright.

“In front of the whole school?” Uh oh, here we go again.

“Why, yes, of course.”

“No way. Really, no kiddin,’ no way. Sing? I cannot sing. I never sing.”

“Well, there’s no time like now to start.” That didn’t work.

“On the stage? In front of the whole school? All those kids, the teachers, and the principal? Miss Howard does not like me. She relieved me of my duties as a crossing guard because I dragged the Stop/Go flag on the ground.” That didn’t work either.

“Sure. It will be a great experience.” She gazed at me with her warm blue eyes.

“I’m too small. So is my voice.”

“Don’t worry. They’ll hear you.” She beamed. That didn’t work. I loved her.

Having attended catechism class, I knew the story of the kings bearing gifts and following the star, even though I could never remember or pronounce their names or their gifts. I shifted my plea. “I’m too nervous.” That didn’t work.

“Oh, forget it, Edward. You will be fine. You’ll sing the chorus with Roland and Richard and then do your solo.”

“A solo!” Oh, no. Uhhh. OK.” It was the blue eyes again.

“Good.”

I was doomed to singing purgatory where the notes fly to snickering kids; the worst place imaginable. What would my friends think? And the girls? I’m ruined.

We practiced during the day. With no audience and in the empty auditorium, I was fine. My voice sounded surprisingly good as the notes bounced from floor to ceiling to walls. The day of the show was different. The only notes I heard were my knocking knees, off-key. As I looked at my Dick Tracy watch wondering when it would be over, I noticed my hand shaking.

“You will meet in the classroom near the auditorium one hour before to put on your costumes.” Mrs. Dooley walked toward me carrying colored sheets of reds, blues and purples in one hand, and in the other, she dangled three high hats.

“Here, Edward. Put this on your head. And wrap this around your shoulders.” I placed the tall, yellow and gold cardboard hat with peaks and two gold tails that draped down my back on my head. I was a King, standing tall until I shouldered the purple robe. It was too long, and I tripped, feeling like Dopey in the Seven Dwarfs. Mrs. Dooley rolled it up to my ankles, just over my Thom McCans.

“Oh and here. Don’t forget these.” She handed me a long stick and a box wrapped in gold foil. “The stick is your king’s staff. In the box is your gift for the Baby Jesus, a golden chest filled with frankincense.” I shook the box. No sound. Frankincense must be light.

We strolled into the auditorium. I looked at the stage, higher now that every eye would be on me. I looked out the cloudy plate glass windows high above. There were curved rims of ice on each of their corners. The sky was a gray-white. “Snow is coming,” I thought. “We’ll have a white Christmas.” I wanted a Flexible Flyer, so I started to dream of the snow-covered hill near the golf course. I was startled back to reality by the clangorous vibration of the bell.

The doors blew open and a booming buzz buckled the room as the kids tromped in. With the excitement of the season building, they bumped into the rows, smashed their folding seats and plopped down with enthusiasm bordering on frenzy. The decibel count was out of sight.

The show was the last thing before Christmas break. Those students had skates, sleds and sugar plums dancing in their heads.

As Miss Howard raised her hand, the roar dipped to a rumble and then silence. Scowling teachers tapped kids on the shoulders.

“Stay here a moment,” said Mrs. Dooley. “Near the steps. I’ll let you know when to come up.” To the rear of the stage was the nativity scene where my friend Joseph, who was playing Joseph, was dressed in plain brown cloth. He had an enviable silent part. Joanie, dressed in blue, was Mary. She cradled a doll wrapped in white. She too was silent. Surrounded by kids in cow and sheep costumes, all they had to do was remain motionless and look at the Baby Jesus. Lucky them.

“OK, OK, get up there. Kings to the front. Sheep and cows to the rear.” I approached the front of the stage with the other kings, Roland and Richard, who were much bigger. A note from the piano rang and the teacher whispered. “OK, boys. Start.”

We angled toward the Baby Jesus and started to sing, Roland’s voice booming over the masses and smothering me.

A whisper. “Edward, hold up your gift.” Oh yes, the gift. I tucked the staff under my arm. It nearly fell, but with the skill of a circus acrobat, I caught it. The piano teacher raised her hand, held it a moment and then flicked her wrist. We started,

We three kings of Orient are,

Bearing gifts we traverse afar

Field and fountain,

Moor and mountain,

Following yonder star.

That was easy, but I still had my solo. Roland did his. Richard did his. Mine came too soon. The cloak shielded my knocking knees. Thank you, Cloak.

Wait. Something changed! I could not believe it. I was no longer nervous or yearning for home. My knees were doing something else under that King’s garment. They were swinging to the beat of the piano … we three kings da, da, da, da, dahhhh…! No longer, Edward, I became Melchior, confident, capable. Da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da …

I looked at the globes pouring light on the assembly. I noticed the flaking ceiling, but I wasn’t going to tell Miss Howard. “Your turn.” Mrs. Dooley, out of view, whispered from below the stage. I loved her.

Teachers stood at attention in the back of the room with their arms folded. “Sing over the crowd to the back of the auditorium.” Stretching to my toes, rising to the direction of the piano, knees swinging, feeling like a king, thinking about vacation, with a deep gasp and rumbling in my chest, I burst out … my solo …

Born a King on Bethlehem’s plain,

The notes flowed like honey from my oval-shaped mouth. I was regal, a star, floating over the crowd like an angel, err, rather a King. For the moment, I was THE King.

Gold I bring to crown Him again … da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da …

I held up a gold-colored box of Frankincense.

King forever, ceasing neh-eh-ver

My crown wobbled.

O, Over us all to reignnnnuhhh.

Another deep breath and it was over. I was frozen, content, pleased. I heard a whisper. “The gift Edward, the gift!”

Oh yeah, the gift. I turned, walked to the manger, lifted my hands, and with a slight flex, lowered the gift ever so slowly, placing it in front of the Baby Jesus. I glanced over my shoulder. Mrs. Dooley was smiling. I scanned the other side to see Miss Howard, smiling. The crowd had to love it.

We sang the chorus again.

O star of wonder, star of night,

Star with royal beauty bright.

Westward leading, still proceeding,

Guide us to thy perfect light, la--- ight …

We were done. My majestic, regal role was over.

The students sang “We Wish you a Merry Christmas.” Santa rang a bell. A war whoop sprung from the crowd.

I bolted down the stairs, ran to the dressing room, tossed the crown, gift and sheet into the pile, ran out of the room, bounded down the stairs and out to a crystal clear sky. Vacation had started. Christmas was in the air.

My acting career was over.

Guide me home, O star of wonder and light … da, da, da, da, daaaa.