1974-1975 - In many ways our sixth musical, The King and I, was our most ambitious undertaking to date. No Broadway musical is easy to produce, and each has its own special difficulties. However, The King and I seemed to have more difficulties than usual. All previous productions of TGP had dance numbers, (I am proud of the fact that TGP does not cut dances, a common way of shortening high school musicals.) but none had had a full ballet number such as “Small House of Uncle Thomas.” Costuming had always been a problem, but no previous show had required the exotic costumes and masks required by the setting of The King and I, Siam. No leading character was more familiar to audiences than The King of Siam as played by Yul Brynner. No previous shows contained scenes of such dramatic power as the return of Tuptim or the death of the king. Despite these foreseen difficulties, the staff, led in part by the arguments of Gigi Obloy, wishing as always to secure the best possible opportunities for “my dancers”, decided that The King and I was the right show for March 1975.

For the first time in our short history, all of the major staff positions were filled by the same people who had held them the year before. The only change was the addition of an assistant vocal director/rehearsal pianist, Richard Arnold, who, in keeping with our penchant for the unusual, came to us from the Science department.

The cost of producing The King and I was 2 1/2 times that of Guys and Dolls three years earlier. Among the purchases was a scrim which was used as a backdrop for “Small House of Uncle Thomas” and, which, when lighted from behind, revealed the imposing presence of a golden Buddha. Another expense for The King and I was a special makeup called Texas Dirt. This makeup, actually composed of dirt from Texas, came in cans and is the makeup of choice for creating browner skin tones. The makeup is rubbed into the skin and produces a beautiful, lustrous skin tone. Unfortunately, it also comes off on anything it touches - costumes, walls, doors and, if one does not remove it after a performance, bedding. I can still remember the conversations with irate parents and custodians. I believe there is still a supply of Texas Dirt in the makeup trunk. Beware.

The stage crew had several challenges. They built two additional triangles, thus assuring more people would be trained in the fine art of triangle dancing. The crew also built a sailing ship (or at least the deck of one) for the first scene. Moving the ship was indeed an effort. It was well constructed, and when it was taken apart it revealed the new set of screwdrivers which disappeared early in the set building process.

I believe that The King and I holds the record for the youngest cast members to be on stage under their own power. Andrea and Stephanie Zacharias were only four when they played the King’s twin daughters. Tonja Drake, another of the other very young (6?) cast members, provided me with one of my treasured memories. At a rehearsal very near opening night, during the frantic stages of last minute details, I discovered a crew member backstage drinking a soda which had been taken from the faculty room, an area very off limits to students and the subject of several warnings. I (It seems to have happened at least once a year.) went ballistic, smashed the bottle, threw my clipboard and pretty much caused a great stillness to fall over the auditorium and surrounding areas. At these moments I always felt foolish and struggled to find a way to end the situation. On this occasion I walked onto the left side stage and started down into the auditorium. It was absolutely quiet. I became aware of movement and saw Tonja approaching me. She held out her hand, smiled and said, “Here, have an oreo: You’ll feel better.” The silence continued for a moment and then laughter. Ah, the simple wisdom of children.

Another issue surrounding The King and I was the issue of hair length. Once again, the style for men in 1975 was quite long. The style for Siamese men in the 1860’s was quite short. (Think Yul Brynner!) Although it was made clear that those playing Siamese men would have to get their hair cut very short, when the time came there was some hesitancy. Dave Palmer (The Kralahome) was responsible for arranging for Mary Burns, our hairstylist for several years, to come to school one afternoon and cut everyone’s hair. On the wall to my left as I write this is a plaque with 13 labeled combs attached. An added note on hair - It was decided early on that the King’s hair would be short, but that we would not force comparisons to Yul Brynner by shaving the King’s (Richard Frinta’s) head. (The King can be played in several ways as was shown by Lou Diamond Phillips on Broadway years later.)

Many of the costumes for The King and I were rented from The Atlanta Costume Company and among them were the masks and headpieces for the Uncle Thomas ballet. Several of them were too small and therefore unusable. I remember there was some speculation that they were build for shrunken heads, Those that were usable were beautiful.

The serious acting necessary for a successful production of The King and I was achieved through long rehearsals. Particularly difficult was the transition from joy (“Shall We Dance”) to anger when Tuptim is returned and Anna tries to prevent the King from whipping the slave. Part of the method used to create anger in the King involved building real frustration in the actor as he tried to remove the top of his costume prior to the whipping. When the scene finally came together, it was wonderful to watch and the stillness of the audience was palpable. Another difficult scene was the death of the King. It is necessary for the audience to know that the King is dead before some of the characters onstage know it. This had to be done very subtly, and it took long rehearsals to refine the scene so that it, too, was spellbinding.

The program for The King and I was 24 pages.

The cast numbered 61.

The orchestra numbered 31, two of which were adults. A harp was used for the first time.

Ticket prices were $2 for Thursday and $2.50 for Friday, Saturday and Sunday.

Eileen Cantwell (Anna) entered SUNY Albany as a theatre major the next year. She returned to TGP years later to serve as makeup director. Her daughter, Caitlin Bopp, performed with TGP during her years at GHS.

The King and I proved to be another success for TGP, and it expanded our scope from comic musicals to serious musicals. As is always the case, the closing of the musical causes many wishing for more theatre opportunities. In 1975, the staff of TGP decided to offer a summer theatre program. We decided to produce a play for a young audience and selected a dramatization of The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe by C. S. Lewis. The play was part of the summer school program and rehearsals were held in the late afternoon and early evening.

Many of the staff members from the musical signed on including Ted and Ellie Vickery, Frank Pidgeon, Michael Cusick, Liz Barhydt and Jennifer Arony (student directors), and me. The cast totaled 23. The sets for the production were quite elaborate with at least one side stage being used. Costuming was also unusual due to the nature of the characters in the play which included Santa Claus, Mr. and Mrs. Beaver, a fairy tale dwarf, a wolf and an odd, goatlike creature named Mr. Tumnus, played, of course, by the master of male roles, Leslie LaGuardia. I have two humorous memories of The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe. Several of the characters had to wear masks, and at least one of them, the wolf (played by Dan Burger) had problems seeing through the elaborate, rented headpieces. Dan’s problem was that on his exits he frequently ran into either a set piece or the brick column separating the main stage from the side stage. He complained about his lack of vision several times, and Ellie Vickery, faced with numerous costume and makeup problems and always the diplomat, responded with, “Don’t worry; You’ll get used to it.” Apparently he did, although no one knew whether he was supposed to get used to not seeing, walking into walls, or the resulting headache.

The other incident occurred at what was to be the opening performance at 2 pm on Aug. 5, 1975. Just before the curtain was to go up, the power line leading to the school was severed and the power went out. The audience, children and their parents, quieted down, expecting the play to begin. The auditorium was warm. The staff was running around trying to find out what had happened. An announcement was made that there would be a delay. The audience grew restless. When it was determined that the power would not soon be restored, we decided to make an announcement that the play for that day was canceled and that tickets ($.75) could be used at future shows or turned in for a refund. Wanting the audience to return, it was decided to have the cast assemble in the hall outside the auditorium so the children could see the wonderful characters from the play as they left., thus creating the desire to return. The audience emerged from the dark auditorium, and as their eyes adjusted, the younger children saw a collection of creatures which scared many of them into loud crying and howling. Even Santa (Dave Canavan) was the cause of fright. So much for our attempt at turning disaster into a public relations coup. Despite the trials and tribulations, the performances were successful, and we made the decision to carry on with a summer theatre program at a somewhat less elaborate level.