I enrolled in the choir class all 3 years I was there. It was quite a jolt for me surrounded by all those other voices, male and female, sight reading for voice for the first time in my life in yet another alien clef (this time, bass), singing from a repertoire that spanned everything from light Christmas carols to centuries old Gregorian chants. Mr. Carey, our instructor, was one of a kind. I can see him now as he moved with wild hand and face gestures, conducting us during rehearsals and performances — thin, wiry, and explosive, beaming a wide, manic grin under a deceptively conservative flat top haircut. Away from the baton, he was soft-spoken and thoughtful; conducting us, he was a madman on a mission.

Several times Mr. Carey tried to recruit me into the Madrigals, a tight group of paired boys and girls singing a capella as a group for school sponsored concerts and tours; and each time I turned him down because I disdained the required haircut and cardinal blazer. He respected my decision, but I knew he was disappointed. He told me once I had a “nice” natural singing voice, and he said this would cause me problems later on if I ever

decided to pursue a career in singing. He was right.

Many of the same people who choired with me were also the same people I saw in drama class. All the really good memories of my remaining high school years took place primarily backstage, behind tall, enormous curtains that divided the stage area — where all the school plays and musicals were rehearsed and produced — from the main cafeteria, either crowded and noisy during meals, or abandoned and silent during our classes. Off to the side was an area that was used as a classroom for the drama class, and alongside that was the “Prop Room,” which would be the scene of so much fun and mischief later on.

Predictably, I was always making the moves on this or that teenage girl, but those moves got me only so far. This was not Chicago, Cleveland or Greenwich Village; and while one or two might return my kisses, I rarely went any further. I had a steady girlfriend or two, and no long-term male friends until my senior year. Much of what happened, and who I shared those moments with, is a blur to me now, and so I narrow my recollection to those classmates whose influence changed my life well into adulthood.