In 1972, I lived in Brunswick, Maine, with a one-year-old son. My husband was deployed to Rota, Spain. At that time, a 20-minute call within the U.S. cost about $10, and I lived 500 miles from the nearest relative. Fortunately, I had a friendly and vivacious teenager named Pierette, who lived next door. She was a lifesaver to me, who visited most days.
Pierette discovered that a group was practicing at Bowdoin College for a play. We devised a plan. A friend of Pierette’s agreed to babysit while the baby napped so we could attempt to crash the rehearsal.
I decided to sweeten the deal. I used a cookie recipe on the Dunkin Hines Cake Mix box that made dozens of cookies. I packed them in a Tupperware container to be transferred to a heavy-duty paper plate. Drinks were not an issue in the 70s; it was the day of water fountains and personal thermoses. We slipped the plate of cookies onto the front edge of the stage with a note. It worked! Though we never connected personally with actors, we were greeted with smiles and nods. When we left, the plate was always empty.
The play was a musical called “1776.” It took place in the summer in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. The Second Continental Congress was meeting secretly to find common ground for the cause of independence from Britain. Naturally, the actors were almost exclusively men. The robust singing was exhilarating, and the tenors thrilled my Irish heart.
The dialogue and music were informative and sprinkled with humor. In contrast, letters from George Washington were regular reminders of the desperate situation of the men at war.
After several visits, they announced the dress rehearsal, and we were ecstatic. We weren’t certain we would be allowed in, but we knew cookies wouldn’t be appropriate. It was exciting to see the actors in their wigs and costumes. The stagehands were arranging the props, and the first backdrop was already on display.
The orchestra was tuning up as we slipped into our usual seats. Suddenly, the spotlight turned on somewhere behind us. It was a humid summer day, and we both had curly hair. On the stage, two enormous heads appeared, with every unmanageable hair on our heads magnified in the light like something from a sci-fi movie. We quickly scooted down in our seats, slid to the floor, and crawled out of the row. One glance at the spotlight operator confirmed we were not invited.
We kept our giggles for the ride home.
