Wethersfield High School - Elm Yearbook (Wethersfield, CT)

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If Il' if ll- Sl- if Perhaps, at a much earlier date, the neighborhood surrounding The Little Theater reflected more of the serenity and characteristic dignity of the building itself. True, one cannot say of it even now that, ma- terially, it is possessed of any more architectural grace than the wholesale business house which props it on one side, or that it ever boasted so much majesty as the newly-painted garage which towers six stories above the loftiest of its miniature pinnacles. Being amazingly small, it is wedged comfortably between the two business houses. Its utter innocence of even one last, reluctant clinging scale of paint renders it inconspicuous almost to the point of invisibility. But for the modest label The Little Theater, printed in broad, squat letters above the entrance, the most heedful of strangers would suppose it to be an abandoned shop. Whereas its patrons of another generation would have been reluctant to leave the quaint beauty which the gnarled cherry trees afforded the avenue, had they not known that greater beauty awaited them inside the theater in the perfect rendition of the masterpieces, the gentle-women of the present day draw their skirts away from the gaping little urchins, and quicken their steps, the sooner to leave the unsightly street. Among those who rarely miss a presentation at The Little Theater are two who attend each carefully selected play, sometimes seeing the, same piece more than once, two who enter always hand in hand, two with their souls in their eyes-adoring each other with every shy glance, the two whom I have learned to love, and for whom I have instinctively assumed guardianship: a tall youth and a lovely maiden with a face like the Madonna, those two whom God delivered in trust to me! When first I saw the youth enter alone, I experienced a slight shock such as I might have felt if I had seen the moon in a clear sky that had been divested of its stars. And when the girl, unescorted, took a seat far removed from her customary one-and sat through the entire play alone-I unconsciously breathed a silent prayer that all should be well, just as I might for the moon, in a clear sky that had been divested of its stars. ,Mfg And when, some time later, the youth failed to come the evening of Thursday, on which night he had faithfully appeared for nearly three consecutive years, and requested that his seat be reserved for Fridays, please, I consoled myself, saying-even as I discovered the sadness in the pale face of the girl- Prayers cannot be answered immediately because God is concerned with all the people of the world. But -many weeks passed, and the unhappiness of the two young people made my heart heavy. Often I was unable to sleep because the restless, brooding eyes of the youth and the patient sadness of the girl's face haunted me-and ravaged my peace of mind. Then, one day in New York, I discovered a curious little drama which impressed me oddly. I read and re-read it, wondering why this work of an author hitherto unknown to me should thus possess my

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llliitrtrag Eeytxrt i ni 99 ea i X I 4 If if .ax J nrz49f, l g g , Q J Q'...-4V 'A .i THE UGLY LITTLE THEATER I am a man. If I were not-that is, if I were a woman-I probably would be sufficiently cunning to conceal the fact that I was quite con- tented with myself. I am not admitting that woman is not vain, she is, but she is also intuitive, she knows that when one wears a mauve frock one can artfully pluck a mauve lilac to arrange carelessly in one's hair as if one never imagined the ensemble was perfect Qespecially if one,s hair held elusive purple shadows in its plaitsj. D I am a man of spirit, or I would not take upon me as an immediate duty the one of patiently explaining why I am pleased with myself. And since the powers of deduction are undoubtedly the simplest means of saving me from the brand of conceit, I shall use them to place step by step, yet with respect for the reader's intelligence, those facts which prove I am without even a shade of personal vanity. I have no physical beauty: my hair, being a pleasant shade of tan or pale brown, does not harmonize with my eyes which are a pleasant shade of grey--sometimes changing to a muddy color, often called hazel. Neither am I tall and masterful, nor do I possess any of those subtle gifts that Heaven or Satan bestows on many comely male-beings. My secret of contentment is love-of Life and my little theater. These two are synonymous to me, for my theater is my life. Please, I am not garrulous. I merely wish to describe to you a bit of Life that God entrusted to me, seeming to say, This I give thee to mould. It is thine to make of it what you will. If only I could have heard the winds whisper His will, or could have seen His beautiful command in the subtlety of the mists! But there was no definite gesture-no material plan given meg I simply sensed my duty. But not alone. No, for never have I been more humble than when the first great realization came to me that God had chosen me as his servant but only because The Little Theater was mine! And when I saw the supernal wonder of the task set before me, I was awed, and afraid of my clumsiness. And so He gave into my hands an atom of the Kingdom, and the power. I shall tell about my reward, which was the Glory.

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whole attention. And very suddenly it was revealed to my puzzling mind that in this I had the possible means of bringing together again my two estranged lovers. For there was a certain part in it which would, I felt sure, break the barriers that held them apart. Is it necessary to explain with what lavishness I prepared this interesting little play which I could not believe would fail to bring about a reconciliation between my beloved two? And was it not wise to have advertised more extensively than usual, assuring myself of the attendance of all my patrons? I took into confidence the ticket-agent, and together we lied to the girl that we had sold all seats for Thursdayis performance earlier in the week, but that we had a very desirable one for Friday. Our dexterity was rewarded, too, for both the girl and the youth now held tickets for Friday's performance. And approximately half an hour before the entrance of Jaques Daguerren fwho, for my purpose, was the principal character of the dramaj, one of the players came to me and announced in a trembling voice that Monsieur who had the Part of Jaques Daguerren was quite ill, that, in fact, he was dead, it was his understudy who was ill, Peculiarly, as she explained, they had been victims of an accident, her tears reminded me of the soft patter of summer rain. Gently, she said it, as if my real happiness did not depend wholly on the success of the play. But the rest of her sobs were superfluous, for I did not hear them: I was thinking very fast. I glanced down at myself, observing the bulge at the knees of my trousers, the knots in my shoe-strings, while I passed my hand through my rough hair. I could never make a romantic Jaques Daguerren. But this was only one drawback which seem stifled by other advantages which were in favor of my taking the role upon myself. I knew every movement of the play-every expression, and even every intonationg and I had the supreme desire to see the two lovers reunited in happiness. The deliverance must be a perfectly rounded whole. Because this one ambition had embedded itself in my soul--had become a living part of my being-I mustered all my courage and de- termined not to see it thwarted. So I delivered the words of Jaques Daguerren smoothly, and easily, because my heart was stilled in a terrible calm-that of expectation. And I saw, from the stage, a tall youth hurrying to the side of a maiden whose face was like a Madonna'sg saw their hands clasp, and saw the beautiful understanding which overspread their features. I knew the Glory! --Doris Stryker, '27.