Leave It to the Girls

With the girls from Hillhouse High School so nearby, you'd hardly expect that a mere musical comedy--even if it did have a 24-girl chorus line, and even if the girls' average age was 17 1/2--would catch the well-satisfied fancy of students from Yale University. It did, though. A group of them were waiting in the alley by the stage door, hoping that someone would open the door from the inside so that they could sneak in. Down in the dressing room area there was another cluster of Yalies--ones who had penetrated the first obstacle and were now repeating the waiting process in front of the chorus girls' dressing room area there was another cluster of Yalies--ones who had penetrated the first obstacle and were now repeating the waiting process in front of the chorus girls' dressing room. Periodically the door would open and a couple of slacks-clad girls would come out. The Yalies quickly looked up, but somehow these girls seemed different from the ones that had looked so good from the second balcony. Before the boys had recovered from their shock, the girls had disappeared. The Yalies looked down again and kept waiting.

Up on the empty stage, four college newspaper reporters form Boston were talking with the manager of the theatre. You could tell they were reporters because they had their clipboards out and their pencils poised. You could tell he was manager of the theatre because he was praising the play.

The reporters had mentioned that they were form Boston and might use a picture or story about the play in their newspaper. The theatre manager there upon offered to show them around backstage, introduce them to the actors, and answer any questions they had. It happened that the show was moving to Boston the next week.

"I understand that the Yale newspaper gave your play a pretty bad review," ventured one of the Bostonians.

The theatre manger hesitated. "Well," he said, "I'll tell you. The show's got no plot. It's no Rodgers and Hammerstein deal, with fancy dream sequences and integrated songs. But it's got girls. It's full of girls. I don't think I've ever seen so many girls in one chorus line before. It's no piece of art, but it's a businessman's night out. They don't mind paying the price because they're seeing talent. Real talent."

The pencils flew along the clipboards.

"Does the Yale Daily review all you plays?" asked another of the reporters.

"Yes, they do--but not on press passes. They pay for their own tickets now."

"Now?"

"Well, they used to get free passes, but a couple of years ago they had a smart alce critic who didn't realize that this is only a try-out theatre. So..."

The reporters said they understood.

The theatre manager was standing in the middle of the bare stage; suddenly he pointed to something under the arm of one of the reporters. "Is that a camera?" he asked in a frightened voice. The reporter was startled. He brought up his arm and showed his clipboard. The manager signed with relief. "I'm sorry, but the way you were holding it, it looked like a camera. And the stage hands don't allow any cameras backstage. If they caught you with one here I could lost my job."

The reporter apologized for causing the manager to think that he was holding a camera. The manager apologized too for thinking that the reporter had a camera under his arm and he quickly asked if there was anything close he could do for the boys. He reminded them again that the show would be in Hoston next week.

The offending reporter, holding his clipboard behind his back, said no, thank you, but they had to leave. The theatre manager invited the reporters to a bar across the street so that he could buy them drinks. The five of them went over and ordered scotch and sodas, but the bartender refused to serve the reporters and they had to leave after all.