The Last Holiday Concert (8 page)

But he didn't walk away from the question. Instead Mr. Meinert did what he'd learned to do all his life: He told the truth.

He nodded slightly. “Yes, that's true, Hart. I would have been happy to take charge of the chorus again.”

Hart said, “Really?” Then, thinking fast, he said, “That's … that's
great!
I am
so
glad to hear you say that! Because I
think
we could put on some kind of a concert—just the kids, I mean—but I don't really know much about music. None of us does, not like you. So … so
if we get in trouble, like with the music, will you help us? I mean, can I count on you?”

Mr. Meinert remembered what he'd seen during chorus earlier today, remembered Hart's talk with Ross. And he thought,
Hart Evans is recruiting me! He's inviting me to be on his team, just like he did with Ross!
The music teacher stood there with his mouth open, amazed at the nerve of this kid.

Still, it felt like an honest invitation, so he gave Hart an honest answer. “Yes,” Mr. Meinert said. “Yes, you can. You can count on me.”

Hart smiled and stuck out his hand, and after a half second's hesitation, Mr. Meinert shook it, surprised by the strength he felt there, the energy and the sincerity.

“Great!” said Hart. “Well … I've got to go back to detention. So … see you Monday.”

Mr. Meinert nodded, turned, and walked out the door, heading toward his car.

As he pulled in a deep breath of cold November air, he had to smile. And just as it had earlier, one word jumped into his mind:
Brilliant!

T
he chorus room was not the only part of Palmer Intermediate School that was buzzing with fresh activity. Hart had been elected sixth grade chorus director at approximately 1:30 on Thursday, November 18. At 3:30 that same afternoon Mr. Richards had gotten a phone call.

“Mr. Richards?”

“Yes?”

“This is Melanie Baker. I'm Karen Baker's mom, and she's in the chorus this year. Well, today after school Karen told me that a boy named … is it Hart? Or maybe it's Bart … well, anyway, some sixth grade boy is the director of the chorus now. And she said that the music teacher just lets the kids go wild. Have you heard anything about this?”

He had not heard, but Mr. Richards didn't say that. He said, “Mr. Meinert is the chorus director, and he's an exceptional teacher. I
know the chorus is working hard to prepare for the holiday concert these days, and if Mr. Meinert has asked the students to take part in planning the concert, then the room might be a little more active than usual. Is your daughter upset about this?”

Mrs. Baker laughed. “Who, Karen? She'd die if she knew I was calling you. She loves how crazy it is, and she told me that tomorrow she's taking her CD player and some little speakers so she and her friend can practice dancing. It's me,
I'm
the one who's worried. It just sounds a little out of control.”

The principal assured Mrs. Baker that no part of the intermediate school was out of control at any time, and that he would keep a close eye on the progress of the chorus.

The second phone call was waiting on hold before Mrs. Baker had said good-bye.

“Hi, Mr. Richards, it's Maureen Kendall. If we can, I'd like to request a schedule change for my son, Thomas. He'd like to switch to a study hall after lunch, maybe in the library? Right now he has chorus during that period, but from what he's told me about that class, I
think he'd do better if he could have a quiet study time instead.”

The principal explained that midyear schedule changes were not possible, and then he assured Mrs. Kendall that chorus was the right place for Thomas, and that any confusion in that room was only a temporary condition.

By the time he left for the day, the principal had spoken with two other parents about the situation in the sixth grade chorus.

Mr. Richards was not a naturally nosy person. But he was responsible for the quality of learning and the daily safety of every student, and if there was a problem in the chorus room, or in any room, he needed to know about it. So he decided that the next day he would do a little snooping.

Friday after lunch, instead of heading straight back to the office from the cafeteria, Mr. Richards walked outside across the playground, back inside through the gym door, down the hallway past the media center, into the auditorium, across the stage, and out the door on the other side. He was headed toward the chorus room.

He heard the class the second he turned the corner into the long hallway, and the noise increased with each step he took. And when the principal peeked through the window of the closed door, it didn't look good. Kids were sitting around on the floor, chairs and tables were pulled into disorganized groups all over the place, the noise was far above any acceptable level, and one boy was running around the room acting like he was playing a guitar. And in the midst of this mess, there was Mr. Meinert, sitting calmly at his desk, reading. This was not right, not at all.

Mr. Richards put a hand on the doorknob, but then his eye happened to stop on Hart Evans. The boy was half hidden, squatting next to some girls who were sitting on the floor. Hart nodded as one girl talked, and he looked from face to face as the others commented, and he took careful notes on a clipboard.

Then Hart stood up, walked to a group of three boys who were arguing, listened for a minute, and then said something. The boys listened, nodded, Hart made a few notes, and then he moved on.

Mr. Richards knew what he was watching. He'd been involved with work like this most of his professional life. This was committee work. And Hart Evans was clearly the chairperson. Yes, it was noisy, and somebody should be sitting on that boy who was dancing around the room. But the situation wasn't dangerous, and it was not out of control. He'd have to keep an eye on things, but that was all in a day's work.

As Mr. Richards walked slowly back to his office, he congratulated himself on being so broad-minded and flexible.
Who's afraid of a little messiness? Not me. Education is all about experimentation. That's what makes this job exciting
.

But in the back of the principal's mind, another thought was whispering as well.
That Meinert—he
is
creative, but he can be pretty emotional. I sure hope he knows what he's doing
.

A
fter his surprise election—and after he had recruited Mr. Meinert to his team—Hart's first seven class periods as director had been exhilarating. It wasn't the sixth grade chorus anymore. It was The Chorus According to Hart. No endless rehearsing. No unreasonable demands. And during those first seven classes, no singing. Chorus had become cool, and the holiday concert was going to prove it. The concert was going to be amazing, fantastic, wonderful—even fun.

Hart urged everybody to think big, think free, think bold. He urged everyone to break out of the mold.
This
holiday concert was going to be one of a kind, once in a lifetime, one for the ages. Hart told the kids they could do it, and they believed him. He was the fearless captain, steering their ship into uncharted waters. The skies were blue, the winds were fair, and the gentle waves rolled on toward the
cheerful horizon. It was smooth sailing. Under Hart's command, ideas welled up like a rising tide, and each one was welcomed aboard.

Hart smiled and nodded as Jim Barker explained his exciting plan to rearrange the whole auditorium. Jim had diagrams he'd made on his computer. There would be three runways out to a stage in the very center of the room, and the chorus would be surrounded by the audience, and there would be lights shining in from everywhere, just like on that talent show on TV Jim had found only one problem so far: Every seat in the auditorium was bolted to the concrete floor. Hart told Jim to keep thinking.

Hart smiled and nodded as Lisa Morton explained how she wanted to fly around the stage on wires like Peter Pan, except dressed up like an angel, or maybe one of Santa's elves, or maybe a snowflake with arms and legs. Hart helped Lisa do some quick Internet research, which showed that the arrangements for that kind of flying would cost about twelve thousand dollars—not including the cost of special insurance in case of injury or death. Lisa said
she'd talk to her dad about the money.

Hart smiled and nodded as Olivia Lambert and Shannon Roda described their dance routine. They were two of the prettiest girls in sixth grade, and they were in ballet class together, and they wanted to do the dance of the Marzipan Shepherdesses from
The Nutcracker
. They already had their costumes, and if the sixth grade orchestra couldn't learn the music in time, they had a CD and a really big boom box. And Shannon's mom had volunteered to start and stop the music at the right places. It sounded like a lot of messing around, but Hart liked the way Shannon kept smiling at him, so he smiled back and kept on nodding.

Every day kids came to him with new ideas, all of them interesting, all of them creative. Kids were even calling him at home to ask for his opinion. Jasmine Royce had prepared a gymnastic routine to the music of “Winter Wonderland.” Three guys wanted to come out in costumes and perform “The Chipmunk Song.” Five girls wanted to dress up like a boy band and do a hip-hop version of “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.” And Captain Hart
Evans smiled and nodded and took careful notes in the ship's log, and he promised to give every idea his careful consideration.

Hart was glad to have Colleen on board as second in command. She was a practical, no-nonsense person, and she and her staging committee had gotten right to work. They'd come up with good ideas for decorations, simple and doable. There were going to be stars and streamers everywhere—gold and silver, blue and white, red and green, hundreds and hundreds of them—hanging on the curtains, suspended from the ceiling, filling every doorway, covering the walls. The committee had sketches and plans, lists of materials, and a schedule for making everything—it all looked fantastic.

Allison Kim was on Colleen's committee, and she had been watching a show on TV about a French circus,
Cirque du Soleil
. She loved their costumes, so that got her thinking. Some of Allison's plans were pretty strange, and some of her costumes would have been impossible to make. But Colleen and the committee loved one idea: Everyone in the chorus
was going to wear a special hat, this headgear with a long piece of coat-hanger wire sticking up from behind and looping out in front. A glittery star on a string would hang from the end of every wire. Then, as the chorus walked in, all the boys and girls would be following their own stars.

And Allison and the staging committee even came up with a special name for the concert. They wanted to call it “Winterhope.”

Hart watched as Ross and two assistants spent those early days at sea carefully writing the names of holiday songs on the wide chalkboards at the front of the room. The list went on and on. Ross had made three big signs—
PLEASE SAVE
!—so the custodians wouldn't wash away their work at night.

The list of songs included old favorites like “Jingle Bells” and “White Christmas” and “Here Comes Santa Claus.” There were Hanukkah songs like “I Have a Little Dreidel” and “Shalom, Children!” There were pop tunes like “Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree” and “Feliz Navidad,” and traditional carols like “Silent Night” and “The First Noel.”
And Heather Park and Jeanie Rhee had written some Korean words on the board. They wanted to sing a duet—a Korean Christmas carol.

After the third day Hart had said, “Hey, Ross—your list is getting pretty long.”

Ross grinned proudly. “Yeah, isn't it great? Over eighty songs, and we're nowhere near done!”

Hart wanted to remind Ross that there would only be time for six, seven, maybe eight songs during the whole concert. But part of being a good captain is knowing what to say to the crew. So Hart gave Ross a slap on the shoulder and said, “Great job—
great
job!”

Hart smiled and nodded at Tim Miller as he started to pull his act together. Tim spent a lot of his time trying to figure out whether or not Elvis would wear a beard if he dressed up like Santa—some days it was yes, some days it was no.

Hart smiled and nodded at Mr. Meinert, too—whenever he happened to notice him. Most of the time Hart was too busy. But Mr. Meinert didn't feel left out now. He could see
that Hart enjoyed being in charge, and he was fine with that. For now, Mr. Meinert was perfectly content to observe.

He watched as Captain Hart Evans set sail, watched as the voyage began. And just like Hart, Mr. Meinert enjoyed those first days at sea. He felt like an invisible stowaway. Whether Mr. Meinert sat at his desk or walked around the room, the kids usually ignored him. They didn't seem to care if he was listening or not. He got to see and hear everything, and he loved all the energy and enthusiasm. The room was never settled, but it was never completely crazy either.

These were new waters for him, too, and Mr. Meinert was paying attention. He was learning. And he felt like he was seeing real kids for the first time since he'd become a music teacher.

The memories of his first days as a student teacher were still fresh in his mind. He'd been thrown into a room with a huge gang of seventh graders. He had been a little too friendly, a little too timid, and the kids sensed that. They had refused to obey him. They went wild, and after
fifteen minutes of chaos—fifteen minutes that had felt like ten hours—the regular music teacher had to rush back into the room and restore order. Mr. Meinert had been afraid of losing control of his classroom ever since.

That's why his classes had always been so carefully structured—especially the chorus. It was such a large group. Mr. Meinert had always planned every second of every class. He had directed all the activities, and he moved the kids from one task to the next with no breaks, no down time, no slack. He was able to accomplish a lot, but more importantly, he always had complete control.