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FOOTNOTES
* Many people have a secret desire to
try their hand at the performing arts.
This desire was satisfied by four Cleveland
Office luminaries who made their
professional debut as supernumeraries
in the Metropolitan Opera's travelling
production of Verdi's "Aida" on May l,
1965, before 7,000 cheering opera
lovers in Cleveland's Public Auditorium.
Our correspondents, Bill Miller and
Frank Otto, reported as follows.
Two hours before curtain time Peter
Dye, Otto, Pete Ruma and Miller (in
photo, left to right) were assigned roles
that matched costumes with physiques.
Three passed the rigid army physical
and were inducted into the Egyptian
infantry. One flunked the physical (costume
too small), but ideally filled the
flowing sarong of an Ethiopian prisoner.
With bright costumes, flashing weapons
and gobs of tip-to-toe make-up, eveiy
vestige of the reasonably intelligent,
conservative CPA completely disappeared.
Rehearsal was a brief interlude of
organized mayhem among the ropes,
pulleys, props and stretching ballet
dancers that dominated the stage between
the acts. Unfortunately eye
glasses were forbidden to Pharoah's
subjects, so some of the supers had to
learn their parts by touch more than
by sight. One colleague reported that
you can get into an awful lot of trouble
by touching a pirouetting ballet dancer.
The big moment was cued by brazen
trumpets heralding the triumphant
strains of the Grand March; soldiers,
prisoners, slaves, and dancing girls paraded
past center stage. Cleveland's
own demonstrated their typical ingenuity
by securing positions front-and-center,
close to the principal singers
and in full view of the audience. The
temptation to join in the singing was
almost irresistible but not a note escaped
their lips—an instruction of the
stage manager that did much to insure
the quality of the performance.
Twenty minutes of spectacular acting,
one curtain call to a standing ovation,
and the job was done.
After scrubbing off make-up and donning
street clothes the supers were allowed
to roam back stage and watch
the remainder of the opera from vantage
points in the wings or from amid the
scenery. The established fee of $1.00
per man (net of taxes) was paid promptly
upon turning in the costume.
Fame was short lived. Some envious
non-performer inscribed beneath the
photograph on the office bulletin board:
"What four guys won't do for a buck."
* A sign over the door of a much-used
room at Cal Tech's Jet Propulsion Laboratory
says "Decision Revision Division."
* As the late spring twilight settled over
• /
Wall Street one evening last May, the
excursion boat Alexander Hamilton gave
three blasts on the whistle and slipped
away from Pier 81 Hudson River for a
moonlight sail. On board were more
than 600 New York Office people and
their guests, eager for the start of the
1965 Boat Ride. Frank Ascher has provided
the following report of the voyage.
Two hours before sailing, an advance
boarding party had inspected the boat
and provisions to be sure that all our
food, beverages and ice had come
aboard. Name tags which had been
printed a week before were spread alphabetically
over two huge tables
awaiting the stampede: it seems that
the majority of people always manage
to arrive at the same time.
Some didn't, however. Sad to report,
one of our newer assistant accountants
and his wife were caught in a traffic
jam. They spent one hour behind a
stalled truck on 36th Street and arrived
ten minutes after the boat had
left the pier. We found out later that
it cost him a bundle to take his wife to
dinner. Others couldn't attend because
of week-end Reserve meetings. Some
of them had even asked us to write to
commanding officers for permission to
attend an "official firm function."
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