(N.B. This post follows “I fall in love with Godspell.”)

When we agreed to perform at Norfolk State Prison, we were still bathing in the euphoria of having put on a successful Godspell-based folk mass at OCBC (Old Cambridge Baptist Church), and we had no idea what we were getting into. As it turns out, MCI (Massachusetts Correctional Institute) Norfolk was a medium- and high-security prison housing over a thousand male felons convicted of crimes like grand theft auto, aggravated assault, and murder.

When we entered the dingy soot-stained fortress-like building, we went through a security gauntlet that included an electronic gate and a manual patdown. My flute case and Kathy and Barbara’s guitar cases were opened and searched. Even my tuning fork was questioned. It dawned on me that this was far from the freewheeling, open atmosphere of either Harvard in 1970 or Broadway. This was what people meant when they referred to “the real world.”

When we got inside, the large black-walled room seemed strangely claustrophobic, as if there were no air circulation. The room was packed with hepped-up men who were rhythmically clapping and stomping their feet. There was a lot of yelling and calling out across the room. There were uncomfortable-looking men (and one small woman!) scattered throughout the crowd whom I took to be guards. I imagined that if this crowd ever got out of hand it would take many more than these few to get it under control.

I found myself fretting about our set list. As it turned out, it really didn’t matter at all. As soon as Kathy and Barbara got on stage with their blonde hair and young flexible bodies, the crowd went wild. It struck me that my presence there was totally optional. K & B were in performance mode and seemingly unaware of the effect they were having on the crowd. They shook their hair and their bodies and the men responded like the teenaged girls on the Beatles’ Ed Sullivan show debut, or the audience for Ann-Margret on “Viva Las Vegas”!

I honestly remember very little about the particulars of our performance. We didn’t try to do a folk mass, but instead just sang songs from the show, maybe five or so including “Day by day” of course. I sang backup and played my tambourine and flute, but my contribution was extraneous. All eyes were focused on Kathy and Barbara and their energetic dancing

When we were done the girls were happily in the post-show afterglow. “Well that was fun!” they said breathlessly. Frank, our sponsor, was similarly enthusiastic. “We have to do this again sometime!” He looked in my direction, but having learned my lesson the hard way, I did not let an encouraging word escape my lips. Instead, I inwardly shook my head, glad to have escaped this experience with my life. I had learned an important lesson: the “real world” is a scary place.

What this post and the last one have shown me is that, once I entered the world on my own, away from the protective cocoon of my parents’ home, it was very easy to say “yes” to the world, but much harder to say “no” to those appreciative persons who encouraged me to express my talents and abilities, but were not aware of my human limitations. And why should they be? It was my life, not theirs.

Forty plus years later I am still working to apply this lesson.

Thanks for reading!