My Life as a Furry Red Monster - Kevin Clash [36]
I brought Elmo up to her, and at first I didn’t know what to do since she wasn’t looking at us. Elmo took over. He knew that she could hear him, and he wanted a hug and wanted to give her one, as well, so he snuggled up close to her and started whispering the words to the song “Sing.” Gradually his voice grew stronger as he saw the beginnings of an uncertain smile at the corner of her mouth. Her smile gained confidence as Elmo’s voice rose.
It took every bit of control I had to keep going. I focused on Elmo and his new friend: two little kids who just want to sing and have fun. Thoughts of what those parents had been through, were going through, and were soon to face gave me strength. Certainly I could summon a fraction of their courage and sing that song.
I WAS WAITING for the principal of Baltimore’s Battle Monument School, a learning center for children facing physical, mental, and/or emotional challenges. I was still in high school myself and hadn’t had much experience yet dealing with kids like this, but I was there to entertain the kids. Little did I know that I was also there to learn some lessons.
The door opened and out came principal Charles Mayer, his shuffling gait supported with a cane. His appearance surprised me, but he moved easily enough and shook my hand with a strong grip as he smiled ferociously.
“I’m so glad you’re here! Let me show you around before we get started.” He led me from his office and down the hallway, mixing personal greetings to everyone he encountered with an explanation of the school’s philosophy, which centered on teaching the students to be as self-sufficient as possible.
When I saw a student struggling to balance his books and turn the knob on the water fountain, I automatically took a step toward him to help, but Mr. Mayer stopped me with a viselike grip on my right arm.
“Mr. Clash, that’s kind of you, but we only assist our students when it’s absolutely necessary, especially with everyday tasks. We want them to depend on themselves, not on others.”
During my performance, I did a lot of interacting with the audience, and Mr. Mayer was one of the most enthusiastic participants. He had a hearty laugh, more like a roar, that practically shook the whole auditorium. At times I wasn’t sure if the kids were enjoying watching me as much as I enjoyed watching Mr. Mayer and them.
After my puppet show, I was placing Bartee and a couple of other puppets into a case when I heard Mr. Mayer ask for everyone’s attention. While I’d been packing, the custodial staff had brought out two sets of risers, which I assumed were for a later event. The auditorium was still abuzz with postshow chatter, and no one made any attempt to leave. Mr. Mayer asked for everyone’s attention.
“By way of thanking our guest performer, we would like to present the Battle Monument School choir.” I looked around for the rest of the audience, but I seemed to be it!
Given the children’s various levels of disability, it took a few moments for them to gather on the risers and for those in wheelchairs to get positioned on the stage. Once the first sure notes of the piano started, I forgot all about their challenges as the choir serenaded me with two songs. The joyful noise of music soothed and elated me, and I was touched. I also felt a deep appreciation of the courage these children summoned to go about their daily tasks, to carry on with their lives, and to get up on a stage and sing for me.
These students didn’t just show me gratitude with their performance; they shared with me their spirit and dedication, and reminded me that difficult challenges can be handled with grace and humor.
In part inspired by Mr. Mayer’s students, I decided to organize a fund-raising variety show called “A Night to Remember” to benefit the Muscular Dystrophy Association. The organization