This morning I awoke with a signature tune in my head from Gilbert and Sullivan’s H.M.S. Pinafore: “He Is An Englishman.” This patriotic song was so revered by the British that every time it was sung to a British audience they would stand in unison, as if it were “God Save the Queen.”  Not unusual for me to awaken with a tune in my head, but by coincidence (or not) in sixth grade the role of the singer, the Bos’un, who sang “He is an Englishman,” was played by my childhood best friend, Marty, who was currently visiting us with his spouse, Hope.

Actually I don’t believe in coincidences. I immediately began to write this piece that morning.

In the operetta HMS Pinafore, the patriotic “He is an Englishman” comes at a critical moment when the lowly sailor, Rafe Rackstraw,  has been exposed as courting the Captain’s daughter, and the Captain is about to send Rafe to the brig.  Josephine, Captain’s daughter and romantic interest of Rafe,  declares “He is an Englishman!” meaning he should be treated with the same rights as all Englishman. so the gathered crowd echoes her words and then the Bos’un takes up the theme:

He is an Englishman!

For he himself has said it,

And it’s greatly to his credit,

That he is an Englishman

(Crowd response: That he is an Englishman!)

And the song goes on to explain how Rafe has been faithful to England and so is worthy of the Captain’s daughter. It is quite a dramatic moment, so if the audience were standing, it would be appropriate as the turning point in the operetta, as well as tribute to England.

But this is about Marty’s father, Lennie Lazarus, who was a weekend director of many community drama performances, but who gave up many consecutive Saturdays to direct a motley crew of sixth graders in Gilbert and Sullivan’s sophisticated satire of the British navy. At the time this seemed natural to me that the father of a my friend at Seaman’s Neck School would do this. Later as an adult I appreciated the sacrifice he made to work with the rankest of rank amateurs to make this performance respectable.

To me it was the peak of my elementary school career, because Mr. Lazarus and Mr. Hicks (music teacher) offered me the understudy role of the Captain, which was a bigger deal than it sounds. The understudy got to perform his role at half of the performances and for me it was two starring roles. Marty, who had a stronger voice than I, seemed content to play his role with the signature solo “He is an Englishman.”

I also took my role as Captain for granted, because I had  sacrificially accepted the lead romantic role of Rafe Rackstraw.  On the nights when I didn’t play the Captain,  I had the embarrassing job of kissing the female lead, Josephine, at the end of the play. As it turned out it was only a hug, and I liked the lead girl who played Josephine, the petite, but lovely Noreen Swenson. So on alternate nights I played the love interest, which was not a coveted role in sixth grade.

I recall asking my mother why wouldn’t Marty’s father cast him for the lead? My mother surmised he didn’t want to show favoritism in giving out the best role to his son. I thought how strange being the director’s son would be a curse, rather than an advantage.

In retrospect I have thought: how many fathers would be scrupulous enough to exclude their son from lead performer?  How many fathers would assume the challenge of playing a low visibility role as the director of a crew of sixth graders, who loved the limelight? How many fathers would be so patient with his keystone cops of a cast and even explain the funny parts, most of which we did not get in the rehearsals.

My debt to Mr. Lazarus was more than this. I was a diminutive kid with a small voice who had never before played in a drama. I did not have stage presence, to say the least, but by the time of the last performance, I felt proud of my accomplishment and even imagined a career in theater. I ended up as a career teacher, who sometimes needed those skills to keep a class on task.

So it was a turning point in my life as a student. I am grateful in retrospect, if I did not realize the significance at the time.

Marty was also stellar as the Bos’un, singing his featured song with gusto. The audience did not stand (since they were ignorant Americans) but they knew this was a climax in the operetta.  I always thought it was hilarious that:

But, despite of all temptations

to belong to other nations,

He remains an Englishman.

He remains an Eng-eng-eng-eng-eng-eng-eng-Eng-lishman.

(Crowd echoes his lines)

What? Were all the other countries recruiting Englishmen to join them now? Even “the French or Turks or Russians or perhaps Ital-i-ans”?  That seemed a little far-fetched to me.  Today, with America’s famous whistleblower Edward Snowden living in Moscow, this seems a little less far-fetched. But at the time I thought it was a little patriotic overreach. Maybe Gilbert and Sullivan, with tongue in cheek, thought the same.

We were all justifiably proud, and we really owed it to Mr. Lazarus (and some to Mr. Hicks), whose sacrifice most of us did not truly appreciate. I do appreciate it now. So, thanks, Mr. Lazarus,  for making a difference. I’m sure somewhere you are receiving your reward.