In one of these recent memos, I mentioned something about how teenagers can always be counted on to do the wrong thing. In the great tradition of using myself as proof of whatever thesis I'm propounding, here's another example to help nail the lid of that particular coffin down even more securely.
It was sometime during the 1985-86 school year—I don't properly recall what season. As one of Davis High School's distinguished alumni—okay, really it was because I was friends with the then-current student body president, Chris Watkins—I was invited to serve as one of two judges of the school's annual lip-sync contest. (I was eighteen years old, still younger than some members of the senior class at the time, and I had graduated in 1984.)
How it worked was this: A handful of students would get up on stage, costumed as musicians, and pretend to play and sing some popular song. Bret Nybo (a graduate of the class of '82) and I were to judge the participants in categories that included costume, performance, creativity, audience response, and the precision of the lip-sync. At the end of the hour, we would add up the scores and announce the winner.
Simple, no?
Ten or twelve acts performed. I recall only three of them in any detail. First, early in the show, was a group led by my friend Mike McAllister, who performed "I Send a Message" by INXS, from the excellent album The Swing. Mike's turn as the recently departed Michael Hutchence was energetic and spirited, featuring plenty of hip dance moves and some nifty tricks with the microphone stand, and his lip sync was virtually flawless. The rest of the group turned in fine performances, as well. Particularly notable was the fellow playing air saxophone, who spun around on the back on the floor, horn raised to the ceiling, during his solo. Mike and crew received high marks in virtually every category, from both Bret and me.
Somewhere in the middle of pack, a group of four sophomores performed the ever-popular "Bohemian Rhapsody," from Queen's A Night at the Opera. The two lead vocalists, who traded lip-sync duties, were twins—diminutive kids but, admittedly, cute as buttons. Their rhythm section consisted of two burly kids with crew cuts who looked like they might have three functioning neurons between them. The crowd cheered and screamed while these sophomores performed, and while we were forced to give them high marks in the audience response category, they hadn't gone to any particular pains to dress up, and their lip sync was absolutely horrid. Frequently it seemed to me that the twins didn't even know the words to the song.
The final group of the hour were four seniors, who tackled the two opening tracks from Van Halen's 1984—"1984" and, if I recall properly, "Hot for Teacher." The first number is a short but blistering guitar solo from Eddie Van Halen, and Blair Leishman, Davis High's own brilliant guitar prodigy, played along with the recording in such a way that you just knew he could have done it for real. That led into the second track, where the vocalist—the senior class president, whose name I can't quite recall—tore into the lyrics with all the relish and sensuality of a born rock star. This group received uniformly high marks as well.
Bret and I added up the scores, the dust settling around us, then took the stage. We had to stand awkwardly close together to both fit behind the lectern. "We've tallied all the scores in seven different categories, and it looks like there's been a tie," I announced. "Your applause will determine the today's winner!"
The audience applauded.
"First," said Bret, leaning in toward the microphone, "is INXS with their rendition of 'I Send a Message'!"
The audience responded with enthusiastic whistles and cheers.
"And next," I said, drawing out the moment, "is . . . Van Halen!"
A few people started to applaud, but they were quickly drowned out by a chorus of boos that swelled until the entire auditorium was giving us that old Bronx cheer. Someone started a chant of "Queen! Queen! Queen!" and before long the whole place was shaking to that thunderous demand.
Bret and I turned away from the mike and conducted a hurried conference. And what did I say to that vast and angry throng when next I spoke? Did I say, "I'm sorry, but audience response is only one of the categories we were asked to take into consideration, and your favorite little twins scored abysmally low in every other category"? Did Bret and I do the right thing?
Here's what I said: "Looks like we made a mistake in our arithmetic. The winners are Queen!"
Bret and I were hailed almost as heroes by the people we ran into as we left the auditorium. Mike McAllister was more than sympathetic, despite his disappointment at having come so close to legitimately winning the contest. No one told us we had made the wrong decision.
But dammit, we did make the wrong decision. We let the tide of popular opinion frighten us into compliance, instead of standing beside the findings that we as judges had been empowered to make. I mean, what's the worst thing that could have happened? Did we think those high-schoolers were going to stone us or something?
It was only a dumb high-school contest, sure, but there are lessons to be found in everything, and I'm afraid the lesson that Bret Nybo and I taught to a thousand mindless mob members that day was that you can always get your way if only you shout loudly enough.
I send a message, indeed.
Well, I want to send different message today. I should have stood by my decision that day. I shouldn't have knuckled under to the demands of the mob. I want the world to know that Queen didn't earn the trophy they took home. It should have gone to either INXS or Van Halen, and if I'd been a stronger person then it would have.
Sorry, guys. I'll try not to let you down again.
