“You sound high-schoolish. Please remember what I just told you. Now, let’s try it again,” Miss Minter said.

“That’s an odd thing to say to a bunch of high school kids,” I thought “What could she expect us to sound like?” 

She was dead serious. She would never be satisfied with anything less than perfect. We tried it again, and again, and again.

Flossie Minter, an attractive, young redhead with penetrating brown eyes, was the new music teacher at Pineville High School. This was her first job and she wanted to be successful. There would be vocal music contests in the spring, featuring mixed chorus, boys’ chorus, girls’ chorus, quartets, solos, and so on. Naturally, Miss Minter wanted to make the best showing possible. If we should do well in the regional contests we would be invited to the state contests at the University of Kentucky. To that end we had rehearsals not only during the regular class periods, but also frequently after school. In a weak moment I had let Flossie talk me into singing a bass solo. I felt most inadequate to take on such a challenge, but I was stuck with it. The rehearsals continued, honing the “high-schoolish” edges from our renditions of the music.

I had signed up for Glee Club because I thought it would be a fun thing to do. I could get out of a study hall once or twice a week, and sing fun songs with the group. Besides, there were attractive girls in the club, perhaps one in particular. Things worked my way for a while, then Miss Minter got serious about it and we began trying contest-type songs. My plans had been foiled. One day Flossie announced that on a Saturday night not too distant the Glee Club would put on a recital for parents and other local folks, no doubt a warm-up for things to come.

A week or so before this not too distant Saturday, Amster Howard, scoutmaster of Troop 15 of which I was a member, announced a weekend campout for the troop. 

“I can’t go,” I protested. ”Flossie Minter has a recital scheduled and I have to sing a solo.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll get you back in time for it,” Amster said.

“Boy, I hope so. She can be cruel,” I said, but decided to take the chance. We had a good campout Friday night and Saturday morning. Several of the boys worked on, and passed advancement requirements. In the afternoon I began to get a little nervous. Just the thought of singing made me so. I knew I didn’t have a solo voice. So why did I agree to this? After an early supper we headed back.

We arrived on time, but not at the schoolhouse. I’d not dare face Flossie in camp clothes. At home I realized that I needed a bath, but no time for that. I changed my clothes as fast as I could and headed for the school in a trot. 

“Sorry I’m late, Miss Minter,” I managed to say between gasps for breath. 

She muttered some unintelligible words that I wouldn’t tell even if I could remember. According to her agenda my turn had passed, so I thought she would give me time to get my breath before I went on. 

“Go on out there,” Flossie said as soon as the applause for the previous performance ceased.

“Now? As long as my turn has already passed can’t we wait for the next turn?” I pleaded.

“Now,” she demanded.

I walked slowly toward center stage, vying for a few seconds delay. I felt sweat running down my forehead and reached for my handkerchief. I could hear Flossie sigh as I wiped my face. My knees trembled. Had I not been bow-legged they would have beaten each other black and blue. Somehow I managed to get through the song and retire from the stage. Flossie said something to me as I returned but I had no interest in what she said. I was spent. More important, I was done.

Mercifully, I don’t remember whether or not I had to sing the solo in the regional contests. All of the group events scored well. We went on to the state contests at Lexington. Nearly all our group events got a superior rating. No rating was less than excellent. I think Miss Minter was pleased with us.

EPILOGUE: Wouldn’t you know it? This poor dumb bunny agreed to sing a solo the very next year.