I suppose it was pretty much like any other high school play. Although I, in my untrained eye, thought it was pretty good. Only one bobbled line that I could tell, nicely recovered. Only a couple kids who don't know how to emote.

Wife had come to the Friday night presentation, the first of only two, to videotape her godson's scenes. To send to his mother, living in Oklahoma. And she hadn't gotten every minute she wanted, and not from the best angle. So here we were, at Saturday's final performance, videocam and tripod in hand.

Selected seats in the back section, behind the entrance doors, which worked quite well. But had to struggle some to get the tripod set up in the row.

I suggested setting it partially in the aisle, as I have seen quite a few parents do before, but no, that was not acceptable.

The play had characters coming down in the aisles. And playing parts of their scenes in the aisles. She was sure he wouldn't like it.

He being the man across the aisle from us. The drama coach. Looked out of place for this community, prim and proper like an Englishman, or at least a New Englander. But he's been the drama coach here for 35 years, she said.

Thirty-five years. At the same school. With the same job.

I'm sure there are kids in his classes and plays whose parents he taught. Kinda boggles the mind when you think about it. Such longevity.

Must like it here.

But this was his last play, the wife said. Retiring as drama coach because of health reasons. They had some sort of special announcement about it at the Friday performance.

So, after the usual problems of batteries not connecting properly, or of the new tape not advancing, finally sat back to enjoy the show. An older play, from the Dust Bowl days, rewritten to include some modern references (like chalupa), but you could still tell the dialogue was old. Based on a small town radio station, with side dramas illustrating the stories that made it on the air.

Pretty simple play to write, I figure. Somebody just lived in a small town in Texas for six months or so, and wrote down all the small town drama, gossip and crime, along with the banter of the two local deejays.

At the end, the audience remained seated, waiting for the cast to come out before giving them their standing ovation. Wife kept taping, of course.

But the cast did not come out. Instead, the deejays came out and took their places on the radio "sound stage", and began announcing again. In character.

Only this time, instead of speaking to a small town in Texas, they were speaking to ours.

And their news?

The retirement of their coach. After 35 years of teaching drama at this high school (yeah, I know, only one of his students made it professionally, but that's probably pretty good odds for this town).

I was sitting across the aisle from this man. He did not know about this.

The man was crying as they extolled his virtues.

Really.

And wiped his cheeks as he headed down the long walk to the stage.

The audience was on its feet before he got there. Hands were red and stinging before things quieted down.

In character, the deejays made their presentations to their mentor. And a huge bouquet of roses was delivered.

He held up well, but he was choked. At times it sounded more like a wake than a retirement, though. He even had to point out he wasn't leaving teaching for a couple years yet. Just couldn't coach anymore.

Then the radio talkshow character came out onto the "soundstage". And took calls. Calls broadcast from drama students in the wings. Thanking their coach personally. He had to turn aside again for some of them, and wipe his cheeks.

Yeah, ours were wet, too. And I never met the man.

When all was said and done, and we were packing gear, the local deejay (the real one, from the owl incident) and his wife came up to us.

Could he borrow our tape? He wants to copy and rebroadcast the dedications. And apparently we were the only ones to record it.