I was in Bronshteyn's (Brownstone's) choir from Grade 4 through Grade 7. It was in Grade 7 that I came to choir practice one day with a new set of braces. These were the kind that had thick wires extending out of your mouth and along your cheeks, attached to a wide band behind your neck that pulled the wires back. I think these days people call them "headgear". Back then they were the latest thing, and didn't have a name yet. No doubt to spare me public embarrassment, Dr. Wachnow (my orthodontist) had told my parents, as he did all of his clients, that I only needed to wear these braces at night, but my parents thought it would go three times faster if I wore them during the day, too, and no doubt I could handle the ribbing just fine. (In later years, I saw that many other parents were getting the same idea, but not in 1959. My parents marched to their own drummer.) Heck, I wasn't proud--even if I was the only kid in Winnipeg with this bridle on his mouth, I'd wear it day and night no problem. Didn't I agree to take up trumpet the year before because my mother read somewhere that the pressure of the trumpet mouthpiece would push back "buck teeth"? (Mind you, I think I would have drawn the line if she had asked me to simultaneously play trumpet AND wear braces.)
In any case, I wore this contraption everywhere and on this particular day I wore it to choir practice for the first time. After around 10 minutes of practicing, Bronshteyn noticed this smart aleck in the alto section chewing on wires. He came over to me and--now, bear in mind, this was an earlier era, with different standards for educators--he swatted me so hard across the jaw that the braces went flying across the room. He didn't actually hurt me, I don't think, but it was a shock. Fuming, he then went back to conducting the choir. But no one sang a note. Without a word of discussion, every member of the choir boycotted the rest of the rehearsal. I don't know what I looked like, but inside I was beaming with victory! "Hoybt dem kos fun simkho un geulo...!"
There were only four "altos" in Bronshteyn's choir that year, which, as I already mentioned, was 1959 and my Grade 7, graduating, year. Needless to say, as a member of the alto section my voice hadn't changed yet--Bronshteyn didn't have to worry about adding any baritone or a bass parts. We had been practicing for months to get ready for the school's evening celebration of Israel's Independence Day. I was loud, so I'm sure Bronshteyn relied on me to help carry that section, and with it the harmony. Finally the big day came. A few hours before the event, I remember standing on my front lawn, considering a problem I had with this concert. My thinking was a classic case of tunnel vision, kid-style, and it went something like this: "It's Yom Ha'Atsma'ut. It's a holiday. And it's not even daytime. Why should I go in to school, at night, on a holiday?" So I stayed home! Bronshteyn never spoke to me again.
In case you get the wrong idea, let me just add that, with all the mishugass, I still look back on Bronshteyn and my time in his choir with great affection.)
Pinkhes (Paul) Pascal
