The radio announcer said today is the equinox. While he explained the day’s significance, I thought of my college theater professor, Dr. Ruth Monroe. She directed a story theater show when I was a freshman. She chose one of Rudyard Kipling’s Just So tales, maybe “How the Elephant Got Its Trunk” for us to turn into a children’s scene. For over thirty years, I’ve been able to remember only one sentence fragment from the story: One fine morning in the middle of the procession of the equinox.
Least you think I’m a total kook, I can remember the fragment because Doc Monroe jazzed it up into a chant that opened the show. We started out with:
One fine morning in the middle of the procession of the equinox,
I say the equinox,
I say the equi-equi-equi-equi-equinox…
and went on from there to I don’t remember what, except that it was pretty cute and kids laughed a lot.
But every September and March, when the equinox rolls around, I do remember what a wonderful teacher and director Doctor Monroe was. I remember Thoren Hall, now torn down, where we rehearsed. I remember Alpha Psi Omega initiations at midnight on the stage and cast parties at her house after shows and trips to Minneapolis to visit the Guthrie.
I don’t know where Doctor Monroe lives. I don’t know if she’s still alive. But each fall, when the sumac turns and each spring when the crocuses bloom, suddenly she snaps her fingers and jives to the beat. So I join her in the chant:
One fine morning in the middle of the procession of the equinox,
I say the equinox,
I say the equi-equi-equi-equi-equinox…
as I prance down the road. Out of breath and still dancing, we laugh.
