Children Should be Seen and Heard

By HELEN HAYES

as told to Jhan and June Robbins For a good many years, Miss Hayes has been one of the great ladies of the American theatre. Here she steps down from the stage to give her ideas about training children to express them­selves at family gatherings.

Several decades ago it was common practice to have daughter Suzy play her latest piano selection for "company" and for son Tommy to recite "The Charge of the Light Brigade" in the parlor after dinner. Today in most quarters it is con­sidered bad taste — or worse, an outrageous bore — for chil­dren to perform. At adult gatherings youngsters are either banished completely, or remain to become perfect nuisances. A few are allowed to pass the hors d'oeuvres.

As an actress, mother and "honorary grandmother" of two little ones I regard as my own, I feel very strongly that we ought once again to invite our children to entertain us.

I don't mean that they should be permitted to dominate entire parties or family gatherings, or that adults should sub­ject themselves endlessly to fumbling piano recitals, and stum­bling recitations. But I do believe we should encourage youngsters to read aloud, act, play the piano or fiddle, perform parlor magic, and in general learn to express themselves.

I heard one teacher say recently that the ability to stand and talk in front of others is sadly missing in many classrooms. I am not surprised. I am also aware that a vast number of par­ents are paying out good money — and hundreds of thousands of children are perspiring over keyboard or fingerboard — and no one ever hears these children play but the music teacher. An absent-minded, "That sounds fine, dear," at the end of a practice session is, too often, the best we can do.

I think that many families have fallen victim to the stand­ards raised by today's television, high-fidelity recordings, and other forms of mass entertainment. We see some of the world's greatest actors and actresses on the screens in our own living rooms. An album of records brings us a classic play, a flawless concert or a lively declamation. It is no wonder that many families regard the immature creativity of their youngsters with little better than resigned patience and a word or two of faint praise.
 
Yet I believe there is a special delight to be found in the appreciation of earnest imperfection. A group of children, put­ting on a rainy-day play in attic or basement rumpus room, can certainly not measure up to any professional performance. Yet the agonized on-stage whispers, the off-stage scuffles, the in­genuous ad libs, are the very stuff of primitive drama.

What's more, I believe it is good education, sound psy­chology and fine social training to require children to commit to memory or to read fluently significant passages from our great religious, philosophic and artistic literature.

The Sermon on the Mount, the 23rd, 24th and 100th Psalms; the Gettysburg Address and Lee's Farewell to his troops; Romeo and Juliet; Thoreau on "The Beanfield" — all the wonderful, reverent, challenging thought of our time and times past gives to each person a priceless passport to sym­pathy with his fellows.

Our schools once required memory work, and a formal "recitation day" was held to observe it. The parents came, with all their friends and relations. The mayor and the alder­man and the school board arrived. One's fellow classmen, starched and squirming, awaited their turn. And up on the platform some well-schooled child cried poignantly, "Half a league, half a league, half a league onward. . . "

Our schools no longer seem to have the time to do these things. I think it is too bad. The patter of even the most polite applause is a heady, intoxicating draft that leaves the performer beaming with good will toward the world — and more impor­tant, toward himself.

Iremember when our Mary and Jim were very young I made up a series of stories that I called, "The Further Adven­tures of Minnie Weisenpfeffer." I made the anecdotes very dramatic and the children loved them. One day Mary got up on her feet and, using the absurd thriller-chiller inflections that were my own, retold the tales to my husband, Charlie MacArthur, and me. We burst into applause. It was spontane­ous.  We had been genuinely entertained.

In encouraging children to be heard as well as seen, good manners play a prominent role. No child should be permitted to burst into a room, fling himself on the piano bench and take over. If he is invited, however, or if he volunteers he should be encouraged. Don't apologize for his performance — it is remarkable how delightful people find other people's children.

Some parental attention should be given to the program. It is certainly unsuitable and offensive for a preadolescent to roll her eyes, swing her hips and holler out a suggestive blues song. There are hundreds of charming folk tunes that will fill the bill. Children who neither sing nor play an instrument often enjoy memorizing or reading good poetry. A group of children can read a scene from a play aloud. Mary particularly liked T. S. Eliot's cat poems. Our method was to select a vol­ume or two of worthwhile verse and leave the specific selection to the child. But this system, too, can backfire. I heard of one mother who handed her 11-year-old son a thick volume entitled, "The 19th century English Poets" and asked him to find some­thing that he thought the family minister, who was coming to dinner the following Sunday, would like to hear. When called upon, the lad stood up and delivered in sultry accents the turgid lines:

"Last night, ah yesternight. . .

I was desolate and sick of an old passion . . .

I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion."

Once you have assented to become part of the audience at a child's recital, do him the courtesy of giving him your honest attention.  And don't expect professional quality.

Even professionally-trained youngsters still behave in most situations like children. When I was appearing in "Mrs. McThing" there were four children in the company, among them Bobby Mariotti, the very talented son of mute parents. Bobby lived with me in my home in Nyack for about 18 months. Mrs. Dwight D. Eisenhower saw the play and then wrote to invite me to visit the White House and bring Bobby and the others for a lark with the Eisenhower grandchildren.

When we arrived, Mrs. Eisenhower took all the young ones to the pool and left them in care of a White House aide. We went to an upstairs sitting room. While we were chatting, the President came in, and he was laughing.

"Who are the children in the swimming pool?" he asked. Mrs. Eisenhower explained and the President continued chuck­ling.

"I heard screeches as I passed by," he said. "The shower was going full tilt. As I put my hand on the door, a little boy, stark naked and dripping wet, popped out.

" 'What's your name?' I asked. 'Bobby,' he mumbled. Then he raised his head, took a good look at me and hollered, 'Cheese it! Eisenhower!' And he disappeared."

Personally, I think it was a pretty good performance.

Not all of our children are going to run head-on into world celebrities, but they will have to meet people all of the time. What better way to prepare them than through appear­ances on the family platform!   Now for a little summing up:

1. If your child is busy learning to dance, paint, play an instrument or acquiring any other creative or dramatic skill, find the time — and tenderness — to appreciate him.
   
   
2. Expose your children as early as possible to family readings of poetry, drama and significant social literature. Learn to be a dramatic coach.
   
   
3. Don't drill him, lecture him or tell him that the family pride is at stake.   On the family stage, delays are met with sympathetic patience, mistakes are overlooked or sympatheti­cally clucked at. There is generous prompting from the wings. Applause is always hearty. You are clapping for the effort, the experience and the social growth that you can almost see taking place between the lines.   That's something you can't buy with any $6.90 ticket.

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