A friend mentioned recently that the infamous Soviet dictator Joseph Stalin used to hold rallies and had his henchmen carefully watch the clapping crowd to see who stopped clapping first. After one of Stalin’s speeches, people were so scared to be the first one to stop that the applause went on for eleven minutes! Eventually the director of a paper factory was the first one to sit down. That night he was arrested and sentenced to ten years in prison. Can you even imagine??
We’ve all been guests at boring but lavish over-the-top birthday bashes, patrons at painful award ceremonies, seat fillers at fancy work gatherings, and years ago The Mothership and I were once ticket holders at an expensive off Broadway bust. (Those are the worst! Thankfully Mom and I hustled out at intermission and salvaged the evening with some great dessert. Whew!) In most of these situations, clapping is not just expected, it seems mandatory and I just have to say that I’m sort of over it. (Although the post-show dessert was certainly worthy of a round of applause.)
Clapping is one of those odd societal contagions. If you’re part of a packed crowd and the majority of the group claps, you almost feel obligated to join in, especially if the house lights are up. Will members of your crew frown upon your behavior that they might construe as ungrateful? Might random onlookers notice your opposition? Will the speaker spot your arms akimbo and assume your posture implies defiance, aggressiveness, or arrogance? Will the cast notice your big yawn as you gather your belongings as they line up, hands clasped, bowing, and smiling? If the audience stands for the ovation, do you want to be the schnook who sits that one out?
The earliest public defiance I can remember started when I was in the fourth grade. Each morning we had to stand and say the pledge of allegiance. Everyone did it. Nobody questioned it. It was the norm. And one day I just stopped with the hand over the heart thing. I didn’t say it out loud– didn’t even mouth the words. I just stood there silently. It wasn’t a diss on America… I was only nine and had not yet formed any polarizing political views. I just didn’t like being told that I had to mindlessly repeat those words in that order with no explanation given as to why the verbal ritual was so critical to beginning our day. Why were we given no choice in the matter? (We weren’t being graded on it anyway… for if we were, I might have reconsidered.) And so began my rather quiet nonconformity about following rules, including of course the mandatory clap.
Remember the movie Footloose? The songs from that flick were just so toe tappingly iconic. All of them were ear worms. Have you ever really listened to the lyrics from the song, Let’s Hear It For The Boy? In summary, it’s a girl singing her crush’s praises requesting that we ALL give him a hand. This is a guy who doesn’t talk sweet, he doesn’t have a lot to say, and he doesn’t dress fine, but she claims that she doesn’t really mind. (I might have an issue with that, but hey, it’s fixable honey.) He’s no Romeo, he’s not rich– in fact he watches every dime! (Penny pinching? Noooo thanks.) To add insult to injury he sings off key– but again that doesn’t bother her either. (I’d let this tiny tidbit slide since I’m no Barbra myself.) Basically he’s her “lovin’ one man show.” Wow. He deserves a hand for that?? Pickins must have been slim back then. I’m going to vote no on the clap-o-meter for this dude. Sorry, next. I’d much rather focus on the other song, I Need A Hero. “I need a hero. I’m holding out for a hero ’til the morning light. He’s gotta be sure, and it’s gotta be soon, And he’s gotta be larger than life.” Now yer talking! I bet THAT guy deserves a hand! (Ha.)
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