Boychoir Page #2

Mine eyes have seen the glory

Of the coming of the Lord

He's trampling out the vintage

Where the grapes of wrath are stored

He hath loosed the fateful lightening

Of His terrible swift sword

His truth

Is marching

On

Um... Wow, thank you, Stet.

Um... would you step out

and give us a minute?

Well?

- No.

- I agree.

For Christ sakes,

the kid probably sings better

than half of this school.

He has neither the desire nor

the discipline for this school.

And he doesn't know

when or where to breathe.

Well, his technique needs work,

but that's to be expected.

There are other considerations as well,

starting with the calendar.

We're well into the fall term

and we only accept new students

at certain periods of the year.

He's too old. Most of the boys here

have already had years

of rigorous private training

and they play other instruments

along with voice.

Well then, teach him something.

Mr. Owens,

this is the premier

boychoir school in the nation.

Students here sing

with celebrated orchestras,

they record albums, and

they tour throughout the world.

How much?

You really think you can

just bribe your way in here?

The way of the world, sir.

Uh... that's not exactly how this works.

This is for the entire

first year's tuition,

plus a little something extra.

Consider it a donation.

You're in. It's all taken care of.

You got a roof, meals, spending money.

And... I am going home now.

I thought you weren't going

home till tomorrow.

You are a smart boy. You'll be okay.

You'll start in the beginners' course.

We have academics in the morning,

singing rehearsals in the afternoon.

Nobody's late. No one's unprepared.

And we'll expect you

to put in at least 10 hours

of individual practice a week.

You've got a lot of catching up to do.

Here we go.

This side's yours.

Now, the morning bell rings at 6.

Breakfast is at 6:30.

Classes start at 7.

And you must be in uniform at all times,

except weekends and evenings.

And dinner is at 6.

Now, I'll let you settle in.

Hey, Stet.

You'll be fine.

Yeah, that's fine.

Just give me a call back...

Get this in the bank ASAP, Joanie.

And make out a new file: Stetson Tate.

- Will do.

- Interesting concept, selling

admission to the highest bidder.

Wonderfully American.

- Here. The big one, New York.

- New York?

Don't get excited. We didn't get in.

I wish you wouldn't open

my mail, Carvelle.

- It was in my box.

- Holiday concert,

long difficult process,

world class contenders.

- Who'd we lose it to this year?

- Vienna Boys' Choir.

It's all politics, probably.

Politics has nothing to do with it.

We're not good enough.

That's a little harsh, isn't it?

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