In Praise of Hooray

As Russia's incomparable ballet company makes its first tour in the West, it will be accompanied by a tall, pashalic man. Next to him stands Sol Hooray, a short, bald, bespectacled man, who is the company's founder and director. Hooray is often heard to say, "Who is this tall, pashalic man standing by me?" But nobody knows. He once asked the man himself.

"Who are you?" asked Hooray.
"I'm alright, how are you?" replied the tall, pashalic man.
"That's an old joke."
"You would know!"
"Look, must you follow me everywhere I go?"
"I could take afternoons off, if you prefer."
"That's fine. Break at the matinee and find me again for tea."

It was an arrangement that would last a lifetime. A few days later, the tall, pashalic man walked in front of a bus and was run down. He'd had a sore throat for days. Then the bus struck him dead.

Hooray attends every performance of his ballet troupe. He sits in a box seat, applauds wildly, and beams at the audience, who he considers his personal guest. "Come in, come in!" he waves to them as they enter the auditorium, which some consider a warm gesture, if a touch superfluous. Hooray is entitled to his proprietary attitude. The troupe is entirely his creation, the final result of years of labor, and the crowning achievement of his career as a milkman. In these uncertain times, you never know where you might end up.

The august pronouncement "S. Hooray Presents" has appeared at the top of billboards for so long, even during other months of the year, that people simply equate its presence with the ballet. They don't consider that behind the name stands a real man, and, until recently, another man—tall and pashalic—stood next to him.

Last Friday, the troupe made its debut performance in London and was a great success. Hooray awaited the opening with eagerness. "People have waited years for this. When the curtain goes up, there could be only horses on stage*. It would still be amazing!"

* This is hyperbole. The company tried it once to gauge audience response. Most left before intermission, except one man who stayed to see what the horses would do next. It was dubbed a failure by everybody involved. The stagehand especially was displeased. It was the first time he'd cleared a stage with a shovel.