A handful of people sat in the darkened auditorium of Chicago's Sonotone Theatre (cinemansion for the hard-of-hearing) one day last week. On its bare stage, students were singing opera to the accompaniment of a grand piano. Restlessly, ceaselessly between the stage and the aisles moved a rusty-blonde woman in white sports dress, white low-heeled shoes. She followed the singers about, pushing them, prompting them, gesturing at them, bursting occasionally into song or husky speech. She cried at the confused pianist: "Piano, piano, don't sprint! Follow the singer!'' She brusquely interrupted arias...
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