Spring always brings one of my favorite memories, the time I starred in a musical comedy…and I still can repeat the lines I memorized 40+ years ago…
In my sophomore year at Glassboro State I got bitten by the acting bug after I was recruited for a small part in A Midsummer’s Night Dream by my British Literature (a ponderous course but that’s another story). I had to read some Shakespeare in high school but never really understood the “old English” phrases. But I said “Why Not!” this could be fun. And so I played Snout the Tinker or has a couple of lines and I got some laughs. Getting laughs was what I “lived for” most of my life. It made up for being shy and chubby. The night the show closed after a short run there was a notice on the dressing room door - Casting for the Spring Musical - The Music Man…all who can sing and dance please tryout. I never could dance but I was confident I could sing (mostly in the shower and never in front of anybody). So once again I said “Why Not!”
Why not? I loved Broadway Musicals even though I had never seen one -but movies had introduced me to Kismet, Brigadoon, Oklahoma and my favorite of all - The Music Man. And I already knew the “Trouble song” which was a masterpiece sung by Robert Preseton in the movie I had seen five times.
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In my sophomore year at Glassboro State I got bitten by the acting bug after I was recruited for a small part in A Midsummer’s Night Dream by my British Literature (a ponderous course but that’s another story). I had to read some Shakespeare in high school but never really understood the “old English” phrases. But I said “Why Not!” this could be fun. And so I played Snout the Tinker or has a couple of lines and I got some laughs. Getting laughs was what I “lived for” most of my life. It made up for being shy and chubby. The night the show closed after a short run there was a notice on the dressing room door - Casting for the Spring Musical - The Music Man…all who can sing and dance please tryout. I never could dance but I was confident I could sing (mostly in the shower and never in front of anybody). So once again I said “Why Not!”
Why not? I loved Broadway Musicals even though I had never seen one -but movies had introduced me to Kismet, Brigadoon, Oklahoma and my favorite of all - The Music Man. And I already knew the “Trouble song” which was a masterpiece sung by Robert Preseton in the movie I had seen five times.
x
I rehearsed in my dorm room that one sung (which by the way was really not sung - it’s was a stream of words accompanied by an orchestra:
“Well my friends, you got trouble (oh we got trouble)
Right here in River City (right here in River City)
With a capital "T" and that rhymes with "P" and that stands for pool
(That stands for pool)
We've surely got trouble (we've surely got trouble)
Right here in River City (right here)
Remember the Maine, Plymouth Rock and the Golden Rule
(Our children's children gonna have trouble, trouble, trouble, trouble...)
The song was a long litany of words spoken/sung at a machine gun pace - And I knew them all by heart and all of the other songs in the show too.
The casting call night arrived and the auditorium front seats held several dozen students and sitting up front in the first row alone was the director of the Campus Players, Dr. Michael K. holding a clipboard just like in the movies. I waited my turn as students (who were all veteran campus plays did a couple bars accompanied by the Assistant Director playing an ancient upright rehearsal piano. It looked like it was a “shoo-in” for the upper class thespians who had dozens of shows to their credit. Director K cut them off with “Next” after only a few bars of the song they chose. I noted that none sang a song from the show. Finally the new folks were were called. I hopped up on the stage and Mr. K asked what I would like to sing. I answered “The Trouble Song”. He replied “really Cal that’s are hard on…are your sure you want to try it.” I replied, “Love to give it a try!” There were a couple of sniggers in the audience. I took a couple of big breaths and nodied to the piano players. And in my best impersonation of Mr. Preston I began with the downbeat. After a few lines I was expected to here “Next” but I didn’t. I was the only “actor” that did an entire song. The director thanks me. There were a few others and Dr. K closed the session with the standard “will be posting our cast list in a few days and rehearsals will begin.”
I wasn’t nervously waiting because I was sure that if I got a part it would be in the chorus - that’s where the new members usually go until they have earned leading roles in the Players shows. I stopped by the theater office a few days later after a class in the building and saw a group surrounding the door reading a taped list. There was lots of chatter and occasional acknowledgments that the reading got a part in the play. I finally got close enough to read for myself and then almost fainted. At the top of the list was: C. ISZARD - Harold Hill (The Music Man)!
The next weeks flew by - nightly rehearsal, personal singing lessons, custom fittings, dancing lessons (the choreographer finally gave up on me and all of Harold’s dances were cut from the show). The hundreds of lines I had down quickly because I knew the show so well. One of the hardest tasks was singing the first few notes that got a barbershop quartet starting to sing their song - at rehearsal the stage manager blew the first note on a pitch pipe from the wings before me. I started to get nervous when the set pieces began to appear and River City began to take shape.
And then it was dress rehearsal night, one of two we would do. The first for the blocking and lines; the second for the orchestra and for the first time the full local high school band marched down the aisle blasting 76 Trombones which would be a surprise close to the show during the cast bows (which we finally practiced) for the final curtain.
Show night was a blur but the show was a hit. The talk on campus was everywhere. The second night we played standing room only. I learned the hard way that traditionally the second night of a show is the toughest because the cast tries too hard to reproduce the opening night performance energy. I learned another dreaded theatrical phrase - going up in one’s lines - meaning forgetting what to say next. I learned it can happen to most professionals after many performances - mine happen the second night. The signature song (and easiest for me) was 76 Trombones. By now I had “sung” it 100 times but when it was time to sing it in the show. I started to sing the second stanza:
Seventy six trombones caught the morning sun,
With a hundred and ten cornets right behind.
(But I had not idea what came next so I sang what rhymed)
- With a hundred and cornet spring up like buns and then start to mumble)
I looked at the orchestra leader for help. He had stopped waving his white baton abd with great exaggeration mouthed the next line. And then I was back on and the song flowed out of me. My moment of complete terror was over.
I only let my ego as “leading man” get the best of me once during the whole show. On the third night of the show there was a crowd of chorus members and dancers at the door of the costume shop. Many were impatient waiting to be handed their outfit by the wardrobe person. A couple were grousing when I pushed in an interrupted - “Folks if I don’t get my stuff now nobody will need a costume to go on tonight!” They all silenced and looked at me with withering looks. And I withered and vowed never to play being the “star” of a show - a lesson that would come in handy for years to come.
Our two week run to full houses came to a close. And like every final curtain i had quickly changed into a very white bandleaders costume with plumed hat and large baton. After the entire cast took their bows I entered, not from the wings but from a side door and marched across the stage. What happened next, each night was one of the big surprises of my life and cemented my destiny to go into the entertainment business. The audience started to pop out of their seats until there were hundreds giving me a “standing ovation” which sent an electrical charge up my spine and out my fingers. I bowed, joined the cast and the traveling curtain closed.
And to this day remembering that moment I feel that applause - it is indeed like an aphrodisiac that compels ever actor to continue and hope for more.
“Well my friends, you got trouble (oh we got trouble)
Right here in River City (right here in River City)
With a capital "T" and that rhymes with "P" and that stands for pool
(That stands for pool)
We've surely got trouble (we've surely got trouble)
Right here in River City (right here)
Remember the Maine, Plymouth Rock and the Golden Rule
(Our children's children gonna have trouble, trouble, trouble, trouble...)
The song was a long litany of words spoken/sung at a machine gun pace - And I knew them all by heart and all of the other songs in the show too.
The casting call night arrived and the auditorium front seats held several dozen students and sitting up front in the first row alone was the director of the Campus Players, Dr. Michael K. holding a clipboard just like in the movies. I waited my turn as students (who were all veteran campus plays did a couple bars accompanied by the Assistant Director playing an ancient upright rehearsal piano. It looked like it was a “shoo-in” for the upper class thespians who had dozens of shows to their credit. Director K cut them off with “Next” after only a few bars of the song they chose. I noted that none sang a song from the show. Finally the new folks were were called. I hopped up on the stage and Mr. K asked what I would like to sing. I answered “The Trouble Song”. He replied “really Cal that’s are hard on…are your sure you want to try it.” I replied, “Love to give it a try!” There were a couple of sniggers in the audience. I took a couple of big breaths and nodied to the piano players. And in my best impersonation of Mr. Preston I began with the downbeat. After a few lines I was expected to here “Next” but I didn’t. I was the only “actor” that did an entire song. The director thanks me. There were a few others and Dr. K closed the session with the standard “will be posting our cast list in a few days and rehearsals will begin.”
I wasn’t nervously waiting because I was sure that if I got a part it would be in the chorus - that’s where the new members usually go until they have earned leading roles in the Players shows. I stopped by the theater office a few days later after a class in the building and saw a group surrounding the door reading a taped list. There was lots of chatter and occasional acknowledgments that the reading got a part in the play. I finally got close enough to read for myself and then almost fainted. At the top of the list was: C. ISZARD - Harold Hill (The Music Man)!
The next weeks flew by - nightly rehearsal, personal singing lessons, custom fittings, dancing lessons (the choreographer finally gave up on me and all of Harold’s dances were cut from the show). The hundreds of lines I had down quickly because I knew the show so well. One of the hardest tasks was singing the first few notes that got a barbershop quartet starting to sing their song - at rehearsal the stage manager blew the first note on a pitch pipe from the wings before me. I started to get nervous when the set pieces began to appear and River City began to take shape.
And then it was dress rehearsal night, one of two we would do. The first for the blocking and lines; the second for the orchestra and for the first time the full local high school band marched down the aisle blasting 76 Trombones which would be a surprise close to the show during the cast bows (which we finally practiced) for the final curtain.
Show night was a blur but the show was a hit. The talk on campus was everywhere. The second night we played standing room only. I learned the hard way that traditionally the second night of a show is the toughest because the cast tries too hard to reproduce the opening night performance energy. I learned another dreaded theatrical phrase - going up in one’s lines - meaning forgetting what to say next. I learned it can happen to most professionals after many performances - mine happen the second night. The signature song (and easiest for me) was 76 Trombones. By now I had “sung” it 100 times but when it was time to sing it in the show. I started to sing the second stanza:
Seventy six trombones caught the morning sun,
With a hundred and ten cornets right behind.
(But I had not idea what came next so I sang what rhymed)
- With a hundred and cornet spring up like buns and then start to mumble)
I looked at the orchestra leader for help. He had stopped waving his white baton abd with great exaggeration mouthed the next line. And then I was back on and the song flowed out of me. My moment of complete terror was over.
I only let my ego as “leading man” get the best of me once during the whole show. On the third night of the show there was a crowd of chorus members and dancers at the door of the costume shop. Many were impatient waiting to be handed their outfit by the wardrobe person. A couple were grousing when I pushed in an interrupted - “Folks if I don’t get my stuff now nobody will need a costume to go on tonight!” They all silenced and looked at me with withering looks. And I withered and vowed never to play being the “star” of a show - a lesson that would come in handy for years to come.
Our two week run to full houses came to a close. And like every final curtain i had quickly changed into a very white bandleaders costume with plumed hat and large baton. After the entire cast took their bows I entered, not from the wings but from a side door and marched across the stage. What happened next, each night was one of the big surprises of my life and cemented my destiny to go into the entertainment business. The audience started to pop out of their seats until there were hundreds giving me a “standing ovation” which sent an electrical charge up my spine and out my fingers. I bowed, joined the cast and the traveling curtain closed.
And to this day remembering that moment I feel that applause - it is indeed like an aphrodisiac that compels ever actor to continue and hope for more.
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