The first rehearsal of the Orchestra for the Canadian National Tour of “Les Miserables” on June 14^th 1992 was surreal!

            I arrived to find the Rehearsal Hall at the Centennial Concert Hall populated by dozens of people bustling with energy and activity. I knew all of the local musicians we’d contracted. They were the best of the best. I’d had worked with all of them in one situation or another, but this was a new context for us. I was now greeting them as their “employer” rather than as a performer, so the dynamic was just a wee bit different. At least they knew who I was. The travelling musicians were another thing altogether. Over the weeks previous, my communication with these folks and with the large production team (who were also in the room) had been by phone. I had formed images of them in my head based on their voices but had no idea who was who except by the instrument they were sitting with or standing next to. None of them matched my conjured-up visuals!

            Sam was already there rushing about making sure that things were in order. We’d sent off the scores and tape dubs of the music well in advance so everyone knew what was required of them. The warm-up noise was tumultuous and excitingly theatrical! I went around and introduced myself to the new folks and they all said that it was great to finally put a face to the voice. My job was to answer any questions or concerns they might have and was generally at their disposal. It was a great start.

I was introduced to Paul Sportelli, the Musical Director, to Eric Goldstein, the Company Manager (the go-to person while the show was on the road) and to Bob Billig, the Music Supervisor for North America and the biggest of the mucky-mucks with regard to ALL aspects of the music. I felt like genuflecting but resisted. They were all very nice people and I could feel the anticipation welling up in me as we got closer to the start of the rehearsal. Sam introduced me to Bob Mills, the bass player, who was to be our main contact while they were “out”. It was Bob who would report any additional orchestra charges for the payroll and how things were going with the musicians. One important thing to remember is that this combination of human beings was very talented but, as a group, had never worked together before. It was a foundation of Sam’s ethos that the people he worked with shared the same goal of musical excellence, had respect for each other and the work. His decisions to hire the folks he did were based on either personal connections (i.e. having worked with them before), recommendations from respected associates or having watched and listened to them play. I knew that all the folks in this room had been vetted to the highest standards and were, as Sam called them, “Good Citizens”!

The clapping of Sam’s hands indicated that we were about to start and that seats were to be taken … and quiet ensued. Sam took care of a few housekeeping details and introductions were formally made. Paul stepped onto the podium. “We’ll start at the top” and, without another word, his arms went into the air, he glanced across the entire group and with a tiny lift of his baton, the torrent of the iconic first massive chords enveloped all the space in the room: “Bump-BAAHHH-bump-bah-dump; bump-BUMP-bump, bump, bah-DAH”! I could feel my throat constrict and my eyes start to well up. This was beyond real! The majestic music replaced all the air in the room and in that vacuum we were sustained by eighth and quarter notes, sharps and flats and the double forte of the stentorian brass and woodwinds. Nothing else existed in those opening moments. I could see the heads of the big-wigs go down as they critically assessed what they were hearing and, very quickly, it became apparent that this sound was exactly what it should be. I could see Sam look over at Bob Billig. Billig smiled and gave a tiny nod and we were off.

The rest of the morning’s rehearsal went very well as they played through the entire score. At a break, one of the keyboard players needed an additional speaker (we had provided everything the technical team had requested) and I had to rush home a get one of my keyboard speakers to fill in until another could be rented. The cast wasn’t in for a couple of days so listening to the orchestral balance took up the rehearsals. Nothing was missed. The music team was incredibly detailed and painfully specific but everyone was very happy with the crew we had put together. For me, his was time stolen from the Rainbow office and the next couple of days had me dashing back and forth from the office to the Concert Hall and home, keeping Sam and the musicians happy, dubbing off more tapes and copying scores for the replacement musicians and finalizing Rainbow’s Summer Workshop Program brochures. It was exhausting but incredibly fulfilling.

Payrolls seemed to become the lynchpin of my routine. Everything revolved around them for the back half of each week. Even while zapping back to Toronto for an Equity Council Meeting, on the plane and in my hotel room I was checking and rechecking my calculations and the accuracy of the Invoice breakdowns. It didn’t (and wouldn’t) stop! But neither did my other commitments.

Once back from Toronto, it was into the remount of Alan (Lund)’s “Wizard of Oz” from the previous season. It was easy for the returning cast as there was nothing new to learn and the rehearsal period had been shortened a bit. Alan wouldn’t be in until the second show (“Guys and Dolls”) and Kimberley (Timlock) was simply putting in some new hires. There was no pressure … at least not on that front. Sam just kept piling on new work, continuing details about the hiring for the other Tour cities, getting more contracts out, more dubbing and copying, more payrolls, more accommodations and flight arrangements and on and on. A new- fangled gadget was becoming a necessity and we finally broke down and bought our first Fax Machine! While we were still using FedEx and “snail mail” to get proposals and cheques out, the new machine was a godsend in its immediacy. Not a huge number of people had them but we thought that being ahead of the curve would be best. No one knew what advances were to come in the world of technology and we just toddled along. Then one afternoon at a ‘Wizard” rehearsal we got some devastating news!

I’d been sitting around (yet again) waiting for one of the ‘Wizard’s’ sporadic scenes to be put up when Jack (Timlock) arrived in the Hall. He looked shaken. He walked over to the Stage Management table, spoke with them for a moment, then turned to the cast and asked for our attention. “There’s no easy way to say this.” He took a long pause as if gathering himself. “Last night, Alan died.” There’s an unusual thing that happens when one hears news like that. In an instant, the whole world stops and all your memories of that person flash through your brain. Then, in desperation and disbelief, you try to make sense of the senseless words … “Alan died”; no warning, no inkling, no preparation, just a gut punch that emotionally doubles you up over and over again. The audible reactions start … a small “No!’ here, a quiet “What?” there and eventually – just seconds, actually – the understanding takes over and the world is altered. The grief takes hold. You reach out to others or withdraw, quickly coming to grips with the implications, trying to set the devastation and loss aside for practicalities. There is no time for this even though the memories, the questions and the insistent pain keep intruding. “The show must go on” becomes the rude but fundamental mantra that we as performers use to propel us through the time ahead.

I had done eight shows with Alan and was about to do the ninth. The loss wasn’t merely personal. It was vastly public. His legacy in Canadian Theatre and television was celebrated in the days and weeks to come. My silent eulogy was to dedicate my work in “Wizard” and the up-coming “Guys and Dolls” to his memory. And, reluctantly, painfully, we moved on.

“Les Miz” opened. It was, simply, spectacular. What else could one have expected? The production bore obvious witness to the astonishing amount of money that had been spent on the franchise. No expense was spared … literally. The fact that the story and the music swept you up and enveloped you so completely was a bonus and testament to the incredible power of Live Theatre. But for me, the magic disappeared very quickly. “Wizard” previewed (with the “Les Miz” cast in attendance), we opened to good response and, again, life moved on.

The shine seemed to come off the apple rather quickly on all fronts: the Workshop Classes started (our fifth year) just after “Wizard” went up; “Guys and Dolls” began rehearsals and I continued to deal with payrolls and housing and flights for the Touring Musicians. One thing I gradually discovered with these folk was the nicer and more accommodating you were, the more they’ll take advantage of you. That’s rather cynical to write, but I became aware that the old adage, “give ‘em an inch and they’ll take a mile”, was fully in play! Playing in the “Les Miz” orchestra was a “job” not a privilege for them, and a few were real pains in the ass as they went for broke in their demands. “I want a later flight and I won’t fly Air Canada!” “I don’t want to stay at that hotel.” “I don’t want to be in that part of the city.” “I don’t want to room with anyone. I need a place to myself because my girlfriend will be joining me during the run in Vancouver.” “I don’t want my guitar in cargo. Make sure it has the seat beside me in the cabin.” And on and on it went. There were nights I couldn’t sleep for trying to remember all the things I had to take care of the following day. My saving grace was in the garden I was creating at the back of my house. It was as far away from show business as I could get and, on another level, it taught me patience, fed my soul and gave me momentary peace.

For some unfathomable reason, the powers that be at Rainbow (I was not one of those powers) decided it might be a good idea to “bring in” a guest artist to play the role of ‘Sky Masterson’ in “Guys and Dolls”. They hired Jeff Conaway, best known for his role of ‘Kenickie’ in the film of “Grease” and as ‘Bobby Wheeler’ on “Taxi” years ago. It seemed as though we were diving into a Dinner Theatre mentality when that was announced, but we dutifully gathered for our first day of rehearsals, some of us still smarting that Alan wasn’t at the helm. I was playing the small role of ‘Arvide’. On very short notice, Rainbow managed to hit a home run by obtaining the services of the wonderful Kelly Robinson to direct and choreograph the show. Kelly was, and still is an incredibly generous and supportive human being and brought a wealth of theatrical experience to the process. Jeff was a nice enough person but there seemed to be an “I’m the star” mentality that surfaced every now and then with very set approaches to how his role (and everyone else’s) should be played. Kelly’s clear, caring and concise direction and inventiveness were unassailable so Jeff’s “suggestions” were usually relegated to the dust bin. He eventually calmed down, perhaps realizing that he was dealing with folks who really did have their shit together and knew what they were doing, and he was quite good in the production.

With Timlock’s imminent departure, the Producer position at Rainbow had started to consume me … as if I didn’t have enough to do! I spend what little down-time I had thinking through a lot of scenarios and had fantasized about changes I would make to the Company’s organization and approach to its playbill. I’d spoken confidentially to a number of trusted and experienced folk about my considering the application and everyone seemed to think it was a “no-brainer”. I’d even had a meeting with Kelly about him coming back to direct for me. He said that aside from seeing how people responded to me as an artist, the thing that convinced him to say yes was watching my fingers fly over the calculator at one point during our meeting as I explained how I saw the financials working for Rainbow if I was Producer. Already, word was getting out. My own self-doubt kept warring with the potential and up-side of going for the job. I became aware of support from people I didn’t even know. At rehearsals I began noticing sidelong glances from every direction and knowing smiles from the stalwarts. I had spoken to Sam about it as it would eventually affect our working relationship. All he said was “Create the vision, Richard!” I also learned that there were other folk who were thinking about applying. Over the previous months I had been jotting down a lot of notes and organizing my thoughts, and finally, taking the bull by the horns, I put pen to paper (or rather, fingers to computer keyboard) and produced an exhaustive document detailing personal observations accumulated over the past ten years working with Company, thoughts about how to move forward, about innovative proposals with rationale and, practically, comprehensive budgets for six hypothetical productions. It was a lot of paper! I submitted my formal “hat in the ring” to Jim Pappas, the President of the Rainbow Board … and waited.

I looked forward to the “Guys and Dolls” performances every night. The production was spectacular and everyone was on the mark. This served to balance my now-routine daytime hours inundated with the constant budgets and payrolls for “Les Miz”. Not one to let the grass grow under his feet, Sam was now actively (and aggressively) pursuing other projects and, of course, it was my job to flesh out the details in the form of yet more budget proposals and hiring potentials. Our phone bill was astronomical! With our obligations now including a “Les Miz” run in Hawaii and a proposal to furnish the orchestra for a “Miss Saigon” back east, the days flew by, filled to the brim with dashing here and there after the Rainbow show closed. The “Winnipeg Cares” Fundraiser took a few days to put together and was another great success, but my life seemed to have altered, both in attitude and style. The passion seemed dissipated over too many projects, but, thankfully, some much needed relief came in the form of a long-weekend jaunt to New York with Robbie.

Over the years since our first meeting, Robbie and I had become best of friends. Our frequent and involved conversations about everything under the sun were halted only by our obligations to be somewhere else. This trip only cemented our relationship. We talked non-stop on the flight. We were staying with Reid Scowen, Robbie’s Godfather. He was the Province of Quebec’s “Delegate General” to the State of New York and the accommodations for that official position were on the 37^th floor of the Museum (of Modern Art) Tower in mid-town Manhattan! We were picked up at the airport by the Delegate’s chauffer and dropped off at the condo which was decorated like an Architectural Digest layout. Dinner was prepared that evening by the in-house chef! I had died and gone to heaven … in NEW YORK!! Since Reid had to travel to Bermuda for a meeting, we had the place to ourselves for a few days … no “staff”, though. We explored the City, ate great food, saw some great theatre, but the greatest part was just talking … about the Theatre, politics, extended conversations about everything and anything. One afternoon, we took a ferry to visit Ellis Island. All the time I’d lived in New York, I’d never done that little trip out into the Harbour. As we slowly approached the tiny island where the European Immigrants arrived early in the 20^th century, we sailed very close to the Statue of Liberty. It was huge, SO huge. We just stood beside each other on the boat, staring up, feeling the emotional aura of this colossal monument, overpowering both of us as we floated past it. It wasn’t until we were on the Island that we admitted to each other how deeply that experience had touched us and how we’d not spoken a word for the ten minutes it took to sail past it. Lots of food, playing tourist, constant chatter, and being feted by Reid at the Rainbow Room were just what I had needed to refuel myself. Our little sojourn ended much too fast.

It was now time to head South to Oregon, to finally do the Sondheim show that had been cancelled the year previous and had now found a new venue. The Lakewood Center had made preparations for my work Visa through the U.S. Immigration Authority and we had supposed that that would come through without any trouble. The visa regulations in the U.S. are pretty stringent – either you have to have an “International reputation” or have documentation indicating that no one else in the country could do the job for which you’re being hired. The last one was hard to prove but the first was easier, what with my Concert work in the States and my Equity work in Canada and the U.S. Not so fast, Buster! They turned our application down! I couldn’t believe it. So I organized a campaign of sorts by contacting all the higher-ups I knew in Canadian Equity (there were a LOT of them) and, through them, American Equity in New York and Los Angeles; at the other end, the Theatre did the same with their political connections – all of whom knew who I was from my time in Portland. Fortunately, all the folks we approached were eager to help and with little time to spare, we re-applied and waited. It was a case of the Immigration bureaucracy’s lack of organization and strictly adhered-to protocol that pushed me to the brink! Round and round we went for days. Thank heavens for the fax machine. This time, we were successful and the visa was approved with just hours to spare. While the approval documents had been held up at an Immigration Office in Lincoln, Nebraska for some reason, we were assured that they would be waiting at Customs in Winnipeg on the morning (6:00AM) of my departure.

At the same time, the Rainbow application seemed to be languishing on the vine as far as I could tell. Word had spread fast and I’d even learned from folks in Toronto that they’d heard I had been offered the job! Because I was leaving town for a few months, I wanted to get it all in place. I’d spoken to a number of directors and some high profile artists about my plans for the season and asked if they would be interested in working with me. I had also been doing some serious lobbying in town and while folks were being incredibly supportive and unhesitant in their recommendations to the powers that be, they had no real say in the matter.

Of course, also at the same time, I was tied to my computer more doing budgets and contracts and producing the constant payrolls for the “Les Miz” Tour. Sam was still thinking down the road and mercilessly nagged to make sure that all the details were taken care of before I left for Portland. How was I going to get the payroll info from our on-the-road manager? How was I going to get the payroll from TD Services to the Orchestra? How was I going to do this and that… and on and on! I truly had it all under control and everyone who needed to be in the loop was in the loop! I was proud of my organization.

Finally, with clothes, office supplies and account ledgers solidly packed and ready for the time ahead, I arrived at the airport. I had to report to the Customs Office before getting on the plane. The officer went into the back room to get my documentation. He came out empty handed.  “Sorry, sir, we have no record of your visa here”. My blood went cold. I was beside myself. I showed them all the correspondence, my contract, the letters from American Equity and talked and talked until I couldn’t talk any more. I was desperate. It felt like my life was being funneled into a drinking straw! I called Kay Vega, the Producer in Portland – it was 3:30AM her time! – and told her what had just happened. I let her talk to the Customs Official. They could see I was getting pretty upset. Finally, just minutes before the plane was to depart, with a begrudging apology for the inconvenience they allowed me in with a “deferred inspection” which meant that I would have to present myself at the Immigration Office in Portland within a few days of my arrival! I breathed a huge sigh of relief as we took off!

The time in Portland was reviving! The autumn air of Oregon cleared my head and calmed me down as rehearsals began for my third shot at “Side By Side By Sondheim”. I was working with dear friends (pictured left – Margie Boule, Adair Chappell, Shawn Rogers and Sue Parks-Hilden) from “the old days” and being so familiar with the wonderful material, it was an easy and comfortable experience putting the show up. Of course, there were still payrolls to yank me back into the real world and the constant apprehension about Rainbow, but the days passed productively and we opened to great response. The downside to working in a Semi-Professional Theatre was performing only four nights a week. Once we opened, there were initially a lot of days spent watching videos in the den (I was staying at Kay’s house), but soon enough another commitment I had made began. I had agreed to direct a production of “The Best Little Christmas Pageant Ever” for the Theatre Company. That was a chore. The sporadic rehearsals with a million kids got me off kilter and just added to my turmoil.

Then Rainbow Stage called …