The previews for “42^nd Street” were electric! While the houses were respectable they weren’t totally packed and the Cast was anxious to get in front of “real” people, folks who had paid full bore for their tickets and were waiting to get their money’s worth. ‘Julian’ doesn’t sing until Act II so for me, Act I was a lot of talking, a lot of exposition establishing the story line. He’s pretty up-tight, creating tensions with all his anxieties; but after intermission things settle down as the problems get solved and he becomes more humane. By the time we got to “Lullaby of Broadway” I would be shaking, tugging at the bit and ready to let loose. In the dialogue lead-up to the song he berates ‘Peggy’ for deciding to give up Show Business and go back home to Allentown because she’s too frightened of becoming a Star. As he goes through a list of things she should “think about”, the Orchestra punctuates each of his points with a musical “sting” until he finally yells “Think about Musical Comedy, the most glorious words in the English Language! Sawyer, think of Broadway, dammit!” and he launches into “Come on along and listen to …”. The number grows and grows as the cast joins in and when ‘Polly’ finally says, “I’ll do it” and, as if once through hadn’t been enough, we start the song all over again, this time with a new strut tempo and everyone singing at the top of their lungs. That moment always brought a lump to my throat. It is, simply put, pure theatrical jubilation. Somehow, despite the fact that it sat incredibly high vocally for me, the adrenalin always pushed those three notes of “Come! A! Long!” out of my body as the Ensemble formed on either side of me and ‘Peggy’ and we went into our “Rockettes” routine. Oh, dear God, it was incredible. Those preview houses went nuts every time. Opening night took the roof off the Theatre!

            Approaching the performing of this show was like going to church. Come to think of it, just about every show I’d performed in had the same feeling. There was something mystifyingly holy in the quiet backstage just before we started. We were about to administer something sacred to the congregants out front, and walking into the darkened space between the real and the pretend worlds, making our quiet, private Whatevers we did for ourselves and then passing into the light, was always science fiction for me – from the dim Here into the glowing There. Opening Night was pure magic. We felt it collectively as we sang and spoke and danced, raising each other up and pulling The Watchers along with us. Before I finished the final note of the “42^nd Street” Reprise at the end of the show the audience was applauding. The sound grew as the bows progressed and I was stunned at the roar that greeting me as I walked out for mine.

            The party afterward was for the Company of course, but as was always the case at Rainbow Openings, hundreds from the audience had jammed into the huge backstage Scene Shop for the free food and drinks. After our make-up was off and the party finery on, we headed out into the craziness of the crowd. We could hear the roar of excited voices and laughter as we approached the room, and it was overwhelming once in the midst all the people gathered to celebrate. The large worktables, now laden with trays of sandwiches, vegetable platters and desserts brought in by the caterers, had been moved to the perimeter of the room. The crush of bodies was incredible and trying to get to the food was a long and arduous journey with folks hugging you, yelling congratulations in your ear and pulling you this way and that. The comments were touching and heartfelt as they lined up to offer praise and appreciation. This is what it must feel like to be a celebrity I kept saying to myself and, truth be told, I was reveling in it.

            Once things had calmed down and most of the “guests” had departed, there were the traditional Thank-You speeches and gift-giving ceremonies to take care of. I’d been asked to make a presentation to Robbie and, from what I was told afterward, there wasn’t a dry eye in the room. I meant every word I said about his kind consideration and generosity toward all of us, about his loving care and commitment in taking us into and through the story and about how he’d shown me particular guidance in approaching ‘Julian’. It had been a tremendous evening of love and closeness. Now it was into the run.

            The notices the following day were spectacular. My phone rang constantly. Ken (Peter, the Producer) told me the Board was over the moon and that the box office phones were ringing off the hooks. By the end of the week, houses were selling out. Twenty-six hundred people expressed their pleasure at our work by standing up and cheering each night. I quickly discovered that I would have to rest late in the afternoon because the show took a lot out of me, physically and emotionally. Forcing MSI work to the earlier part of the day allowed for a bit of a nap and I faced each evening with a clear head and enough energy to get me through. I loved doing the show! I would stand in the wings rapt by the visuals, particularly in Scott’s production numbers – which I considered to be where the show “lived”. The dancing was energized and incredibly precise mainly because these kids were so into what they’d been given to do. The sets and lighting were glorious, theatrical, celebrating the craft itself and nothing was out of place. Every performance felt like Opening Night. One could feel the anticipation of the thousands out in the house and the volume of their pre-show chatter was off the charts. As the house lights dimmed, that momentary surge of sound just before they settled in signaled that they were ready and willing to make the transition into this world with us. They always did!

            There was one dynamic I’d not expected during the late rehearsal period and then through the entire run. All the Ensemble kids knew that I was to direct “A Chorus Line”. They were aware that I was watching them … and I was aware that they were aware I was watching them. We’d cast a lot of the featured roles in the show, but there were still a lot of spaces open for the folks who wouldn’t make the final cut in the story, and I had my eye out. From time to time, they would approach me saying they wanted to be involved. All I could tell them was that we’d be holding auditions soon. But I continued to watch.

            While I was still positive about Phil Reno as our Musical Director and while he was still interested, Sam and Ken were getting concerned about what it was going to cost the Company to bring him in. Phil had recently intimated that there might be some important NY work for him that would conflict disastrously with our schedule. Even though he’d suggested Phil, Sam was being proactive about the possibility of us losing him and was on the lookout for an alternative to MD “ACL”. Months earlier, a man had walked into the Winnipeg Office with a resume so impressive that Sam had immediately sent him out to take over as the Musical Director on the “Music Of Andrew Lloyd Webber” Tour. His name was Alex Kirov. He’d been bopping about under just about everyone’s radar for a while. Sam told me he was incredibly affable, laid back, a monster pianist and would be an exact fit for my sensibilities with the show. I was excited to meet him.

            An unexpected setback was the loss of Jorden Morris, our ‘Zack’. He had, much to his own surprise, been appointed Associate AD of the Boston Ballet and though he tried, couldn’t get out of part of their season to do our show. It was a blow to the casting, and it took me a while to get my head around not having him lead the Cast. But there was nothing I could do about it and we started the now urgent job of finding someone else. We were still on the look-out for a ‘Cassie”. Toronto was indeed in the picture for options now.

            As all this upheaval was going on, a great friend from Portland, Greg Tamblyn, had called to find out if I was interested and available to play ‘Albin/Zaza’ in Jerry Herman’s “La Cage Aux Folles” in Portland the following Spring. It would be a high-end production for The Musical Company and no expense would be spared to bring me in. Since it was a Community Theatre company there would be a number of logistical, legal and financial hurdles to overcome but Greg, never one to let those kinds of details put him off, was adamant that I was “perfect” for the role. He would put the wheels in motion if I was up for it. Having been through the U.S. Immigration turbulence before, I was apprehensive but excited by the prospect and I penciled it in on my calendar.

            “42^nd Street” continued sell out as we approached the final shows. There had been standing ovations every night and we basked in that response. But as we approached the closing, I found myself getting more and more upset. There were moments when it was all I could do to keep myself from falling apart on stage. The emotional final scene with ‘Peggy” (Leslie Drewitz) was particularly difficult as it makes a heartfelt argument about enduring in the business and the importance of loving what you do. Then I had to sing the reprise of “42^nd Street”. The cast would gather in the wings getting ready for the bows and I could feel them watching and listening. They had been so focused and committed during the run, no goofing off or joking around. We were in this together, playing the show’s Truth and honouring its message. I dreaded the end.

            Of course, MSI was still the day-to-day anchor in my life. But complications would inject themselves from time to time and one of them became a major bump in the road. Mom had come into town to see the show and in the course of her visit, suggested that we go out and look at model houses as a way of spending a Sunday afternoon. It wasn’t something that was in my head, but seeing some model houses might be amusing. It was a turning point in my life. I was so taken with the houses we saw that day that I began thinking that maybe I should buy one. But then what about New York? What about taking the business to the next level as Sam and I had been planning for quite a while now. It ate at me – deeply. Mom and I could talk about nothing else for the rest of her stay. Even after she returned to Toronto, she would call with decorating suggestions for “the new house”. Sam got into the discussions as well after I told him what had happened. “You know you could always live in both places”, he said at one point … which sent me further into a tailspin. How was I going to deal with this?

            We were about to go into pre-production meetings for “A Chorus Line”. I had immersed myself in a lot of research and studying the script and had worked out the show from beginning to end. So I approached the first of these meetings with a very definite concept in mind. I listened to the designers and production folk layout their ideas and plans and realized that everything they were describing was the antithesis of what I had visualized. I had placed the show in a real-time cocoon. Walking into the empty Pantages Theatre, bare stage, no lights, no orchestra warming up, the audience would become flies-on-the-wall. At exactly 8:00, the entire theatre would go pitch black for a full minute – no aisle lights, no exit signs, no music stand lamps …just a void. In the dark, the rehearsal mirrors would silently fly in, the dancers would silently get into place and, with the “da-da, da-da-da-da” of the piano, the stage lights would very slowly come up revealing all 26 dancers in the middle of the audition. They’ve been there for a quite a while. And we were into it.

            In the course of that meeting a designer talked about raising the stage floor to accommodate an inserted downstage plexiglass-covered “line” that would be illuminated from below. Upstage would be hung a drop painted to look like a brick wall. I listened to their discussions for a few minutes and eventually stopped them. “I’m confused” I said. “Why would you paint a brick wall drop when the back wall of the Pantages stage is a brick wall?” They all looked at each other. No one had a response. So that was settled – no drop. “And we’ll just paint a line on the stage and save a shit-load of bucks by not raising the floor. How’s that?” Amazingly, everyone thought it was “brilliant”. I inwardly shook my head and we moved on. If nothing else, I let them know who was in charge and that anything complicating the experience for the performers and, more importantly, for the audience, would be nipped in the bud. I also broached the notion that toward the end of the rehearsal period, the Union follow-spot operators and the sound engineer would come in and watch the show as many times as possible to learn who was moving or speaking and where they were. They would know the show as well as the performers. Nothing would be rushed or argued about during tech – as was usually the case. There would be an intimate connection between the cast and running crew. It would also mean getting in touch with the IATSE hierarchy right away in order to hire the best and most accommodating crew guys – a normally belligerent bunch. And that was it. The only thing left to do was finish the casting.

            The “42^nd Street” closing was heartbreaking. We could all feel the emotion bubbling to the surface as we performed the final show. As each scene concluded and the Ensemble left the stage, no-longer-needed costumes were loaded on racks and rolled away into storage. The once- cozy dressing rooms became little echo chambers as they got barer. Folks began clearing their stations. Waste baskets got filled up with the usual garbage that gathers over the course of a run – long dead flowers, old cards and notes and schedules, empty Kleenex boxes. It was simply sad. As we got closer to the Reprise, I could feel tears welling up. It was glorious and terrifying at the same time. I cracked a bit on “dancing feet” but got it under control and allowed myself to luxuriate in those final moments. The kids backstage started applauding before I started singing the final note. I came off, found some dark and just hugged myself for the next few minutes before coming out for my bow. Everyone was crying including me, overcome by this bittersweet moment. The audience went wild, and it was over. The party felt anticlimactic, and I stayed for only a short while thanking everyone in sight for the great work. I found myself in a deep depression for the next three days. I developed a cold and trying to focus on the massive amount of MSI work was a chore. All I wanted to do was sleep, but I couldn’t do that … there was too much to take care of.

            Even though I’d kept MSI under control, Sam always managed to complicate matters. Our show roster kept getting bigger and bigger and while I was extremely happy to have Cathleen and Tracy down at the office to take care of things, there was still a lot of stress. Deals were being made with new Producers – Troika, SFX, “Broadway in Chicago” – and one show was taking up an incredible amount of time – “Jesus 2000” – a monumental pageant taking place at the Sky Dome in Toronto for five performances. We were hiring the 85-piece orchestra. Thank God we had a local rep dealing with most of that. I was still dealing with irate Musical Directors calling to yell at me that a Trumpet player or violinist on a far off tour wasn’t up to snuff and was to be replaced before the next performance! Middle of the night back-and-forths between me and Sam got these thing solved. It was just another kind of exhausting.

            I zapped off to Toronto to find some “ACL” leads and came up with a ‘Zack’ (Stephen Beckon) and took time to touch base with a lot of General Managers and Company Managers of Tours that were out or about to go out. I finally met Alex Kirov and everything Sam said about him was absolutely true. I was taken with his enthusiasm and knowledge, and it was great to be on a social footing with him before going into rehearsals. Back home we brought in some dancers for the roles of ‘Cassie’ and ‘Richie’ from Vancouver and eventually ended up with who we needed. That task had taken forever but now it was done. I headed into a myriad of meetings to finalizing details for the show and spent the rest of the year fitting in nine “A Christmas Carol” readings at Dalnavert, getting a schedule done for rehearsals, buying a house (or rather the land on which it will sit – so much for NYC it seemed), and saying “yes” to the role of ‘Zaza’ in “La Cage” in May. It was the dead of winter in Winnipeg, but the thought of Spring in Portland was enough to carry me through.

            Then I had a medical emergency. From my Journal: “I was sitting in the living room one evening watching TV and suddenly felt an incredible pain in my gut. I went upstairs to try to go to the bathroom, but nothing happened. The pain intensified to the point where I could hardly stand up. A few weeks earlier, a friend had described a medical issue he’d had (oddly enough during a performance of “42^nd Street” at Rainbow). The Theatre had to call an ambulance to take him to the hospital. The description of his condition sounded very much like what I was experiencing. I made my way back downstairs and called my friend Teresa. She wasn’t at home, but her partner Eric was. I told him what had happened. By now I couldn’t stand up anymore. My legs were buckling under me. I lay down on the couch and he told me to call 911. I hung up with Eric and dialed Emergency. At that point, the pain started to subside just a bit so I hung up. A moment later, the phone rang, and it was the 911 operator asking me if I had called. I said that I was having some trouble and described what was happening to me. She said she’d have paramedics there right away. As I lay on the couch with the pain still fading, the only thing I could think about was if the paramedics would be taking off their shoes when they came in the house. It couldn’t have been more than three minutes after the 911 call and my front door was opening! Inside of five minutes, 8 huge helmeted firemen and paramedics were tromping about my living room, all with snow covered boots ON, unpacking equipment, asking me where it hurt, how long had it been going on, what was my age, one rolling up my shirt sleeve and another attaching the blood pressure arm wrap. It was like a circus! A moment later, Erik arrived. He must have been frantic when he saw all the fire trucks, ambulances and flashing lights in front of my house. They tried to hook me up to a portable EKG machine, but the terminals wouldn’t stick because of all my chest hair. One of them got out a disposable razor and dry-shaved an area to make the connections. It seemed that everything was fine. My blood pressure was normal, and all my vitals were where they were supposed to be. Eventually, it was just me, Eric and two paramedics who were packing things up. One of them had recognized me from shows he’d seen and was impressed at having treated me. Erik left as did the paramedics without giving me any kind of diagnosis. Some neighbours had called concerned about all the flashing lights, but I assured them that everything was fine. I lay on the couch watching the little mounds of snow slowly melting into my living room carpet and fell to sleep.

            I related the story in the following days, and everyone got a big kick out of my misplaced concern about the firemen’s shoes. It was conjectured by a number of folks that it might have been a kidney stone that had caused all the pain. I guess I’ll never know but it sure had been a commotion. One thing I DO know is that I got a bill for $180.00 for “treatment and release”. Don’t know why I thought this stuff was free … it ain’t!”

Onward!