(Photo by RR, c.,1950)

Coast to Coast Bus Tour (A Baptism by Fire) or Opera at the Grass Roots Tales from an 11 week odyssey Any resemblance to actual people is intentional Basso Nicola Moscona and a young super at a San Francisco Opera rehearsal. They had absolutely nothing to do with the Wagner Opera Co., which barnstormed the U.S. in 1960.

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Nor did the Wagner Opera Co. have anything at all to do with the operas of Richard Wagner. It was just a name, an offshoot of the old touring San Carlo Opera Co., which in turn had nothing to do with the famous opera house in Naples, Italy.

Now that all that is cleared up, let's say what the company was:  the singers were more than adequate - two fine tenors, Rudolph Petrach, and Giovanni Consiglio - sopranos Josephine Guido, Basil Landia and a lady named La Bianca. Apologies to those whose names I have forgotten. There were two conductors - Vincent La Selva and Anton Guadagno.

As for the orchestra, we numbered a whole 20 pieces. There were two categories of player - very young and very old. None of us were exactly at the peak of our profession. Some were seeking experience. Others were glad to get a job while retired. The union called it a Class "C" tour. Translation: we were not paid very much.

We carried 3 programs: Rigoletto, Cavalleria Rusticana & Pagliacci, and Madama Butterfly. There were two types of scenery - one, the traditional drops, the other a standing set of flats that could be used in gyms and sports arenas. We played both large cities and small towns. The quality of performance was not too bad - the show always went on, and there were no major operatic disasters. I guess we did some good in bringing opera to the hinterlands.

Giuseppe Mirabella, our timpanist, used music during the operas, but he probably didn't need it. He was so familiar with the operas that he used to nod off in the pit during the shows. When an important timpani entrance was coming up, La Selva used to lean down to the flutes and whisper "tell Joe to wake up." The flutes would turn to the bassoon and repeat the instruction. The bassoon would turn to the horns, and we would pass it on to the trumpet who passed it on to the trombone next to Mirabella. The trombonist would say "Hey Joe!   WAKE UP !"   Well, Joe always dozed with his arms crossed and the mallets at the ready. When he woke suddenly, his first thought was that he had missed his cue, and would immediately bring the sticks down onto the drums. WHAM!

It was a tour of one nighters (8 shows a week, with travel each day). There was little time for sleep between the shows and the next day's bus call. Stamina was a definite requirement.

One of the real stalwarts was Rudy Petrach, who sang Turridu, Canio, the Duke of Mantua, and Pinkerton, sometimes on succeeding nights. He was a bit of a bon vivant - always dined well and turned in good performances. His one weak point was language. We carried two versions of Butterfly (Italian and English). He did well in the Italian version, but was not really comfortable with English diction. I recall one performance where he had to turn to Butterfly (in Act I, after her relations have denounced her) and was supposed to sing "Dearest, forgive them for their raving and ranting." What we actually heard that night was "Deerist, fogif dem foda revala ranta."

In Seattle, we had a day off without travel. Mirabella took this chance to wash his long-johns, which he hung out the hotel window to dry. The seagulls took them immediately. Also lost at that time were numerous provisions purchased at the Farmers' Market by the Italian musicians. They lost fresh fruit, veggies, and bread to the gulls.

Food was an obsession with the Italian contingent of musicians. They travelled with two suitcases - one was full of pots, pans, dishes, utensils, and a hot plate. Many a time after the end of the show (towards midnight), you would walk down your hotel corridor and notice the aroma of Marinara sauce, with an occasional scent of eggplant, garlic, and onion. This didn't go over too well with hotel managements - there was the night when the combined hotplates blacked out the entire hotel (somewhere in Kansas).

Some of the younger musicians opted to stay in fleabag hotels to save a buck, since we were paid such low salaries. The Italian musicians referred to a fleabag as the "Sparafucile" (a slimy character in Rigoletto). The downside of saving a few bucks was that some Sparafuciles were truly horrible. There was a night when I was afraid to turn out the naked bulb in the room for fear of what might emerge from the walls.

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I don't believe this type of tour still exists. It's a shame that our younger musicians no longer have this kind of opportunity. I always felt I had paid my dues on that trip. It can instill a lot of fortitude in a player. Nothing much can bother you after such an experience.
RR   (Revised 2/10/99)
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