The Way I Heard It with Mike Rowe - 197: Everybody Run For Your Lives

Episode Date: April 27, 2021

Mike tells the true story of two friends united by their love of music, divided by their love of a girl, and the fistfight that changed rock and roll. Then, he recalls the audition that changed the course of his own career, before chatting with the old friend who made it happen, and bursting briefly into song.

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Hey, guys, it's Mike Row and this is episode number 197 of the way I heard it. And it's called Everybody Run for Your Lives. Actually, it's called Everybody, run for your lives! Which is actually the way I originally heard it. This episode tells the true story of a famous musician whose incredible talent and remarkable

resiliency made him a household name. And that's followed by the true story of a not-so-famous musician whose incredible talent and remarkable resiliency did not. The not-so-fellow famous musician happens to be an old friend of mine named Michael Gellert, who I met nearly 40 years ago when he persuaded me to audition for the Baltimore Opera, an audition that would turn out to be the most consequential or instrumental of my career, such as it is. Mike Gellert is a deliverer

of restaurant supplies, a job he's been doing now for over 53 years. That's his vocation. His avocation, however, is music, any and all forms of music. Aside from distinguishing himself in the opera, Michael is sung in rock bands and church choirs and world champion choruses and more than a few barbershop quartets, including one with me once upon a time. He's also a really gifted arranger of acapella music, a very popular vocal teacher with a waiting list of students and the current director of the Harbor City Music Company,

one of the premier female choruses on the planet, where he's been exercising his unique talent for nearly three decades. Mike Gellert is in this book because he changed my life. And he's with me on the podcast today because he's one of the many Americans who have been deemed not essential during these interminable lockdowns. Many of the restaurants that he has served for over 50 years are still closed. Many will never reopen. And that's bad for a great,

grandfather in the restaurant supply business who still has to work to earn a living. What's worse, though, is that his true love, music, has been locked down just as hard as restaurants. Now, with the possible exception of spitting into a stranger's face or licking a stripper pole, the simple joy of singing has been deemed the mother of all super spreading. And so my not so famous but very talented friend has been denied his vocation and his avocation. and for that reason I wanted to check in on him to see just how resilient he really is. I'm glad I did.

At base, this whole episode is about friendship and music, forgiveness and luck, raw talent, and real resilience. You'll find all that in the famous musician you're about to meet and in the not-so-famous musician who was standing next to me on stage at the Lyric Opera House 35 years ago when a fearsome prisoner broke free of his shackles and someone screamed, Everybody, run for your lives!

And everybody did. It's episode 197, and it all starts right now. Chapter 19, a tale of two pupils. George Underwood was 15 years old when he punched his handsome saxophone player. His motivation? An unforgivable display of skullduggery that simply could not be ignored,

a completely unacceptable betrayal, made worse by the fact that the handsome saxophone player in question was George Underwood's best friend. Here's what happened. In the spring of 1962, George and his best friend were pupils at the Bromley Technical School for Boys. They played together in a band you've never heard of called George and the Dragons. The Dragons had real potential, though everyone agreed that George was the most likely member to find real friends. fame. He had the looks for it, that's for sure. George was handsome and bursting with charisma. His personality leapt off the stage. He had a strong voice, and his Elvis impersonation never failed to make the young girl swoon. Anyway, George had arranged for a date with Carol

Goldsmith, the pretty school girl he had been eyeing all semester. But a few hours before they were supposed to meet down at the youth center, George's saxophone player pulled him aside. And he was side. Hey, George, I just saw Carol down at the record store. She said to tell you that she wouldn't be able to make it this evening. Between you and me, I think she's seeing someone else. George was disappointed, obviously, but he appreciated the heads up from his loyal bandmate. Future rock stars shouldn't be stood up in public by pretty schoolgirls. They had images to protect. But in reality, it was Carol Goldsmith who wound up waiting for George Underwood that night. She waited for over an hour and probably would have waited longer if the handsome saxophone player hadn't arrived in George's place.

Oh, hey, Carol, how's it going? Oh, Carol said, I was just waiting for George. He was supposed to be here an hour ago. The saxophone player assumed a pensive expression and sighed deeply. I'm sorry. Carol, I saw George earlier today, and he told me he had other plans tonight. Between you and me, I think he's seeing someone else. Carol Goldsmith was disappointed, obviously, but she appreciated hearing the truth. She also appreciated the saxophone player's sympathetic gaze. Thank you for telling me, said Carol. By the way, you have pretty eyes. The saxophone players smiled. Thanks. Hey, you want to go get some ice cream? The next day at school, George learned of this treachery and reacted as any young man filled with testosterone and righteous indignation would.

He confronted his traitorous bandmate, confirmed his duplicity, and delivered a roundhouse, a mighty blow that left his best friend flat on his back with a black eye and a swollen face. Actually, the fallout was worse than that. George Underwood's temper earned him the contempt of everyone at Bromley Tech, including that of his teachers, his best friend's parents, and Carol Goldsmith. Sucker punching the saxophone player led to the demise of George and the Dragons as well. Why? Because with that one blow, George had forever changed his best friend's appearance. and in the process the appearance of countless magazine covers,

Time, Esquire, GQ, People, Vanity Fair, and of course, Rolling Stone. But all that would come later. On that particular day in 1962, George's saxophone player was rushed to the hospital, where he remained for several weeks as doctors tried to correct the damage George had inflicted. Fortunately, they did not succeed. The official diagnosis was aniscoria, and after two surgeries, doctors said the damage was irreversible. George would live with the guilt for the rest of his life, but he would not be unforgiven. In fact, a few months later, George and his saxophone player wound up in another band, you've

never heard of, the Conrads. After the Conrads, they formed the Hooker Brothers, which you've probably never. heard of either. And then the King Bees, which also might not ring any bells. Along the way, though, George came to realize that no matter what they called themselves, people weren't coming to hear him sing. They were coming to see his deformed but still handsome saxophone player, the best friend whose face he had permanently altered. The King Bees went their separate ways, too. Most bands do, and George Underwood shifted his focus to painting and drawing. Not as glamorous, perhaps, as being a rock star, but one plays the cards one gets,

and all things considered, George had some pretty good cards. Today, you can see his artwork all over the world and on the covers of more than a few albums. Albums from bands you probably have heard of. T-Rex, Procol Haram. Mott the Hoople and the Fix. But, of course, his most famous album covers are the ones he did for his old friend, who sadly no longer plays the saxophone, or anything else for that matter. One evening, years before he died, but long after he'd become a rock and roll legend,

George Underwood's former saxophone player called and thanked him for that punch in the face. He could not have been more sincere. The anisoria, he said, had given him an identity. He never could have cultivated on his own. Thanks to that precipitous blow landed back when they were both teenagers, his left pupil would remain permanently dilated. As a result, his eyes appeared to be two different colors, and that gave George Underwood's best friend a certain quality,

a rock star quality, a quality that helped. secure his appearance on countless magazine covers, Time, Esquire, GQ, People, Vanity Fair, and of course, Rolling Stone. On January 11, 2016, George Underwood learned that Ziggy would no longer play guitar. The Starman, who gave us Major Tom and life on Mars, would never get to enjoy his golden years. George was heartbroken, and although Carol Goldsmith's feelings are, not on the record, it's safe to assume that she too misses the rebel-rebel who studied fame and went on to define it, a pupil who stood out above all the others, a best friend named

David Bowie. April 1984, a young Caucasian male was spotted behaving erratically on the streets of Baltimore. According to witnesses, he was wearing headphones and carrying a walkman, but the sounds he was making were less than musical. They were the sounds of a crazy person, having a loud conversation with himself. The witnesses were my parents, the Caucasian, was me. You sound deranged. What? I removed my headphones. Your father said you sound terrific, my mom said, better and better each time. Do you even know what it is you're singing about, my dad asked. Sort of, I said. It's called the coat aria. It's from La Boeem. It's a love story about a guy who gives his favorite coat to a girl who's dying of consumption. Tuberculosis, John, consumption's another word for tuberculosis.

I know what consumption is, Peggy. I just don't know why Michael is singing Italian love songs about jackets. Over dinner, the night before, I told my father about a loophole that would have enabled me to start making some actual money in TV and radio. He hadn't understood. He hadn't understood that either. I don't get it, he said. You don't even like opera. You don't know anything about opera. Why are you auditioning for the opera? Because the opera is under the jurisdiction of the American Guild of Musical Artists, I said. If I can get into Agma, then I become automatically eligible to join the Screen Actors Guild. If I can get into SAG, I can start making union commercials. And if I start making union commercials, I can start paying you rent.

Well, I like the sound of that. But if you want to be in SAG, why not just join SAG? SAG won't let me join until I get work on a union job, I told him. Why don't you audition for union jobs? Because the agents won't send me on a union audition unless I have my union card. Well, that doesn't make any sense. No, I said it doesn't. But it does explain why people hate agents.

It's a catch-22, John. Do you remember that movie? Yes, Peggy, I remember Catch 22. I read the book. It didn't make sense either. My father went back to his meatloaf. I put my headphones back on and listened to Samuel Ramey sing the coat aria for the 50th time. I didn't hear what my mother said next. It looked like you're going to be terrific. The next morning, I drove downtown to an address on Charles Street where the Baltimore Opera Company rehearsed. My friend Mike Gelert was already waiting for me in his car.

I've got the melody down, I told him. The words are still a bit squishy. Hop in, he said. Let's hear it. Gellert had sung in the opera for years. He was also a fellow barbershopper. He told me about the opera loophole and encouraged me to audition

in spite of my absolute lack of experience. They have open calls on the last Thursday of every month, he'd said. What do you have to lose? I closed the passenger side door, and did my best impression of Samuel Ramey, the bass baritone I'd been listening to for the last two days, singing the shortest aria I could find.

The lawyers won't let me sing it here, but it looks like this on the page. Vecchio zemarescenti, the rest of the piento shendéry, romegranate, or devi. Le migrazi, rechevichievi. But not corvastio, the logor of those are rickiae dae potenti,

pass in elitututche, like in entry tranquilly, philosophia poeti. O'rake adjoin let he fugir, ti diio, adiko, fidelia my cameo, adio, adio. When I finished, Gellard said, You're right, your Italian is really terrible. Thanks, I said.

You should do motivational speeches. Don't worry about it, said Gellard. They're desperate for young guys with low voices. You've got a shot. Just sing it like we rehearsed it, and don't sass the piano player. We walked into the rehearsal hall and joined the half-dozen hopefuls waiting nervously in the lobby.

At the far end of the hall, a soprano was singing the bejesus out of something so beautiful it made my eyes water. Omeo Babino Carro, from Puccini's Giannisquici. When she finished, the man playing the piano said, Thank you so much for your delightful audition. We have all the sopranos we need, but we'll keep your name on file and call if an opening presents itself. Next? That's Bill Yanutsi, said Gellert.

He's the musical director. He speaks five languages. He can play any aria from any opera from memory. Next up, a tenor sang Nassundorma, also by Puccini. He too sounded amazing, and when he was finished, Mr. Yiannutsi said, Thank you so much for your delightful audition. We have all the tenors we need, but we'll keep your name on file and call if an opening presents itself. Next?

The next four hopefuls. Two sopranos, one alto, and another tenor, all sounded like season pros. They all got the same speech from the man at the keyboard. Thanks, but no thanks. The next, next, was me. Gellert handled the introduction. Mr. Yenutzi, this is my friend Mike Rowe. He sings bass in a barbershop quartet.

He can't read music, but he's got a low D, and he's great on stage. I think it'd be an asset to the company. He's going to sing the coat aria from La Boe M. Sort of. Mr. Yanutsi started to play. I started to sing, but stopped a few measures in. Sorry, I said, but that's a lot higher than I rehearsed it. Can you play it in a different key? I can play it in any key, said Mr. Yonutsi. What key do you prefer, if not the one Mr. Puccini intended? I don't know, I said. How about a... manlier key mr yonutsi looked at the chorus-master a man named tom hall mr hall shrugged and looked at gelert who sighed and said played in d mr yunitsy started again a few steps lower than before when i finished he looked at me with an odd mix of curiosity and contempt well your italian is terrible he said and your phrasing is atrocious thanks i said it's a gift

On the positive side, said Mr. Hall, You sure do sing loud. Both men looked more than a little skeptical as they weighed the pros and cons of letting an untrained barber shopper, a guy who couldn't read music, into their esteemed organization. Finally, Mr. Yanutzi turned to Gelert.

This man is your responsibility, he said. Teach him Italian, Mr. Gelert. Teach him diction. Teach him intonation. Teach him to suck less, said Mr. Hall. Gellard promised to do that very thing. And just like that, I was in. The stage was set. For what? I wasn't entirely sure, but if I could fake my way into a reputable opera company, it was hard not to wonder what other stages might welcome the likes of me. Is it weird to love people but despise human resources? If so, well, color me weird. It's not to say I don't respect the millions of people who work in HR departments

and companies all over the country. I do. It's just that I don't envy him. That's why MicroWorks doesn't have an HR department for better or worse. And it's also why I use ZipRecruiter whenever we need to expand. ZipRecruiter has proven themselves a million times over by helping countless employers get through the hiring process faster and more effectively than ever before. And now they have a new feature that instantly shows you the most interested, the most passionate, and the most qualified candidates first. This is a huge time saver, hours and hours of save time. And it helps people like me find the people who can function in a non-traditional work environment like MicroWorks. In other words, ZipRecruiter works for me, and they'll probably work for you, too.

Post a job for free at ZipRecruiter.com slash row. And watch what happens. odds are you'll find a human resource that just happens to be a great fit for your company in 24 hours or less. ZipRecruiter.com slash row. ZipRecruiter.com slash row. The smartest way to hire. No, music lovers, that is not David Bowie, nor is it Grand Opera. That's a woman named Michaela Johnston, singing all four parts to the introduction of an acapellatoon arranged over a recent weekend by the aforementioned Michael Gellert.

At the risk of running a foul of copyright laws too complicated for mere mortals like me to comprehend, I wanted to give you just a taste, a very brief, perfectly legal, fair use taste of what my friend does in his spare time. So without any further ado, get a load of my old buddy, Michael Gellert. Is it you, my friend? It's me. How you doing? Is it really you? It is me. It is great to see you.

It's great to see you. I want to talk to you about a bunch of stuff today, but I think mostly I want people to understand coming out of this. Just what a freak you are with respect. With respect to the path that you've chosen, you are one of the most artistic people I know, probably the most sensitive friend that I have. and the greatest lover of all things musical. Is it fair to say that music is somewhere very near the center of your life? I would say that anything that has ever meant anything to me has had a background of music. Now, I also want to point out that you have had one job in the last 53 years.

Please describe that job for us. That job is, I'm in the restaurant supply business, and I worked for my uncles from the time that I was a kid, helping on the trucks and helping in the warehouse and then becoming a truck driver and then a salesman. And all of the while I was doing that, I was asking myself, what in the hell am I doing? And how can I possibly do something else? But I really never figured out what I wanted to be when I grew up. And that is what makes you fascinating to me. You are in many ways a blue-collar personality.

You're the kind of person that my foundation often looks for. You didn't finish college. You came right out of high school. You started working. And yet, while you started doing that, you were also studying with one of the great vocal teachers of all time. Forrest Barrett. Mm-hmm.

You were doing inexplicable things. You were singing in the opera. You were leading these two completely divergent kinds of lives. And you still are. You're still working for your uncle for 53 years. And now, you know, you're not singing in the opera anymore, but you're directing a world-class, competitive a cappella chorus. You sang with me once upon a time in a barbershop quartet.

you're arranging complicated charts for some of the most talented Acapella groups in the world. And you still dive in your truck or your car when you have to drop off a bunch of soda pop to some bar in D.C. It's kind of incredible, brother. That's like I said. I had never figured out what I wanted to be. And I always had to pay the bills.

So I just kept showing up the work. Now, tell me what you just did. Like, in the last hour, what did I just interrupt to talk to you? In the last, well, I just finished a voice lesson, someone that came to my house. And it was about a 45-minute, 50-minute voice lesson. She's been taking lessons from me for a couple of years. And before that, I was talking to customers, one I read customer about the price of beef. and told him we'd get it ironed out for next time.

But, you know, that's how the day goes. It's a little of this, a little of that. What did your pupil learn from you regarding vocal wisdom today? She works really hard at making sounds. And so we were working on letting the message lead the way. Let the voice be carried by. what it is that you want to impart to an audience, the message that you have. And it made a big difference.

It made a big difference. It made her not work so much that the news came out easier. You've tried to drill this into my head over the years in a lot of different ways, but I've never heard you say it the way you just did. Basically, singing is telling a story. And if you get too worked up in the tone, too worked up in the tone, too worked up in the technique, the story or the message sometimes falls by the wayside, thereby oddly, perhaps conversely, screwing up your technique.

Exactly. The highest form of technique is communication. You hear it mostly in, I would say, folk singers. And when I was taking voice lessons, back when I was learning how to be an opera singer, I would not listen to folk singers. To me, that wasn't singing. To me, that was somebody who was, you know. So billy crap. Yeah, something.

Something. But now I really, really embrace it. Because to me, the best singers, even the best opera singers, are the best storytellers. You know, I had a really bizarre run in last week in Nashville with a very popular country singer named John Rich. I don't know if you've heard of him. Big and rich. Big and rich. Yeah, sure.

Big and rich. So John is the rich part. And, you know, he was singing some songs for me over at his house. And it was the same thing occurred to me. The storytelling in country music is probably unrivaled. You mentioned folk. But even barbershop, the simple beginning, middle, and end of a story is so important. and so easy to forget, which is why it was so odd for me and why that audition that you took

me to all those years ago was so important, because I didn't know what the hell I was singing, Mike. I memorized a bunch of sounds the way, you know, a person would who didn't speak the language. You helped me with it, but in the end, I didn't know what the hell I was singing about. Well, we didn't have time to interpret it. We only had time for you to learn it because they, needed somebody. Yeah, I remember that. The Codaria from La Boeem. Yeah. And that was, uh, do you remember any of the words? Do you remember it yourself? Just the first line.

Vecia zimarra senti. I'm lost after that. It's been a long time. And that was never one. Oh, yeah. Oh, man. And I love your, your accent. I'm so full of crap. And you knew I was full of crap. And you had to sit there next to me while I sang for essentially your two bosses. And, you know, the point I wanted to make in the story was that you not only helped teach me that song, you vouched for me. And in the end, Mr. Yonutsi, he was like, look, we'll do this thing. But Mr. Gellert, you have to keep an eye on this barbarian. That's exactly.

Yeah, Mr. Yunutsi, everything that came out of his. mouth sounded like a part of a lecture. And you know that you must always, every sound that you make has to be fraught with meaning. When he coached me for quite a while. Well, you know, it's funny how this sort of mentorship thing, I mean, I think it's important in everybody's life, but I remember, I was just a kid, I was 24, 25 years old, you're what, eight, nine years older than me, maybe. But we were still going over to Mr. Yunutsi's house from time to time and not just talking about music, but talking about philosophy. I believe he taught philosophy. Yeah. He knew everything. Yeah, everybody always sat at his feet and listened to everything he had

to say, especially in the green room at the opera. You'd have weights before you went on stage, and he was always down there. And he just always had a... crowd of people around him that he was pontificating to. And he was always very interesting. You know, there are so many things in my life now are clearly and obviously important, but didn't feel that way at the time. The opera didn't feel important at the time to me. Neither did QVC, neither did any of those early things. But now it's enormously important. How important was it to you? And as you answer, where I'm coming from is simply to say, when people meet me today and they know me as the dirty jobs guy, the fact that I used to sing in the opera, their head explodes. It just makes no sense, right? And I'm wondering if it's something similar. When your customers learn that the guy who's been driving the truck for the last 50-some years and selling them pots and pans and whatever, napkins and stuff, is borderline fluent in Italian and is performing. in probably 30 or 40 different operas.

How do they look at you? Well, they're always surprised. You know, I wasn't just balancing two strange lives. I was balancing three because I spent 15 years, 40 hours a week in a pool hall. And my nickname, everybody got a nickname. My nickname was Mike the opera singer. And it didn't come because they knew that I, sang in the opera because I kind of kept it from them. It's because I sang while I played.

And as far as how important the opera was back then, it was the thing that I thought that I was going to do. It was when I got a contract there, I thought, okay, in a couple of years, this is what I'm going to be doing full time. And, you know, the most that I got was, you know, three or four supporting roles and because all of the stars were Metropolitan Opera, New York City Opera, they came from overseas. And they had they had master's degrees. I didn't have a master's degree. I had to quit college and I found a private teacher. And it's still never knowing what am I going to do, what's going to become of me. So I thought I had, um, I thought, thought that was it. But when it kind of dawned on me that it wasn't going to be my,

the thing that I rose to the top of, then I was happy to be involved in a major opera company singing with the Baltimore Symphony Orchestra and some of the greatest voices on the planet. I was thrilled. I was thrilled too. And shame on me for not appreciating it as much as I should have at the time, there were occasions when you and I were on stage when James Morris was there, maybe the greatest bass baritone of all time, Pavarotti was there, Domingo was there. They were around us all the time. And we had this weird backstage pass to a very strange, a very strange world. Opera is not theater.

It's not Broadway. It's truly its own thing. And I really struggled to articulate the strangeness of it to anyone who hasn't participated in it firsthand. Yeah, it was quite a world. The people that came through and the things that you heard and some of the parties were amazing. But the friends and then things that happened on stage. to be right next to one of the greatest, you know, singers on the planet, you know, three feet from them and be, you know, doing a scene with them or having them be there and just hearing it up close. It was, it was just, it was amazing.

And I'm sure that I really didn't appreciate it as much then as I do looking back. You know, one of the moments I remember, and there were some goofy ones too. The hardest times I've ever laughed in my life was on the stage at a time when I shouldn't have been laughing, usually clowning around with you. But do you remember Harry Thayerd? Harry Thayerd, my all-time favorite tenor of opera. He always got panned. He got panned. They said he sounded bleaty.

But he never sang, except for during the performances, all the rehearsals. He just, he spoke. He spoke all the rehearsals, but he could just absolutely bring it to tears. They called it marking. Marking, yes, marking. And he marked all the time. And it was just so real. His acting was just so wonderful.

And that's usually not said about opera singers. I remember the scene in, I guess it was Polyachi, where he's putting on his makeup, right? The sad clown. He's been betrayed by, oh, what's her name? name that slut, Nelda, was it? I think it's Neda. Neta.

Right, it's one of those. It was awful, you know. But he actually sang that Aria with his back to the audience. He's putting on his makeup. And so you can see his face in the mirror. And as he's putting on his makeup to the very first point you made, he's telling a story. Now, he's singing it. And he's singing it pretty well.

It's like, you know, B minus. He was a great singer. He was a great singer. But he was also that weirdo in the opera world who could also truly act. Because let's face it, those great singers, they couldn't act their way out of a sack. They're terrible. One arm up, the other arm up, both arms up. That's it.

That was it. That was their acting. That's my move. Do that thing where you put both arms up. Yeah, both arms. Right. No, he was a real actor. Yeah.

But you and I stood back. stage and watched him sing that as tears were streaming down his face. I mean, this is like as close as the opera world would ever see to a method actor. And that was an eye-opener to me. And maybe one of the first times I realized the point you've always tried to drill into my head, which is tell me a story. Tell me a story before you sing me a song. Yeah, and he did it. You know, I was thinking about, I don't know if you were here for Roe. Romeo and Juliet, when what was his name, James Shwezo, he came to, he came, we were doing the opera. And when he got into town, and we had three weeks before the opera opened, he got into town.

And he said, what? This is in French? He says, I know it in English. And he had to learn the entire opera. Now, this is the guy playing Romeo. He had to learn the entire opera in French. French in three weeks. And so he was with Mr. Yonutsi, you know, constantly, constantly. And I remember, I think it was a, it might have been orchestra dress rehearsal where he finally got through his

aria in French. And while he was still singing, he stood on his head. I remember that, yeah. Yeah, he was just so happy that he had finally made it through that. That was some amazing things to Not only was I in that production, I remember the big fight scene between, I guess, was Macruchio and Ro-I'm not sure what it is. Two of these guys are fighting. It's a big sword fight on the stage. It was pretty well choreographed. And do you remember?

I think it was James. I think it was Romeo's sword falls to pieces in his hands. The blade falls out of the hilt. And he's just standing there holding the hilt. And was it you? somebody tossed, somebody from the chorus tossed them their sword. That was, that was actually in, that happened in Faust. Oh, was that Faust?

Yeah, it was Faust. And what happens is that the character is supposed to turn his sword over because we're banishing Mephistophle, is the devil. And he is supposed to show the sign of the cross. Well, his sword all fell apart. So I threw him my son. sword. And now I don't have a sword. So what I did was I kind of coward behind him while everyone else was, you know, showing the sign of the cross. And the, yeah, I get big kudos for that when

we came off stage. But that was, that was just one of those crazy things that happened. Man, so many. What was the production where the king, it must have been Aida, and he's in shackles, remember? Yes. So it's a technical dress rehearsal, which means we got a full audience there. Right. It was an orchestra dress.

Yeah. In other words, we had a full audience. Yeah. So the place is sold out, and you got the king, is he's in shackles, and he stands up, and he's supposed to, what,

like pretend, you know, shake his arms and stretch the chains and then sing whatever he goes. Right. Right. He breaks the shackles. And one person... Which is not supposed to happen.

Not supposed to happen. No, no, no. And then one of the main characters comes totally out of character. It says, everyone run for your lives. Man, I remember a moment in... Oh, God, was it Martha? Where you and me and Steve marking are all down. stage and we're in one of those frozen tableaus where we're,

Greg Geiger and Rick Kiapeta were there as well. And thankfully, you and I were looking upstage with the orchestra in back of us. And they were looking, those poor guys were looking downstage because I've never enjoyed, I've never enjoyed destroying anyone so much. They're all great guys. Just so you guys understand, the main characters are singing and everybody else on stage is frozen, like a tableau vivant. And luckily, Gellert and I are standing with our backs to the orchestra and the audience. But these three other guys, they're looking straight out in the audience.

But they're only like two feet from my face, which means I can say anything I want under my breath. I can make any sound. The orchestra is just loud enough to cover your mutterings. What was I muttering? Do you even remember? Oh, man. Yes, I remember one thing that you said. You said to, I think it was to Greg. You said, be still.

You're supposed to be still. And then you said, wait, there's something hanging out of your nose. And then he just started laughing. And he's, I mean, frozen laughing. Right. Frozen laughing. And tears started coming down. And then once you, you know, I'd been only.

the other side of your unmerciful stuff before. And once you knew you had him, then you went in for the kill. But that's how it started. Good fun. God, that was fun. Terribly unprofessional. No. Terribly.

Terribly. Well, I mean, for people that don't know, this all happened, and I talk about it in the book, but I was just trying to get my union card, my SAG card. And that's what that audition was about. And doing one show was my plan. But, man, it was so much better than I thought, Mike. The music was unlike anything I had ever been exposed to before. And the backstage shenanigans were unrivaled.

But, you know, you were more than my friend, too. You got me into this thing and you showed me around Baltimore, a city that I had grown up near but didn't really know. And it was all, in hindsight, just a really, incredibly eye-opening sort of time for me. And whether you knew it or not, you were, you were a mentor to me at the time. And I really didn't think of you that way then. But hearing you talk now, I'd like to hear more about Forrest Barrett. Because, you know, Fred King, who you knew very well too, and who makes a big appearance in the book a little later,

he was my mentor. He was my high school music teacher. And he, you know, he got me into this crazy world of barbershop that you know as well as anyone. But you had a version of him, a very different man, Forrest Barrett. But talk a little bit about what he meant for you and how sad it is today that so many people don't have a mentor at all, never mind one that extraordinary. My guest today, Tom Olbenice, is an American giant, and I'll tell you why. Tom understands on a fundamental level that the business of mining is a non-negotiable prerequisite of our civilization and our economic independence, just like the business of making things. American Giant knows this, which is why they committed themselves 16 years ago to make all their excellent clothing right here in this country.

It wasn't easy, but they did it. They sourced locally grown cotton, and they built factory. in towns across the nation where they could hire hardworking locals who cared about making a quality product. And then they went about the business of gently reminding people that when you buy a piece of clothing from American giant, you're not just buying a high quality sweatshirt or t-shirt or another pair of jeans. You're investing in a local supply chain. You're supporting communities from the Carolinas to California. And you're getting a piece of clothing that won't just survive the wash, you're getting a garment that'll get better with age.

Check out their high-quality staples, hoodies, teas, denim, built to be worn year after year at American-giant.com slash mike. It's quality you can feel and a true American success story that you can be proud to support. Use code Mike. Get 20% off your order at American-giant.com slash Mike. American Giant, American Made. giant American made. Yeah, I did grow up with several mentors, my uncles,

but Forrest Barrett is the one that really changed the direction of my life because I had finished three semesters of college. And I wasn't doing well. I'm not a student. I'm a one-on-one type of learner. So I was quitting, and I had joined a rock band. And the rock band had actually they were just kind of breaking up at the same time I was trying to come in. And the guy playing trumpet said, hey, listen, I know this guy that I play weddings for.

And he's looking for a baritone soloist. Why don't you go talk to him? So I went and talked to him. I had no idea what would become of it. He listened to me. He listened to me sing and he said, man, you're just not good. He said, you're not going to be singing for much longer because your technique is terrible.

And I mean, I guess he figured I was just going to say, well, tough and leave. But I was so interested in that honesty that I said, well, give me an idea what you're talking about, you know, tell me how to fix it. And so he gave me about a 15-minute voice lesson. And I learned more in that 15 minutes than I learned in three semesters of voice lessons at college. And he said, I will teach you. He saw that I was very interested in and I didn't get mad at him. And he asked me a little bit about what I was doing. I told him.

And he said, I'll be willing to work with you for the summer. And so that actually, and that was for free, by the way. And that turned into eight years. And I wound up living at his house. I wound up chopping wood and splitting logs and building roads and mowing grass. And, you know, it was the real, what was a karate kid? It was Mr. Miyagi. Yeah, he was Mr. Miyagi, right?

Yeah. It was just incredibly changed that because he taught me how to teach him. voice to beginning students. And so from, now, I was 19 back then. I'm 67 now. And I have never been without a voice student or two or three since I was 19. And you're a truck driver and a salesman. While I was a truck driver and a salesman and trying to make a living, playing pool.

Right. And you know what? Let's circle back to that too, because you could have, you were a terrific pool, player. And you'll, you'll poo-poo this, but only because you shot pool with the best pool players around. And I mean, and so you're the best opera singer, I know. But I understand that when you fill the room with the best in the world, that doesn't matter. And you're the best pool player, I know. But I understand that when you fill the room with the best pool players, that doesn't matter either. You know, now that I think about it, I do it, that plays over in Glenn Bernie.

What was it called? You used to go there all the time. It's called Jack and Jills. Yeah. A real den of thieves. Man, I loved it. It was, it really was a den of iniquity, man. It was. Every bit of vice that could go on seemed to be going on in some way, shape, or form in that place. And there you were stalking around those tables, running 20, 30, 40 balls at a time, singing Puccini.

It was a sight, dude. It was a sight. Some of the best players in the world played there. People who you would see on the World of Sports or whatever it is now. Why'd you quit? I quit because I gambled in pool. And it was always a gamble, you know, whether or not I was winning or losing $40 or $50 for the day. Sometimes one, sometimes lost.

But when I started directing a women's course in 1993, all of a sudden, everybody wanted to take voice lessons. And so now I had six or seven voice lessons a day. This was after my other job. And so now I was guaranteed the money plus doing something that I understood and loved. And I just, you know, I just didn't have time to go back. I was just too involved with the lessons and, you know, expressing my love for art in another way. Way leads on to Way. It did.

It certainly did. So the people can fully understand the strangeness of all this. Again, you and I, I mean, you've sung in barbershop quartets in some way, shape, or form for most of your life, right? From the time I was 10 years old. Yeah. And you've been arranging music by ear most of your life. You can play the piano by ear. Certainly hadn't had any lessons in that world.

Let's just say I have a working understanding of the piano. I don't play by any stretch. But I use it to arrange and I can accompany myself. Yeah. But you would also say the same thing about pool. I have a working understanding of the pool table, but I am by no means. Right. Yeah, I get it. Guess what? I have a working understanding of the pool table, too. Six pockets, some green felt. They're very heavy. Some slate, I'm told, and you take your stick and you put the ball in the hole. Except that, you know, you made it look artistic. You make everything you do look artistic, even if it isn't. And that, I don't know if it's the artist way. I think that was a book we talked about once upon a time. But the better book and the bigger book was,

vocal wisdom. Vocal wisdom, yeah. Right? Do you remember the unpronounceable Italian man who wrote that thing? Oh, yes. Oh, darn it. It's his name. I'll think of it in a second.

But it was out of print for a long time. And I believe I, I, I, I mimeographed. You did. Yes, I mimeographed a copy. Has anyone heard that word in a long? A mimeagraph. Right. Not since I checked my sundial.

I copied the whole book. And I believe I lent it to you. And I think it probably is in an attic someplace. But then it came back into print. Of course, you can find anything online these days. Is there a better resource for somebody who's listening right now who doesn't actually have a vocal teacher, but who would like to be a better singer? Can you think of a better book to read? than vocal wisdom.

It's an amazing book. It's an amazing book. It's a series of just sayings. It's not listed by chapter of this. You do this first. You do this. It's just a whole book of sayings, proverbs, maxims. And exercises.

Yeah, it's a wonderful, wonderful. It's a non-technical book. It's a very artistic book. You won't remember this. Maybe you will. but you gave me a mimographed copy of vocal wisdom. And you taught me some of the exercises. And some of the exercises in there were designed not only to enhance your technique,

but to drill into your brain the business of intervals, right? So like there was a third exercise, a fourth exercise, a fifth exercise. Do you remember? Semplicet at Totarello Oh yeah That was from the Vakai book It was a small book It was a different book and it was all

All of the songs were based on learning The different scale tones and intervals So I did I mean believe it or not I took you really seriously When I was 26, 27 years old You would promise Mr. Yunutsi that you would at least try and help me not embarrass myself and you in the opera. And you gave me a copy of the Vakai and a copy of vocal wisdom.

And I would go over to my grandfather's shop. You remember the old building behind his house? Oh, yeah. And I would stand in there with the tractors and all the lumberjack equipment and everything else and a tape recorder. And I would record myself singing all of those different things. I'd listen back to it. And I really tried. I tried to be a better singer.

You know, and I don't know that I ever, I don't think I ever became a very good one, but I got, you know, I got good enough to fake it. And, you know, for me, faking my way into the opera and then faking my way into home shopping and then sneaking through the stage door of the entertainment business, it's all been just one long attempt at making vocal wisdom work, applying it somehow to all this stuff. So I don't know. Wouldn't happen without you. Well, I'm happy you feel that way. There was, I kind of wanted to show you off, really, because we were singing together in this quartet, having a great time, laughing our butts off. And then they said, you know, I was in the opera and then they said, hey, you know, we need some, we need to beef up the men's chorus for Rigoletto. We need some basses.

I said, hey, I know one. And so I don't remember anything about the agma part of it. I mean, that must have been something that was on your radar. It wasn't on mine. It was, you know, basically I wanted to, you know, spend some more time with my buddy, you know, and something I loved. And I was just learning about it. I thought you would enjoy learning about it, too. Well, mission accomplished.

Yeah, we had some fun. We had some fun. That's for sure. So here's a question for you. Now that we've established your bonafetes, a better than average pool player, a better than average singer, a better than average arranger, and a guy who's been serving the restaurant industry for over half a century, you've just lived through what has to be the most difficult year. Well, for a lot of people, but I'm just sitting here thinking about your vocation, which revolves entirely around restaurants. So you've been out of business for a year. the restaurants are shut down.

And I'm thinking about your avocation, which revolves entirely around singing. And this amazing chorus that you direct to this day, no one's allowed to sing. So you've literally spent the last 13 months unable to work in the way you've been working for 53 years and unable to do the thing that brings you joy. I'm not trying to make you cry. I'm just trying to understand. You have a way of putting things in perspective. And I think a lot of people right now are looking back at the last year and, you know, trying to make sense of it. But how the hell are you making sense of it for a guy that is in your position?

Well, I make sense of it by looking at the, I try to look at the biggest picture that I possibly can. And I think, I mean, I'm okay. When the first couple of months, the businesses, the restaurants were totally shut down. They started coming back, and now they've come back even more, but it's still nowhere near of what it was. And, you know, I feel blessed that what has come my way has. As far as the chorus, we do this Zoom thing, and we can do some things on Zoom that we couldn't do or we didn't have enough time to do when we were, you know, live together. Our rehearsals were about three hours live. And we were always talking about we need to do this educational thing or this educational thing.

And now we've done nothing but educational stuff on Zoom because we can't sing together. We can listen to pieces that we've done before and listen to them and maybe sing along and call it singing together. But nowhere near, it's just, I mean, we want to hear each other. We want to feel each other's voice. And so the Zoom thing, it's hard. for me to believe. We have a course of 110 people and we still have about 75 people showing up for these Zooms and the other 25 people have told me they just can't take it any longer and they'll be back when we're live. And I feel great about that. And I start every Zoom rehearsal by

just telling everybody how wonderful it is to see them because I wouldn't be surprised if nobody was there. Nobody. I would not be the least bit surprised if. if it was one person or two. Isn't it weird, though, the way, like, I used to give maybe two speeches a month. I'd go to places and I'd stand there in front of a couple thousand people and answer questions and tell stories. And so for the last year, that hasn't been happening, but I've been doing it on Zoom. And I just thought it would continue to grow in popularity.

But you're right, it's wearing off. People are like, look, for a long time, they were saying, well, it's better than nothing. And now I think they're going, you know what, I'm not so sure it's better than nothing. It's hard. It's hard. It's really hard. Because you don't get feedback. You can't, it's not like you can read the, the audience, you can feel the room, you can work the room. There isn't a room. There's little squares of people that may be checking their messages on their phones while they're, you know, or worse. Or worse, right? They could be tubing.

There's a whole lot of things they can be doing that you don't know what they're doing. No, it's taken hands free to a whole new exciting level. Right, right. It's like, don't tilt down, for God's sakes. Yeah, but I've gotten through it. I mean, we've had some tough things, you know, happen. You know, the joy that my great-granddaughter was born this year. And so she's, or last year, I'm sorry.

January of 2020 before the thing, you know, all blew apart. So she was a joy. But on the other hand, you know, I lost my daughter and probably through the fact that she couldn't connect with people and she really, really needed to. And I see both of these things, that great joy and that great sorrow. I just see both of these things as the circle of life and, you know, a lot of. And, you know, larger picture than just my little problems. How important through all of this has, not to get unnecessarily personal, but when I think of you, the first thing I think of, you're my friend and you're an older friend. You know, you're not quite a generation ahead of me, but you're ahead of me, you know,

so you've seen everything before I've seen it. And so you're this interesting guy with this great. love of art, this great patience and diligence and work ethic regarding your job, this incredible devotion to your family, and a great pool player and a great singer. But you're also a faithful man. You know, you went to church religiously, I would dare say, except maybe more than that. You know, all of that mattered to you a lot. And you shared all that. with me early on. And, you know, is it all still a piece of the pie at this point for you? Oh, sure. It's, it's, it's, it is the pie. It is the pie. I don't, I don't think if I didn't,

if I didn't have my faith, I don't believe I could stand what is going on in our country. Just the fact that, and what I mean by that, I don't take sides of, you know, political things, but the fact that everybody that has anything to say now can say it loudly, anybody. And I wouldn't take that on myself. I mean, I wouldn't, you know, every little thing that I think do I put out there for everybody because I don't really expect that everybody should listen to every little thing that I care about. But I don't want to care about every little thing you care about either, you know. Right.

I really don't. I mean, where has civility? Where is, you know, true freedom of speech, you know. And I'm getting a little bit going too far with this. But anyway. No, you know what? I don't know the answer to where they've gone, but it's the same place that chivalry's gone.

It's the same place where that thing that, you know, you used to stand up. when a woman entered the room. So I still do. Right. You're the one I learned that from. But now when I stand up when a woman enters the room, you know what happens at the table? Like a whole lot of things happen.

First of all, the woman entering the room is like, why is this guy standing up? Is there going to be an issue? And then, you know, she realizes I'm standing up out of respect. And sometimes it's a compliment. And sometimes it feels a little paternalistic. But that's just the beginning. There are other women at the table. And they look to the guys they're with and they're saying, hey, asshole, why don't you stand up when I come into the room?

And now those guys look at me and going, thanks a lot, pal, for standing up and making me look like. Right. Nobody knows what the rules are. The horse code is dead. Chevalry is dead. And you're right. If you don't have a Facebook account or a Twitter feed, you probably have a podcast like this one. And everybody is out there saying, hey, look at me, listen to me. I want to be heard.

You've never done that. And that's why I was partly surprised when you agreed to do this. But mostly I wanted you to, I wanted to drag you through it to thank you for really never changing from at least not in a big material way. You've just been one of those people. You've always been Gellert. You've always cared about the people. people around you. You've always been very, very passionate. And now I'm sitting here. You're a 67-year-old great-grandfather. Yeah, I can't believe it. That's as much as a surprise to me as everyone else around me. Well, look, I don't know how many people really care about this precise conversation, but you said something earlier that choked me up. You said you wanted to show me off. You're singing with this young bass baritone in a barbershop quartet. And you wanted to show me off to your friends in the opera. And that turned out to be quite possibly the greatest thing anybody's ever done for me. And in some weird way, I'm trying to return the favor. I don't know what to say, really, to the

million or so people who listen to this podcast other than I got a friend who's a 67-year-old great-grandfather who shoots a hell of a game of pool, sings opera better than anybody you're ever going to meet, donates his time, gives voice lessons two, three, five, six times a day, is holding his chorus together with Zoom meetings, and is still hanging on to the same job. He's done for 53 years. 53 years. I don't know anybody else like you, Michael.

Well, I don't know what to say to that. I mean, I'm just, I'm me. What's the last thing you arranged? Oh, the last thing that I arranged was New York State of Mind. And it was a lady in the chorus who just called me. And she said, I just sent you a check. And I want you to arrange this song, New York State of Mind. That's what I want.

You can't say no. And, you know, when the check showed up in my mailbox, I couldn't believe the amount she had sent me. It was like five times the amount I would usually get for an arrangement. And by the way, this is coming at a time, I assume, when your income is all but finished. Yeah. Oh, yeah. Yeah. I mean, it was right on time. And she said I just felt led to do it. That's what she said. But she also really wanted this song. So I, you know, went ahead and probably did it in a weekend. And I use some of the money that she sent me to have it professionally foretracked as a learning tool. And it turned out really, really fine.

And she loves it. And it just turned out great. You know, I don't understand how your brain works. I mean, well, of course I understand it. I'm not going to call you a musical genius because you'll correct me. But you're able to do what you just did in a. weekend. Yeah, I know, you know guys who could probably do it in five hours. But 99.999% of species can't do it in forever. They can't even conceive of it. So I'm going to try and play

some of this on the podcast. Did Slomka's kid, is it daughter or sister? Daughter. Michael Slomka's daughter sang all four parts of this thing? Yes. Her name is Michaela. Yeah, man. She's incredible. It's Johnston, but yeah. Yeah. Cool. So the Baltimore Opera is gone for all intents and purposes.

You think it'll come back? I would hope so. But it came back as, I think it was called the Baltimore Concert Opera. Something. Came back in a way, something like that. I'm not sure where they are now. I'm not sure what the status is. But like all things, it needs a strong group of people to get behind it and bring it.

It's not going to come back by itself for sure. But I haven't paid attention to the opera for quite a few years. Yeah. Way leads on the way. Your pool game, off to the side, opera, off to the side. The music was front and center. And we've got to get that back, man. You know what? I remembered. I don't think you were there, but I did a show at the lyric a couple years ago.

I was busy that night. What the heck were you doing? I can't believe you didn't. I had a one-man show and you didn't even come. I know. I know. And believe me, I hated not being there. But I believe I was on a weekend retreat with my chorus. That's right. You were. And so I'm the head act in that thing. So. I couldn't skip out. Big cheese. Right.

Well, I'll tell you, I stood on the lyric stage exactly where you and I stood when poor Greg Geiger and Steve Marking and Rick Kiopeta were all weeping and laughing in that crazy tableau. Oh, that must have been an incredible feeling. I stood exactly there looking out and it was a sold out house. And I told the story of my audition, which is the chapter we just heard. And the thing that wouldn't have happened without you. So yeah, man, for what it's worth, I can't thank you enough. I'll just thank you again. It was just a classic example of a random small thing that turned out not to be so random and not to be so small.

It's kind of like the guy in that band that I was going to join who handed me Forrest Barrett's phone number. He didn't, he had no idea that by handing me a phone number, phone number that he was going to change my life. You know, my instinct says we have to wrap this up with something truly hopeful, and that's probably it. How many lives have you changed as a coach, you know, as a chorus master? How many random phone numbers? Do you even know?

Can you even hope to know? No, I think if we all just watch that famous movie, the Christmas movie that comes on. It's a wonderful life. It's a wonderful life. Then we can all look at that and say this is probably, you know, how many people I've touched in a way. Hopefully most of it's for the good. Yeah. That is a hell of a movie.

I still see him standing there looking at Bedford Falls, the bridge, looking down at the river. Coming to the conclusion that he was worth more dead than alive. and that's a that's man oh so much for hopeful but you depress a hyena with that one you can edit this mike i think you can edit this and turn it around no no we're not editing anything man all right you always have been and continue to be a version of reality that i think more people should know about. Honestly, 53 years, same job. Hanging tough. A great grandfather in Baltimore, Maryland, where you've always been. I'm so glad to know you're still there, my friend. Glad that you still show up in Baltimore here and there. Yeah, of course. Come back more often and

maybe we can do this in person. The extraordinary mind of Michael Gellert, understated, as always, but here's a sampling of what he does when he arranges cool stuff. Thanks again for changing my life, buddy. Thank you, Mike. Some folks like to get away, take a holiday from the neighborhood. Man, I wish I could play you the whole thing. I really do, but the lawyers said no. Just a taste, they said.

Just a very brief, perfectly legal, fair use taste of what my friend is capable of. If you like what you hear, though, Michaela Johnston can sing all four parts to just about any song ever written, and she can prove it at official johnston music.com. Maybe she can even record a song for you. She does that kind of thing, you know. And if you want to hear what a hundred or so women sound like singing dozens of songs arranged by Michael Gellert as he directs them as only he can, check out the Harbor City Music Company at Harbor City Music Company.org. he can arrange a song for you. I'm told his weekends are mostly free. Actually, at the risk of

more shameless pluggery, Gellert just arranged a dozen or so Broadway classics on a DVD that I wrote the liner notes for. If you like Broadway and Acapella Music, you'll love this. Pick up a copy at Harbour City Music Company.org. And as long as I'm asking you to do stuff, you can download the audio version of the way I heard it, wherever audio books are downloaded, and you can give our modest little podcast a glowing five-star review on iTunes or wherever it is you listen. It really does help. Having said all that, go sing something. I'll talk to you later.