Don's Blog I Join the Met 1-11-20

It is always interesting when you remember something from your distant past that makes you smile. 

It was in the Spring of my freshman year at Washington University Medical School, in 1959, when we students

were given an offer we could not refuse. We were asked to help out that evening at a performance of the New York Metropolitan Opera at the Kiel Opera House in downtown St Louis. They needed some "supers" to support the visiting troupe. A "super" we were later told would go on stage in costume and perform only by its presence.We med students equated this in value to an anatomical anomaly called a supernummery nipple. These accessory or 'extra' nipples about which we had recently learned occur sometimes in humans and  although of some interest have little functional value.

I had gone to college near New York City but had never attended let alone been 'in' the Metropolitan Opera.  We all signed up. Late that afternoon we assembled at the Kiel and were given our costumes. We were to walk on stage, say nothing and not look out at the audience. After our routine we were to walk slowly off stage. The stage manager chose what our individual parts would be. We then got into our costumes and did one run through without the music. Then we went backstage again to wait our turns. When it came time for me and my partner to go on stage the opera was in full swing with lights and music. Before we went onstage we could see the darkened audience. 

As the pressure mounted I played my role with authority. I was unable to see anything because my contribution was to be the rear end of a horse. I could only see the back end of my roommate Charlie who was the front of our horse. I know you will agree that I did not need any practice to play my part and you will surely not be surprised to know that I played the role expertly. I remember walking on stage all bent over, standing for awhile, and then shuffling off again. There was no applause. 

And that was what it was like to be in the Met. Per union rules we each were paid $2 for our part - cash. We were allowed to  stay in the wings and watch the rest of the opera. Then the real magic began. The star

appeared in the wings. He was short and stout and had a large gnarly nose. He stood alone and began to sing while still offstage then still singing he went onstage. From this short homely man came the most beautiful voice we had ever heard. He was Richard Tucker and was America's greatest tenor. We watched the rest of the opera in total awe. Richard Tucker gave a total of 724 performances for the Met and his rendition that night at the Kiel is still indelible to us. He died in 1975 at age 62 and his is the only funeral to have graced the stage of the Metropolitan Opera. 

As for us we went back to our books and cadavers knowing that there was a  possibility of something inspiring

ahead in life. So you can think of me as a retired surgeon, gnome meister, blogger and photographer, formerly of the Metropolitan Opera.