The Music Box

December 20, 2007

In 1983, we produced Chicago. Way ahead of its time. The original New York production(1975-1977) was a modest success, unlike the blockbuster production that opened in 1996, and has logged over 4,500 performances and almost a billion dollars in ticket sales. Our production was whimsical, fun and edgy, but not a huge hit. The cast was considerably talented. Jo Berry and Cece Gibb were Velma and Roxy, Dale Berry played Billy Flynn. It was a satisfying bookend to produce this show again in 2005 with Dale's son, Steve, playing the same role. More on Steve later.

Cece Gibb as Roxy, Dale Berry as Billy Flynn, Bob Fry as Fred Casely, Chicago, 1983

Jo Berry as Velma, 1983


Steve Berry as Billy Flynn, Chicago, 2005

One of my strongest memories of the 1983 production involves the set and orchestra. Paul Dieke, music director for our shows at that time, was nothing, if not strong-willed. His solutions to orchestra placement in our less-than-ideal facility(no orchestra pit and no possibility of getting one) were creative, as well as challenging. Chicago's orchestra was to be suspended ten feet above the stage, with a cantilevered projection from the front of it for the conductor. Achieving this goal was daunting, to say the least, with lots of growling, structural engineers and disputes over loads. To top it off, Paul insisted upon a grand piano.

The discussion on this issue was, no doubt, heated, but lost to eternity. I'm sure it ended with me, finally worn down, saying, "Ok,OK, I'll try," knowing that no piano store in its right mind would loan/rent us a grand piano to be suspended 10 feet in the air. Enter Critchett's, an arts-friendly music store, who, after much deliberation, said "Sure."

I was rehearsing scenes in another part of the building, and only peripherally involved in the prep for lifting the piano, but scene designer Steve Brownless and a group of volunteers devised a "foolproof" method for getting the several - hundred - pound instrument up to its platform. I checked in to the auditorium early in the evening to see them putting finishing touches on a small platform that would be raised by a carefully orchestrated team operating two battens(pipes). The idea was that distributing the weight over two different counterweight systems would reduce the stress on the pipes and allow for more people to be involved in the actual lifting.

Trying to add some levity, but probably sensing an inherent flaw in the plan, I offered a typical smart-ass comment, like, "Remember that Laurel and Hardy film (The Music Box), where they drop this piano down that big flight of stairs? Remember the sound it made? Like all the keys being hit at once? I wonder if that really happens."

They didn't see the humor.

I stayed to watch them carefully place the piano on the lift platform, talk the crews through how it would happen, and slowly raise the piano, with about 8 people operating two fly lines from offstage.

The process was carefully coordinated so that the piano stayed level all the way up. When it reached the orchestra platform height, several people uttered a sigh of relief. A crew was on the orchestra platform to ease the piano off of its lift apparatus and on to the orchestra level. When they lifted the end of the piano, physics reared its ugly head. The two sets of ropes were counterweighted, so the removal of weight from one of them caused the lift platform to immediately lurch up at a steep angle and dump the elegant instrument ten feet to the stage floor.

The piano only disappointed in one way. No discordant musical sound. Just a thud. A loud one. A scary one, but just a thud. There was some damage to the finish, and some scratches, but, miraculously, the internal workings were completely unscathed.

The two delivery guys, who had been skeptical but glad to have someone else try to lift the piano, now felt obligated to show us how professionals do it. They pushed everybody aside, took the legs off of the piano so they could lift it easier, and used their moving straps wrapped securely around the body of the instrument. Using only one batten and lots of strength, they slowly lifted the piano up to about eight feet, when one of the straps broke and dropped it again to the floor.

This resulted in a conference between the delivery guys and the tech staff of the Playhouse. The playing field being leveled - neither side could effectively deride the other for being so stupid that they dropped a piano - a solution was reached. The delivery guys used the carry-off stairs on the back side of the ten foot platform and, through sheer force of muscle, with no mechanical advantage, carried the piano up to its destination.

The next day, when I talked to Dave Brown, at Critchett's, he was remarkably kind, although there was a lot of "tsk-tsking" audible on the phone. His only criticism was wondering why we didn't have the delivery guys carry the piano up the stairs in the first place. "It's what they do!"

Chicago, 1983. The piano is at the left on the top level

The Critchett's technician came out and checked the piano, finding no mechanical or structural problems. Ok, it needed a good tuning, but that was it.

When the show ended, we paid for the cosmetic damage to the piano, and vowed to be smarter the next time.

Critchett's remains one of our best community-minded businesses, and just last week gave us a deal we couldn't refuse on a wonderful new Roland KF7 electronic piano, which, when played through a sound system, sounds as good as a concert grand, has the ability to transpose, and more gadgets than we will ever figure out how to use. The best thing about it is that I could carry it up the stairs to a 10 foot platform by myself.