“Naaaaat???”
(Groan)
“It’s 4 o’clock.”
(Panicked groan)
That was the wakeup call from my first-ever babysitter turned pseudo big sister Cat the morning of my departure on the big summer tour with the Harvard Glee Club. A few hours earlier, I had sat on couch watching the Celtics play the Lakers and uttered the existential question: “To sleep or not to sleep?” My answer had been to sleep, shutting out the light around midnight after setting an alarm for 3:15 to make sure that all my belongings were in order for the trip to the airport.
In the process of choosing sleep, I failed to consider the possibility of that rarest occurrance in my life, sleeping through an alarm. But I managed to do just that, rolling out of bed and simply throwing on the same clothes I had worn the previous day. At least if I didn’t open either of my packed bags there was no way that I could leave anything behind.
So, off we went into the darkness of the early morning, weaving our way through mostly-empty Boston streets towards the airport. Just as we approached the on-ramp for the highway that leads to Logan International Airport, we saw that the ramp was blocked off, and appeared to be blocked off into the distance. I swallowed another panicked groan. The good news was that I was too tired, or perhaps not yet awake enough to consider too closely the consequences of missing my early morning flight.
It is in times like these that one is grateful to have friends in the florist business. In addition to their expertise in beautiful, pleasant smelling floral items that are universally enjoyed by the feminine gender, they also know the ins and outs of the city – the one way streets, the shortcuts, the ways to get around road closures in the middle of the night. Within a few short minutes, we found our way back to the path to the airport. For the remainder of the drive our greatest concern became which radio station was playing the worst soft rock tunes from the 80s. Before I knew it, we had made it to the airport and I gave Cat a big hug. She has been a Godsend over the last year and there’s no way I would have made it through the tough times without her. I tried to put all of my gratitude into that early morning embrace before grabbing my bags from the back of her delivery van and making my way into the terminal to check in for my flight.
There are times in my life when I’m fully convinced that if my head was not attached to my body, I would leave it somewhere on a street corner, never to be seen again. The instance of that phenomenon increases exponentially during the early morning hours, especially when those hours precede the first cup of coffee for the morning. Before I could make it to security I had to return back to the check-in counter not once, but twice – the first time to retrieve the hats I had dropped on the floor in the process of shifting items around my luggage in order to stay under the airline’s weight restrictions. The second time occurred when I reached security only to find that I was without my boarding pass, which I had left in the new-fangled check-in machine back at the counter.
Once I had collected all my necessary belongings and cleared security, the idea began to settle in that I was finally on tour. This idea remained somewhat abstract because I was traveling separate from the majority of the Glee Club. It turned out that the most cost effective way to get all the members from Boston to Phoenix involved sending four members on a separate flight on a different airline, routed through a different city, while arriving within forty-five minutes of each other. So, I approached the departure gate alone in a nearly empty concourse with at least half an hour to kill before any of the shops and restaurants would open for business.
It was cold that morning and I arrived at the airport wearing a heavyweight sweatshirt that I had brought specifically for the purpose of our planned camping trip near the Grand Canyon (more on that later). I had not expected that I would need it just to stay warm before boarding the flight when it had been warm and balmy for the week leading up to our departure. Even after spending nine months in Boston, I was still amongst the thinnest skinned people in the airport and the most heavily dressed. It would be nearly one-hundred degrees when I was to arrive in Phoenix, I thought to myself. This all seems a bit ridiculous. But then, that’s life with the Glee Club, as will become clear over the coming weeks.
After a few minutes of re-adjusting the items in my backpack, I was joined by two of my fellow travelers that morning. The Glee Club’s management had decided to send the most mature (in age and otherwise) members on the separate flight, giving us a respite from the spectacle that airline travel with 50 college-age men can become. Mike and Kevin, the Glee Club’s assistant and associate conductors, respectively, had rode in a cab together from Holden Chapel, the rehearsal home of the Glee Club located in Harvard Yard. The call time for the group that morning had been 3:15 AM. Mike and Kevin had made it to Logan in half an hour flat, and had been wandering the concourse for nearly an hour before I ran into them.
It had been a grueling week for everyone in the Glee Club leading up to our early morning departure. Most non-graduating members had participated in Commencement Choir, which pulls from each of the three Holden Choirs to constitute a combined choir that performs at the major events of Harvard’s commencement week. For those of us who had not particpated before, the group’s schedule proved to be far more grueling than we had expected. It started on Sunday June 1st, my birthday, with our last concert at Harvard before leaving on our summer tour. The “Farewell to Cambridge” concert was not well-attended, but it did give us a chance to perform much of the new repertoire we had worked on for the last month and, perhaps more importantly, an opportunity to try out the brand new white dinner jackets in which we would perform throughout the tour. The concert went perfectly well, but after three hours of singing, we had a two-hour break before returning to campus for a three hour evening rehearsal to learn completely new music for commencement week. At least three times during the week, members of the Glee Club would have an early call for events in and around Harvard Yard. The earliest and most important of these performances was for the morning exercises of Harvard’s commencement, with all of the expected pomp and circumstance. We were required to meet at the north end of Harvard Yard at 6:45 AM on Thursday morning, June 5th. Less than twenty-four hours later, we were at Logan International Airport for a not quite bright-eyed and bushy-tailed start to our summer adventure.
Assistant Conductor Mike McGaghie was one of the many members of the Glee Club who had chosen not to sleep the night before. Mike is a residential tutor in Eliot House, one of the undergraduate residential houses located along the Charles River. Residential tutors are Harvard-speak for RAs, who also serve as subject matter advisors to undergraduates in various areas of academic and professional endeavors. Mike had graduated from Harvard College in 2001 with a concentration in chemistry. A member of the glee club for all four of his undergraduate years, he decided to pursue a doctorate in choral conducting from Boston University after graduating from Harvard. He has remained active with the glee club over the entirety of his years at Harvard and in graduate school and seems to relish the time that he spends amongst the undergraduate community. On the morning of commencement I stood next to him along the ropeline as the undergraduates processed into the section of Harvard Yard that is transformed into the Tercentennary Theater for such prestigious events as commencement and the installation of Harvard’s first woman president the previous fall. As the graduating seniors from Eliot House filed past, there was a series of fist pumps, screams, hugs and photos opps. with Mike. It was clear that he was at least as excited about the graduates’ achievements as they were themselves. The celebration moved beyond Tercentennary Theater and well into the night. Sleep caught up with him just as we boarded the plane to Cleveland, the first leg of our journey to Phoenix.
It was a momentous day for another of my companions that morning. Dr. Bernard Kreger, Harvard College class of 1959, had just purchased his first mobile phone for the purposes of the summer tour. Bernie Kreger has been affiliated with the Glee Club since his own days as a member of the group, covering a span of more than 45 years. There was a period in the early sixties when the Glee Club operated without the participation of “the good doctor,” as he is sometimes referred to. This period is known to those within the Glee Club as the “Bernie Kreger Interregnum.” This is the first of many “only at Harvard” terms and rituals that will be covered and explained in this space.
In the roughly 45 years since graduating from Harvard, Bernie has served as the Glee Club’s accompanyist, foundation board member and tour physician. Until a few short years ago, Bernie would personally conduct a physical on each member of the Glee Club to assess the status of any existing health conditions prior to the group’s departure. That practice no longer exists.
At most Glee Club concerts, Bernie is the most widely-noticed member of the group. He stands out not only for his age, but for his stature, or lacke thereof. I am notorious as a horrific judge of height, but I would estimate the Bernie would stand at 5’3″ tall on a day when he’s wearing high heels. Every friend, family member or colleague who has come to one of my concerts with the Glee Club has approached me afterwards with the same question: “Who’s the little old guy?” The answer: “That’s just Bernie.” In many ways, it’s his world and we’re just living in it.
As we sat together waiting to board that first flight, Bernie began to futz (a technical term) with his new widget. His efforts were guided only by the small instruction booklet that came with the phone that he had purchased over the internet. At nearly ever turn, Bernie would turn to Kevin and Mike to ask them to confirm or explain the typically impenetrable instruction booklet. We all watched with grins on our faces as Bernie placed the inaugural call on his first cell phone, checking in with his host in Phoenix. When he had finished he turned to us with a grin of his own. “That went well,” he said. “We’ll see how it goes. Maybe I’ll just keep it when all of this is said and done.” That comment elicited another grin amongs the three of us. An addict had just been born before our very eyes.
A few hours later we touched down in Phoenix, and not a moment too soon. After two flights in cattle class and continuing sleep deprivation it felt good to unravel myself from my seat and walk out into the terminal knowing that I was done with airline travel for a little while. The temperature in Phoenix when we arrived was around 90 degrees with an afternoon forecast of 99. Once we had collected our baggage Bernie met up with his host and Kevin, Mike and I made our way over to the adjacent terminal where the rest of the Glee Club as due to arrive in less than an hour. When I stepped out of the terminal into the hot desert air I felt the warmth seep down through my skin and down into my soul. It had been months since I had felt the dry heat that I had grown accustomed to after nearly ten years in Southern California weather. The transition back to the dry heat had a far greater impact on my mood and temperament than I had anticipated and suddenly I felt like I was back home.
A review of the day’s itinerary indicated that the entire group was scheduled to eat lunch at the airport terminal before leaving for a day’s worth of activities. Kevin, Mike and I decided that we would beat the rush and made our way into the only reasonable sit-down eatery to be found in Terminal 3 of the Phoenix Sky Harbor Airport, a restaurant built around Dick Clark’s prehistoric career in popular music. We found ourselves seated beside a display case that boasted what had to be third-rate Motown memoriabilia, at best. Inside were jackets worn by Smokey Robinson, Mary Wells and at least one member of the Four Tops. Each looked like it had been dragged behind the bumper of a 57 Chevy for the entire distance between Detroit and Phoenix.
Our waitress immediately took note of my choice of attire, a kelly green t-shirt that read in bold white letters “Beat LA,” in honor of the NBA Finals that had just kicked off the previous night. “My husband and I are Lakers fans,” she said. “Well, my husband is at least.” Thankfully, her pseudo-hatred of the Celtics didn’t extend to me and my dining interests. Each of us wound up with the first of many meals that included more food than we had any business eating. Nevertheless, it all disappeared and we started to gain strength for what would be a busy day around town.
Another glance at the itinerary uncovered that we were scheduled to rehearse that afternoon for two hours. I asked Kevin how he was feeling about running a rehearsal on fumes. It turned out that he had not known that we were rehearsing until he had turned up at Harvard Yard that morning at 3 AM, a good nine hours earlier. Each of us enjoyed what we knew would be the last few minutes of peace before the rest of the Glee Club and the tour would begin in earnest. Not long after we all acknoweldged that fact I looked out to the entrance of the restaurant to see one of my fellow “gleeks” wearing a Viking-style plastic helmet complete with horns. “Well,” I thought to myself, “here we go!”
