IF YOU’VE GOT THE RIGHT TENOR,
YOU ONLY NEED ONE
ROBERT ROUNSEVILLE
YOU ONLY NEED ONE
ROBERT ROUNSEVILLE
Within a ten-minute span on a winter morning in 1972, I received two telephone calls in my office in Manhattan, across Sixth Avenue from Radio City Music Hall. When my secretary buzzed me about the first call, she calmly informed me that there was a call for me from the White House. I took the call and, I’m sorry to admit, it was not The Man calling for my advice on some particularly thorny national security problem. Rather, it turned out to be from a friend with whom I used to work at another consulting firm, bringing me up to date on his current government assignment. My secretary, who had only recently been assigned to me, was getting used to fielding some pretty odd telephone calls, and the White House call didn’t faze her. But the second call was another matter.
Right after I finished the conversation with my friend in Washington, there was another call. Instead of buzzing me, she dashed into my office almost breathless.
“There’s a Robert Rounseville calling you. Is it really the Robert Rounseville?”
I assured her that it was the Robert Rounseville and motioned for her to sit as I picked up the phone. I explained the situation to Mr. Rounseville, that I had a fan of his in my office, and asked if he’d be kind enough to say hello to her. He did, they spoke for a few moments and, from that point on, I had a secretary who’d walk through fire for me. The White House had gotten no rise from her. Robert Rounseville had taken her breath away
Captain Bob (he invariably wore a Greek fisherman’s cap) was a well-traveled and world-renowned tenor, appearing in operas, concerts, Broadway, movies and television long before The Three Tenors of current fame. My earliest exposure to him was in the movie THE TALES OF HOFFMANN in the early 1950’s, still one of my favorite movies of all time. Between then and a fatal heart attack in 1974 at only 60 years of age, Bob displayed an amazing range of talent. He starred in the world premiere of Igor Stravinsky's opera THE RAKE'S PROGRESS, as Mr. Snow in the film of Rodgers and Hammerstein’s CAROUSEL and in the title role on Broadway in the original production of Leonard Bernstein's CANDIDE, opposite another favorite of mine, Barbara Cook. He also appeared on television in several English-language versions of well-known operas and made studio recordings of other operas and operettas - and we’re not yet out of the 1950’s. Into the 1960’s he appeared in many revivals of operettas and musicals at the New York City Center, such as BRIGADOON and SHOW BOAT. In 1965, he was back on Broadway as the Padre in the original stage version of MAN OF LA MANCHA, a role he remained in for six years.
Initially, Bob and I had a nodding acquaintance arising from our both frequenting a few of the same watering holes in Manhattan’s theater district. We’d occasionally bump into each other, say hello, and even have small polite conversations. The first time we spent any time together was in the latter part of 1969 during a late evening ride on a commuter train traveling from New York’s Grand Central Station to our common destination, the town of Katonah in Westchester County. We were standing next to each other in the bar car and spent the hour-long ride drinking and talking. We found that we had several friends in common and, as Bob was in a garrulous mood and was an excellent storyteller with many an interesting story to tell, he did most of the talking and I did most of the listening. The only thing I remember saying that night was about when I had recently gone to see MAN OF LA MANCHA for the second time. I can’t remember who had the lead role of Cervantes/Quixote at the time (I had seen Richard Kiley in the original cast) but, that night, a replacement went on, an Israeli actor named Gideon Singer. I told Bob that it felt the same as if I were sitting through FIDDLER ON THE ROOF starring Desi Arnaz.
When the train finally pulled into Katonah NY, we both got off. I lived in Ridgefield, CT, just across the state line, about 20 miles away and had my car at the station. He lived in Katonah so I offered to give him a ride home. I was more than repaid for the favor when he agreed to my bold request for him to sing while we drove to his house. At the time, my wife Maria and I had one son who was almost two-years old and were expecting another in two months time, so I asked him to sing one of the songs he sang in Carousel, ‘WHEN THE CHILDREN ARE ASLEEP.’ He joyfully granted my request (he really did love to sing), I had a private concert from this world-renowned tenor and he had an even more committed fan. (I have to admit that I joined in, tentatively at first, making it a duet without the harmony.)
We became pretty close friends after that and he’d often call me at my office (to my secretary’s delight), I’d call him at his studio in Carnegie Hall or we’d meet for lunch or a drink. I even had him meet me at my office once, again to my secretary’s delight, as she sat chatting with us after the initial shock wore off.
I also went to visit him at his Carnegie Hall studio once, not too long before he died. Bob had often talked about a one-man show he was trying to put together, with the help of Bob Lipsyte, one-time sports columnist for the New York Times, now a well-respected author of fiction and non-fiction. He gave me a copy of a draft that Lipsyte had put together (it may be still somewhere in my files), asked me to read it and wondered if I could help him find financial backing. I contacted several people I knew who might be interested in such a project but, before I was able to drum up any real interest, Robert Rounseville died. That beautiful voice was stilled and that vibrant personality was laid to rest.
Captain Bob had died suddenly, August 6, 1974, stricken by a massive heart attack and collapsing doing one of his favorite things, teaching a singing class, in one of his favorite places, his Carnegie Hall studio.
As I said at the outset, my secretary was fairly new to me and, before Robert Rounseville called my office, probably hadn’t yet decided whether or not I was worth the effort. The call from ‘Captain Bob’ changed all of that. And for me personally, knowing ‘Captain Bob’, even for only the latter years of his all-too-short life, was a joy.
.....And the opportunity to sing a duet with him during a late night drive was a gift from the gods.
JACK DEENEY
