The Merry Widow

During the Jacksonville Symphony’s production of Georges Bizet’s Carmen, I met the incomparable Baritone, Dr. John Daugherty. I asked him for lessons and he obliged after we wrapped. I had never taken formal lessons before, so it was a great opportunity to see exactly what my voice was capable of. After the first few lessons, I was invited to join the University of North Florida’s production of Franz Lehar’s operetta, The Merry Widow, under my new voice teacher’s direction. I had only ever sung in operas as a chorister, so I was intimidated by the prospect of playing the principal role of Baron Mirko Zeta.

There were significant challenges that came with the role. For one thing, I had never acted on stage before; The Merry Widow was an operetta, which meant it featured way more dialogue between songs than a normal opera. And Baron Zeta was a yapper! The biggest problem was that I didn’t know what I didn’t know, ya know? How was one supposed to memorize lines, dances, direction, and make them seamless parts of one’s character? These concerns made me feel like I was constantly behind in rehearsals. I was dropping lines, missing cues, and stumbling over the other actors. On top of this, I hadn’t really figured out who my character was.

A month or two into rehearsals, I got an email from the director thanking me for my work thus far, but there was nothing wrong with backing out if it was getting too challenging. And that, dear reader, is when a fire was lit within me. I let go of all feelings of self-consciousness and completely gave myself over to the role. I ran lines with my students between classes, asking them to jump in wherever I left off. I stayed late after rehearsals to run scenes with the assistant director until I had the blocking in my bones. I felt free to experiment with the character of Baron Zeta in scenes, and it seemed to be having the desired effect of laughter (Zeta is a bumbling idiot trying to arrange a marriage between his friend and a newly wealthy widow). As tech week approached, I felt confident in my command of the character.

The production was set to happen in the Robinson Theater at the University of North Florida. This particular theater had modest seating, but it backed up to two large classrooms that could rotate their seating sections on massive drums to face the stage, effectively adding a few hundred extra seats if needed. For many years this extra seating was never necessary, but Dr. Daugherty challenged the cast and crew to invite so many people that the theater had to turn out the drums. As a teacher, I was plugged into a network of adolescents who could be easily bought–I mean persuaded. Attendance at The Merry Widow meant certain opportunities for extra marks in my classes, provided I signed their programs after the show in the main lobby.

Around fifty to sixty of my students came to see me perform, and it was the first time in a very long time the Robinson Theater had to turn out the drums for an operatic performance. I was keenly aware of their presence while on stage; there were a handful of comments like, “There he is!” coming from the front row wherever I would walk on. During the Act II finale, as I was standing at the edge of the stage, lamenting the unfaithfulness of my wife, one boisterous student waved to me and said, “Hi Mr. Strassberger!” After the show, I met my anxious audience in the main lobby, and a wave of high school students barreled into me for my autograph. The things kids will do for extra credit! Now, did I purposefully orchestrate a publicity moment for myself in order to service my fantasy of fame? Yes. Nevertheless, it was a joy to introduce a younger generation to the world of classical music and opera.

As for myself, it was exceptionally rewarding to be so challenged and rise to the occasion. I was lucky to be able to act under such great direction. It was a pleasure to work with the UNF Opera.