Revival of a Great American Baritone

The voice--a rich, deep baritone--filled the room. The song? “The Song Is You.”

The singer? John Charles Thomas. John Charles who? Alas, Thomas, who died 32 years ago in Apple Valley, is not exactly a Pavarotti, Domingo or Carreras.

(Elizabeth Schaaf, archivist at the Peabody Institute in Baltimore--to which Thomas’ widow Dorothy gave his paper and music library--reports a step toward correcting this situation: Out-of-print Victor Red Seal recordings have just been released on CD by Nimbus.)

To William Osteck, who once studied voice with Thomas, he remains the greatest American baritone. Indeed, Osteck has created a veritable cottage industry around his idol.

So it was that on a Sunday afternoon that 35 opera buffs, most of them old enough to remember, came to the Beverly Hills Library for a lecture on “The Voice of John Charles Thomas.”

Osteck, dapper in a white coat with a handkerchief tucked into the pocket, paced the stage, gesturing with flair as he guided his audience aria-by-aria through the life of Thomas.

As Osteck spoke, in a voice that sounded more like Brooklyn than his native Saginaw, one could picture the Jerome Kerns’ Beverly Hills living room on a Sunday evening in the ‘40s, with Kern at piano, Thomas singing Kern, Rudolf Friml and Ira Gershwin, Sigmund Romberg and Oscar Hammerstein II gathered around.

And one could see the boy Thomas journeying through Pennsylvania by horse and buggy to old-fashioned revival tent meetings with his mother and preacher father. Young Thomas would sing the hymns and then, if no one came forward to be born again, he’d walk down the aisle to start things off.

Osteck was waxing poetic about Thomas, the Broadway star, the dandy in spats and Borsalino who introduced “Peg O’ My Heart” and danced with the Astaires.

About this point, Osteck burst into song, by way of demonstrating how a pet parrot belonging to Thomas’ French voice coach used to perch on the coach’s shoulder and sing along during lessons.

Segue to Thomas the Metropolitan Opera star and, on Osteck’s tape, Thomas singing his second-act aria from “La Traviata”--the opera in which he made his smashing Met debut in 1934. Now, some in Osteck’s audience closed their eyes, rapt.

The program ended, fittingly, with Thomas’ taped singing of “The Lord’s Prayer.” Osteck led the applause, figuring Thomas might hear it.

The Sunny-Side-Up Vision of Los Angeles

The call went out: Actors needed for “And It Never Rains,” a multiethnic performance art show expressing the hope, hopelessness, rage and frustration simmering in post-riot L.A.

The pay: zero.

The reward: A chance to be part of a city’s healing process.

Joe Fox, media relations director for First A.M.E. Church--and creator of this project--and Olivia Chumacero, the artistic director, are auditioning hopefuls. They want to know:

Where were you during the disturbance (the word riot is avoided)?

What are your dreams? Your family’s? If L.A. were a perfect city, what would it be like? Has your life turned out as you had hoped? And--finally--why do you want to be in the play?

These are the same questions Fox had asked 30 Angelenos in earlier field interviews. His goal: to learn “how their frustrations led to the explosions.” Their answers provided the play’s story line.

Describing a Utopian Los Angeles, not one of the actor hopefuls mentioned palm trees or sunshine.

These are their visions of Utopia:

A place where “all the children could grow up and have an equal opportunity, no matter their skin color or their income.”

A place where “everyone would just show courtesy and hospitality.”

A place where “all of us could live happily together . . . and everyone would be treated like a human being.”

As part of the getting-to-know-you, finalists were paired off. On the spot, each pair had to create and perform a pantomime. The actors waiting their turn amused themselves by guessing the theme of the pair onstage.

One pair was a young white man and a middle-aged black woman. She was seated in an office chair and, as their skit opens, he is pushing the chair onstage.

“I’ve got it!” shouts a black woman from the sidelines. “Driving Miss Daisy!” The room erupts in laughter.

“And It Never Rains,” funded with a $7,000 grant from the L.A. Arts Recovery Program, will be performed at 8 p.m. tonight through Sunday at Los Angeles Theater Center. Admission is pay-as-you-can.

Dick Beals: Always in Good Voice

At the convention of SPERDVAC (The Society to Preserve and Encourage Radio Dramas, Variety and Comedy), the speaker was Dick Beals, who for 40 years has been the voice of Speedy Alka-Seltzer (“Plop-Plop-Fizz-Fizz”).

A 65-year-old who can do a 3-year-old’s voice, he’s done voice-overs for countless commercials and cartoons. He’ll be the voice of Norman Normanmeyer Jr. next fall on ABC’s “The Addams Family.”

But, he said, that high-pitched voice has gotten him into some high-comedy situations in real life. For years, as an instrument-rated pilot, he flew his own Bonanza, wearing special shoe extensions to reach the pedals. Beals was born with a growth disorder and is only 4 feet, 6 inches and 68 pounds.

He told of flying into Palo Alto airport one fall for the Stanford-Ohio State football game. “Now you can imagine the thrill that goes through an FAA control tower when my voice comes booming in.”

As he taxied into view, Beals recalled, “Palo Alto tower requested the age of the pilot. I pushed the button and said, ‘Palo Alto tower, the pilot first voted for Thomas E. Dewey.’

“There is dead silence . . . The binoculars come back up and the tower chief says, ‘Who the hell is Thomas E. Dewey?’ ”