In 1997, I was employed as chief sound engineer aboard the world-famous RMS Queen Elizabeth 2 ocean liner. I was having a great run, and things were going smoothly. Then, as we came through the Panama Canal and stopped in Acapulco, I contracted conjunctivitis, commonly known as pink eye, in both eyes.
I think I stayed in my cabin for one whole day, but by the second day, I had to return to my duties. I still was not feeling well, and my eyes looked like they were bleeding, but world-famous trumpeter Cecil Welch (from the Henry Mancini Orchestra) was coming on board to play a few nights with the house big band. I was very excited, as I still love mixing big bands, and we all knew that Cecil was going to bring down the house (or ship in this case.)
Well, I let both of my helpers leave the ship to load up a small boat with gear for another artist coming onboard and left myself to set up the big band alone. Things were going really well — I met Cecil, set up his two microphones quickly and started setting up microphones and monitors for the band. But, I did not mention to anyone that I was ill, because I would be quarantined to my room and not allowed to work. This would have meant no sound for the show. But I also offered no explanation for why my eyes were so red (I mean really, really red!)
Having just left Acapulco, I can only guess what these people were thinking at the time. Anyway, I set up the entire band upstage of Cecil, who was to have the entire stage area to play on. The band was positioned upstage on a bandstand, just like the old days of big band music with the mono-grammed music stands and everything. As I was doing my final onstage checks, I began to ask the band members if they were all set, etc. My back was to the house, and Cecil had set up his trumpet behind me on one of those tiny little trumpet stands on the floor. This is where I should mention that the trumpet was actually made of gold, or gold plated, and did not look like a normal trumpet — it was REAL GOLD and VERY special to him.
So here I go, walking backward, talking to the orchestra when, CRUNCH! I stepped right on this thing and just about bent it in half. Maybe it was my weakened state, but I think, mixed in with the gasps of the orchestra, I heard both Mr. Welch and the trumpet let out a small scream at this mo-ment. The look on the faces of the orchestra members told it all.
After what seemed like a year, I turned around to face Mr. Welch, who had the same look on his face that you might expect of a person who had just watched his dog being run over. I started apologizing immediately, but I could tell that this was only making it worse. It all goes blurry after that. We did a very tense sound check, and the shows went on with a different trumpet. I remember seeing Cecil, soaking the Golden Trumpet in ice water in an effort to remove the mouthpiece, which was pushed far into the instrument and bent. When I saw him later in a stairwell, neither one of us would look the other in the eye. He left the ship after two days, and I never saw him again. The guys in the band never let me forget it, though.
I would like to take this opportunity to apologize once again to Mr. Welch, if he sees this, and to let him know that it was a huge nightmare for me too — the largest of my career. I think about it all the time. I visited cecilwelch.com before writing this, but I can’t tell if the trumpet was repaired or is still in service. Needless to say, I feel sick about this, and I think if I were to ever have the opportunity to run sound for Mr. Welch again, I would most likely grow a beard and tell him that my name is Sven or something and hope he doesn’t recognize me.
Bobby Beck
Barter Theatre
Abingdon, VA
