During rehearsal, the boss meanders backstage, singing to himself. He doesn't so much wander as he circles like an approaching jet. When he descends from on high is anybody's guess.
He's also the air traffic controller. And it's his airport. The boss is Garrison Keillor, the omnipotent and sometimes oblivious creator of "A Prairie Home Companion," the public radio show adored by 4 million fans, broadcast live from Minnesota's mythical Lake Wobegon home to Norwegian bachelor farmers, strong women, good-looking men and above-average children.
This is not the gentle narrator you hear on the air that witty, sensitive observer of triviality and tribulations. This is a complicated and detached ringmaster, issuing orders that change faster than weather. His loyal, highly professional staff stays in step.
Ditch the script? No problem. Get the mayor of International Falls, Minn.
, on the phone and patch her into the live broadcast? Alrighty, then. Fill five minutes of otherwise dead air because he's cut short his much-loved monologue ("Well, it's been a quiet week here in Lake Wobegon .
..") in the middle of a live broadcast?
You betcha, as they say in Minnesota. He's written books, essays, columns and a screenplay, but he's most revered for what he does on Saturday nights: tender teller of tales from a town that does not exist; impresario of an exceptional house band and troupe of actors who deliver a dizzying series of skits, songs and sound effects. Virtually the entire two-hour program comes out of his head, which is its beauty, or its conceit, depending on one's view.
But for right now, take a moment to enjoy this view: stage right at the Fitzgerald Theater in downtown St. The house lights are dimmed. The 996 red-upholstered seats are empty.
Onstage, the cast and crew are rehearsing. Linger over images not seen in the mind's-eye of radio. This is the well-oiled and often magical machine that produces "A Prairie Home Companion.
" First one's for practice There are two shows this weekend. Friday's performance won't be broadcast it's staged only for the program's worshipful hometown audience, and serves as a kind of dress rehearsal for Saturday's regular show, carried coast to coast on more than 580 stations and later aired in Europe. on Friday, tonight's musical lineup is dripping with love: "Devoted to You," the Everly Brothers classic; "Loving You," a 1957 hit by Elvis Presley; "I Can't Stop Loving You," made memorable by Ray Charles; and Freddy Fender's country promise, "Before the Next Teardrop Falls.
" Keillor and bandleader Rich Dworsky, who can play most any song off the top of his head, are working out chord changes with the Guy's All-Star Shoe Band. Keillor loves to sing, but the feeling isn't mutual. He is sometimes on key, and just as often not.
His hair stands on end. His body language says, "I am thinking. Approach at your own peril.
" Keillor, who is about to turn 65, has never cared much about his appearance. His forehead is a cliff dropping into overgrown eyebrows. His 6-foot-4 frame hangs at odd angles.
His legs go on for miles. "I have a face for radio," he says quite often. Words are most important.
Writing, he believes, is rewriting. He does the latter during rehearsals, after rehearsals and during the broadcast. A song is in.
Likewise for the comedy skits. The performers learned long ago to roll with it. "This is his show," smiles bassist Gary Raynor, who's recorded with Janet Jackson and played with the Count Basie band.
"We put this together very fast. There's not a moment to waste. Everyone just kind of gives him space.
He always has a vision, and he knows what it is." Managing the chaos Stage manager Albert Webster may be the hardest-working man in Lake Wobegon: he keeps the show on schedule, despite morphing dialogue and disappearing songs. Webster doesn't have a script for tonight's performance, just a succession of marked-up pages.
Webster gets each version to actors Sue Scott, Tim Russell and sound-effects guy Tom Keith. "A lot of it's off the top of their heads," Webster jokes, "and other body orifices." Where else could a group of actors and musicians put on a radio show featuring famous guests like Meryl Streep and Bonnie Raitt, accompanied by comedy bits, gospel songs, audience sing-alongs and poetry readings?
Forty-five minutes later, Keillor is having second thoughts. "I'm going to scratch Teardrop,' " he says. During rehearsal, the boss meanders backstage, singing to himself.
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