The Schulz Museum Guaraldi Extravaganza

I tend to be cautious with my anticipation, having found that modest expectations more often lead to pleasant surprises. This is particularly true of first-time events with plenty of variables, and such was the case with the collaborative show David Benoit and I designed for the Charles M. Schulz Museum last Saturday, November 3.

Questions abounded. Would we get enough people to fill the seats in the Museum's spacious Great Hall? Would we get too many people, leading to frustration and standing-room-only in the upper balcony? Would the acoustics be suitable for a solo pianist? Would David and I "banter" well, during the course of our back-and-forth format? And (always my most paranoid fear) would audience members chuckle in the right places ... and not laugh in the wrong places?

My wife Gayna and I arrived at the Museum shortly before noon, giving us plenty of time to enjoy a light lunch at the adjacent Warm Puppy Café. We then returned to the Museum, where Education Director Jessica Ruskin was overseeing last-minute arrangements (and believe me when I say that Jessica deserves oodles of credit for attending to all possible details). David and his family — wife Kei and daughter June — arrived shortly after 1 p.m. He and I went over a few final tweaks, having nailed down the music set list via e-mail during the previous few weeks. He had a few anecdotes to insert before or after specific songs; I adjusted my narrative accordingly. 

(Actually, he and I filled an enthusiastic half-hour trading stories about our childhoods, after discovering that he and I grew up in the same Southern California region, and that he and his family now live only a few miles from where I spent all my teenage years. Small world, indeed!)

David Benoit and his daughter, June, rehearsed their one shared number while Museum
visitors (unseen, upstairs and to the left) watched with curiosity and delight. These
proceedings also were observed by Museum Education Director Jessica Ruskin,
center left, and a Museum docent.

We then entered the Great Hall, where a tuner had just finished prepping the gorgeous 9-foot grand piano; even David was impressed by the splendor of this ebony beast. He spent about half an hour running through chords and sections from the various songs, then pronounced himself satisfied with the instrument.

Museum visitors had the bonus of being able to watch all this unfold, since the Great Hall is readily visible from various vantage points. And even when the bulk of the hall was roped off, as the rows of chairs were set up, folks in the exhibit areas on both floors were able to see and hear everything we did.

That was pretty much it, for rehearsal ... and it's equally important to note that, aside from the 15 minutes or so I referenced in the paragraph above, David and I never rehearsed how we'd "pass the baton" between ourselves, as the show progressed. I figured spontaneity would be better than getting hung up on specific dialogue.