San Francisco Chronicle
DATEBOOK “D”
September 8, 2003

A night at the opera is never just another night on the job for doorman Bill Repp. After 30 seasons, he’s gotten to know more than a few faces. And his “Welcome!” is as warm as ever.
By Peter Hartlaub
Chronicle Staff Writer

The life and times of Bill Repp might work as an opera, but the horn section is bound to collapse from exhaustion.

As the doorman for the south entrance of the War Memorial Opera House greets patrons on this opening of the 81st season, it’s clear that his demeanor is one constant dizzying high, with no melancholy lows, visible tempo changes or even an intermission.

“Oh my gosh, Mrs. Littlejohn! Fabulous to see you! We’re going to have a good time!” Repp gushes, before turning to the next patron who enters the historic structure’s Grove Street doorway. “Hi, how are you! Welcome! Nice to see you! So nice to see you!”

Now celebrating his 30th year on the job, Repp is a one-man receiving line for the San Francisco Opera, transcending his role as a concierge and taxi coordinator over the years until he’s become part of the entertainment.

Upbeat to a level that’s hard to describe, Repp in an easy man to punctuate. While the rest of the world lives mostly in periods and question marks, Repp is in a constant state of exclamation points.

“I look forward to each and every day!” Repp said of his job. “This is show business!”

Repp’s boundless energy first surfaced in his hometown near Baltimore. The spunky redhead was a well-known dancer as a 16-year-old on the Buddy Deane Show – the inspiration for the Corny Collins Show in John Waters’ classic, “Hairspray.” Repp who is still a friend of Waters’ spent a few years in Portland, Ore., working as dance instructor at a Fred Astaire Dance Studio before moving to San Francisco in the early 1970s.

Repp’s first trip to the Opera House was as a paid customer, albeit one who only spent $3. He started attending the operas with the standing-room-only crowd, and his near-constant presence lead to an offer to become a volunteer usher in 1973. The job turned to a paid position 16 years ago, and Repp has been in charge of the side entrance to the opera house since 1992.

A newcomer’s first meeting with Bill Repp can be almost startling.

“The first time I met him, I thought ‘Could this guy be for real?’ “said Jeffrey Coyne, the opera’s house manager of 14 years. Coyne soon realized what hundreds of opera regulars discovered decades ago: Bill Repp is always this happy.

“He wakes up that way in the morning,” said Tom Taffel, Repp’s longtime partner who also works at the Opera managing the Intermezzo Lounge. “Thirty-one years, it hasn’t changed.”

Repp’s routine hasn’t changed much either. He gets to the Opera House a couple hours before the performance, dressed smartly in a black tuxedo with a colorful bow tie and handkerchief. He checks in the media and the volunteer ushers, whom he describes as the unsung heroes of the production. (“They’re fabulous! I love all of them!)

Later, when the patrons start filing … (Continued D5 “Sincere and unique greeting” … Repp from Page D1) … in en masse, Repp greets them like he’s Mr. Rourke from “Fantasy Island,” taking the tickets while making it his personal mission that everyone start the performance with smiles on their faces.

Watch Repp for a few minutes, and it quickly becomes clear that this is no act. He knows everyone’s name, and his delivery is nothing like the fake-happy greeters in theme parks, airplanes and movie houses across the nation – some of Repp’s phrases may seem similar, but he almost never says the exact same greeting twice.

“It’s good to see you, indeed! What a fine evening! ... How are you! Welcome! Welcome to the season!”

Repp’s value to the San Francisco Opera goes far beyond his ability to warm the heart of even the prissiest or most curmudgeonly socialite. He has worked under four of the five opera directors in San Francisco Opera history, making him a bearer of institutional knowledge that is matched by only a few people in the building.

Kurt Herbert Adler was in the latter half of his 28-year run as director when Repp started at the Opera House in 1973 (“He always had fascinating people in his box! They were so accessible!”)

Adler was followed in 1982 by Terence McEwen (“Smoked like a chimney, but he was a wonderful man!”)

Lotfi Mansouri took over in 1988 (“He was to me just a spectacular guy!”), and was followed in 2001 by current director Pamela Rosenberg (“She has a great ear for young talent! She looks you in the eye and talks to you, not down to you!”)

Repp has stories about celebrity guests Ginger Rogers, Carol Channing and Prince Charles, and has a cherished autograph book filled with all of the talented performers who have passed through the building.

He has too many stories to tell about the legendary opera singers, and each one has its own magic, whether it’s the time Placido Domingo was flown in at 10:30 for “Othello” or the time Magda Olivero brought the house down as Tosca – coming out for an encore as the crowd chanted her name. “We all just floated home!” Repp said. “She was Tosca and she was absolutely spectacular!”

Repp also works San Francisco Ballet performances in the same building, and co-hosts opera related cruises with Taffel in the off-season. Opera fan and cruise veteran Josephina Smith said Repp has a knack for getting called onstage when whatever mime, juggler or other performer calls someone from the audience.

“He’s always being picked somehow,” Smith said. “He’s a real performer.” Taffel laughs as he tells the story of the time his partner was called onstage by a performer wearing a tutu on a unicycle, who no doubt wanted to use Repp as a foil.

She asked him to stand there like (dancer Mikhail) Baryshnikov. Little did she realize Bill knows Baryshnikov. Could dance and works for the San Francisco Ballet,” Taffel said. “He went into the most hysterical ballet number. She almost fell off her unicycle.”

Repp is exuberant most of the time, but does take it down a notch when the emotions start to flow. Asked if he ever has a bad day at work, Repp slows down a little to make sure his point is made.

“It’s never the same. You get yourself dressed, park the car, come through the stage door,” Repp explains. “Any given night, you could have a bad day, but you walk through those doors and you come to life. It’s a privilege to be a part of this. Every day is a new memory!”