Choir singer isn't eager for retirement

In 1959, when he was 10 years old and growing up in Cody, Wyo., Keith Finlayson heard a song on the radio that shaped his musical destiny.

No, it wasn't Elvis doing "Hound Dog." It wasn't even Pat Boone doing "April Love."

It was the Mormon Tabernacle Choir doing "Battle Hymn of the Republic."

The song rocketed to the upper echelons of the national pop charts (this was 1959, remember), won a Grammy and got plenty of airplay on Cody's only radio station.

About this same time, Keith noticed an article about the choir in a coffee-table book his parents owned. It showed a picture of members of the famous singing group in action, along with a caption that explained that housewives, doctors, lawyers, farmers, plumbers — basically anybody and everybody — made up the all-volunteer choir.

"I thought to myself, 'Hey, I can do that,"' remembers Finlayson, who moved to Salt Lake City, graduated from medical school, got married, started a family, became a doctor and joined the choir, in that order.

We bring this up now because just before noon on Sunday, after the choir's perennial Sunday morning national broadcast from the Tabernacle — it was No. 4,101 in a row since 1929 — and after a short retirement ceremony, Keith Finlayson's great Mormon Tabernacle Choir adventure came to a close.

He concluded his 20th year as a member of the choir, and he's about to turn 60. In the MTC world that amounts to double jeopardy. Either one means mandatory retirement.

Finlayson exhales a deep sigh — and deep means deep; he sings second bass, the lowest notes on the page — and manages a what-are-you-going-to-do? shrug.

"I'd never leave on my own," he says. "They've gotta throw me out."

From the outside looking in, you'd think it wouldn't be like this at all. You'd think people would be kicking and clawing to get out of the choir. Choir members put in at least eight hours on the lightest of weeks, and on Sundays they're up and going well before 7. They average 140 events a year, counting practices and performances, and the pay is way below minimum wage. They don't get paid anything. When they travel their expenses are picked up, and they can buy CDs and DVDs — the CDs and DVDs they record — at cost, but that's about as indulgent as it gets.

Plus, they have to have an annual letter from their LDS bishop attesting to their fine moral character just to stay in the club.