Picture this: a 55-year-old school janitor from Terre Haute, Indiana, named Richard Goodall, armed with a golden voice and a broomstick past, steps into the America’s Got Talent quarterfinals on August 13. He’s not just sweeping floors anymore—he’s sweeping hearts, and Sofia Vergara’s eyes are the first to spring leaks. Goodall, with smoke swirling around him and lights carving shadows, unleashes Michael Bolton’s “How Am I Supposed to Live Without You,” a ballad that’s less a song and more a love letter to his fiancé. Every note lands like a velvet hammer, cracking open the room’s emotions.
This isn’t his first rodeo. Back on May 28, Goodall strolled onto the AGT stage—a middle school custodian with 23 years of mop-and-glow behind him—and belted Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin’” like he was born for it. That night, he snagged a Golden Buzzer, a ticket straight to the live shows, and the crowd lost its mind. Fast forward to the quarterfinals, and the judges can still feel echoes of that debut. Heidi Klum, voice soft as a confession, says, “Richard, you’ve burrowed into my heart. I caught your nerves today, but your passion—it’s in every word. You’ve got this.” Simon Cowell, never one for fluff, leans in: “Do you believe in yourself yet? You should. You’re unforgettable—maybe even a dark horse to win this thing.” Goodall, steady as oak, nods, “Yes.”
Cowell’s got a quibble, though—calls the Bolton pick “too vintage.” But even he can’t deny Goodall’s staying power, hinting this janitor could mop the floor with the competition. The results drop August 14, and the tension’s thick enough to cut.
Rewind to Goodall’s roots: 23 years pushing a broom three blocks from home, humming radio tunes that stuck with him since childhood. “The kids heard me sing,” he said back in May, “and they’d swear I had something special. That’s why I boarded a plane—first time ever.” He likened the AGT ride to takeoff: “That moment the wheels lift, you’re floating, untethered. It’s a good kind of dizzy.” The judges felt it too. Before his audition, Cowell whispered to Vergara, “I hope he’s good.” She echoed, “Me too.” Then Goodall opened his mouth, and jaws hit the floor—Cowell’s first.
That debut was pure alchemy. The audience leapt to their feet, Vergara gushed, “Spectacular—an amazing surprise. You were made for this.” Howie Mandel grinned, “You’ve been cleaning up for 23 years, and now you’re sweeping us away.” Klum, smitten, sealed the deal: “Richard, you knocked me sideways. I feel you up there, and I’m giving you what you deserve.” She slammed the Golden Buzzer, gold confetti rained, and Goodall—a guy who’d never left Indiana—teared up, stammering, “I’ve never even flown. This? A dream I didn’t dare dream.”
Cue the YouTube chorus: kids from his school, now grown, chiming in. “I’m one of those lucky ones who heard him in the halls,” one wrote. “He’s a phenomenon, a true hero.” Another, from West Vigo where Goodall works, added, “My twins screamed for Mr. Richard last night—our whole county did. He’s humble, kind, and Vigo’s best-kept secret. America’s about to see what we’ve known forever.”
From janitor to juggernaut, Goodall’s not just chasing a win—he’s rewriting his story, one soul-stirring note at a time.
