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The
Miracle of Music |
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For as long as I can remember, my father has played in bands and orchestras.
When I was ten years old, he was invited along with several colleagues
to perform in the orchestra for a production of an opera entitled
“The Nazarene,” under the baton of its composer, Don Gillis.
At my young age, I was not fully able to appreciate why my father
felt so honored at this invitation. I was later to learn that Gillis
was a highly decorated composer of quite extensive merit, having served
as the program director at NBC at the time Arturo Toscanini was producing
his famed broadcasts with the NBC Symphony. Each time I have encountered
works by Gillis, either as performer or conductor, I am transported
back to the memory of the events of my childhood.
----- Following the production of “The
Nazarene,” my father found himself enthralled with the composition.
I recall him telling the story of how the entire score had come to
Gillis in a dream and how he had worked feverishly to capture it on
paper before the memory left him. My father felt moved to bring it
to our town as part of the local symphony’s performance season.
With a little help from his friends, his dream became a reality. My
father would hire the musicians, my mother would help organize the
chorus, and my fate as their ten-year-old son was sealed; I’d
be held captive at yet another long and arduous performance.
----- I don’t have many recollections
of the planning or rehearsal process, but I’m sure I was present
for at least a small amount of the preparation. Performance night
is another matter. I can remember it as if it were yesterday. I took
my seat in an unlikely place; the front row. I remember peeking over
the orchestra pit railing to peer in at my father in the clarinet
section before the first downbeat. My mother was on stage as well,
member of the chorus she helped organize. And I was settled in, ready
to count down the seemingly endless hours. Little did I know at that
time, the performance would not last for mere hours. It would indeed
last a lifetime.
----- The events that followed amaze
me to this day. I sat through the performance, not fully understanding
the events on the stage; a one-act fictitious account of five ordinary
characters who lived on the road to Golgotha only days following Jesus’
crucifixion. But, something about the performance moved me in a most
profound way that I will never be able to fully understand or explain.
----- Following the event, my parents
invited several of their friends for a reception at our house. I recall
hanging very near the party, trying desperately to muster the courage
to recite the opening lines from the performance; “Poor souls,
poor heart-sick miserable souls. They should have known it would happen.”
I never found the courage I sought, but the desire to do so never
left me.
----- A few days later I picked up one
of the chorus books from the pile my mother had collected from the
singers. I began to copy the entire dialogue of the production into
a little notebook. My parents asked me what I was doing and I casually
told them that I was going to produce my own production of “The
Nazarene.” They laughed and went back to the business of watching
T.V. and reading the paper. But I kept on writing, transcribing every
detail. This went on for days. One evening I overheard a conversation
my father was having on the phone. They were obviously making arrangements
for the return of the books. Now I knew that my work would have to
been accelerated. Much laughter preceded my father’s “goodbye”
before hanging up the phone. He came into the room where I sat scribbling
in the notebook and announced to me that I needn’t finish the
task. Mr. Gillis wanted me to keep a copy for myself. I beamed with
delight, and turned back to my notebook, working less frantically,
but just as diligently. Finally, the copy work was completed and I
possessed two manuscripts; one in my hand and one in that of Don Gillis.
Production could now begin!
----- I assigned roles to the other three
neighborhood kids who were my age, somehow convincing them to play
along. I read the unassigned fifth part, along with my own role. This
part of the endeavor wasn’t by any means a stretch. Each year,
when the annual telecast of the “Wizard of Oz” was broadcast,
we’d spend at least an hour the next day reenacting it. There
had been other dramatizations as well. The fact that my playmates
had never seen nor heard the production, and I had only seen it once,
didn’t appear to dampen their enthusiasm. My parents watched
from afar in the manner parents routinely watch children imitating
their parent’s world. None of the endless array of prior schemes
had lasted more than a few hours. I wonder to this day if they took
side bets on how long this one would last; but last it did.
----- I somehow managed to get my playmates
to stay with me through the rehearsal process. Often I’d have
to go find one of them who missed their entrance because they were
off doing some foolish activity such as playing or homework. As days
turned to weeks, my parents watched in disbelief. As weeks turned
to months the disbelief started to wane. We were still without a fifth
person, a small but very important role. I negotiated with my parents
to allow one of the other symphony member’s sons to fill this
void. He lived across town, but he was a few years older and would
not require as much rehearsal. Having attended most of the rehearsals
leading up to the professional performance, he was already very knowledgeable
about the script. They agreed to make this happen, if indeed we got
that far. And indeed, we got that far.
----- When I started further negotiations
with my parents about the construction of sets and the means to transform
the den into a theater, I noticed a different attitude from them.
In fact, when our fifth cast member’s parents would bring him
to rehearsals, they’d stay to help with set construction. Then,
the final step was made and I knew that my endeavor was being met
with sincerity. They consulted their calendar, set a date, and began
inviting the other parents to join them in our crowded den.
----- There was to be one final conversation
with Mr. Gillis to be overheard. This time it ended without laughter.
After hanging up the phone, my father came straight to me. It seems
as though Mr. Gillis had invited himself to the performance, and my
father asked if this was all right with me. What was I to say? Terrified
and elated, I nodded my approval.
----- Performance night was met with
great anxiety. I recall the five of us sitting in a circle on the
floor, taking turns in prayer and encouragement. Our nervousness accelerated
when we saw the early evening sun glisten on Mr. Gillis’ car
as it rolled to the curb outside our window.
Of all the amazing events throughout this unlikely process, perhaps
the most amazing to me now, was the precision with which the performance
came off. Somehow all five children had captured the same vision.
We reproduced all of the dialogue, and sang most of the songs. A few
had been too difficult for us to sing, but we recited each and every
lyric just the same. Now, months later, I had indeed found the courage
to recite that opening line for my parent’s friends. And with
the closing line delivered, an amazed audience of friends and family
leapt to their feet.
The moments that would follow helped to clearly define the course
of at least one lifetime. Mr. Gillis moved to the stage area in the
crowded den. Noticeably moved to tears, he spoke. I can see and hear
it as if it where today. He closed his short speech by stating very
simply but with a deeply poignant sincerity, “this has been
the greatest tribute ever given to my music.”
----- A few years later, before I started
my own career in music, I was browsing through a book with the title,
“The Year in Music.” I happened upon an obituary for one
Don Gillis. I ached with the pain of never thanking him for the way
he touched my life. I was never able to share with him my own adventures
with music making. But perhaps someday, somewhere I will find the
way to thank him. Perhaps I will once again bring his creation to
the stage. Could there be a ten-year-old boy out there………….
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