In the interest of brevity, I am going to dispatch with the exact chronological order of events at Eastman, and relate stories that are relevant to my schooling, while hopefully providing entertainment to the reader. I have always enjoyed telling stories, and a book or a blog is not too far afield.
To begin with, all undergraduate students were required to live in the Eastman dormitories, which were located, not near the actual Eastman School downtown, as might be expected, but somewhat further away. We were encouraged to walk both ways, even in bad weather which occurred rather often. (I believe this was an attempt on the part of school officials to automatically include regular exercise in our daily routine, in order to offset the amount of sitting in class or practicing an instrument - a necessary activity for music students.) The walk took about 1/2 hour, and was pleasant when not raining or snowing ...one could also take a bus or cab, if one chose. I elected to walk (although at one point it became necessary for me to take cabs to school ---more about that later.)
There were assigned practice rooms at the school --- the better pianos (not great, by a long shot) were located on one floor, the rooms for non-pianists were elsewhere on other floors. I quickly learned that certain pianos were much better than others, so it was necessary for a person to ensconce themselves in a practice room of their choice early in the morning by depositing their belongings, (coat, hat, music, etc.) in the room. First come, first served was the prevailing rule. There was a hierarchy to all of this, as I recall, that depended upon the person's grade level (freshman, sophomore, junior, senior, etc.) and also on the perceived status of the pianist. The 'best' pianists took the best pianos, and no one had better even THINK about usurping that space. So each practice room became known by the name of the person that practiced in it. After breakfast, we would all make a beeline for school, in order to get 'our' room. And to complicate matters, if one left the room for more than 10 minutes, another student could 'take' it, often causing severe arguments. My group of friends and I all had rooms next to each other, and somehow we succeeded in intimidating the other students into leaving our rooms ALONE, even if we were absent for more than 10 minutes --- such as for lunch, or coffee breaks. I recall one situation when I found that someone (a lowly freshman, who didn't know better) had taken 'my room' in the morning, and I was quite upset. He wouldn't leave, so I went to get my two friends, Joe and Gordon, who had the intimidation technique down to a science. The three of us then opened the door very quickly and LOUDLY(!) and just stared at the hapless individual in 'my' room. Joe was particularly adept at 'menacing' looks, so this usually worked. On the occasions when more severe techniques were necessary, one of us would go by the room, and loudly yanking down the handle of the door, interrupt very often ....such as every 5 minutes. This ALWAYS worked, so one just waited for the offending person to leave....when they realized they would have NO peace. We were so bad ...I laugh to myself when I think of all those shenanigans.
Instrumentalists did not have the same requirements...the pianos were almost always Very Bad, or non-existent. Some rooms had only chairs and music stands....and no piano at all. So if an instrumentalist needed to rehearse with a pianist, that would have to be done in the pianist's room. My closest girlfriend at school was a marvelous oboist, (Dayna Larason); she and I rehearsed together quite often. [And indeed later in our lives, we played many concerts together as a duo, and also chamber music with other musicians. We are friends to this day; I know her 2 daughters well. One is a fantastic violinist with the Philadelphia Orchestra (Kim), and the other became a wonderful dancer (Lorna). Both of them have teen-age children, who are also very talented in music. Dayna became one of the best known and highly respected oboists in the country. Her husband, Larry Fisher, also an Eastman graduate (somewhat earlier than we), is a very fine violinist - plays in various musical groups in the Seattle area, and teaches privately at home as well as in prestigious music camps during the summer.
At Eastman there is an honor for which all soloists strive - and that is the PERFORMER'S CERTIFICATE. It involved an audition before a large jury of various faculty members, and is much like a competition, in that one was required to prepare an entire concerto, and a complete recital program. The entrant is asked to play only one movement of the prepared concerto, but he or she does not know which movement, until the moment of the actual audition. The concerto performance is very important in the School ... as the winner plays with the Rochester Philharmonic Orchestra (not the Eastman Orchestra). Then the solo recital is scheduled for another time during the year. I wanted to audition for this during my junior year (which was somewhat unorthodox, because my transfer student status [that again] meant I was technically a 2nd year student, and not a third year student, which was the rule for Performer's Auditions. However, after much discussion among the faculty, I was allowed to audition as I wished - junior year, and play all the performances in my senior year. Does this sound convoluted? The problem was that I did not want to be REQUIRED to return to Eastman after I had graduated, to play those concerts!
Joe also auditioned at the same time, as did Dayna. All three of us passed our auditions with flying colors, as I recall, and so we would all be playing the following year with the Rochester Philharmonic. (So much for the concerns of the faculty that I would not be 'ready' to audition after only 2 years there). The concerto I chose was the Rachmaninoff First Piano Concerto, not an easy work, by any means. In addition, I would be accompanying Dayna on the piano in her solo recital - so also played in her audition.
My summer of that year was spent working in the Washington Trust Bank again (I did this every summer) and practicing for my concerto performance and solo recital. When I wasn't practicing the piano, I was picking strawberries and raspberries in my father's garden...and of course, eating them as well. When I just couldn't stand practicing the Bach Partita in E Minor, or the Chopin Ballade in Ab Major or the Rachmaninoff Concerto, I would listen to various Motown Artists . such as Dionne Warwick, Diana Ross and the Supremes, The Temptations, (the Jackson 5 hadn't arrived on the scene yet). And I would dance around the living room singing the songs at the top of my lungs. I recall being very embarrassed when my dad caught me doing this...so I pretended to be exercising. Fact is, I wasn't even aware that I was dancing around...was so immersed in the music.
And so, after the long train ride to Rochester again, I commenced my senior year....(am skipping ahead here.)
Something happened at the beginning of the season, which nearly derailed my scheduled performances. One morning as I got up from the piano, my knee gave out, causing me to fall to the floor. In doing so, the patella bone was chipped in my knee (the x-rays showed later). During the summer I had been playing tennis and fallen, dislocating my knee - the accident weakened the joint and essentially caused the subsequent fall at Eastman. After a visit to the University of Rochester Hospital, and a meeting with an orthopedic surgeon, it was decided that I needed to wear a hip to ankle cast for 8 weeks to allow the patella bone to heal, and then have knee surgery to anchor the joint. This was not good news, and certainly made my life much more complicated. The silver lining in all this was that the U. of Rochester Medical School had an outstanding orthopedic department, one of the best in the world. My doctor was a Scot with a wicked sense of humor who loved to tease his patients mercilessly, and I was no exception.
The most challenging aspect of this situation was learning to pedal with my LEFT foot! As you may or may not know, the right pedal (called the 'damper' pedal) is always operated with the right foot - - and the left pedal (called the 'une corde' or 'soft pedal') operated with the left foot. In my case, since I could not bend my right knee (the cast prevented that), I was obliged to use my left foot to operate the right pedal, and not use the left pedal at all (since I didn't have 3 feet!) This maneuver was extremely difficult to manage physically as it changed my entire posture --- my weight could not be distributed between two legs as only one could be used - the left one. TRICKY! Co-ordination between my two hands and NOW my left foot had to be relearned.and practiced....not easy at all.
There was another problem: the pianos for us music students were uprights, and the construction of these instruments is such that one needs to be able to bend one's leg....and of course, I could not. So I was given permission to practice on the concert grands in the classrooms or on the stage in Kilbourn Hall. This was an unexpected boon, and I was grateful that these pianos were made available to me, or I would not have been able to practice. My right leg had room to stretch out -- necessary with that cast. The secondary problem was the use of crutches....I had to learn to walk with those darn things...and sometimes had near accidents, tripping on them. I was lucky enough to have good friends who would carry my books and music to classes for me, so I could walk with the crutches.
The winters in Rochester are very severe - cold, snowy, and icy...this one was no exception. Often I took the bus to school - until a public transportation strike halted the bus services. Then I resorted to taxis, which were much more comfortable, but also quite expensive, so was obliged to ask my parents for extra money to pay for cabs. (I did not like asking them for more money, as Eastman was already expensive enough - - AND this provoked more questions from my mother...who, understandably concerned for me, was beginning to entertain the idea of my coming home...and withdrawing from school altogether. So I downplayed my infirmity as much as I could, without actually lying to her).
I do recall one particular day ---there had been an ice storm (famous in Rochester) which meant that EVERYTHING was covered in ice. After my classes I started to cross the wide street in front of the school to wait for a bus on the other side (the strike had finished by then). Not the wisest move, I soon discovered. For some reason, I was by myself, also not the brightest decision. Of course, the inevitable happened: I lost my footing, slipped. and fell down in the middle of the street. I could NOT get up, because I couldn't bend my right leg, and the crutches kept slipping on the ice. Fortunately there was no traffic at the time. SO I dragged myself across the street, to a large post, where I attempted to pull myself up to a standing position. However, the ice storm had covered the pole in ice and I could not get a grip on anything. Even with gloves on, there was no way I could pull myself up. So I just sat there on the icy street, exhausted, and started crying out of frustration. Fortunately two friends came by, (Joe and Gordon) and noticed my plight. They had a good laugh at my expense naturally, being guys, but they helped me up, and also assisted me onto the bus, which had just arrived. I was able to return to the dorm with no more mishaps ---until the dining room.
Since the dining room in the dorm was very large, with tables and chairs everywhere, it could be difficult to navigate at times. The lines for the dinner service were long, and often there was much joking around, of course. However, this particular evening I was in no mood for funny business, after my horrible experience of falling in the street. I almost skipped dinner, because by then I was very tired and just wanted to lie down and rest. But I was also hungry, so I stayed downstairs, retrieved my dinner, and began to hobble to my table - of course, books, purse and music had to be taken there first (by a kind friend). Unfortunately, my trek to the table was not without incident. One of my crutches caught on the leg of a chair, and I fell down, yet again. Of course, assistance was forthcoming, and I eventually was able to eat dinner with my friends in peace...after enduring more jokes and hilarity. (Not funny, I thought, but I let them have their moment.) The day finally ended with no more ado, and I was very happy to be in my room at long last, to enjoy some peace and quiet.
There were more adventures with that cast....my leg shrank in size, causing the cast to fall lower on my leg, and rub against my ankle --- quite painful, actually. So I was obliged to make a trip to the hospital every 2 or 3 weeks, to have the cast sawed off, and then replaced. This procedure had some fearful moments....sometimes the saw would come within a hair's breadth of my leg, which concerned me, especially if the person operating the saw, was not paying close enough attention...(usually an intern.)
And so we come to the actual evening of my concerto performance with the Rochester Philharmonic. The dress I had purchased in Spokane was very beautiful (a stylish rose-colored strapless gown), and I felt very glamorous except for the clunky cast under the dress. I was much more nervous about walking to the piano and sitting down on the chair, than I was for the actual performance. I just prayed fervently that I would NOT fall down on the stage and be totally embarrassed. The angels were with me, because I did NOT FALL, was able to navigate to the piano, and sit down without incident. By then my nerves had dissipated, and the performance went very well....thank goodness. Bowing presented another obstacle course, because I had to hold onto the piano, bow elegantly, and then exit the stage. The stage manager came out to assist me, and I got a large ovation as I limped off. The fact that I was wearing a cast in this concert caused great comment - both positive and negative, and also much praise in the press for playing so beautifully under 'extraordinary circumstances.' Such is life. But I was happy when the evening had concluded, and we were all celebrating in a restaurant with champagne....!!!!
There were several other incidents involving that cast, which I am going to bypass, except for the last two. There was one very frightening moment, when on a field trip to Niagara Falls, several of us were walking along the falls which were frozen over. That was, of course, a recipe for disaster, and indeed I did not disappoint. [One might think these incidents were arranged specifically for a movie, but I can assure you they truly happened as I have described.] I was walking (with the crutches) quite a distance from the falls, and did not consider this to be dangerous in any way. (I wonder what I was actually thinking, because of course, it was dangerous.) Naturally the inevitable happened...I slipped and fell....and then slid on the ice toward the edge of the falls. There was, of course, a barrier, so I wouldn't have actually gone over the falls...but the incline was somewhat steep, and I would have crashed into the barrier...and who knows what would have happened to my limbs. One of the supervisors grabbed my hand, and prevented me from sliding further. After that, I was forbidden to go any where NEAR the falls.
The very last incident occurred in the spring, and although, by this time the cast was finally off, I was obliged to wear a wooden brace to keep my leg straight and also to lend support. A group of my friends had gathered on the large lawn in front of the dorms to have a picnic --which Eastman was sponsoring. I was barefoot (BIG Mistake, but have always hated shoes) and carrying a plateful of food to the table where we were sitting. My trek to the table, was safely executed until I arrived. Then by chance I stepped on a BEE with my left foot (un-injured leg), and the sting immediately caused much pain. So I started hopping on my right foot and leg, which was still weak. The result was, of course, yet another fall, and again I could not get up. This was a cause for great hilarity and non-stop hysterical laughter, among my friends. Even Dayna could not restrain herself! The result was that I had to be carried into the dorm to the nurse's office - everyone still laughing. I, of course, was NOT amused, not at all. I don't know if any of you have ever walked on a bee-stung foot, but the pain is immense, let me tell you.
By graduation my leg was much stronger, and the 'bee stung' foot had also recovered, thank goodness. So I was able to walk unescorted, in the senior class processional and receive my diploma - which was conferred upon me 'With Distinction' because of my high grade point average. The much coveted "Performer's Certificate" was also awarded at the Graduation Ceremony.
I remember being absolutely and wildly happy that I had my first degree, and felt like I had climbed Mount Everest (mostly because of my leg incidents). I was looking forward to a little trip to New York City, and then driving with Dayna (who had a car, did I mention that?) to her family's home in Oklahoma. I knew that further adventures were ahead (I was scheduled to attend Indiana University in the fall for my master's degree), but for the moment, was just content to bask in the glow of being an 'Eastman Graduate.' Definitely the first part of the 'long and winding road' had concluded...with many falls included in the saga! To this day my penchant for falling down at odd moments, has never abated, and as I was to discover, became even more habitual. Why knows why? Certainly not I, nor any physician either. It became a 'standing' joke -- if I were not busy practicing or performing, then I was falling down somewhere! And although I need to be more careful as I get older, am happy to say I am still standing --- as it were!!!!
The beginning of the term at the Eastman School was simply overwhelming. First of all, there were many placement exams during that initial week, most of which I had not anticipated. These began with the ear-training tests..which were rather fun. We were required to wear earphones, and certain tones were played in various sequences... high, higher, highest, and then low, lower, etc. Sometimes some of the tones sounded the same (a trick question now and then). We were to indicate on the exam sheet the explanation which best described what we were hearing. Then the tests graduated to multi-tonal chords and intervals. One had to pay very close attention and really concentrate, because once the tones were played, you could not go back and re-do anything. Then came the interval tests: these were simply two notes played either singly or together, and one was to name the interval. For example: Minor 2nd, Major 2nd, Minor 3rd, Major 3rd, Perfect 4th, Perfect 5th, etc., all the way up to the Perfect Octave. This was not a problem for me - intervals and ear training were right up my alley.
Our knowledge of music theory was tested: chord progressions, beginning with the simple Dominant to Tonic cadence were played on the piano - (i.e. Roman Numeral V to I) and continuing to other more complicated progressions. This required actual knowledge of music theory. Because I had (and still have) absolute pitch, this was also not a problem. I could write down the notes I heard, and then figure out the names of the chords. I passed all these tests and actually was placed in 2nd year Music Theory, totally bypassing the required first year class. However, since I had never formally studied theory at this level, I wanted to be sure to know the basics very well...so I asked to be allowed to take the first year course. Because of my excellent ear and perfect pitch, however, I was placed in advanced first-year theory. It is much like math in that everything is a 'progression' - one has to have mastered one level before 'progressing' to the next one.
Keyboard Harmony comprised the next battery of exams. At some point I had learned (at home) certain basic chord progressions, so was placed in the second-year course. And once again, I requested to take first year Harmony, so I would be very sure of what I was doing. (I have always been glad that I elected to do this in that I acquired a rock-solid foundation in theory and keyboard harmony--one has to be able to write the progressions as well as play them.) I took as many theory classes as possible at Eastman, and also at Indiana University, thereby earning a full minor in theory in both undergraduate and graduate school. (I should mention here that all my piano students are taught theory and keyboard harmony with their piano training. I feel it is very important in the study of music, and they all learn their chord progressions faithfully, even the youngest ones.)
Then came the exams revolving around Music History, the various periods of Music, (Baroque, Classical and Romantic Eras, etc.,) the significant composers and their birth and death dates, the place of music in world history and its relevance to the times and to our lives. This involves much reading and memorizing: I had been studying at home in preparation for these exams, as well as the classes. For us pianists, there would be Piano Literature Classes, so we were tested in our general knowledge of the piano repertoire. (There is more music written for solo piano than any other instrument, not to mention the chamber music literature involving the piano, so Piano Lit was an extensive subject.) I have to say that at the end of the first week, I felt as though I had run a marathon - the testing was so extensive.
Eastman had (and still has) a very strong music theory department, (which included Ear Training, Keyboard Harmony, Sight-Singing, Composition, Form and Analysis, Styles, plus 16th and 18th Century Counterpoint.) I won't explain here what those courses entailed, except to say that success in these subjects depended on mastering 1st and 2nd year theory. There are many rules to remember in contrapuntal writing--and we were required to study and absorb these regulations, and then write music in the styles of their related composers, from Bach to Buxtehude. (I still have the 'Two and Three-part Inventions' I wrote, as well as a 'Prelude and Fugue' in the style of J. S. Bach, plus a '16th century motet,' in the style of Palestrina.) Anyway, these so-called 'Anatomy of Music' (my term) classes met every day. Because History of Music, as well as both Piano and Music Literature involved a lot of homework and reading, those met three times per week. We were all required to take Choral Ensemble, and I elected to take Choral Conducting as well.
Then there were the Pedagogy courses, which were supposed to prepare us for teaching our instrument. I always felt that teaching the piano was dependent on one's mastery and knowledge of the instrument--in other words, the technique of playing the piano was the important thing--not talking about it, nor studying a theory concerned with imparting such information. Several of us deemed Piano Pedagogy to be a complete waste of time. Therefore, we (unwisely) decided to revolt and cut the class frequently. Then one fine day, we received 'invitations' (no joke - actual little notes!) from the hapless professor to rejoin him or risk failing the course, a measure certain to prevent graduation. Thus ended our small revolt!
To continue the line of thought prior to my description of our insurrection: learning how to use one's fingers is crucial, and it is surprising how few people really know how to teach this. The kind of sound one produces from the instrument is, to my mind, what separates the person who just 'plays on the piano' from the artist who can make the instrument truly sing. I learned this, not at Eastman, but later when I met Mme. Sari Biro at Indiana University. It is not something one can just 'do' - it takes a long time to arrive at the point of such execution. I will talk more about this later, in the chapter on my studies with that marvelous, legendary artist.
Because I had attended Gonzaga University during my freshman year, it was then and there I managed to take most of the required subjects for a Bachelor's Degree of any kind, such as English Literature, World History, Mathematics, (including Trigonometry) Economics, and even Debate. Therefore, I could concentrate on music coursework and practicing the piano at Eastman. I remember that my electives every year were French, German, and English Composition - all my favorite subjects.
We were all required to take gymnastics, and some kind of sport. Since I was already quite an ace in table tennis, decided to continue with that sport, plus ice skating. That seemed appropriate, given the fact that Rochester, NY, is located in the snow belt of the country. I bought some very beautiful white ice skates, and was having great fun--until I took a terrible fall, and dislocated my shoulder! Obviously that is not the best thing for a pianist; and sadly I decided that my career as an ice skater was over. I could simply not afford to break an arm, leg, or finger, by falling on the ice, so I gave away my lovely skates to a good friend. One has to make some choices...and certain sports were just too dangerous. Skiing was another sport in which I could not allow myself to participate, although I did take up cross country skiing in Switzerland, when I lived there later in my life. (It is much less dangerous.)
Since my major at Eastman was Piano, it was necessary for me to choose a Major Teacher for my studies there. The teacher with whom I wanted to study had a full class - and since I was a transfer student (that again!), I could do nothing about it. Usually the major teacher issue is settled before the term begins, but in my case, that was not possible. The students who had begun their freshman year with this teacher were given preference - there were no open places, and there was nothing I could do about it. The professor to whom I was assigned, was an excellent pianist, but I was looking for someone who was more of a pedagogue. Fortunately for me, I met another student (who did study with the teacher I wanted) and who became a very influential figure in my life. His name (I have permission to use it) is Joseph Fennimore; he was a fine pianist, composer (very well known by now), and generally very knowledgeable in music. We became very good friends, and during the course of my schooling at Eastman, I began studying with him as well as my faculty professor. For quite a while, this arrangement did not become known to the school - although eventually when it did, there was quite a hullabaloo about it. Joe's reputation as an excellent teacher and pedagogue became widely known at the school, and several other students, as well as myself, became part of his entourage.
It was during this first year (actual sophomore year) when I was fortunate enough to meet that most extraordinary pianist and artist, Glenn Gould. He was scheduled to play a concert in the Eastman Theater, and when he arrived, immediately went to the hall to practice on the piano. The more enterprising of us piano majors researched his schedule, and decided, en masse, that we would all go down to the hall, and listen to him practice. Of course, we were very discreet about it. There were security people at the entry doors of the hall - but that didn't stop us. We entered via a 'secret passage' leading to the hall via the lower floors. I hid in the back row of the theater and knelt down to listen. One of the security guards, however, saw someone scuttling about in the darkness, and made a general announcement: "All students in this hall must leave immediately." I did leave, only to hide in the women's restroom, and climb atop the toilet in one of the stalls to avoid discovery. After a bit of time, I quietly left the restroom, and entered the hall again, returning to my former hiding place. Mr. Gould, thinking he was now alone on stage, began practicing. This was a most fascinating process. First of all his chair was VERY low (obviously he had specifically designed the chair to have extremely short legs; I had never seen a piano chair or bench with such short legs!!) I marveled that he could play at that low height. He was practicing a Bach Prelude and Fugue - and his fingers were incredibly nimble and fleet, producing an amazingly clear sound. He began by practicing very slowly, working up to a faster tempo. In the contrapuntal sections, he would play one voice alone, and sing another - then two voices alone, singing a third...and etc. Altogether a most- laborious process, but so interesting - and incidentally, very difficult to execute.
At the conclusion of his practice session, he arose from the chair, and put on his gloves (his habit of wearing gloves was legendary.) At this time, several piano students began trotting down the center aisle to the stage...I was amazed to see some of my colleagues there as well. When we reached the stage, he saw us, began laughing, and said "I see some of you elected not to follow directions...that is good!" He was most cordial, and shook hands (gloves on) with us all. He also gave us autographs...I asked him to sign my Bach C Minor Partita! (which he also was playing in the concert.) Then we left the hall. I was so excited, and could hardly wait to hear the actual concert...but this experience was almost better than a performance! Truly!
During this same period of time, Glenn Gould also performed the Brahms Piano Concerto in D Minor with the New York Philharmonic, conducted by Leonard Bernstein. Prior to that concert, Mr. Bernstein gave a short disclaimer speech to the effect that the "interpretation of the concerto being performed was that of Mr. Gould's, and not Mr. Bernstein's." (!) Since I could not be in NYC to attend that historic concert, I listened to it on the radio with rapt attention. Mr. Gould proceeded to perform that concerto very slowly and very softly. A true 'adagio' tempo... it was surprising, if not disconcerting. The noted critic of the New York Times, Harold Schonberg, stated that "perhaps Mr. Gould is not able to play the concerto at the correct tempo with the proper dynamics." This was a completely ridiculous statement, and only served to highlight that critic's ignorance of Glenn Gould's extremely fine pianism. It was truly a memorable performance, for many reasons, provoking much controversy among musicians and critics alike.
Later in my life, I worked with Leonard Bernstein at the New York City Ballet (playing his original composition, 'The Dybbuk', in rehearsal with occasional assistance from him at the piano, while Jerry (Robbins) choreographed his new ballet to this music. This work featured the piano (Bernstein was also a pianist) in the orchestra for the performances which Lenny conducted. At that time, I asked him about the Brahms/Glenn Gould/Bernstein concert which I had heard him conduct so many years before on the radio. He laughed and told me that he hadn't been sure how to handle that situation, because he didn't want to insult Glenn, and at the same time, wanted to preserve his own integrity. It was definitely a tricky situation for him. He confessed that were he able to return to that moment in time, he would not have made the disclaimer announcement -- because in the final analysis, it really didn't matter. Glenn Gould passed away in 1982 at the early age of 50 from a stroke, and Leonard Bernstein left this earth 8 years later, in 1990 at the age of 72.
Two great men: incredibly gifted and accomplished musicians, who left very large legacies in the world of music, and who inspired me both personally and professionally--I am most grateful.
After graduating from high school a year early, and then taking my freshman year at Gonzaga University in Spokane, I was ready for greener (or at least, different pastures, and eager for new experiences. As I said previously, I found the prospect of meeting other musicians, running my own life, and (especially) escaping from my mother's eagle eye, exceedingly attractive. My parents, who were far from wealthy, told me that I would need to pay for my own transportation cross-country from Spokane, Washington to Rochester, New York, which is where The Eastman School of Music (ESM) was located --and still is. It is a part of the University of Rochester (U. of R.) which was one of the selling points insofar as my parents were concerned. It meant that a Bachelor's Degree from Eastman School would be more than a diploma - it would be a bona fide academic degree in music from a noted university. Both my parents were teachers, had at least master's degrees, and believed in higher education for both my brother and myself. At the time I did not realize how fortunate a circumstance that was - many parents do not have an interest in higher education, and certainly not for girls! (Remember, this was the 1960's!) But I always had been told that I would be able to earn at least a master's degree, and they would help finance that. I don't think they counted on their daughter being this exceptional multi-talented musician who would insist on attending such an expensive school as Eastman (even in those years.) My father could not understand why Stanford University (which offered me a complete academic scholarship), or the University of Southern California (USC - same offer), and even Yale Music School, weren't just as good as Eastman, which cost so much more. But I had my heart set on ESM, and eventually my endless campaigning bore results. When my mother finally capitulated, and aligned herself with my way of thinking, my father soon gave his consent.
The problem was that Eastman did not give scholarships to 'transfer' students, which was my category - having attended Gonzaga University for one year. (Even with my straight A average and excellent performance tapes, Eastman did not budge from that rule. (NOTE: I did receive a full scholarship for my junior and senior years there.) But for the time being, I was obliged to take out a student loan, as well as a government loan (available in those days, fortunately) to finance my sophomore year. I also had worked in a bank every summer since age 15, and therefore used my earnings plus the prize money from all the piano competitions I won, and the 'Ted Mack Amateur Hour Contest' money as well. This amounted to several thousand dollars, which I used to pay my transportation and school fees. The housing (dormitories were part of the Eastman tradition) was quite expensive, and at that time, undergrads were not given permission to live off campus. I remember waiting with baited breath for the answer to my several loan applications, and when they all were accepted, and the money offered was enough to secure a place in the curriculum, I was beyond thrilled! (It did take me several years to repay the loans from the government, but I did it - a little at a time, but consistently and in a timely fashion - month after month). In doing this, I established a good credit rating for myself, as this was my first loan. While I don't think I was aware how crucial and important this would be later in my life, I certainly have realized it since. My parents were very upstanding in this respect, and taught us to be honest and meet our obligations, financial and otherwise.
At the end of Chapter 5, I described my rather emotional departure from my family at the Spokane Railway Terminal - on the eastbound 'Empire Builder,' a deluxe, well-appointed and most comfortable mode of travel. I opted for the train in preference to air, simply because of cost considerations. Traveling by coach (not sleeper car or Pullman) was by far, much less expensive, and since I did wish to come home at Christmas - when there was a long furlough - I elected to ride on the train. My mother prepared much food (enough for the 3-day trip) which I carried in a cooler, complete with cold drinks, sandwiches, cold chicken, salad, and cookies. One could purchase coffee and soup from the vendors who strolled through the aisles, peddling their wares, or eat in the dining car, with its elegant white tablecloths, which I thoroughly enjoyed. I treated myself with at least one dinner there, and sometimes two. {I had remembered such trips, taken at an earlier time with Mom, when we shared a sleeping compartment, and ate oatmeal for breakfast. I still recall the incredible taste of that amazing oatmeal, and have yet to eat anything remotely as delicious - in the cereal category, of course.}
If you have never taken a lengthy voyage by train, I heartily recommend the experience. Only in this fashion can one see so much of this great country of ours. Car trips are also very marvelous and educational as well. My parents always took one long automobile trip each year --my brother and I had much fun in the back seat either playing with our dolls and toys, teasing each other, counting the telephone poles, and occasionally looking at the scenery whizzing by.
The train allows freedom of movement, and no one has to think about directions, or be pre-occupied with driving a car. It is a complete vacation from every day life, and to this day, I prefer the train to driving or air travel. One can take a nap, meditate, read, look out the window, eat, and generally revel in the slower pace of life. In my case, I always made many friends on those long trips - and would correspond with all of them for quite some time afterward. Since some of us routinely took the same journey, we would run across each other several times a year. I do recall (especially after the first time) dreading the stop which picked up the guys from Notre Dame University on their way home from school. They were an unruly bunch, loud and usually drunk. Since it was always late in the evening when they boarded the train, I would be asleep and awaken to some young man completely draped all over me! No matter what I did to avoid this, the same thing always happened. The young man, upon being awakened by me, would apologize profusely, and then drop off to sleep again on my shoulder! What could one do? I just had to learn to live with it.
By far the worst part of the trip was at the conclusion of the 'Empire Builder's' journey - at the Chicago Union Station. There I had to change trains (definitely an unpleasant prospect), which included finding the correct track and running, yes, RUNNING for the train to Rochester - aptly named the 'New York Central.' This train was always very rickety, old, noisy, with hard, uncomfortable seats, and generally not people-friendly like the 'Empire Builder.' At the onset, a great deal of heat would be produced from the furnaces, and then as we neared our destination, the cars would gradually LOSE the heat, until it was actually very cold inside them. Of course, this was much worse in wintertime, when it was cold and snowy in New York State, and freezing inside the rail cars. I learned to pack a blanket as well as extra scarves, mittens, heavy socks, and a fur hat to wear ON the train. And I always wore my heaviest fur coat, which mother had purchased for me at the 'After Christmas Sales.' By the time I arrived in Rochester, I was not only freezing, but had contracted a bad cold as well!
Additionally the Chicago Union Station was unbelievably busy, especially during the Christmas holidays, when so many servicemen were running here and there trying to board one of the many trains. Because there were no 'reserved' seats on the 'New York Central,' it was "first come, first served." If one were unlucky enough NOT to be among the first in line - tough luck. One would have to stand for most of the trip to various cities, or sit on the floor! Can you imagine?! I saw several of the servicemen stretched out in the aisles sleeping on their backpacks. Fortunately, I had this down to a science - I checked all my bags through from Spokane, and carried only one tote bag, plus the food carrier. Thank goodness, I was a pianist, and not a violinist, or even worse, a cellist! (Those delicate instruments have to be carried by hand, and not checked as luggage.) Then I just RAN for the train - as I usually knew or found out ahead of time where my train would be located. It was truly a zoo! I certainly could not run like that now!!
I remember arriving at the Rochester Station at approximately 6:00 A.M., and looking for a taxi to take me to the Eastman dormitories. I was very tired, and also cold, but truly excited. And I still recall the sensation of having embarked on a great journey - which it truly was, I have had this same feeling many times when my life has taken a new path ...a step away from what had been.....a leap into the unknown.
I am seated at my Steinway piano, looking at the beautiful view from the living room windows, while ruminating about the previous year and all that it had brought. Much has occurred in the world at large, as well as my own universe. The next round, namely 2011, has already begun and history is being made, as we speak.
For one thing, I stopped working at Pacific Northwest Ballet in June of 2010 - 'retired' is the word that was used in the news announcement and in the PNB program. (I used to dread the sound of that word, and its implications.) Of course, I did not retire from music, only from rehearsals and performances with the ballet, all of which I faithfully executed during my 25 years of service at that institution. While there are several aspects of my work that I miss, (such as performances) and certainly many of the people, I am not feeling the loss of playing all those hours of rehearsal in the ballet studio. I hope no one will be offended by this statement - certainly my dearest friends and family will not be surprised. While I have always had the stamina to practice long hours and enjoyed it, ballet rehearsals are something else entirely. Those simply make one very tired and sore, to put it succinctly. Playing the various pieces over and over again is necessary for the dancers to learn and rehearse their steps and roles, but it is a tedious process for the person at the piano. And no matter how wonderful and gifted that pianist may be, one simply becomes 'wallpaper' in the end. Of course, I realize this is part of the job expectation - to function much like a tape machine (only a 'live' one). However, if one (such as myself) is also the Piano Soloist and expected to perform (at the highest level) solo works and concertos with the orchestra, that is another matter altogether. The simple fact that a pianist must practice the instrument daily, (a totally different issue than rehearsals in the ballet studio), learn and practice all those solos, adds a physical component that sometimes becomes very painful. I was always fortunate in that my stamina allowed me to do all this, and quite readily. For example, I played major concerts in New York City at Alice Tully Hall, Town Hall, and Carnegie Hall. My friends simply could not believe I was able to accomplish all this - and yet work with the New York City Ballet as their piano soloist and rehearsal pianist. Sometimes I was at the piano for 10-12 hours per day, and although I ran into problems at certain points with my arm muscles, and was obliged to have cortisone injections in order to play, I continued that punishing schedule - probably because I could stand it. Just to clarify matters, this all has nothing to do with my love for, and enjoyment of ballet and dance in general - that is still there, sharp and intact.
This is the first time in my career with the ballet, that I have not been involved with the production of 'Nutcracker' - either in rehearsals or performances. While piano soloist in New York City Ballet (8 years), I rehearsed and performed in George Balanchine's production; and as piano soloist for Pacific Northwest Ballet (25 years), I did the same work for Kent Stowell's production. This makes a total of 33 years of 'Nutcracker.' I haven't checked this, but that may be something of a record. (In Europe, we did not perform that ballet - a light opera was done for the Christmas season.)
For those who are not familiar with the routine of mounting such a large production, let me say that the process is lengthy and onerous. It begins in late October with myriads of children's practices, and concludes with many onstage rehearsals for the entire company - with all manner of smaller rehearsals included in the schedules. For the pianist, this means playing every note of the difficult piano transcription of this 2-hour Tchaikovsky work. Everyone breathes a sign of relief when the last onstage rehearsal is finished, and the performances commence. (There are many children involved in the 'Nutcracker,' which always requires extra stage time for their dances, entrances and exits.) Fortunately for everybody concerned, the music is brilliant, beautiful, rich in texture and sound, and the familiar melodies have become synonymous with the Christmas season here in America. The score is one of Tchaikovsky's greatest triumphs, and a masterpiece of musical composition. To illustrate this point, I never wearied of hearing the music, only of playing it. During this Christmas season, I watched a number of different productions on television; from London's Royal Ballet, Berlin Ballet, Monte Carlo Ballet, to Bejart as well as the Bolshoi Ballet in Moscow. All very different productions (including a circus), but my favorites are still George Balanchine's and Kent Stowell's (with Maurice Sendak's colorful designs and costumes.) The fact that I could actually watch and listen to 'Nutcracker' attests to the beauty of the music. One of my friends could not believe that I could or would be willing to do such a thing. But the power of that music is incredible - and nothing can overshadow it!
I do have to say that the Christmas season was, for me, redefined this year - without Nut rehearsals and shows. There are usually 42-44 performances - two per day at times. And then there is the worry about SNOW which in the past few years, has become a source of concern, especially when one lives on a huge hill, such as Magnolia or Queen Anne. There have been times when I was literally stranded on my street, as all main cross streets (hills) were closed, and terribly icy. Once the father of one of my students brought food supplies, as he had a very powerful 4-wheeler truck, and could get to my place via a circuitous route - for which I was very grateful. However, even in the worst snowstorm, I was able to get to the theater somehow. I do recall one show where most of the orchestra members could not travel, but I was there - having ridden with Kent and Francia Stowell (directors of PNB at that time) who lived near me on Capitol Hill. And so, I became the orchestra, playing many parts on the piano - also singing the little duet in Act I, while playing the piano, as well as the high sung notes in the Snow scene. As the tambourine player in the percussion section was absent, I played that as well. I recall that John Pendleton, our former beloved company manager told several people that "Dianne is a one-man band!" And he was right...For that one show, I received not only doubling, but tripling+ fees!
My initial fears that I would be 'lost' without the ballet work proved to be groundless. What has happened since is nothing short of miraculous, at least for me. Of course, I continue to teach, as I believe children should grow up exposed to the arts, especially music. It opens doors that one never even knew existed. Many of my students tell me that they find their minds are clearer, more agile, and their moods and points of view are affected in very positive ways. I do believe in the power of music to change a person's entire being - and whether the student becomes a professional in the field or not, is completely immaterial. They are exposed to a very high standard of playing, and they all learn, albeit at various rates of speed. There is nothing more exciting to me than to see my students become adept at playing the piano, and generally educated in music.
In addition, I have become very involved in writing. (When I was much younger, I used to write stories on various subjects, enjoying it very much.) Many people have urged me to write a book on my life in the arts, and include stories about all the incredible artists with whom I have studied, worked, performed and socialized. At the suggestion of my friend and colleague, Margie Talvi, I started an online blog much along the same lines, and find that it has become the centerpiece of my daily routine. Of course, I still practice, and enjoy rehearsing music that I love, and which is specifically written for the piano. I do believe that if I had known it would feel this wonderful, I might have left the ballet earlier. At the onset, I just reveled in the fact that I did NOT have to go to the theater, nor play even one rehearsal or class - and just let the day create itself. What a fabulous feeling that is....and one which I had never before experienced.
In reviewing the many examples of downsizing and even eliminating orchestras in both concert and ballet performances, in order to save money, I fear for the future of classical music. It appears to be in grave danger, and is there any other kind? (Marjorie Kransberg Talvi has written extensively on the subject in her excellent online blog, entitled "Magic Moments," at mktalvi.blogspot.com - I urge you to read it.) Selfishly I am grateful that my career has spanned decades and from this vantage point, I have concluded that I could not in all good conscience encourage anyone to follow a professional career in classical music. Even pop music, so much more accessible to people and therefore more 'popular' is having its issues as well. Listen to what Jay-Z Carter says about the subject on the new Oprah Channel - OWN. Most of the successful rap artists have successfully founded clothing lines, fragrance and accessory lines, and make a great deal of money capitalizing on their name. They all love music, and while recording and performing may be their passion, the business is not what it used to be, that is for certain. Much of this can be traced to the internet - where so much music can be downloaded for pennies, and sometimes not even that.
A week ago I watched the Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts Awards, which honored Oprah Winfrey, Paul McCartney, Jerry Herman (composer, lyricist of 'Hello Dolly' and 'La Cage aux Folles' fame),
country musician Merle Haggard, and Bill T. Jones (Tony Award winning dancer/choreographer.) Caroline Kennedy, elegant as always, introduced the show stating that nearly 50 years ago her father, John F. Kennedy, had said, "a nation reveals itself not only by the individuals it produces, but by those it honors." I found myself wondering how long it might be before this marvelous show would no longer be viable - that perhaps the arts would cease to play any kind of role in American culture, except the most perfunctory. And I was reminded that it was Ralph Waldo Emerson who said, "do not go where the path may lead; instead go where there is no path and leave a trail." My friends, it is time for us all to become trailblazers, to prevent the disappearance of some of our most valuable assets - music, dance, and the arts in general.
