GRADUATE SCHOOL ---A NEW PHASE (Chapter 12)

          Upon graduating from Eastman, I eagerly looked forward to the next phase of my life.   The plan was that I would attend Indiana University for my Master's Degree - this had previously been  arranged before I went to Eastman.  A Hungarian pianist (Bela Nagy) who had adjudicated one of the piano competitions in Spokane...awarded me the top prize, and had invited me to attend Indiana University to study with him after Eastman was finished.   My parents were overjoyed by this turn of events, and so was I.   As much as I loved Eastman, I was ready for a change of scene.  However, both my best friend, Dayna, and I wanted a bit of breathing space before starting Part II of our schooling,  thus we decided to take a road trip --- driving from Rochester, NY to Shattuck, Oklahoma, where her parents lived.
          So we set off...two inexperienced young women, to face whatever challenges might arise.  I did not tell my mother about the trip, as I was afraid she might tell me to come home immediately -- for whatever reason.  (I should say here that mother and I had NOT been seeing eye to eye for some time, and if she wanted me to do a particular thing, I would automatically NOT want to do that.  So I delayed calling her.)
          Dayna and I had much fun on our driving trip, and while nothing terrible happened, there were a few adventures that I would not want to repeat.  The worst was outrunning a twister!  I had not realized there were so many tornados in this part of the country and my first experience with one was very frightening:  the sky got very dark and ominous looking, and a wind came up.  I recall Dayna looking out the window and noting that a tornado was bearing down on us!  So she began to speed up until the car was really sailing along.  Fortunately, she is a very experienced driver, and can really handle an automobile.  So we arrived at her parents' home in one piece.  We ran into the house and down the stairs to the basement-- never have I run so fast.     There we all waited for the tornado to pass.  I have never heard such loud wind noise in my life...very scary indeed!  I just prayed that the house would not blow away.. (this can happen, I know.)  Dayna's mom and dad were also in the basement, and although they tried to make light of the situation, I knew they were nervous.
          While in Shattuck, I finally called my mother---
to tell her where I was and what I was doing.   She was somewhat alarmed that we were driving such a long distance, but I assured her that Dayna (about whom she had heard much) was an excellent driver,
 and that we were fine.  I did not tell her about the tornado we had just outrun...(would not have been a wise move, thought I),  just said we thought a little vacation was in order for both of us, after our very exacting senior year (several concerts for me in a leg cast!)  Mother was not too pleased with our antics, but what could she do?  So I stayed in Oklahoma another week and then took the train to Spokane.   While on that long trip, I reflected on my past three years at Eastman, wondering what was in store for me at Indiana University.  One thing I knew for sure was that I would be required to take a few exams---IU didn't seem to trust even an Eastman degree - with honors!  They needed to have proof of one's academic knowledge...thus: the exams.  So while on the train, I was reviewing music history, theory, form and analysis, etc.  
            When the train pulled into the depot in Spokane, I got off, looking for one or both of my parents....but no one was there to meet me.  I walked into the depot building only to hear my name being paged over the loud speaker.  I quickly went to a courtesy phone.... it was a nurse from the nearby Deaconess Hospital.  She said my mother needed me, and would I please come to the reception desk at the hospital.  When I asked for more information, she refused, and just said to come as soon as possible.  I was beginning (ha!) to become alarmed, but I took a cab to the hospital.  My brother was downstairs at the door....and he took me to an upper floor reception area.  I could see that he had been crying... so I knew something was VERY wrong.   Mother was sitting there with her head down.  She looked at me and said:    "Dianne your father just passed away after a gall bladder attack.   He died on the operating table, just a little while ago."  Needless to say, I was dumbstruck, and thoroughly shocked.  What a horror....she said it so calmly....obviously in a daze.  John was crying again...and I could not say a word...not even ONE word. 
          Apparently he had the attack while driving his car, and pulled over.  A passing driver stopped to assist him... called an ambulance and dad was taken to the hospital.   His primary surgeon (from the Mayo Clinic) happened to be in town, and came immediately to the hospital...but father died while on the operating table, so the doctor never had a chance to operate. The upshot of it all, was that dad's gall bladder was in very bad shape...but it was not removed when the gall stones were taken out in a previous surgery.  This all resonated with me, as earlier this year (April 2012) my gall bladder was removed along with a large gall stone.   As I sit here writing this, I wonder IF my father would have had the same procedure done THEN as I have just a few months ago, perhaps he might still be alive.  This is indeed a sobering thought!
          The death of a loved one is a very difficult thing to process.  I was no different than anyone else, only I could not cry.... the tears just wouldn't come.  Since there was so much to do, I felt I needed to stay strong and do what was necessary.  My mom was a basket case, and my brother was really in a state.  
I recall that we all went home together, and a neighbor friend came over to assist.  I began writing notes and calling people to inform them of my father's passing.   He was quite young, only 51 years old.
          The next few days were difficult....everyone was depressed, and mother had no energy at all.  I recall getting up the next morning, looking out the window at the beautiful sunny day, which felt very peculiar...just 'not right.'  How could this be?  My dad was not here to enjoy the lovely day....and we all were.  I didn't feel like practicing, although mom requested it later in the day.  I suppose she felt the need to restore some 'normalcy' in the house...and my piano practicing had embodied a routine for her for so many years.  I realized then, what my absence during these past 3 years away at school, must have meant for her, as she and I arose early every morning.   I would practice, and she would sit at the kitchen table, drinking her coffee, and reading the newspaper.   Such were the vicissitudes of our daily life....those small actions that we all take for granted....and only miss when they are no longer there.
          The summer passed in a kind of blur...like an impressionistic painting....a bit fuzzy, but there nonetheless.  Every day I practiced new repertoire, and studied for the exams I would be taking at IU.  I realized that it was a blessing that my assistantship at Indiana had been previously arranged, otherwise I don't think I would have been able to leave Spokane
for my master's degree (under the present circumstances, anyway).  John was attending school as well....the very same Gonzaga University which I had attended my freshman year in Spokane, also while living at home.   He was active in the Glee Club,  and with his beautiful, bass baritone voice, was a welcome addition to their various barbershop quartets.  I was grateful he would be staying in Spokane, and could assist Mom when she needed him.  Sometime during this period of time, (not sure exactly when) mother decided she should sell the house....but she didn't inform John or me of this decision.  She wanted to move to Spokane proper and leave  Spokane Valley, which was mostly populated by families with children.   Of course, she would continue to teach at Central Valley High School, and just commute.  
          And so the day came when I (once again) left Spokane for Points East.  Mother had no extra money to spare, so I would be entirely dependent upon the funds from my assistantship for all school expenses.  This proved to be much more difficult than I would have imagined, as there was virtually NO EXTRA MONEY, after my school supplies were purchased.  
          I arrived at Bloomington, Indiana  (where IU was located), and was immediately deposited at the dormitory where many graduate students were housed.  I met the girl who was going to be my roommate....she was a bit strange, but nice enough.   Her field was not music, but science.  She showed me around the enormous campus including the Student Center, called THE HUB (in which the cafeteria was located) -- quite far from the dormitory, so I would be walking a great deal.  (By then my leg had totally healed, so this would not pose a problem.)  I registered the next day, and was given my teaching and daily class schedule.  Since my assistantship was for actually teaching piano, I learned that most of my students were studying other instruments, and piano was a requirement necessary for graduation, but not an elective or voluntary course.  In other words, I would have NO piano majors.  OH JOY!!!  This was not good news, but what could I do about it??  My own courses were all in the morning, beginning at the ungodly hour of 8:00 A.M., every single day.  I took an overload of subjects, in order to finish my degree in less than 2 or 3 years.  This was my choice....not the university's.  Then I received a huge surprise....Dr. NAGY (who had recruited me for his class at Indiana U. ) was not going to be teaching that year!  He was on sabbatical and another pianist was there in his place.  (I was very upset about this, as it was the one thing at IU about which I could be certain...and now that was NOT to be).  His name was Vlado PERLEMUTER.  He was a famous pianist and recording artist, and heretofore had taught at the Paris Conservatoire.  Since there was no one else with whom I wished to study, I decided to just accept things as they were.  This turned out to be a wise move, although I didn't know it at the time.
          The first order of business, however, was to navigate those pesky exams, which were required of ALL incoming graduate students.   I recall that my first exam was Music Theory, which I passed with flying colors.  Then came General Music History, which brought the same result.  However, there was an exam for Early Music History, with the emphasis on EARLY.  This posed a few problems, and I didn't do so well.   I then learned that many of the textbooks used in most Music Schools in America had been written by several professors on staff from Indiana University.  Had I known this, would have procured one or two and studied them  (especially the Early Music tome).  As it turned out,  I was required to take a 'remedial' Early Music History course, which was taught by the author of our textbook. He was very knowledgeable...AND very entertaining.  In the class were other grad students, also a bit deficient in this area.  We all used to meet together to study and drink coffee.  Our various backgrounds were a potpourri....a Curtis graduate, several from state universities, Peabody Insititue, 2 or 3 from Juilliard, and one from Eastman (me).  Hmmm!  No one was up to the IU standard, apparently. I also learned that Indiana was one of the most exacting universities for all fields, including  music.  Wouldn't you know??  I had elected to take Advanced Theory (recommended for THEORY MAJORS only) which turned out to be a big mistake!  The professor wanted ONLY Theory Majors in his classes, (not pianists like myself.)  He asked me if I might wish to reconsider my decision to be there.  I just answered that THEORY was one of my favorite subjects, was one of my minors, so would prefer to remain.   He could not forbid nor prevent me from enrolling in the course, but he COULD AND DID make my life difficult.   He had something against pianists, I decided, as he was always picking on me ....no joke!  But I gracefully side-stepped around him and managed to get a decent A-  for the first semester.  The second semester was another matter, however.   The emphasis was on 14th Century Counterpoint....very difficult.   In addition, I was performing a great deal and was entering some competitions.   I was also known within the Music School as one of the most outstanding pianists.  My Theory Professor was not impressed with this....he didn't care....and told me as much.  So he cut me no slack for these 'non-theory activities.'   I could not understand such a narrow-minded attitude, but I did NOT quit the course.   For example, because I could not be in class for one exam, (was playing in a competition) he told me he would automatically lower my grade one full notch (A to B, B to C, etc.)  Not at all fair....as I had permission from the Dean of the Music School to be absent....and told this Professor exactly that.  He became enraged and said that no matter what the Dean or I thought, HE was the Professor and would decide if I had permission to be excused or not.   (I could not believe this arrogance, and went to the Dean to inform him.   Probably not the smartest move, but I was very angry.)  The upshot of all this was that my grade in that class was lower than it should have been....patently unfair, but there you are.  Later I learned that this professor and the Dean were NOT friends at all.....and I had inadvertently become involved in their dispute (which was basically over other matters.)  Such pettiness does occur in these institutions, and the unwitting victims are often the students who pay the price.  
          Monsieur Perlemuter (my piano professor) turned out to be a most lovely person, and a good teacher.   He adored me and asked me to come to Paris and study with him ....perhaps the following year.  Of course, I was most flattered and honored by this request...whether I could do so or not, would be another matter.  Paris was a wonderful city, he said, and I would learn much from just living there for a while.  Later in my life, I found that to be true...when I went to Geneva, Zurich, and London to live....spending much time in Paris as well.   Unfortunately, Monsieur Perlemuter became very depressed living in Bloomington....no doubt the extreme difference between the two environments and the absence of his wife contributed to this situation.  So he asked to be released from his contract early to return to France, and was granted permission, of course.   WELL, another teacher had bitten the dust, so to speak, and I didn't know what would happen.   Since there was still no one with whom I wished to study, I decided to allow events to just take their course, with no imput from me.
           Unbeknownst to me at the time, that decision was exceedingly wise.   My prayers of finding a great teacher who would assist me in learning what I realized I must know, were answered.   The wonderful artist who appeared on the scene was Mme. Sari BIRO....and the fact that she was there at all was a minor miracle.  Mme. Biro was Hungarian....she had immigrated to America some years before, and was presently living in San Francisco.  She gave many concerts in the United States, touring with Arthur Rubinstein, with whom she was great friends.   She was entirely magical, and I adored her.  After hearing her play, I knew she possessed the answers to all my questions about piano playing.  It is difficult to describe someone's method of teaching, so I am not going to even attempt that here.  Suffice it to say that most of my habits and previous training had to be discarded.   While I was willing to do this, I still had to graduate from IU, which required a solo recital, chamber music concert, as well as much coursework, so I could not start the process immediately.  (I had decided that I must move to San Francisco to study with her there, without having to deal with courses, grades, and degree programs.)  She did demonstrate to me HOW to strengthen my fingers, HOW to use them, and HOW to begin to make various types of sounds on the piano.  (It is not simply a matter of pressing the key down to make the sound, you understand.)  I began doing what I could to begin the process while still practicing my repertoire. {I must digress here and explain that doing remedial work on one's technique while learning repertoire, does NOT work.  One must first concentrate on the fingers, and then go from there.  It is a long process....as is everything worth doing in life.}  I realized while I was there, that the male pianists (teachers) on staff were all highly envious of Mme. Biro's prodigious technique and fine pianism.  They didn't have anywhere near the degree of her perfection, and bitterly resented her for that.  It was such a treat to hear and watch her play -- I loved it.   While she was not so well known in America as in Europe, nonetheless she had a great following.  (In fact, after I became involved with Facebook here in Seattle, I learned that several of my new fbook artistic friends were cognizant of her fame in Europe, and very admiring of her piano playing and knowledge!!!   This was very interesting and marvelous to hear.)  She was diminutive in stature, blonde, and very attractive with highly chiseled features.  Actually the word that comes to mind is... 'elegant.'  She dressed beautifully, and while she spoke with a Hungarian accent, her English was better and more eloquent than most natives of this country.  She used the language in a most colorful manner, and was able describe scenes and events so vividly that one could actually see them.  
          The other students in her class were of varying levels (I was, by far the most accomplished), but all were duly impressed with her, and most wanted to go with her to California, when she left Indiana  (myself included).  During that year, her daughter, Maria, came to Indiana to visit her mother and meet all of us.  Maria is a statuesque redhead, who always has looked like she stepped out of Vogue magazine.  I found her to be a most intelligent and quick-witted young woman -- and while not a musician, she certainly was knowledgeable about music and the arts in general.   She was a dancer, and after she stopped dancing, began a career in banking as an officer of the Bank of America.  She also worked in Public Relations for various artistic organizations in San Francisco -- therefore,  knew just about everyone in that city.   We began an association while I was at Indiana U. (later living in San Francisco) which turned into a life-long friendship.  To this day, I speak with Maria quite often....she is a terrific friend.  
       My lessons with Mme. Biro were a revelation....and I looked forward to each lesson with great anticipation.  Often I had a lesson every day, or every other day.  She didn't pay attention to rules and such, so there was no problem, although I didn't mention my extra lessons to other students or professors.  By this time, I was nearly finished with that dreadful Theory Professor and his class, and didn't much care what my grade would be, although I certainly didn't want to have a blot on my almost perfect record.....if possible.  I practiced as long as I could in the evening - sometimes until 1:00 a.m. (the administration left the music building open until 2:00 a.m. for pianists (such as myself) who were eager beavers to practice.   
          The other class which was very interesting for me was Chamber Music (taught by the reigning cellist in the university, and one of the most famous in the world --- Janos STARKER.)  He was not only a very intelligent and great pedagogue, he was a task master.....and I loved his classes.   I learned a great deal about playing chamber music from him, and because I worked with several of his best cellists, also studied and performed a great deal of the cello/piano repertoire.  It should be said here that much of that repertoire is very difficult for the piano (and the pianist) and should be called 'Piano/Cello' sonatas and not vice versa.  The Rachmaninoff Cello Sonata, for example, is nearly as difficult for the piano as a Piano Concerto, and the cello part is not difficult at all.  I also played chamber music that included other instruments...such as the TROUT QUINTET by Schubert, and performed this work often since Indiana University.  I have never forgotten my carefully worked out fingerings and phrasings, or Mr. Starker's remarks about the music.  
        I should mention that when I studied with Vlado Perlemuter the previous semester, I learned the very difficult GASPARD DE LA NUIT, by Maurice Ravel.  It seems that Mr. Perlemuter studied with Ravel, himself; in fact he was Ravel's last piano student!!  So I received many tidbits from Mr. Perlemuter on the music.....including actual changes of some notes in various works.  This was indeed interesting.....I learned many of Ravel's actual intentions regarding his music, plus pedaling instructions.....something very few pianists ever learn.  I have always been grateful that I learned GASPARD during that period, as it is quite a handful to learn (TOO many notes), and requires much time.  Ravel has always been one of my favorite composers, and I learned many works of his with Mr. Perlemuter.  (Later in my life, I performed the Ravel Sonatine on the New York City Ballet stage at the State Theater in Lincoln Center,  which was choreographed by George Balanchine for the Ravel Festival.  By then I was piano soloist for the NYCB and performed often with the company - either with the orchestra or alone with the dancers.   In Seattle, I also performed the Ravel Concerto in G Major  with the Seattle Symphony, for Pacific Northwest Ballet.) 
        My year and a summer at IU passed quickly - and soon it was time for the performances.  I had entered two competitions, and done quite well, so was not nervous about performing - not at all.  The concerts went well, and I received an 'EXCELLENT' rating on both of them.  (The piano staff were required to attend all graduate recitals and grade them.)  Mme. Biro had told me I would be welcome to come to San Francisco to study with her....and I was looking forward to that.  However, there were a couple of hoops to jump through before that would happen.  I will save those adventures for the next chapter....so until then, may I wish everyone a fond farewell ....until we meet again on the printed page!
        

AN INCREDIBLE JOURNEY (Chapter 11)

         This entry will be a departure (once again) from the Narrative of my life story...to tell the story of my past two years...since my retirement from PACIFIC NORTHWEST BALLET.  That happened in the spring of 2010, and what followed was a huge surprise to me. 
          I was quite happy to retire from my work at PNB, and although I love music very much, as well as ballet, the work had begun to affect my general health.  No longer was I thrilled to get up in the morning and go to the theater or the Phelps Center...playing the piano had begun to be physically painful, especially as the hours necessary to keep up one's standard of playing, and rehearse the ballet at the same time were taking their toll.  So the day I actually told Peter Boal that perhaps I should stop, he was not surprised...I had already started working half time, instead of full time.  And the day I actually did stop and walk out of PNB for the last time as an employee there, I was actually very joyful.  Peter told me later that he had never seen anyone so happy to stop working.   I was very enthusiastic about the future, and what I would be able to accomplish.  Little did I realize what was in store for me.  
           The first few months I did not practice much...as I have practiced all my life, and decided that I had earned a vacation from the piano.  (It isn't necessary to state exactly HOW many years I have practiced and studied...but you can probably guess.)  I was looking forward to experiencing Christmas without NUTCRACKER rehearsals and performances.  I also had decided to start a blog of my life...including all my experiences with the great artists of the world.  There have been so many....my teacher (for one) Sari BIRO, George BALANCHINE (Artistic Director of the New York City Ballet for whom I worked for many years), Jerome ROBBINS (Assistant Director of the NYCB, and choreographer for many well known shows and ballets, including West Side Story, On the Town, etc.), Leonard BERNSTEIN (conductor/composer with whom I worked on a collaboration between him and Jerry Robbins), Rudolph NUREYEV (with whom I worked in Zurich on ballets of his),  Mischa BARYSHNIKOV (with whom I worked in NYC and Geneva, Switzerland).  While in NYC, I also played for some performances of Margot FONTEYN (who was a world famous British ballerina, from the ROYAL BALLET.
And many more.  Here in Seattle, I worked with Kent STOWELL, and Francia RUSSELL for almost 25 years...they were co-directors of Pacific Northwest Ballet....and Kent created the world renowned NUTCRACKER BALLET ....based on Maurice SENDAK'S illustrations and models.  (I also worked and became acquainted with him).   Then there was my dear friend, Michael JACKSON, who had invited me to go on his first World Tour (the BAD TOUR)...he was definitely one of the most talented,  gifted and kind individuals I have ever known...I still mourn his passing...can't quite believe it.  (He was larger than life to me).  
        These are a few of the wonderful people whom I have known and worked.  This business of music and dance is a most wonderful environment....almost always interesting and fun as well.
         After I started writing my blog....10 chapters....including a chapter devoted to Michael, I began to have more problems walking, and generally getting around.  Since I had no clue what was going on with me, I decided to have food delivered ...either by Safeway or Schwann.  It was getting more and more difficult to go up and down the 5 steps leading to my unit in the condo building.  After a few weeks of this, Emebet Seifu, who worked for me sometimes in my flat, suggested I see her doctor...who would come to my home.  (Previously I had declined to go to ANY doctor, as I felt that most were not as knowledgeable as they should be.)   Then I fell down in my flat, and had difficulty getting up.   This happened about twice before Emebet took action.  She brought the doctor to my flat!  (She is not one to stand on ceremony).    In the meantime my dear little kitty, Missy, had passed away....and I was very sad about that.  It was very sudden, she just stopped walking and laid down on the floor.  I brought her food and water...but she did not recover...in fact she died that night, trying to utter a little 'meow.'   I called my brother the next day to tell him  (Missy was originally his cat, whom he had brought to me, before his 3rd visit to Columbia...he didn't want to leave her alone again.)  He asked me where I was going to have her buried....and I asked Emebet to bury her at her homestead...which she and Solomon did.  
TO CONTINUE:  I fell once again in the kitchen....flat on my back, but I didn't break any bones, thank goodness.  I crawled to a phone, and called Emebet who came over....she called an ambulance and they came and transported me to Swedish (Ballard) Emergency.  After a battery of tests...including a CT scan, MRI, and various others, I was admitted into the hospital.  But as I was not ILL....I was not allowed to stay there...and a nursing facility was contacted.  That was Queen Anne Health Care Center...nearby.  This particular place looked nice on the outside, but inside was a different matter.  The caregivers were nice people, but the general standard was quite low, to my mind.  And they have a high rating, (not sure how that happened).  The food is not very good, there are not enough caregivers on the floor (particularly at night).  While I was there, I was referred to a very fine neurologist by good friends, (not by the H. Care Clinic).  He had studied my tests.... I had by then concluded that I must have MS (Multiple Schlerosis).  He told me I did NOT have MS, but a condition, in his opinion, called HYDROCEPHALUS.  This means that water collects in the brain cavities...and does not drain of its own accord.   And gradually, over time, parts of one's body cease to work as they once did.  That was the source of my increasing inability to walk and my poor balance.  Also the soles of my feet started to lose the sensation of feeling.  (This showed up in pedaling at the piano....when one pedals, the feet have to be very quick and respond to the ear...so that one's sound is refined, without blurring, etc.  It is a crucial element of fine piano playing.)  And when I needed to bow on stage, I had problems going upstairs to the stage...and always had to hold the arm or hand of one of the dancers, so I wouldn't fall over when I bowed!!!   (Wouldn't that have been pretty!!)  This doctor (from Eastern Europe) thought I needed to consult with a neurosurgeon to determine whether I should have a SHUNT installed in my head to regulate the flow of liquid that needed to be drained.  He knew a woman who was one of the finest neurosurgeons on the West Coast....and called her.  She agreed to see me....and decided I should have a Lumbar Puncture (spinal tap) to help her decide if this surgery would work for me.  (This was beginning to sound more and more frightening, as you might imagine. ) But I had the spinal tap....and the result was that I walked much better!  So that told her that this procedure would indeed be good for me.  And a date for the surgery was set.  Now...because of the insurance regulations, this is not as easy as 1, 2, 3, ...my Primary Care Physician (PCP)--had retired and another had taken her place.  This doctor really knew very little...and I was concerned.  So I began the process of changing PCP's....a huge problem in the world of Medicare and Medicare Advantage plans.  I spent many hours on the phone to get that small point nailed down.  The PCP is the one who has to  actually make the recommendation for surgery...AND they usually know very little  about Hydrocephalus, but that doesn't matter.  They still have to make the recommendation.    And since these doctors were specialists, it was necessary for this lady doctor (PCP) to just take their word for it.  Which she did, fortunately.  
       So I was admitted to the hospital...this time to Swedish in Issaquah.   (I chose this hospital because their facilities are excellent, having been there for tests and the lumbar puncture) plus my neurosurgeon practiced from there.   The additional factor, was that the food was excellent...I had eaten lunch in their dining room...and was told that the food for the patients was of the same quality!!   And there seemed to be enough nursing staff to adequately care for all the patients.  (Not so at the Q. Anne H. Care Center).  
           My surgery was scheduled for February 14, 2012...Valentine's Day.  I had many fears about this entire matter, but decided I just wouldn't think about it....and what was supposed to happen, would just happen!!!  So that worked for me.   I seem to be able to order my mind to focus on whatever I wish, a very great asset.
      After this surgery, which turned out well  (they said), I returned to the Q. Anne Nursing Home.  But I didn't want to stay there....so somehow got into another place.  (called KleinGallen).  It was marginally better....more personnel, although the food was also not terrific.  However, Emebet (bless her heart) ALWAYS brought me food prepared by herself at home.  So I always ate well at these establishments, thanks to her.   She also brought (upon my request) some Bailey's Irish Cream for me to drink (not a great deal, of course.)   Emebet thought it would be better for me NOT to be in a nursing home, but I couldn't live by myself.  Her solution was that I live at her home in Shoreline with herself and her family.  (Solomon, her husband, and two children....ages 13 & 14....Mesale and Mekbeb [alias - Mickey] are all terrific people.  The kids are very well-behaved (mostly), and very entertaining.  Solomon is a very intelligent man, who is an activist for Ethiopia, and writes many articles for the Ethiopian newspaper.  (He is very well known in the Ethiopian community).  Emebet is a well-known chef and caterer...she works almost all the time, sometimes to the detriment to her health.  Her cooking skills are unparalled.  The birthday party she gave for me in late April, was so appreciated by the people there....many from PNB, and those of my friends who are not from PNB.  
         And so, on March 1, 2012 I moved into Emebet's home ...where I still reside.  However, that is NOT the end of this saga.  I began having more trouble with pain in the gall bladder area...and the doctor (naturopath) who is excellent, by the way, ordered an ultrasound scan for me...to determine what was going on.   A huge gallstone was found...and I had no idea THAT was there.  In all the years I have gone to my PCP physician, that had never been mentioned.  It took quite a while for that large stone to have developed...and I wonder, what on earth these doctors know anyway.  So again...back to Swedish at Issaquah.  The surgeon for that happened to be the assistant surgeon in my brain surgery - because of the tubing that had to be installed with the shunt.  Was that fortunate, or what???   He knew exactly where things were, and he decided that my gall bladder was too damaged to remain....so he removed it.  After a few days in the hospital, I was able to return to Emebet's home.   However, as luck would have it, another wrinkle developed.  I had contracted colitis while in the hospital....or nursing home.  And got very sick at home, and had to go BACK to the hospital yet again.  This time, with a different doctor...an infectious disease doctor.  The antibiotic which was prescribed for this ailment is very, very strong....and has to be mixed at the pharmacy.  It does not just come in a bottle.  And I had to take it for 20 days.  When I again left the hospital, supposedly I was more or less ok, they nurses did not give me any of the medicine...neither Emebet nor I thought to ask them for it.  So when I needed it, there was none...and the pharmacy nearest me didn't have the proper ingredients for this 'mixture.'  That was a bit scary...as one is not supposed to miss any doses of the medicine.  However, Emebet drove quite a distance in the rain, to another pharmacy, and managed to get the prescription filled there.  She has been unbelievable.  I definitely would not be alive today, were it not for her - and her incredible care.   
        These days I am able to get around with the walker, and I can walk without it as well.  I remember the days when I could not even STAND up on my own....let alone take a step.  So when I can go into a restaurant on my own two legs, and sit in a chair like a normal person, I celebrate these little victories.  For me, they are milestones...and the day will come when I can once again drive my car.  The first thing will be to get INTO the car and sit on the seat (without my wheel chair).  Did I mention that along the way, I purchased a Complete Mobility Van, which has a ramp that allows a wheel chair access.  I walk up the ramp with the walker and then sit in the wheel chair on the passenger side.  (The seat has been removed).  These vehicles are expensive, but it has been a lifesaver.  (It is very costly to call for a cabulance to go to various doctor appointments...so actually this car has been economical as well.)    I remember the first time I went to dinner with the entire family to Anthony's Home Port, and was able to look out at the water...and appreciate the sunset.  
          I have learned many life lessons in this latest journey....ALWAYS APPRECIATE WHAT YOU HAVE,  INCLUDING YOUR HEALTH.  One never knows what will happen.  But you have to be able to get up, dust yourself off, and start all over again....(as the songs lyrics say).  I am grateful to get up in the morning...still alive.. look out the window at the beautiful trees around here, and WALK to the dining room...where Solomon has prepared breakfast for the kids (who leave early for school), and me, and whomever else is here.  I am grateful for this wonderful family ...and their care and support..without which I would never have survived...that, I know. 
      

THE ROAD CONTINUES - - Further adventures at Eastman plus a Bumble Bee (Chapter 10)

      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 LONG AND WINDING ROAD (Chapter 9) Adventures at Eastman Begin

        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.