Music was always an instrumental (like the pun?) part of my family. In escaping the rigors of small farm life in Oklahoma, my mother left for KC and opera training. She had a wonderful lyrical soprano voice and became the featured soloist for various churches in the KC area. In fact, it was during one of church services where she sang that Dad first saw her and joined the choir to meet her. Dad had a good baritone voice but no real training. Although his primary purpose was to meet my mother, I am sure he was a good addition to the choir. They obviously enjoyed each other's company and after a fairly competitive courtship (many men were interested in dating my mom), Dad won out, and, as they say, "the rest was history".
I remember my mother practicing her scales and a great variety of vocal music. While in Iowa, at age 4-5, I would begin piano lessons. I remember the musical flash cards, the weekly lessons, the trauma of recitals and discipline of practice. Early on I realized that I had no talent for playing by ear and had to "woodshed" all that I played, learning each piece note by note. To this day, I envy those who can hear a tune and just sit down and play it. Mom would often monitor my practice sessions and I enjoyed her company and praise. She would rarely criticize, but would reinforce the instructions of my piano teacher. Mom was also an excellent pianist even though her vocal skills were superior. During our stay in Iowa, I learned the scales , worked on dexterity and speed exercises and learned rudimentary pieces like "Fifteen Men On A Pirate Boat". At age 5 or 6, I played that piece in an amateur contest on a radio station and won a $25 Savings Bond. Music began to be part of my identity.
When I was 9, we moved to Kansas and Mom enrolled me in both piano and voice lessons. At one time Mom and I were to sing together "Amahl and the Night Visitors" and practiced together for many weeks. At the last minute the production was cancelled but the experience of working together on this project was most memorable. One of the most vivid memories was when, in 5th grade, the grade school music teacher assembled the students and mothers to choose instruments for an orchestra. I wanted to play either the drums or the trumpet. As the music teacher announced his decisions about assignments, I eagerly anticipated playing either. I could not believe my ears when the teacher said I would play the violin! The reasoning behind the choice, I was told, was that I had "stringed experience" - playing the piano. This is one decision I fought from the beginning and after 3 months of agonizing lessons and complaining, I was able to give the violin to my cousin and began playing piano in the orchestra - a much better fit although not what I had hoped. Through grade school, I would play for assemblies, graduation, etc. I and four of my friends tried to form a band but sports interfered and we never got it off of the ground. I joined the youth choir at church as a boy soprano and sang several solos during church services.
During Jr High and High School, I continued to take piano and voice lessons but my activities were almost exclusively limited to singing. I sang in the operettas, glee clubs, acapella groups, barbershop quartets and even sang with a quartet that did radio breaks. Because I knew how to read music and could hit (occasionally, with great effort) a high G, I always was asked to sing second tenor. Our High School choir and acapella groups almost always got a "1" in State contests. Our choir director asked me to sing solo in state and prior to the contest, a judge listened to our contestants and made suggestions. When he heard me sing "Black Is the Color of My True Love's Hair" he said, "you will probably get a '1' at State but not as a tenor, your register is baritone." I sang as a baritone (like my Dad) and did indeed luck out with a "1". Music groups were a big part of my social activities in High School and led to many friendships.
I attended college at a small liberal arts college in Kansas and began singing in the choir as one of my activities. Then, an opportunity to play college golf (more in Sports later) which required daily practice sessions that interfered with choir practice, ended my participation in formal college music. I continued to sing in my fraternity events and later in church choirs. My piano playing became an activity only for my pleasure and continues so to this day although my wife claims to enjoy my playing and my grandson goes to sleep when I sing and play to him.
Through the years, I have tried to teach myself ukelele and guitar with little to show for the effort. My son now is charting a similar course and is borrowing my guitar on a trial basis. I wish him better patience than I have in learning this instrument.
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Beginnings
The world did not exactly welcome my arrival. Mom swore that I had my foot stuck to her ribcage. After an exceptionally long labor, Mom's OB said that either I had to be "extracted" or mom would be at great risk to die trying to deliver (I was evidently wedged in the birth canal and a C-section was not thought possible). After an emergency call to a surgical specialist, the specialist (allegedly rushed to the hospital in a surgical gown from a previous delivery), performed a Dursian (sp?) cervical incision and delivered me with "blind" sharp forceps. Blind referring to the fact that he couldn't be sure where he placed the forceps. Speak about "primal scream"! I was so messed up that they wouldn't let my mother see me for ten days. We both survived, however, and all I have as evidence of the procedure are scars on my left cheek and under my right eye. I was to be an only child and I was certainly loved.
My first 10 months were spent in my birth city in New York, after which we moved to Iowa. My father's occupation (working for an envelope company) would see us transferred to Kansas in 1946 or 47 which became home for as long as I lived with my parents and several years thereafter.
Don't remember NY at all (even the Primal Scream episode) and my first memories were of our home in Iowa. I remember playing with blocks under the sewing table and watching my mother's feet work the pedals of the sewing machine. I remember playing "cowboys and indians" with my neighborhood friends; walking to kindergarten; chasing and catching butterflies and grasshoppers during recess; playing catch in the backyard with Dad (my first baseball glove - a black catcher's mit); swimming lessions; the ice man delivering ice for the ice box; the Manor Man delivering bread and pastries; the milk man delivering milk; the messy mulberry tree in the back yard which served as a starting post for my learning to ride my bike; leaf boats in the gutters; piano lessions as 4y/o; the Victory Garden and my prize winning tomatos; falling from a driveway wall and lacerating the skin above my right eye and the trip to the hospital; my tonsilectomy and the "stealing" of my favorite childhood companion (Dumbo the Elephant - they said it was too full of germs!) and my first attempt at golf (At 5 I followed my parents for two holes, using my wooden clubs and a rubber ball; got to the refreshment stand and stayed there drinking Orange Crush soda until my parents completed 9 holes). I also remember homemade bananna icecream; the trolley car which took us downtown and a very traumatic moment: my father made me confront a bully in the neighborhood, hit him in the nose and totally stopped his bullying - didn't want to fight and that, in fact, was the only serious fistfight I ever had except for boxing lessons.
Funny how memories build on one another. I now remember swimming lessons and graduation from the kiddie pool to the deep pool at 4 y/o; Halloween "trick or treat", not the usual trick however as the mothers in the neighborhood conspired to define "trick" as some performance for a treat. Sing a song, play a piece on the piano (my ususal trick) etc. Boy were we manipulated. I also remember fox and geese in the snow, making paths in the high grass in the empty lot (lots of good hiding places for secret clubs); the time I had to give a gift back to one of my birthday guests as he was asked to leave because of bad behavior and it would not have been "right" to take his gift to me (hmmmmm). I remember my maternal grandmother who lived with us and was never happy. Always a real grump. I remember many bike rides down our street, some of which stopped abruptly with resultant torn jeans and scrapes on knees and elbows. I remember the block being watched by the parents so we could sled down the steep hill at the end of the street. Lots of good snowball fights, snow forts; chickens in the chicken coup in the backyard (will always remember holding the feet of the chicken while Dad decapitated the bird - the feet kept wiggling and the headless bird's wings would flap if you didn't hold them tight - yuck!!). I remember pre-school, naps on the carpet, sharing toys with the other kids. I remember going to the big school in kindergarten, first and second grades. My favorite subject was recess followed closely by gym class. I remember the weekly reader and drilling on math flip cards. There are many Christmas memories: cutting real Christmas trees; throwing tinsel; leaving milk and cookies for Santa; church services with mom singing solos in the choir; carolers at the door. I am sure many more memories of these first years in Iowa will materialize and I promise to return to edit this post as they do.
My first 10 months were spent in my birth city in New York, after which we moved to Iowa. My father's occupation (working for an envelope company) would see us transferred to Kansas in 1946 or 47 which became home for as long as I lived with my parents and several years thereafter.
Don't remember NY at all (even the Primal Scream episode) and my first memories were of our home in Iowa. I remember playing with blocks under the sewing table and watching my mother's feet work the pedals of the sewing machine. I remember playing "cowboys and indians" with my neighborhood friends; walking to kindergarten; chasing and catching butterflies and grasshoppers during recess; playing catch in the backyard with Dad (my first baseball glove - a black catcher's mit); swimming lessions; the ice man delivering ice for the ice box; the Manor Man delivering bread and pastries; the milk man delivering milk; the messy mulberry tree in the back yard which served as a starting post for my learning to ride my bike; leaf boats in the gutters; piano lessions as 4y/o; the Victory Garden and my prize winning tomatos; falling from a driveway wall and lacerating the skin above my right eye and the trip to the hospital; my tonsilectomy and the "stealing" of my favorite childhood companion (Dumbo the Elephant - they said it was too full of germs!) and my first attempt at golf (At 5 I followed my parents for two holes, using my wooden clubs and a rubber ball; got to the refreshment stand and stayed there drinking Orange Crush soda until my parents completed 9 holes). I also remember homemade bananna icecream; the trolley car which took us downtown and a very traumatic moment: my father made me confront a bully in the neighborhood, hit him in the nose and totally stopped his bullying - didn't want to fight and that, in fact, was the only serious fistfight I ever had except for boxing lessons.
Funny how memories build on one another. I now remember swimming lessons and graduation from the kiddie pool to the deep pool at 4 y/o; Halloween "trick or treat", not the usual trick however as the mothers in the neighborhood conspired to define "trick" as some performance for a treat. Sing a song, play a piece on the piano (my ususal trick) etc. Boy were we manipulated. I also remember fox and geese in the snow, making paths in the high grass in the empty lot (lots of good hiding places for secret clubs); the time I had to give a gift back to one of my birthday guests as he was asked to leave because of bad behavior and it would not have been "right" to take his gift to me (hmmmmm). I remember my maternal grandmother who lived with us and was never happy. Always a real grump. I remember many bike rides down our street, some of which stopped abruptly with resultant torn jeans and scrapes on knees and elbows. I remember the block being watched by the parents so we could sled down the steep hill at the end of the street. Lots of good snowball fights, snow forts; chickens in the chicken coup in the backyard (will always remember holding the feet of the chicken while Dad decapitated the bird - the feet kept wiggling and the headless bird's wings would flap if you didn't hold them tight - yuck!!). I remember pre-school, naps on the carpet, sharing toys with the other kids. I remember going to the big school in kindergarten, first and second grades. My favorite subject was recess followed closely by gym class. I remember the weekly reader and drilling on math flip cards. There are many Christmas memories: cutting real Christmas trees; throwing tinsel; leaving milk and cookies for Santa; church services with mom singing solos in the choir; carolers at the door. I am sure many more memories of these first years in Iowa will materialize and I promise to return to edit this post as they do.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
First Entry
I have finally decided to begin a web log of various aspects of my existence on this planet. I have already lost a few cells in my 67 y/o brain so some of my recollections may be more reflective of impressions of the past than actual facts. These first few sentences are to establish my blog and subsequent entries will hopefully contain interesting content. Here goes .........
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