On a trip to New York this summer, I was fortunate enough to be given a personal tour of Carnegie Hall by the Hall’s Historian and Archivist, Gino Francesconi— an old friend of my late aunt Judith Arron, who was the Executive and Artistic and Director of the Hall from 1986 to 1999. Midway through the tour, I stood on the Carnegie stage with my daughter Alex while several Hall employees told me stories about the wonderful things that my aunt had done for the Hall and the people who worked and performed there and had difficulty composing myself for long enough to have my picture taken on the stage with Alex. This moment was the culmination of several events in short sequence related to my family’s rich musical history— in addition to my own regular gigging, rehearsing, and musical writings here, I attended a house concert featuring violin and piano students of my parents, including my daughter, and my father’s final performance as concertmaster of the Evanston Symphony Orchestra. Music is the great gift and the business of my family. No words can express my debt or gratitude to my father and mother, my grandfather, my aunt and uncle, my sister, and the many cousins in my family who are musicians. These recent events, along with the suggestion from some literary friends and relations of mine that they have found postings with a personal bent to be engaging, have moved me to share my family’s story, our musical history.
MY
GRANDFATHER, MY FATHER, MY MOTHER
My
grandfather, Sam Arron, was a brilliant young violinist. The son of Russian immigrants who passed
through Ellis Island, Sam was the youngest child and only son in a family with
2 other daughters. Born around 1913,
and the first person in his family to be educated beyond high school, “Ami” was
doted on by his parents and sisters. He
was a violinist of prodigious talent who, unfortunately, came of age as a
performer during the Great Depression.
1930s Chicago newspaper clippings reviewing performances at Chicago’s
then-prestigious Kimball Hall hail him as one of the up and coming classical
music stars of his generation. However,
pursuing a career as a concert violinist was a risky proposition at the
time—the classical music world was then, as it is now, highly competitive, and
pursuing a career as a performer meant an uncertain income and future, a life
of hustling to get gigs and then traveling to play them as one tried to
establish oneself before arriving (or not) at a stable place, life, and income
as a performer. By this time, trading on
his growing reputation as a performer as well as a flair for mentoring young
musicians, Sam had also established a large and reliable teaching class in
Chicago, and had married and was starting a family. Needing a stable income and home, Sam ended
his performing career and became a full-time violin teacher, working 7 days and
teaching 130-140 forty-five-minute private violin lessons a week for the next
40 plus years. He was one of, if not
the, most respected violin teacher(s) in the city, sending students (including
my father, my uncle, and their cousins) on full scholarships to the prestigious
music school at Northwestern University and other prominent conservatories all
over the country, and with a resume of students that eventually wound up in
orchestras, recording studios, concert stages all over the world. His success as a music teacher, however, was
bittersweet, perhaps more the former than the latter: he forever harbored the sensation that he had
been cheated out of the performing musician’s life that was his dream. Unspoken deep resentment, anger, and sadness
always lay underneath the surface of his interactions with his family,
students, and friends.
Into
this atmosphere my father, Julian, my uncle, Ron, and their cousins, Sheldon
and Bob, were born. Their childhoods’
were spent in lessons at my grandfather’s studio and practicing for hours every
day in rooms (bathrooms, garbage rooms, storage rooms, etc) adjacent to the
studio. School, play, and everything
else were secondary to violin practice. The building in which the studio was
housed was a veritable symphony of youth violinists ranging in age from early
grade school up through college almost all hours of the day and evening. Each of these boys personal narrative was
slightly different—my father and his cousin Sheldon never swerved from the path
proscribed for them by my grandfather, while Ron and Bob took a few detours (Ron, at one point,
had decided to become a pharmacist, and wound up playing the viola once he
returned to the musical road)—but all wound up as highly skilled players pursuing
higher musical education and careers in music.
Sam
took his frustration over his dead-ended career as a performer out on my
dad. Despite unfailing success in
auditions, and roles in the front of sections, as section leader, and as
concertmaster in many high-powered orchestras and other outfits around the city
(the Lyric Opera, for example), and being highly sought after as a freelance
player well before he graduated college (and even in high school), my
grandfather told my father that he would never be good enough to make a living
playing his instrument—that his fate would be to teach, as Sam had. This message was conveyed to my father in
various ways explicit and implicit from an early age all the way through his
childhood, adolescence, and even adulthood.
Convinced that he was not of a caliber to become a solo performer or a
symphony player (despite clear and voluminous evidence to the contrary), he
never took a symphony audition after college and will never know for sure. Like his father before him, my father became
one of the most respected violin teachers in the city, sending students to
prestigious conservatories and on to careers in music, as well as introducing
the joy and power and beauty of music to thousands of people who now enjoy a
rich appreciation of music as part of their lives every day. For many years, despite my grandfathers
insistence that he didn’t play well enough to do so, my father also gigged as a
freelancer, maintaining a similarly crushing teaching load to my grandfather
and then hustling out of his studio to play in the pit for Frank Sinatra, Sammy
Davis Junior, etc. etc. etc. each night. This was the case through most of
grade school for me, and it meant that my mom, my sister, and I didn’t see too
much of my dad for many years. This
eventually took a toll on family life, of course, and at some point my dad had
to choose either continue gigging or continue teaching (but not both) in order
to make sure his family relationships could be successfully maintained.
Figuring he’d see more of everyone if he didn’t have gigs in the evening and
could come home instead, he decided to continue teaching during the day (while
we were all at school and my mom was also teaching) and cut out the gigs. He and my mom continued to give recitals a
few times a year, as they had throughout my childhood, to keep their playing
chops sharp, and as I got older I was sometimes in charge of recording these.
As my
sisters and I grew up and moved out of the house, my dad had a little bit more
time on his hands, and a desire to engage his playing skills more deeply, and
so he and my mom became involved with the Evanston Symphony Orchestra—a solid
community symphony, comprised mostly of volunteer players with a few
professionals in key positions to anchor things. The ESO eagerly and quickly incorporated my
parents into several kinds of musical and non-musical leadership roles—my
father as concertmaster, and my mother as pianist / keyboardist and as a highly
active Board Member and orchestra librarian.
Over the last 20+ years, with my parents in these roles (and with strong
musical and administrative leadership from many other people), the ESO has
grown from a solid, local community orchestra into a nationally recognized
community musical organization, winning awards, premiering compositions, moving
their performances from the local high school auditorium to more upscale digs
in Northwestern’s Pick Staiger Concert Hall, and drawing soloists of national
and international repute. My parents
musical, administrative, and social contributions to the organization were
clearly in evidence as my dad and, simultaneously but less prominently, my mom
retired following their final performance with the orchestra last spring in a
standing ovation from both the audience and the orchestra, a ticker tape parade
of cards, hugs and tears from many involved with the organization, and a
torrent of social media postings documenting gratitude for and anecdotes of my
parents’ many contributions over the years.
I sat in the balcony and sobbed as the audience filed out. My pride and admiration for father’s
musicianship and tireless commitment to his craft, embodied in his longstanding
relationship with the Orchestra, and my gratitude to him for sharing these
values with me, were and are overwhelming.
My
mother did not come from a musical family.
Growing up in Cedar Rapids, Iowa in fairly Norman Rockwell-like
surroundings, her dad worked in the insurance industry and while my mom was
growing up, her mom raised the children and took care of the house. Neither parent played an instrument, and
indeed after my grandfather—a warm, buoyant, outgoing, and active member of any
group he was ever a part of—volunteered one year for a singing part in the
church play, he was gently cast in speaking only roles in all subsequent
years. My grandparents loved music,
however, and felt it was a valuable part of a well-rounded education. All 3 of their kids took music lessons (my mom
on piano and on violin, my uncle on bass, and my aunt on flute). They purchased an upright piano when my mom
was growing up (which lives in my house to this day), and my mom found her home
and calling at that keyboard. Musically
highly talented (she was good enough on her secondary instrument— violin— to
land a spot in the Chicago Youth Symphony, developed as a training ground for
the Chicago Symphony Orchestra) and disciplined and dedicated (my grandparents
often had to insist she stop playing to eat, do homework, or anything else), my
mother’s skills quickly blossomed. While
my father was compelled to practice by my grandfather, my mom logged the same kind
of hours of practice of her own volition.
After high school, she spent a year in general studies at a small
liberal arts college in the Midwest before transferring to the Northwestern
Music School, settled beyond doubt on a career in music. She had known my dad through the Chicago
Youth Symphony in high school (he was the concertmaster there), and in college
they began dating, got engaged, and after graduating, they married and started
a family. While I knew that my father
was musician, I rarely heard him play—he gave occasional recitals with my mom
and taught a few lessons at home, but mostly taught and gigged out of the
house. My mom’s playing, however,
surrounded and saturated my house and life growing up. A tireless practicer who loves playing and
improving her playing for its own sake, whether anyone is listening or not, my
mom spent hours at the piano every day, and taught lessons at home every
afternoon and evening. Piano scales,
fingers exercises and music by Bach, Mozart, Beethoven, Chopin, and other
greats filled every corner of our home and every nook and cranny of my memory
of growing up. We breathed piano music. Sam, whose objections to my parents’ marriage
because my dad was Jewish and my mom was Christian were considerable, was won
over by my mother’s clear skill, passion, discipline, and dedication to
music. Indeed to this day, my mother is
a tireless piano warrior, spending hours a day at the keyboard, accompanying
dozens, even hundreds of students in solo competitions every year, on top of
maintaining her teaching class.
A
HOUSE WHERE THE GIFT OF MUSIC IS GIVEN
Over
the last 50 years, my parents have given by my estimate, hundreds of thousands
of private lessons (conservatively: 125 lessons a week x 45 weeks x 50 years =
281,250 lessons. The actual total is
probably a lot higher). Sharing not
merely the physical and mental skills involved in playing the violin, viola,
and piano, my parents have produced not only many fine professional players,
but, more importantly, a legacy of thousands of students who, whatever level of
proficiency they attained on their instrument, have a deep love, informed respect,
and rich appreciation of music which informs their lives every day. Music is the gift which, once received,
enriches your life every single day you are here on this planet. My parents are the Givers of this gift. Each spring, they hold a recital for any
students in their class who volunteer to perform. Recitals regularly feature students ranging
in age from 5 or 6 on up to senior citizens and people who have been playing
less than a year to people with jaw dropping skills who are receiving conservatory
scholarships. The events are
celebrations not only of these people’s growth as players but also of their
appreciation for music in general, and of the Great Gift of all of this that
my parents bestow upon everyone in their ken.
Into this family, I was born...
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