Most of us work hard to get what we have. We have to give ourselves credit for the work we put in to get what we have. We might have a college degree or a job or a house. We might have a great musical instrument that we worked hard to save for. Even a great relationship with someone is usually the result of a ton of effort. But right this minute, as I look out my window and see a blue sky and bright sunlight bouncing off the multi-colored houses across the way, I am reminded that so much of what I have, so much of what I can claim, so much of what I enjoy, had nothing to do with me or my efforts.
An uncertain beginning
My musical beginnings were humble. My parents rented an old trumpet for three dollars a month from a friend so I could fulfill my dream of becoming the next Herb Alpert. (Look him up if you’re too young to know about him). The trumpet soon gave way to the baritone horn, although I was reluctant to give up my Herb Alpert dream at first. My hometown mentors offered me everything they could, even if they didn’t know what to do with my stubborn insistence on becoming a performer. My scattershot approach to managing too many instruments and too many activities did not bode well for success. That I ended up as an undergraduate at Northwestern University had as much to do with their persistent postcards to my rural mailbox as it did with my audition or my SAT scores. It certainly had nothing to do with any clear planning on my part
Opportunity knocks many times
During my training years, I don’t think I had a full appreciation of the benefits I had. Frank Crisafulli, my beloved trombone teacher, patiently guided my progress, even if I didn’t appreciate it at first. His never-failing sunny smile and warm hello was a gift that lives with me every time I sit down to play the trombone or welcome a student into my studio. He opened doors and brought me opportunities that seem amazing in hindsight.
The opportunity to join the St. Louis Symphony at age 25 — my first orchestral job — was a gift from that audition committee and Maestro Leonard Slatkin. Yes, I worked hard to win that audition! But they gave me the opportunity. Their generosity continued through the early years of my tenure: being able to play the trombone and win an audition did not mean that I knew how to do the job. They allowed me to be tested, to sit in the hot seat and learn what that meant. They were patient with me while I grew up.
Gratitude
I can’t say enough about my colleagues in St. Louis — they are the most supportive bunch of people that one could hope for. Having good colleagues was the most important aspect of my time in St. Louis. I wouldn’t want to be in any situation, no matter how bright the spotlight or how rich the paycheck, that was any less warm and welcoming. But that is not to say that the music was secondary. How lucky I was to play in such a great orchestra!
The music business, whatever your angle, is often not an easy place to be. As I wrapped up my career in St. Louis, I decided that my second act was going to be in the music publishing business. So why did I leave a job that I had finally learned how to do and jump right into one in which I am starting from nothing? It’s just that I had an idea — just the same kind of crazy idea that leads one to become a performing musician in the first place. We musicians are fortunate that we can fall in love with playing an instrument and find the time, the money, the inspiring teachers, the great instruments, the supportive mentors, to make a go of it. And then later on, when we decide to do something crazy again, how great it is that we can find the people who will help us, show us the way, tell us the truth, yet not tell us, for all of our faults, for all our naivete, that we are going to fail.
With all of these riches, I don’t know who to thank first.
