In the third grade of elementary school, somehow, I found myself in the auditorium with a number of other students. I’m not exactly sure how I came to be there, but I knew I just had to be. Mimeographed sheets were passed out and we were told to select the instrument on the sheet that we wanted to learn to play in the school music program - and we would also be in the school orchestra.
I chose trumpet for some reason – it’s really not clear to me now why I did, especially since I didn’t really have a connection with that instrument – I did have a strong connection to music overall rather than a specific part of the orchestra – this was connected to an experience I had earlier in kindergarten when the teacher passed out paper and crayons and put on a classical record and told us to simply draw - whatever we were moved to draw by the music – this process was my first memory of music stirring my soul.
My third-grade school friend Howard, who played the clarinet, had a father who had played the trumpet in his younger days and was willing to let me borrow his trumpet. I’m not exactly sure how accurate this memory is, but this trumpet offer may have simply been the real reason I chose the trumpet.
I looked forward to the regular trumpet lessons – each orchestra section had regular lessons – and then we would all join together as an orchestra. I remember several pieces that really stood out – Peter and The Wolf, and the Largo Movement from the New World Symphony. But the best was yet to come.
It was a special week after the end of school – a program for “The Band” – that was all of the orchestra – except – the strings. And it was during that week that my head felt like it was literally blowing apart – in a really good way. I had never heard anything that sounded so alive, so vital, so moving. The music that did this was “When The Saints Go Marching In” – and to this day it remains a critical moment in the musical journey.
And I really, really, really still want to be in that number
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