MUSIC IN THE AIR (1)

I heard the notes adrift on the autumn air late one Sunday afternoon. Everything was quiet and still, except for the sound of someone playing the saxophone. The tune was familiar – “Stranger on the Shore” (originally a clarinet piece written and performed by Mr. Acker Bilk) — one of my dad’s favorite records from the early ‘60s.

At first, like fallen leaves caught in a gust of wind, the notes rippled and danced through the air. Somehow, playing the song on the saxophone gave the melody a sharper, deeper, more mournful texture, and eventually the song changed, settled down into something else, something filled with rage, helplessness, then it was lost in loneliness, a longing to belong.

I stood transfixed at my bedroom window, listening to someone pour his heart out into what had been a sunny afternoon. Those autumn afternoons fell into twilight and darkness very quickly, and as the sun slipped beyond the rooftops, I felt the sadness of another day gone, life slipping away, descending into night, alone and lonely.

The shadows in my room had lengthened and spread and soon enveloped all four walls. I shook myself awake from a reverie as the final notes faded away into the night.

MUSIC IN THE AIR (2)

My Aunt Kitty would buy the local newspapers for the Robin Hood Dell coupons which were printed every Tuesday and Thursday, if I remember correctly. Mailing in the coupon with a stamped, self-addressed envelope would result in two tickets to a night of magic, listening to Eugene Ormandy and the world renowned Philadelphia Orchestra in Fairmount Park during the summers.

Starting in mid to late June, around seven o’clock in the evening, we would take the bus to the park and join the crowds as they walked up the grassy hill with their blankets or lawn chairs, or make our way down to the reserved sections if seating on the bleachers was available. By the time we settled into our places, the musicians would be on the stage and the magic would begin.

Sometimes there was a guest conductor leading the orchestra while at other times we had a visiting pianist, violinist, singer or choir for our pleasure. Always, it was magical. Night would fall around 8:30 and by then the audience would be totally focused on the stage, transported to some far away place and time.

I remember in particular one night in the lull between the first and second movements of Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto No. 2 when the orchestra had stopped playing and we could hear the cars whizzing by on the Schuylkill Expressway, which was only a few feet beyond the Dell.

Even that intrusion of busy city noise could not break the spell the orchestra had cast. (From the very first, that second movement always brings a tightness to my throat and tears to my eyes whenever, wherever I hear it.)

Mostly, we enjoyed being out in the night air, listening to this wonderful orchestra that many of us could not afford to hear in person during the arts season in Philly. Where else could we have our hearts so deeply and completely touched by Van Cliburn or Isaac Stern for the cost of a postage stamp and bus fare?

Thank you Aunt Kitty for the magic.

Millicent Knight,

Valdosta