A TRIBUTE TO MY GRANDFATHER

I am very pleased to dedicate this portion of my web site to my grandfather, Charles Jaffe.

In a career spanning six decades he worked as a violinist, arranger, conductor and musical director. My grandfather did not garner fame in his musical career as far as most theatergoers are concerned, but he was instrumental in bringing to life some of America’s most enduring and beloved musicals.

My grandfather received his first violin at the age of four. He graduated from the Curtis Institute of Music (later serving as a member of its faculty) and joined the Philadelphia Orchestra. For several years, he toured nationally and internationally as a member of the Curtis String Quartet. He founded the Long Island Symphony, conducted the New York City Ballet and played in the NBC Orchestra under the baton of Arturo Toscanini. On Broadway, he was conductor of the original 1959 production of WEST SIDE STORY and was nominated for a Tony Award for Best Conductor and Musical Director of that show’s revival in 1964. He was musical director of the original productions of MY FAIR LADY and THE SOUND OF MUSIC. He also was musical director of FIDDLER ON THE ROOF and was part of that production throughout its record-setting Broadway run of nearly eight years.

Although his family knew what he did for a living, they were unaware of many of his accomplishments. Tightlipped by nature and humble to a fault, my grandfather was not one to discuss himself or his achievements. Until recently, we were not even aware that he was nominated for a Tony Award, discovering this fact only after someone happened to come across his profile on the Internet Broadway Database.

Still going strong at age 89, my grandfather recently was persuaded to speak publicly about his musical career, before a packed house at his new retirement community. It was the first time I heard him talk extensively about his life and career as a whole. I thought it would be interesting to share his speech with my fellow theater lovers.

Below is an overview of his career, in his own words. There are many anecdotes that I have heard over the years about his experiences that were not included in his speech, but these are the memories he chose to share. I am sure you will be as impressed as I am with everything this man accomplished through hard work, dedication and his sheer love for music.

PRESENTATION BY CHARLES JAFFE
(Speaking notes)
February 22, 2006

I was about four years old when my father surprised me with a tiny quarter-size violin – so small it looked like a toy. I do not remember my reaction to this unusual gift or what I was supposed to do with it. My father, a Russian by birth, was a great lover of music, and since he was not a musician himself, he wished to instill this same feeling in his son by having him learn to play the violin.

I was born and raised in Philadelphia and lived in a beautiful house at 53rd and Walnut Street well into my teens. Having found a violin teacher, and going to public school, my days were mostly filled with homework and long stretches of practicing. My father made sure I devoted enough time to all of my studies. 

Graduating soon to a half-size violin and making good progress, I began to perform in public; in schools and for clubs. I really don’t remember the details of these appearances, except for one that remains in my memory throughout the many years that have passed.

I was about five and a half and there was a concert being given in the ballroom of the Belleview Strafford Hotel in Center City. The first half of the program consisted of the then-existing Philadelphia Women’s Symphony and my solos. The second half was taken over by the Catherine Littlefield Ballet. At some point while I was playing, a fire broke out backstage. The dancers, who were just relaxing waiting for their turn, scrambled right and left to get out of the way of the extinguishers and water buckets. Some of the musicians seated toward the rear of the stage heard some commotion and began to squirm yet didn’t know what was happening. Nor did I. So I kept on playing and the audience was completely unaware of what was going on. By the time I completed my solos, the fire was put out, the rest of the program continued as scheduled and everyone was happy. But here’s the payoff. The following day in the newspaper reviews, they mentioned the fire and the fact that I never stopped playing, thus not alarming the audience. They called me a “hero” for preventing a panic! 

The next several years seemed to pass quickly. I was busy with homework and practicing. And I enjoyed sports – especially baseball and tennis. My violin playing kept improving and I performed in public from time to time. By 1928 my teacher felt I was ready for Curtis.

The Curtis Institute of Music was founded in 1924 by Mary Louise Curtis Bok. Located at 18th and Locust Streets – Rittenhouse Square – it remains to this day the premier music school in the world. Its faculty has always been comprised of internationally famous people from all spheres of music. There is absolutely no tuition charge and you must audition to be accepted. The student body usually totals about 200 – plus or minus a few. Last year, there were over 600 applicants, so you can just imagine what is expected from the hopefuls. Happily for me, my audition went well and I was accepted as a pupil of the great Efrem Zimbalist. And at the age of twelve, my entire future was put on a distinct path of sounds: loud and soft, sharp and flat, fast and slow – all relating to good music.

Being a young schoolboy, the issue of academics had to be resolved. This proved to be no problem because Curtis had an arrangement with the Board of Education to provide tutoring in high school subjects. Classes were set up for our group in math, science and English and foreign languages to be incorporated into our daily routine, and since we were a class of only six students we made fairly rapid progress.

As for our music education, we were kept busy with many lessons, starting in my case with violin sessions with Zimbalist, chamber music classes, rehearsals with the student orchestra, solfege and dictation, composition and secondary piano. Along with daily violin practice this made for a very full schedule!

With such an intense schedule, the following five years were filled with some exciting events. I can remember a few that I will share with you. Let’s begin with the student orchestra – a full symphony. At that time we were led by the noted Fritz Reiner, a great conductor and a fine teacher. Under his direction, we would perform several concerts a year, traveling to New York, Boston, Washington, Baltimore, and of course, Philadelphia. One year, on the very afternoon of the evening we were to perform at the Academy of Music I saw Reiner talking with one of the personnel secretaries. When they saw me, Reiner called me over and told me that our concertmaster had taken ill and would not be able to play that night. The problem was that one of the compositions on the program contained a very tricky and difficult violin solo. He asked if I thought I could fill in and cover that passage. If not, he would have to pull that piece from the program and substitute another work. I stood silently as I pictured that music in my mind, and after a few moments I said “Yes.” Reiner made it clear he was not pressuring me and didn’t want me to be nervous in any way. I assured him I would be ok. I immediately cancelled my next class, went down to the library to take out a copy of that music and spent the next hour in the practice room. Then I rushed home, got into my concert clothes, grabbed a bite to eat and went back to the Academy. The concert went very well, and I had no problem with the solo passage. The audience was enthusiastic and Reiner gave me a big smile and strong handshake. The following year, he gave me the concertmaster chair and our relationship grew very close. Reiner was a fine musician and I learned a great deal from him. After he left Curtis to become the conductor of the Pittsburgh Symphony, I kept getting messages every Spring, asking me to come out and join him. I often wonder what my life would have been like if I had accepted.

Another unusual event took place about the same time. It seems that Leopold Stokowski, conductor of the Philadelphia Orchestra, learned of a work he had never heard: Tzigane by Ravel – a piece for solo violin and orchestra. He became very curious and called Curtis, inquiring if anyone there was familiar with this piece. Coincidentally, I had just played it a few months earlier at a student recital – with piano. “Stoki” asked if I would play it for him – with the orchestra, of course. Naturally, I agreed and a date was set. When I arrived at the Academy of Music, the orchestra was still in rehearsal, which gave me time to warm up. Since I knew many of the musicians, I received a friendly greeting and got smiles as I tuned my violin to the oboe. Stoki was seated to the rear of the otherwise empty hall; his assistant, Alexander Smallens, was conducting. The Tzigane opens with two full pages of music for the violin alone before the orchestra joins in. As I attacked the first few bars, I was greeted with the wonderful acoustics of the hall and I was happy. The piece is exciting, with many changes of tempo and dynamics and, considering we had no rehearsal of any kind, it went well. I was thrilled to have played it with the orchestra. When we finished, there was applause from the musicians. I shook hands with Smallens, but not a word from Stoki – I never knew what reaction he had to this piece by Ravel. In any case, I packed up, said good-bye and walked the few blocks back to Curtis feeling happy and proud, ready to resume my daily schedule.

In the Spring of 1934, word came out of a violin vacancy in the Philadelphia Orchestra for the following season. Auditions were scheduled and I thought it would be fun to try out – so I submitted my name. These auditions were divided into two parts: first was a weeding out of those not qualified. The committee of judges was composed of all the first-chair members of the Philadelphia Orchestra, who I knew since they were on the Curtis faculty. I felt like I was with a group of friends. The weeding out was assessing the applicant’s ability to play his instrument and his ability to sight-read. For me, the whole thing was like a big joke and they excused me from the first part. The second part also gave me a good laugh. They put up the violin music of Richard Strauss’ Don Juan. Since we had been working on this piece recently with the Curtis Orchestra, I could have played it by memory instead of sight-reading. I was passed on to the next phase. The second audition was with Stokowski himself. Now, there was a vague rumor floating around that the vacancy had already been filled and the auditions were only for show. This tempted me to forget the whole thing – but something made me continue. So, on the given date it was back to the Academy of Music. I unpacked my violin in the green room – offstage – and waited with the others. I soon heard my name and went out onstage. There was only Stoki, alone, and a music stand. After a short greeting he opened the overture of The Marriage of Figaro. Standing alongside the music stand, he conducted and I played for all of about ten seconds – then he stopped me. I must tell you that the opening eight measures of this overture, played just by the string section, is one of the trickiest passages ever written. Stoki asked me to change my approach and we started over. This procedure was repeated again and again – at least half a dozen times – just the same eight bars – with Stoki making subtle changes each time. I never played anything else. Finally, Stoki said good-bye. As I left the Academy, I had the feeling of finality – it was all over, forget it – and I told myself to think of it just as an experience. There just could not be anything serious about my audition; it was simply going through the motions. Well, you can’t begin to imagine my surprise when I received a call the next day saying that Stoki had chosen me. Talk about happy! Here I was, a seventeen-year-old kid becoming a member of the famous Philadelphia Orchestra. WOW! And all those rumors could be thrown out the window.

In those days, the Orchestra played summer concerts at the Dell in Strawberry Mansion with many guest conductors, and I was indoctrinated right away. I was quickly accepted by my fellow musicians and the summer seemed to pass in a wink. The regular season began in the Fall – twenty-six weeks with a base pay of $65 per week. At that time, this was a very good salary. Of course, I was still living at home with my parents and younger sister, but now I was able to contribute to my share of the household budget. I turned eighteen in November and continued working toward my graduation from Curtis the following Spring. Winter came and went, and by Spring, Fate stepped in once again to change my destiny. 

Three members of the Curtis String Quartet approached me, saying that they wanted to replace their fourth member and wished me to join them. The Curtis Quartet was comprised of older graduates, already out in the professional world giving concerts throughout the country. We knew each other well, having performed together at Curtis. The Quartet was being subsidized by Mrs. Bok, who I was told would be very happy if I accepted the proposal. This offer sounded very exciting, giving me the chance to return to my first love: chamber music. But it also presented problems. First I would have to resign from the Philadelphia Orchestra – not an easy decision to make. Then I would have to learn to live on the road – living out of a suitcase, traveling from city to city without the comforts of home. Of course, I discussed all the pros and cons with my father, and after bouncing it around in my own mind – back and forth – I decided to accept. And with my decision I assumed a new title: member of the Curtis String Quartet.

The next two months were very busy with daily rehearsals, working on the repertoire we would be performing the following season. It was also the time I needed to learn how to fit in with my new colleagues. But I enjoyed every minute of it and I felt the other three men were glad I had joined them. 

Then came another surprise: we had been chosen to participate in the jubilee celebration for King George of England. We had much to take care of in preparation for this trip – clothing, passports, money, music, etc. In addition, the Quartet always spent the summer in Rockport, Maine at a retreat established by Mrs. Bok, several of her friends and Curtis faculty members. Leaving for England would coincide exactly with our summer vacation in Maine. We decided on a new plan: we would drive to Rockport, deposit our summer things, then be driven to Quebec (by two of the Quartet wives) from where we would sail for England on the old Queen Mary. When we returned to New York, we could go directly to Rockport for the remainder of the summer. Everything went according to plan and we were off on our new adventure. Now I would like to inject a non-musical event – something that we talked about for many years. When we were booking passage on the Queen Mary we learned that the ship had a full-sized tennis court on the top deck. The other violinist, Jascha, and I were very excited about this since we enjoyed playing whenever we could. So we packed our racquets and were raring to play – in fact, we were actually on the court before the ship shoved off! One day, a pair of middle-aged men approached and asked if we would like to play some doubles. We politely agreed and made a date for the next day. Jascha and I thought we would quickly dispose of these “old geezers” and then return to our own game. Well, it was Jascha and I against the two of them and you can guess what happened: we were bombarded from all sides without any let-up. To put it mildly, we were shellacked and greatly embarrassed. When the game was over they invited us to the bar (I had lemonade) and we learned who these geezers really were. The younger of the two was the head honcho of the Wrigley Gum Company in Chicago and had been the U.S. National Collegiate Champion in his time. (And he certainly had kept up his game!) The second man was a wealthy Australian who had a few of the finest tennis courts in the country on his estate, where the Davis Cup players and top professionals all came to practice… and he practiced with them. Needless to say, that was the end of doubles on that trip. The rest of the trip was uneventful – just terrific weather and fabulous food. Once established in our London hotel, we prepared very carefully with long periods of rehearsal. The concerts went well and seemed to please everyone. 

Our trip back to the United States was uneventful except for a couple days of rough seas, but even that seemed more like fun. We were soon on land and making our way up to Rockport. This was my first summer in Maine with the Quartet. Our routine was quite simple: we rehearsed for about three hours every morning, preparing for our next season’s tours. Afternoons usually found us on the waterfront enjoying the weather and a cool dip in the bay. And of course, Jascha and I had our tennis games. We also gave a few concerts for a very devoted audience in the old Boat Barn, a large wooden building in which the old fishermen actually used to build their boats. (And the acoustics couldn’t be beat.) 

By Labor Day we were back in Philadelphia. Our energetic manager had us booked for several tours across the United States and Europe. In between this moving around we served on the faculty of Curtis, holding chamber music classes for the entire student body. I was happy working with groups other than string quartets.

Now a little music lesson: All of our great composers wrote wonderful music for many different combinations – trios, quintets, sextets – some with piano, some with wind instruments. For example, Beethoven wrote many trios for piano, violin and cello. Brahms wrote a trio for piano violin and French horn – a great piece. Schubert added a second cello for his wonderful quintet. And on and on, up to Mendelssohn’s outstanding octet for double string quartet. And I must mention the beautiful quintet by Mozart who added a clarinet to the string quartet. The list is endless – I could go on for hours. Suffice it to say, I was surrounded by great sounds.

We really had a grand happening in 1936: Mrs. Bok agreed that we should have better instruments to play on… so she gave us a blank check and told us to go shopping. What a gift – and it wasn’t even Christmas. We contacted Emil Herrmann in New York City, one of the world’s leading instrument dealers, and made a date to visit his shop. While there, we spent several hours testing many fiddles, trying to find the best match among the different combinations possible. It was mind-boggling – or rather, ear-boggling. But by the time we were finished and made our decisions, we knew we had a quartet of instruments that would be hard to beat. We would now be playing on two Stradivarius violins, one dated 1694 and the other dated 1718; the viola was made by Strad’s teacher, Amati, dated 1677 and the cello was made by Strad’s pupil, Montagnana, dated 1728. Just one happy family! We were more than happy, and so was Mrs. Bok. Of course, she was the true owner, but we possessed them – they were ours to use.

Here is a related story: During one of our European tours we were in London and we visited the shop of Hill and Sons, a worldwide-recognized rare instrument dealer. As luck would have it, old Mr. Hill was in the shop and welcomed us. After showing us around, he took us downstairs where he opened a safe and took out a violin. This violin was a perfect example of violin-making, looking brand new, the varnish a solid bright red, not a scratch or marking anywhere, not a single sign of wear, just fresh off the bench. He smiled as he said, “This is the Messiah Strad.” He allowed us to handle it and then asked if we would like to play it. I jumped at the chance, and picking up a bow and placing the violin under my chin, I gave it a few strokes and nearly jumped out of my skin… this was the worst sound I ever heard! I couldn’t believe my ears. I handed it to Jascha to play, but the results were the same awful sounds. Then Mr. Hill explained: this violin had NEVER been played, never been used since it was made in the 1730s, perhaps the last Strad made. The result was, the wood dried up and never developed the reverberation and flexibility that only happens with years and years of playing. So much for the Messiah Strad!

In May of 1938 I got married. Months earlier, the Quartet had been booked to take part in a special concert at Town Hall in New York. It wasn’t until much later that I realized the concert date was just two days after my marriage. My bride and I had decided to honeymoon in Atlantic City prior to leaving for our summer in Maine. I was ready to ask the Quartet to cancel our performance, as difficult as that would be. But my wife and the others said I could go up to New York during the afternoon, play the concert and return to Atlantic City that same night. Getting back meant catching the 10:00 train out of Penn Station to Philadelphia and connecting with the last train to Atlantic City. I finally agreed, and then the fun began. We had been told that we would open the program, but when we arrived, this had been changed to performing last. I spent the next hour on the phone with various people at New York’s Penn Station, explaining my problem and asking if anything could be done to delay the departure of the 10:00 train. I was transferred from person to person until I finally reached the station manager. He was a nice guy and said he would hold the train, but couldn’t promise for how long. Needless to say, I was on pins and needles until the program ended. I ran offstage, grabbed my belongings, hailed a taxi that got me down to Penn Station in nothing flat, and still in full dress suit with violin case in one hand and suitcase in the other, I raced down to the empty platform where the conductor was just about ready to signal the engineer to take off. The train was not filled and I plopped into an empty seat and spent the next ten minutes trying to catch my breath. I thanked the conductor when he came through to collect tickets, then changed my clothes in the washroom. I was completely exhausted by the time I got to my Atlantic City hotel, but at least I got there.

The years between 1935 and 1944 were devoted to four elements: touring the U.S., touring Europe, teaching at Curtis, and our summers in Maine. Many interesting things happened during that time but I will mention just two. On one of our trips to Vienna we visited the Museum of the Friends of Music – der Musik Furiend – where we were shown many of the original manuscripts by Beethoven, Brahms, Schubert, Schumann, Mozart and many others. Can you just imagine the thrill and excitement of seeing the handwritten masterpieces of these great masters, with their own changes and corrections and instructions! It caused an emotion impossible to describe and I vividly remember that experience to this very day. The second happening concerns my own adventures with the pen – but far from the same class as those masters just mentioned. We ran into a problem with our programs: what to do about encores. There did not exist the lighter type of numbers expected at such a time. So, I decided to make some arrangements of short popular works – originally for violin or piano, orchestra or even voice. These encores were so successful they almost always had to be repeated. I am glad to say that eventually there were enough to do something with them. So I shipped them off to J. Fischer & Bros., a publishing house in NY who accepted them and combined them in two albums, which made me very happy.

These years between 1935 and 1944 were wonderful. But as time went on, it became more and more difficult to travel. Conditions relating to the war kept intensifying, and the military kept growing. Many times we would get on trains so crowded that we had to stand for hours, and time schedules could not be depended on. All this led to my decision to leave the Quartet and move to New York. It was not easy to say good-bye to my friends and all that we worked for together, and of course I had to surrender my Strad, but it had to be – and so on to the next phase of my career.

After settling into our new home in Queens, my first big problem was finding a job. I caught up with several old Philadelphia friends who had already made their move to New York. They introduced me to the conductors of various radio musical shows they were working on. This led to writing arrangements for them – just a few but enough to get me started and to get known around town. 

My first big job came when I was recommended to Willford Pelletier, one of the principal conductors of the Metropolitan Opera. He was also the conductor of the Metropolitan Opera Auditions of the Air, and was looking for an assistant. After checking my history, and making sure that I fully understood what my duties would be, I was hired. Just as a funny coincidence, I learned that Pelletier had married Rose Bampton, one of the singers in the Curtis group that went to England to honor King George back in 1935. The Opera Auditions of the Air was exactly what the name implies: a weekly broadcast that presented talented young singers who had hopes of being accepted into the Met Opera Company – a true audition. There were many facets to my job. First, I had to assemble the music for the orchestra – the operatic works I gathered from the Met’s own library. But the non-operatic music required me to make the necessary arrangements, and these had to be finished in time for our copyist to make the orchestral parts. Then, during the rehearsal, I would do some conducting while “Pelli” was in the control room listening for balance and making adjustments in the placements of the microphones. But probably the most important job was during the actual broadcast when I was in the control room, sitting next to the engineer and guiding him through the ever-changing dynamics – making sure we would not be knocked off the air by a sudden loud blast, either by the singer or the orchestra. By giving him sufficient advance warning, he could keep his hands on the dials and be prepared for what was coming. The summer version of this program was of a lighter vein, even though our soloists were the established stars of the Met. And some of our music even came from Broadway shows and movies… like Gershwin, Kern, Berlin, Rodgers, etc. This meant more arrangements, working many times through the night, but it all worked out well and we had a successful run for several years.

This was followed by a period of free-lance work as a violinist and arranger. There were radio shows and recording sessions such as the Perry Como broadcasts, the Jo Stafford Show, the Kostalonitz Show and, of course, the NBC Symphony with Toscanini. At that time, there were numerous radio shows that required players and arrangers. For instance, the soap operas – just as popular then as they are today. But remember, this was pre-television. Nowadays, changing from one scene to the next requires nothing more than going from one camera to another with no time lost in-between. In the days with only sound and no picture, we had to connect the episodes with more sound – namely, music. These connections were called bridges and ran anywhere from 15-30 seconds. Very short, but very important to the dramatics of the show. This meant working in advance with the director and/or the scriptwriter to learn what emotions were involved and then compose suitable music.

Recording was also a big part of the music industry in NY – I worked with Jan Peerce, Risa Stevens, Dorothy Maynor, Nat King Cole, Lena Horne and Ethel Merman. You could do a session in the morning with Lily Pons and another in the afternoon with Tony Bennett. I made many arrangements through the years, but one stands out in my memory and I know that many of you here today also remember it. It became a worldwide hit and almost a theme song for Jan Peerce: his “Bluebird of Happiness” recording. It also made us friends and we worked together later on – but I will come to that in a little while.

During the 1950s I was a member of the NBC Symphony under Arturo Toscanini… and I use the word “under” literally. Sitting in the second desk I was almost in contact with his right arm, and despite his very poor eyesight, he was able to recognize me. Toscanini was a devout musical purist, always trying to obey what he thought were the composer’s intentions. His work certainly had an influence on my own musicality, for which I have been ever grateful. 

Whether it was Toscanini’s inspiration or my own desires, I decided that Long Island was ready to have its own symphony orchestra. So, in early 1954, I gathered a large group of my friends – music lovers – and founded the Symphony Society of Long Island. The orchestra would be 100% professional, made up of the finest free-lance musicians in the New York area, giving a series of diversified programs in auditoriums convenient to the surrounding communities, repeating each program in each location. We would feature famous guest soloists plus special children’s programs. Our first season – 1954-55 – would consist of six concerts each in Rockville Center, Forest Hills, Bayside and Port Washington, with other localities to be added. Without boring you with endless details, just let me say there was a lot of work to be done. We formed the necessary committees and got down to work. As with all enterprises of this kind, the first need was money. Since the sale of tickets could not cover the expenses involved, we had to seek sponsors. Our friends divided the other jobs: advertising, printing the programs, mailing notices to subscribers, printing and distributing tickets, etc. I met with Toscanini and told him of our plans. He was very enthusiastic and full of best wishes, and wound up offering me one of his batons. His son, Walter, phoned to say he would be bringing it to my house. When we made our date, I advised the Long Island Press, which sent out a reporter and photographer to cover the story. The result was a full page devoted to our new enterprise with pictures and all the details. You couldn’t ask for a better advertisement. Our programs were received with great enthusiasm. We presented works by the old masters and just to mention a few of our outstanding soloists, we had violinists Oscar Shumsky, Toshiya Eto, Joseph Fuchs, and Paul Gershman (our concertmaster). We had pianists Valentino Marconi, Dorothy Eustis, Morton Estrin, Leonid Hambro and Seymour Lipkin. We had cellists Bernard Greenhouse and Harvey Shapiro. For our children’s concerts, we had comedian Ernie Kovaks, who narrated “Peter and the Wolf,” and former Miss America Bess Meyerson, who talked us through the “Young Person’s Guide to the Orchestra.” We also presented the debut of ten-year-old Lorin Hollander, a remarkable young pianist who went on to become a worldwide performer.

All this was very exciting and time consuming, and since I still had a family to support, I continued working with bow and pen as a free-lance violinist and arranger. When Toscanini resigned, the NBC Symphony became the Symphony of the Air, performing with many guest conductors. I was greatly surprised and thrilled when I was asked to conduct one of their concerts in Carnegie Hall, which would be my New York debut. With pianist Maria Tipo as guest soloist, we presented a delightful program of Mozart, Wagner and Mendelssohn. The audience was very enthusiastic and the critics were extremely complimentary in their reviews – a real milestone in my career.

The came the real blockbuster. During the 1957-58 season of the New York City Ballet, I was playing in my regular seat of assistant concertmaster, next to the conductor’s podium. One night, right in the middle of Swan Lake, the conductor, Leon Barzin motioned for me to put my violin down and join him up on the podium. When I did, he handed me his baton and told me to continue the performance. He stepped down and left me in charge. I was familiar with this ballet, enough that it presented no problems. But I was baffled as to why he would do such a thing. Little did I know that it was a realistic audition. Barzin heard about my conducting but he had never seen me in action. He evidently liked what he saw and I was asked to go with the company on its projected trip to Japan and Australia, beginning in March of 1958. This would mean being away from my family for five months. Also, there was a conflict with the final set of Long Island Symphony concerts. Barzin offered to take over for me – he wasn’t going on this trip – and he thought this would be a great opportunity for me. My family agreed that I should go, so I accepted the offer. I packed away my violin and became an Associate Conductor for the remainder of the ballet season.

Let me take a moment here to explain what is required of the ballet conductor. Basically, the dancer is moving in rhythm with the music being played, and the tempos are worked out during rehearsals. But there are those movements in the choreography that make it necessary for the conductor to adjust, according to the needs of the dancer. This usually happens in the very technical scenes that involve fast spins and lifts, high jumps, and certainly the timing at the end of a spectacular physical effort, to make sure that the dancer and orchestra finish exactly together. This meant that I had to learn more of what happens onstage, requiring my attendance at the endless dance rehearsals. All this, plus the studying of my own musical scores, kept me really busy up to our departure date. 

The flight to Japan was uneventful, using two very large four-engine planes, propeller-driven – one for the ballet personnel and the second for the scenery, costumes, props, etc. We had to make several stops for refueling – Los Angeles, Hawaii and Guam – but this allowed us get out and stretch our legs. When we finally landed in Tokyo, we were greeted by a large crowd of locals who had learned of our arrival, their cheers making us feel most welcome. We were soon installed in our hotels and immediately started to work out a rehearsal schedule for the orchestra that had been assembled for our visit. Sadly, we soon learned that the Japanese musicians were quite unfamiliar with our music, and adding to the problem was the difference of language, making it necessary to use a translator to communicate our directions. This was difficult and time consuming, but they all tried hard and by Opening Night things were going pretty well. After six weeks in Tokyo, we moved south to Osaka for a five-week stay. Fortunately, the orchestra came with us, thus avoiding a repeat of that problem. 

We made many new friends in Japan, but we soon had to say good-bye and fly down to Australia for our visits to Sydney and Melbourne. Again, we were confronted with a new orchestra, but speaking the same language made the rehearsals much easier. We did have to overcome a few technical difficulties, in some cases by makes changes in the orchestration. But again, everyone cooperated and worked hard and the end results were satisfactory. The Aussies were very friendly and made us feel welcome. One man that we met was a manufacturer of ladies’ woolen sweaters and he wound up giving a beautiful sweater to each of our female dancers. I even got a few to take home for my wife and daughters. Then there was a man who worked with leather who made an over-sized brief case for me to carry my large orchestral scores, and a special case for my batons. I really wanted to pay for them, but he insisted they were his gift to me. There were parties and dinners and sightseeing trips, and I must not forget the sheep and koalas and kangaroos. It was great.

Then just as we were beginning to anticipate our return home, we were hit with a big shocker: I never learned who, what or why, but the company okayed a request to stop in Manila on the way back to the States and give a few performances. Not knowing what we would be faced with, we sent our co-conductor on ahead, leaving me to finish the final week in Melbourne. The heat in Manila was unbearable – almost 100 degrees in the shade. The auditorium was actually an enormous Quonset hut with no ventilation. The orchestra pit was so narrow from front to back that there was room for only one row of stands facing the conductor. The row extended from side to side, from one wall of the building to the other. This made it impossible for the musicians to hear what was going on. My first rehearsal was pure chaos, and the second not much better. I was dripping wet with perspiration, and greatly feared for the performances. My greatest fears were realized as bar by bar the orchestra began to fall apart. We only avoided a complete tragedy by the presence of our rehearsal pianist, seated directly in front of me. He recognized the situation and began pounding out the music for the dancers to hear. So much for Manila! Totally exhausted and several pounds lighter, we were finally on our plane going home. After five months, all I could say was, “It sure was an experience.” It was wonderful being back with my family and unpacking the gifts I brought them: silks and pearls from Japan, and opals and woolens from Australia. It was so good to be able to relax and enjoy home life. Little did I know or expect that there was another change coming in my musical career: BROADWAY!

Just a few weeks later I received a phone call from the people at West Side Story, which was playing at the Winter Garden Theater. I was told that their Musical Director was preparing to leave and they were looking for someone to take over. Evidently, they had heard of my work with the New York City Ballet and the Long Island Symphony and asked if I would be interested. I was not familiar with the show but I felt it could be a new and interesting challenge. So, I accepted their offer. I have always said that the best way to learn new music was to play it, so I moved into the pit with my violin and listened to all the sounds around me. I also had to learn the lyrics and the timing of all the actions on stage. I won’t say it was easy, but I am a quick study and I was soon ready to pick up my baton. With the present conductor standing by, my first few shows went pretty well. He made some suggestions and corrections, and pointed out some danger spots to be prepared for. So, in a few short weeks it became my pleasure to add the title “Musical Director” to my name.

The Broadway musical was a new factor in my life, but it did not take long for me to discover a basic truism: the longer a show runs, the more difficult it becomes. If this sounds strange, let me explain by playing a simple mind game with you. Please relax and think of a single three-hour period in your life, no matter what or when it happened. Now think of repeating that period 8 times in the next week, or 32 times in the next month, or 384 times in the next year. And remember, it has to be EXACTLY THE SAME as the original. And if you are lucky with a big hit, 768 times in two years or 1,152 times in three years. Do you think you could do it? Well, that’s show business!

When you go to see a show, whether it’s Opening Night, or second night, second month, second year – whenever – you expect to see a first-rate performance. If you are lucky, you will see the original cast. But perhaps one of the actors has taken ill and is being replaced by the understudy. Please remember that every major role is covered by an understudy who is prepared to go on at any given moment. Also, as time goes by, cast changes are made, stars of the show leave and are replaced by equally talented performers. And then there are the really long running shows that change theaters when their original lease expires. I could go on and on. The details involved with show biz are endless: rehearsals, auditions, costumes, replacements, etc. 

Conducting West Side Story was a real joy and a great challenge at the same time. The combined talents of Leonard Bernstein, Jerome Robbins, Stephen Sondheim and Arthur Laurents created a merger that was overwhelming, and I relished every moment of it. When it closed in mid-1959 I never imagined what could take its place. I certainly never expected the next big surprise. 

It was a repeat scenario: a phone call, this time from My Fair Lady, which had been running for three years. Again, they were looking for someone to replace their Musical Director. They had heard of my work with West Side Story and made me an offer. Needless to say, I accepted. So began a three-year period of pleasure and problems of a long running hit show until September of 1962. Rex Harrison and Julie Andrews headed up a great cast when the show opened. But as time went by, careful replacements were made, as needed, so that after 2,717 performances My Fair Lady was just as “loverly” on Closing Night as she had always been.

This was followed by a period of relative relaxation. I put aside my baton and picked up my violin, becoming once again a freelance player and arranger. Everything was going well – but there soon was another change in the works. Jean Dalrymple, the Director of the New York City Center Light Opera Company, was preparing the schedule for the upcoming season. Whether it was just luck or fate, she decided to open with a revival of West Side Story. She quickly got approval from Hal Prince, the original Producer, who strangely enough was thinking of a Broadway revival at the same time. It was only natural that my name would come up, and in a short time I was asked to take up the musical reins.

Starting from scratch and trying to match the performance level of the original show was not easy, but everyone was up to the challenge and worked really hard. By Opening Night we were ready and excited. Our cast really out-did themselves and the audience gave us their rousing approval. I was not aware beforehand that Lenny Bernstein and his wife were in the house, but after the show he came running backstage and, giving me a big hug, shouted “It’s a miracle!” He was bubbling over with congratulations to the cast, the orchestra, to everyone involved. Needless to say, I was really happy. To top it all off, a couple of weeks later I was awarded a Tony nomination for Musical Director of West Side Story.

Now, instead of having the upcoming summer to relax and enjoy a vacation, another phone call came in. This time it was from a summer stock producing company who put together hit shows that travel to different parts of the country. They asked me to take on two of their shows, the first being Gentlemen Prefer Blondes featuring Jayne Mansfield, and the second – guess what? – My Fair Lady with Ray Milland playing Henry Higgins (which answered my wondering how and why they called me). Our performances were to be in the Northeast – not too far from home – so I accepted their offer. I was not familiar with Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, so I had to do a quick study. It was quite evident that Jayne had been coached very well and all went smoothly. She was married to Mickey Hargitay, the world-champion bodybuilder, and so a few lines were written into the script for him, just to keep him involved. At that time they seemed to be a very happy couple. Unfortunately, that was to soon to change – but that’s an entirely different story. When it came time for My Fair Lady, I must admit I had some doubts about Milland doing the role of the language professor. But again, I was pleasantly surprised. He, too, had evidently been working with a good coach and presented a very believable Henry Higgins. Milland was a very affable guy, pleasant to be with, and easy to work with. About the only thing that irritated him was his toupee. It was a beautiful custom-made piece that was made for him in Hollywood and it made him look great. But he hated wearing it, and made no secret about it. He never wore it except while onstage.

We were in the final weeks of our summer stint and looking forward to getting back home when out of the blue – guess what? – another phone call… this one from the Hal Prince office. To this day, I could never figure out how they found me but they did. They were getting ready to open a new Broadway show – Fiddler On The Roof. They already had their Musical Director but wanted me to come in as his assistant, for back-up insurance. My relationship with the Prince Company was too close for me to refuse, so I accepted their offer. But there was a big problem: they needed me to begin right away, to help with the preparation, rehearsing and coaching. This meant getting permission to leave the remaining performances of My Fair Lady in the hands of my assistant. He was the pianist in our orchestra and I was confident he could finish the season. Fortunately, the local producer was understanding and released me from the final week of my contract. After a long round of “good-byes,” my wife and I hurriedly packed up and took off for New York – and a new adventure.

It would be impossible to give a complete history of Fiddler in the time we have today, so I will just mention a few details. The show set a new record at that time with 3,242 performances… almost eight years… and I was Musical Director for five of those years. You can just imagine the cast changes that took place and the work involved to maintain the high level of a hit show. 

We had six Tevyes, starting with Zero Mostel, that incredible comic talent, and ending with my old friend Jan Peerce, that great operatic tenor, and everything in between. Zero was a genius at pulling off little tricks while onstage – grimaces, winks, bodily moves. Nothing the audience would notice, just enough to amuse whoever was in the scene with him. One trick he tried was not so funny. It was during the first show I was conducting with him. In the middle of “If I Were A Rich Man” the music stops, Tevye gives a big sigh, takes a deep breath, and then resumes the song. My job was to time the orchestra to start at the same time. Something warned me as I saw Zero looking down at me as he gave an extra shudder before continuing the song. My hunch was correct as I prevented an ugly moment. During intermission, I went up to Zero’s dressing room and as soon as he saw me he grinned, and shaking his finger at me he shouted, “Wow! I almost got you, didn’t I?” To him, it was just a big joke, but it solidified our relationship, and his respect for me. 

Of course, there are many stories involving the other Tevyes but we’ll save them for another time. I would like to mention a few of our cast members who went on to other things that I am sure you will remember: Bea Arthur (our Yente) who became Maude and then one of The Golden Girls; Bert Convy (Perchik) became host of a popular TV game show; Joanna Merlin (Tzeitel) graduated to become a judge on Law and Order; Austin Pendleton and Leonard Frey wound up in Hollywood; and Bette Midler – we all know where she wound up!

After Fiddler closed I again returned to free-lancing with the violin and the pen, playing on several NBC and CBS shows and making arrangements for others. This was a more relaxing life, without all the tensions and problems of Broadway. 

I worked until 1988 when I decided to call it quits. I knew that in order to play well one had to “practice, practice, practice”… and I didn’t want to practice anymore. I had enjoyed a full and diversified musical life and was now ready to listen to others and appreciate their efforts. So ended my musical career.

In closing, I would like to mention one thought: Starting back in 1934 with the Curtis Quartet, every major position I ever held was at the request of the hiring party. I never went looking for these jobs – they came looking for me. I’m not bragging when I say this, but it does make me very proud.

Thank you for listening and I will be happy to answer any questions you may have.

© David Weitzer.  Site designed and developed by TriStar Design.