I lost my dad Julius in 1980 when he was sixty-seven. At the time, I thought that was old. Now I’m older than he ever got to be.
My father learned to play the trombone in the high school marching band. From there, he became an audiophile and developed a love for every kind of music. Dad became expert in all of the new renditions of symphonies by famous conductors or re-releases of jazz greats. He had expansive musical tastes, from Muddy Waters to Bach’s Goldberg Variations to Tijuana Brass.
My dad was an introvert but developed a friendship with two younger guys who also loved music. They met every Saturday morning at the diner for the pancake and eggs special, but mostly to talk for hours about music and new developments in hi-fidelity/stereo equipment. Then they came back to the house to listen to new records for the rest of the day.
When I was a child, my dad retired to the living room after dinner to leaf through his albums sectioned on the shelves by musical genre. After selecting his evening’s repertoire, he stacked the LPs on the Fisher turntable, turned off the lamp, and settled into his upholstered easy chair.
Music boomed from the darkened living room through the arched entryway and vibrated into all corners of the house if a Beethoven symphony or a Wagnerian opera. Other times, the lively arpeggios of Art Tatum on the keys bounced lightly off the walls.
I envisioned dancers in voluminous satin ball gowns circling the living room with graceful abandon to the strains of Strauss waltzes.
My dad’s world. He was drawn into it both willingly and helplessly, oblivious to the telephone ringing or my pleas to turn down the volume so I could concentrate on my homework. In the summer with windows open, Handel’s Water Music entertained the neighborhood. In the winter, we were enclosed in a sound studio with Carmen or The Ring Cycle.
When I hear beautiful music—the elongated tones of a chamber music piece or the lively notes of a jazz tune—I think of my dad. And I wish he could be listening along with me. But I listen FOR him instead.
Dad was a musician himself in his teen years, and maybe—I can’t say for sure—aspired to pursue a musical education. His sister Jean played the piano, his sister Elsie took clarinet lessons, and his brother Harry learned the saxophone.
He was also a talented amateur photographer, taking series of photographs of nature, human interest, and public events (parades, park scenes, the 1939 World’s Fair). He spent endless hours in the darkroom to attain perfection in print.
But he set aside his creative endeavors when he apprenticed to the machinist’s trade and started a family after marrying Rose in 1943.
In his fifties, after he was laid off as a machinist at Purolater, he endured a difficult and distressing year of unemployment when he could not properly support his family. He became too depressed even to browse through albums at the record store.
One day, he mustered up the courage to walk into the store he had patronized for years as a loyal customer and ask for a job. Thus began the most fulfilling decade of my dad’s life. He assisted customers expertly with his knowledge of music acquired as an audiophile and collector.
Dad eagerly left for work each morning, his new edition of the Schwann catalogue in hand. He had studied it the night before to keep current with new releases to order for inventory. He eventually rose to position of Assistant Manager. He brought good music into many homes.
He was as passionately interested in the electronic/mechanical equipment as he was in the music itself. If a new kind of needle or speaker came out, he was on it immediately, researching, testing, attempting to reach the same perfection in sound as he sought for the visual images in the darkroom.
His Hero’s Journey led here, when he walked into that store, a shy gentleman, to offer an impassioned plea to the owner to give him a chance. He lived the dream of his lifetime at Harmony House in Union, New Jersey, a stand-alone building on commercial Route 22 that attained the status of paradise on the roadside.
After my father died, I called his two friends and asked them to look through his voluminous collection. At my invitation they selected some favorite LPs. The day we did that, I knew that my dad’s musical spirit would live on.
I’m spending November in New York City to welcome my new granddaughter to the world. On a whim, I stopped in at the Carnegie Hall box office and bought a ticket for the Tuesday night performance.
I was more interested in seeing the amazing venue for the first time, not so much in listening to the musical program.
My mother took me to Broadway plays in my childhood but my father and I never attended concerts. I can’t quite explain it, as we were only a thirty minute Pennsylvania Railroad ride away from New York City.
But I think I figured it out tonight in Carnegie Hall during the performance by the Philadelphia Orchestra.
As the musicians tuned up, I could not help but devour the sight of the burnished woods of the string instruments from the left side of the fourth row balcony. As they strengthened in tone, I immediately felt how they irresistibly drew my father in, how much he savored each pluck of the harpist’s string. And then the brass, the horns of so many varieties, the French horns distant, the trumpets up close, mounting in volume together, then separating out at the conductor’s behest. The bass drum, commanding, the woodwinds, scurrying.
It was when I closed my own eyes that I understood without any effort at all why my dad, in his easy chair alone in the darkened living room, closed his eyes to everything, to the light, to time, to humanity, to everything but the SOUND.
Watching the musicians draw their bows across the strings, sensing the audience in rapt attention, admiring the ornate plaster moldings and the magnificent arch framing the orchestra, all an experience of visual richness in itself, but it was not the MUSIC.
At family events, I saw my dad try to participate congenially in conversations with the movers and shakers in the family. It was hard for him due to his quiet nature but he pushed himself, wanting to show his interest and loyalty. But I never believed that his commitment to music and photography was understood by the business-oriented menfolk.
My dad’s artistic capital in realms of photography and music did not make him rich, famous, or powerful. But his photographs are my most important material inheritance and the story of his life dedicated to the love of music a most treasured personal legacy.
Before leaving my seat, I am moved beyond words, moved to tears, at the sound of the world-class orchestra performing compositions of the great European composers, at the sight of the magnificent setting with five curved tiers of seating each brimming over with deep red velvet.
I linger for a few moments to sense my father’s musical spirit once more, until the lights dim and the usher signals me to leave.
But not before our creative collaboration—the blending of his music and my writing—comes alive, transforming memory and legacy into a new arrangement.
What a beautiful, musical, moving tribute to your dad, whom I remember fondly from Orchard Terrace days in Linden. And I hope you got my email about Flossie’s appreciation of your birthday card and reminiscences. It meant a lot to her. Thank you.
Carol
Yes, you and your family were a part of my childhood, we never forget.
A lovely tribute to your Dad, with appreciation for his quiet nature and his life.
Thank you Donna, he was a hero but in his own quiet way,
Once again, a truly touching and real glimpse into a loved ones life. Thank you for writing.
Thank you Chuck for being my fan!
What a beautiful tribute to your Father. You melded words, music, and photography and made them sensuous and took us right into his world.
Thank you Carol for your sweet words about ”Uncle Julie.”
Thank you for wonderful memories of your dad. It made me think back to when I listened to rock & roll on WIBG & my father would say “WIBG Garbage”.
Thanks for reading, and sharing your related memories too.
I am so glad you booked that ticket to Carnegie Hall Barrie. What a wonderful experience and memories it produced. Your Dad was a gentle soul, loving and a brave man. This will be forever special, co-inciding with the birth of your new granddaughter, linking them in a way. Cherish each new memory.
Thank you Magdeld for joining my blog.Sometimes I write an answer on Quora and then expand it to about 1200 words for my blog, as in this piece.
And yes, the Carnegie Hall experience was amazing in every way, inspiring important revelations about my dad.
Oh, Barrie, what a lovely piece! I understand who you are even better after reading about your Dad and his aesthetic tastes. And it took me back to the first time I stood on the stage of Carnegie Hall as a high school chorus member and the many times I sat in the highest balcony to hear the New York Philharmonic and other great performers. Thank you for introducing me to the man whose influence made you the woman you are.
Thank you Davida for your always encouraging input. And for sharing the thrill of your own appearance at Carnegie Hall, how amazing that must have been 🎼🎶🎵
What a beautiful piece Barrie.
So full of emotion and love for your Dad,and his lifestyle. A wonderful tribute to him.Lovely memories for you.
Made me think of my Dad, having come home from the war, he got a radiogram delivered ( as they were called then)and proceeded to play the musical greats to us and to our neighbours.
Thank you Kathy for reading my piece and commenting, nice to hear from you. And the memory that you share here is so sweet.
Barrie, I loved this, and I loved your father (my mother’s brother, for your other readers.) He set a great example my brother and me as we are both professional musicians, and I tune pianos as well, one of the ultimate listening experiences. A small detail that you forgot or perhaps you were unaware. Our Uncle Harry, my mother’s and your father’s brother, played the saxophone. My mother had Harry’s saxophone, and one day when my piano got tuned, she announced that she traded Harry’s saxophone to the tuner for the tuning. Even though I wasn’t ever planning to learn the saxophone, I sensed this was the wrong thing to do and perhaps it was then that I began to plot my revenge by thinking I would like to become a piano tuner, something no women were doing in the 1960s. During the 1970s, I was in fact paid for a piano tuning with a lovely old instrument the client had hanging around. It was an Italian accordion which I still have. Your father was a beautiful soul, and I see flashes of him in your daughter who was named for him (She is a TERRIFIC photographer)
Thank you Sherry for adding even more information to the richness of our family memories. Did you know that I have my father’s trombone, still in the case? I’ll keep it always.
Hi Barrie, I was reading your posts and your Quora and you are such a phenomenal woman. I am a writer and so is my girlfriend. I lost my father a while ago and coincidentally, my middle name is Rose as well. Thank you so much for always cheering me up. You are such a beautiful woman and if your husband and parents were alive I would have loved to have met them.
I have Facebook so I love if you could look up my name there. I am a big fan!
Hi Noga, I just found your message, sorry for the delay. Thank you for reading my blog and for your warm and supportive comments. I am so sorry about your Dad, you have heard this before, but I sincerely wish for his memory to be for a blessing.
I will look for you on facebook! You will see that I use my facebook page mainly to post my published haiku poems, my new passion since 2020. So I write less on my blog now
Best wishes, Barrie
Hi Barrie, It’s been a long time since I’ve seen your name in my gmail.I am glad to hear that you’re book of Haiku poems was published. Congratulations. I’m still working on mine. I’m still writing and working on organizing chapters and all is good. Then on my bad health days, I quetion whether I should share my poems with the world. In my youth, I welcomed reactions from people who read my works and saw my art. Today, I want to share my works, but I’m afraid of becomming a target for negative reactions from those who read my poems and are triggered emotionally in such a way that they’ll want to lash out at me, the writer. I’m hoping to get past this feeling and find the right publisher for the right price. Anyways, keep in touch. Best wishes . Diane
Thank you Diane for keeping up with my blog and for expressing your appreciation of my writing.
I feel I owe it to my readers to surface at least once in a while!
I am glad we are back in touch,
Barrie 🙋🏻♀️
Hi Barrie, I cannot seem to find you on Facebook so can you message me on Facebook by Noga Rose Sheratzky? I love your blogs and would love to get to know you. You can see that I commented on other pages of your blog as well so please check them out.
What a lovely tribute to your dad, Barrie. I learned a lot about him that I never knew before. And congratulations on your about to be born granddaughter. Keep us posted!
Thank you Judy. And I see there is a musical gene in your family too!
Thank you for this moving and beautifully composed father/daughter portrait. I learned much from it, about both of you.
Thank you David, I very much appreciate your support of my writing.
This was such a beautiful tribute to your dad. He sounds like a wonderful man. You look alot like him in the photograph of the two of you together. Your memories of the music he played while you were growing up, will always be with you. And his creative photographic influence on you is admirable. I love the photo of the outside architecture and lighting of the music hall and the beautiful movement of interior design in your last photo of the red velvet seats.the lines of rows and wave of the balcony remind me of a harp instrument. I can almost hear the music playing. Nice work. Congratulations on the birth of your granddaughter. Best wishes to you and your family. Happy Thanksgiving,too.
Thank you Diane for so carefully reading my piece and noting various details. The “wave of the balcony” a lovely image.
I hope your holiday was nice too, as we in New England bear up against the cold.