There are occasions, hopefully not too many of them, when I write a blog post almost exclusively for myself, though I try to keep it interesting enough so you don’t think, “We don’t need to be here at all.” Indulge me in one such post today.
Over the years, life has delivered to my consciousness valuable lessons, which, due to force of habit, impatience or pure orneriness, I have chosen to insistently ignore. Like this one.
Recently, the picture book in my mind keeps flashing an image that will not recede unless I break its tenacious hold by writing about it.
I am confronted by the smiling face of a Fifth Grade Toronto Hebrew School classmate, Michael Greenstein, age 11. Michael, a sweet natured pre-teener, was a standout, achieving the Herculean accomplishment of excelling both academically and in sports!
Michael consistently ranked at or near the top in every pop quiz, test and exam. At the same time, his delivery from the mound was so effortless and mechanically sound, it was if he were born with a pitching coach in his brain.
It is a tribute to Michael’s affability that, despite his dual superiorities, I, who rated “up there” in one classification, but scraped bottom in the other, did not dislike him. I thought he was really great.
Michael Greenstein also studied the clarinet. Privately. Our school had time for Talmudic Studies, but not for gym, the arts, or a lunch hour longer than twenty minutes. We only became aware of Michael’s clarinet interests as the result of a pre-Chanukah Break Talent Show.
I don’t recall who else participated. Certainly not me. In those days, and throughout my school years, my main talent was getting home as fast as I could, so I could watch television. (A proclivity which would pay off down the line.)
On the day of the Talent Show, Michael arrived, attired in the “Outfit of the Day”, blue jeans cuffed at the bottom and a checkered shirt, our sartorial signals coming from the reigning Superstar of the Moment, Howdy Doody.
In everything he did, Michael Greenstein displayed an easy confidence. At this point in his training, Michael made no claim of clarinet virtuosity. He knew enough to, as they say, “play within his abilities”, which at his current stage of development, meant slowly and deliberately. But always accurately.
Michael chose to entertain us with a clarinet rendition of the current crossover country hit, “Young Love”, popularized by Sonny James.
The problem with the song, not when delivered by James in his mellow tones and a loping rhythm, but when played by a neophyte clarinetist, is that after the first note of the melody, the next sixteen notes are all exactly the same.
Sixteen notes in a row. All the same.
Michael Greenstein did not see the problem. Nor, it turned out, did anybody else.
Except me.
A “Beginner Clarinetist”, standing confidently in front of the class, conscientiously checking his fingering and his mouthal technique, will inevitably leave gaping silences between the notes. When the notes are all the same, and there are extended pauses between the playing of each of them…
It starts to get funny.
Doesn’t it?
I don’t know if I can reproduce the experience in writing. But the resulting effect was something like this. Imagine all the notes supporting these lyrics are the same, repeated note.
They say…
(PAUSE)
for…
(PAUSE)
ev’…
(PAUSE)
ry…
(PAUSE)
boy…
(PAUSE)
and…
(PAUSE)
girl…
(PAUSE)
there’s…
(PAUSE)
just…
(PAUSE)
one…
(PAUSE)
love…
(PAUSE)
in…
(PAUSE)
this…
(PAUSE)
old…
(PAUSE)
world…
(PAUSE)
and…
I’m looking around to see how the other students are holding up. And to my utter confusion, they’re all acting like it was normal to listen to an amateur clarinet player offering up the same note again and again for more than a minute!
Fine. It’s not funny. I compose myself, determined to be like everyone else. But when Michael tootles into the next section of the verse – an exact repetition of the first section…
The heav’n
(PAUSE)
ly…
(PAUSE)
touch…
(PAUSE)
of…
(PAUSE)
your…
(PAUSE)
em…
(PAUSE)
brace…
(PAUSE)
tells…
(PAUSE)
me…
(PAUSE)
no…
(PAUSE)
one…
(PAUSE)
will…
(PAUSE)
take…
(PAUSE)
your…
(PAUSE)
place…
I am desperately chewing on my lower lip, until a blood bubble explodes through the bite-punctured skin.
Michael finally finishes the verse, then slow-tootles his way through the more modulated chorus. But before he tears into “Verse Two” – thirty-two more notes, all the same, with extended pauses in between – my hand shoots up to leave the room.
Michael Greenstein was entirely content with his stage of development, to the extent that he felt ready to perform in front of an audience. He knew, or perhaps had been taught, that, when studying an instrument, you go slow till you’ve mastered the moves, then gradually speed up when you’re ready to advance.
To this day, I insist on playing the songs I learn on the piano too quickly, too soon. The result is, that after five years of study, there is not one I can play all the way through, without mistakes.
It turns out, Michael Greenstein, a “double threat” academic and athletic All-Star, was even more gifted than advertised. There was a third, perhaps more important than the others, feather embedded in his proudly decorated cap.
He knew how to learn.
3 comments:
Hello Earl,
I'm sorry. This isn't a comment on your The Triple Threat post. It's a question that was triggered by reading Ken Levine's blog on Friday where he answers questions. But I don't know how else to ask you a question so, I'm using this space.
Ken was answering a question about storylines where two characters are in love but can't reveal it to each other for one reason or another. He was asked how he decides to pick the right time to allow the characters to get together.
In his answer, he used Rhoda as an example of when the wrong decision was made. I know you wrote for that show and, it looks from IMDB, that you wrote for it after the first season when they were already married. Did you feel like you were working at a disadvantage because they were already married after Rhoda had spent her whole time on Mary Tyler Moore being frustratingly single? Were you unhappy with the way things were going on Rhoda? Did you feel like it was just another situation to be explored with many opportunities for comedy or did it feel like a struggle?
Thank you,
Jim Dodd (JED)
I've just found your blog through Ken Levine.
I loved this story. I think the third talent he had was "not giving a shit". I have found many not so talented people achieve their goals because they aren't self-aware enough to realise that shouldn't be doing what they're doing, and certainly not in public.
Just saw Michael this evening - he still looks perfect young and handsome as he did when we were classmates at Associated. Some people get all the talent and looks!!
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