THE CONDUCTOR

         All of his life, that is, up to the first thirty years of it, Donny Davis had one unfulfilled ambition—to conduct a large symphony orchestra in front of a large admiring audience.                                                                
        For years, he would listen to the classics and fantasize himself standing on the podium and the members of the orchestra reacting in unison to every wave of his baton. He had watched conductors at concerts in the park, in the concert halls and on television and envied each and every one of them.
         There was one problem he had to hurdle of course. He didn’t have a symphony orchestra which was his to conduct. In fact, not only had he never played in a symphony orchestra or even a small band, for that matter, he only went to grade four in piano.
          He knew that to be a conductor of a symphony orchestra, he had to be an accomplished musician and understand the limits of every instrument of the orchestra, sight read as easy as one reads a grade one primer, and study at a school for conductors and then after years of study, he just might get a crack at being a guest conductor of a small orchestra in a small city somewhere in the world.
         He had accepted the reality that he would have to spend the rest of his life, standing in his room alone, or out in the forest alone (he was too embarrassed to do it in front of anyone) and wave the baton he bought at a music store, as he listened to the tape recordings of his favorite orchestras performing his favorite classics.
         Then one day, he read in the local paper, that the musical director of the city’s large symphony orchestra was offering anyone and everyone an opportunity to file a bid to be a guest conductor at one of the orchestra’s open-air concerts held in the amphitheater in the city’s main park during a summer, evening irrespective of his or her musical training. Whoever was chosen would be given an opportunity to choose one of the selections from the orchestra’s vast library of symphonic music.
        In the past, some bids went as high as three thousand dollars. Donny decided to enter the competition and he submitted his bid of four thousand dollars and to his great joy, he won the competition.
As arranged, he met with the musical director of the orchestra, a renown conductor in his own right, to discuss what musical selection he would like the orchestra to play while he acted as its guest conductor.
          Donny immediately suggested Ferde Grofe’s Grand Canyon Suite He knew that that piece had a beautiful melody and that there was a powerful section in that piece The Storm which would give him the opportunity to show everyone what he could do as a conductor of a large symphony orchestra.
          The musical director said that although the orchestra had that music in its library, the guest conductors were always limited to choosing a selection that was no longer than ten minutes. He hastily added that the orchestra’s library had hundreds of selections that were in that time-frame. He suggested, for example, Debussy’s Clair du Lune—a beautiful piece, or Morning from Greig’s Peer Gynt Suite, another beautiful piece. 
         “Very beautiful music,” Donny thought to himself, “but oh, so dainty.” He wanted powerful music that would stir the emotions of those listening to it.
         As he browsed through the list of the selections in the orchestra’s manuscript library, his eyes suddenly opened wide when he saw that they had the music for Tchaikovsky’s Symphony No. 6, the Pathetique. He pointed to that selection and the musical director responded with, “It’s too long.” 
        The musical director was moved however by the gradual expression of sadness that was creeping over Donny’s face so he added with a smile, “Of course, we could play part of the First Movement of that piece for you if you like. That is that part that is very expressive. Its performance would be just under ten minutes.”
Donny’s face lit up like a display of fireworks. “Oh, that would be superb! And I know the part you are talking about.” The musical director responded with a generous smile. “Then the orchestra will play that selection for you.” The musical director retrieved a copy of the conductor’s manuscript and then began penciling in the spot in the manuscript where Donny’s selection would begin and where it would end and he told Donny to study those areas of the piece and then he handed Donny the copy of the conductor’s manuscript—a very large and bulky one at that.
          He added, “I suggest that you buy a recording of that piece so that you are familiar with the music.”  Donny replied, “Oh, I am very familiar with that piece, especially that particular part of the First Movement.” And he was very familiar with it. He had played it over and over and over again until he knew every note played by the various sections of the orchestra. For hours he had waved his baton before his imaginary symphony orchestra to the music of that particular part of the Pathetique.                                           
          When Tchaikovsky wrote that piece, especially in the middle portion of the First Movement, it was depicting in music, the anguish that he was experiencing in the last months of his life. He had been accused of being a homosexual and it had been suggested by his friends, that he commit suicide by poisoning himself to avoid any further scandal. He did as they suggested, and one week after his first performance of his hauntingly beautiful piece, he died.                                             
          After Donny arrived home, he opened the enormously thick manuscript and stared at it in utter confusion. Many staves below the top staff of five lines; were other staffs also with musical notes and notations on them that were written for other instruments of the orchestra. He could read music but to read all those musical notes and notations on all those staves at the same time was an impossibility for him. In fact, sight-reading even the top staff was difficult for him and trying to find the staves that carried the main themes in which various sections of the orchestra would be carrying those themes at different parts of the piece was even more difficult for him.
         Donny began playing the taped music and he looked down at the manuscript and began following the music to the best of his ability—which was limited at that. On each page were the musical notes, the rests, the accidentals, the flats and sharps, the slurs, the ties, the phrase marks-----well it was all mind boggling to him and to anyone else whose musical training was limited as was his.
         After three replays, he discovered to his horror that every time he waved his head side to side or nodded it up and down as conductors do in vigorous passages in a symphony, his glasses flew off of his face and sailed across the room.
        He realized that he would have to put to memory, everything that was in that part in the manuscript that the orchestra was going to play—no easy task, even for an experienced conductor. In fact, there are very few conductors in the world who have ever attempted to conduct a symphony orchestra, especially when it is performing a complicated piece of music, without having the benefit of a manuscript in front of them. One of the real problems with conducting from memory, is that those who conduct in this manner are so intent on remembering what comes next, the conductors can’t concentrate on what is being played at the moment, hence, they miss errors on the part of the performers if they make them. Of course, the conductor still has to know what comes next because he is like the school bus driver who drives his bus on the same route every day. He has a bus-load of children who have different destinations to come from and go to. He has to remember when they get on and when they get off.
         As the months went by, his constant replaying of the piece on his tape recorder in his living room, replaying it on his Walkman at work and even replaying it while sleeping, every note played by the symphony orchestra was indelibly etched into his brain until he no longer had to look at the manuscript.
         There was one problem that did disturb him however. He realized that the conductor’s main job was to keep the members of the orchestra in sync, as that was what the baton was for. He knew that if he missed a beat and one member of the orchestra followed him, the rest of them might follow right behind and the music would come to a horrible end, not unlike a multiple car crash on a highway during a fog.   
        He knew that the baton couldn’t simply be moved up and down as if the piece was a march so he watched other conductors on TV to see how they did it. Unfortunately, the way they used their batons was for the specific pieces their orchestras were performing----not for the Pathetique. To make matters worse, he noticed that the conductors often varied the speed, size and direction of their baton gestures, often within a very short period of time, sometimes all within one measure of the music.
         Any conductor can act as a time setter but only the best of them understand the real art of shaping the music with their left hands. He had studied enough music to know the difference between ppp and fff (accidentals that dictate volume) and that moving his left hand upward and downward was to increase and decrease the intensity of a particular section of the music.
         The problem facing conductors who only learned music on the piano is that they really don’t appreciate the other dynamics written by the composer onto his score, such as directions given to the string section, or the horn section or other sections of the orchestra. 
What could go wrong is best described by giving as an example, what happened when the late world-renown concert pianist, Glen Gould attempted to conduct a symphony orchestra as it recorded Wagner’s Siegfried.  His performance as a conductor was one of the saddest manifestations of what could go wrong when the conductor’s musical career is based on his experience as a pianist alone. The end result was that his role of the conductor of an otherwise fine orchestra; was probably the most inept, amateurish rendition of a major classic symphony ever played by any orchestra. 
         To be a good conductor of a large orchestra, one has to have a thorough understanding of all the score’s notations in all its elements,
such as, melodic, thematic, harmonic, rhythmic, textural and intensity. Donny on the other hand was all-alone and was lost in this deep, dark forest of orchestral nomenclature.
        An experienced conductor of a symphony orchestra does not have a casual flirtation with its members, all of whom are highly trained and experienced instrumentalists. The trained and experienced conductor and the members are as one—and each respecting the other for their training and experience. As such, they perform together as one. Unfortunately, the relationship between Donny and the members of the orchestra was not unlike that of strangers meeting for a one-night stand----with suspicion and embarrassment.
         About two weeks prior to the concert, the musical director arranged for Donny to come to the concert hall so that he could rehearse with the orchestra. The rehearsal is not unlike an assembly line where each part of the finished product is fine-tuned before it is sent out for distribution.
         Donny was extremely nervous when he stood on the podium. He had already been introduced by the musical director and every member of the orchestra knew that he was a rank amateur who was going to conduct them. Despite that, they were kind to him when he fumbled with his baton—they didn’t laugh, especially when it left his hand and flew across the rehearsal room.
         He retrieved it and then stood on the podium as if nothing had happened and after raising his baton, he brought it down with a quick down-stroke and when the baton reached the bottom of the stroke, the orchestra members began playing their instruments with the powerful beginning of the selection he had chosen.
        As he continued to move his baton in the air, this way and that; the orchestra moved along with him. And as a special gesture of kindness, they didn’t even snicker to themselves when they watched him as he performed his dervish, almost twirling-like dances, or when he spread his feet apart and made pronounced stabbings of his left hand into the air and they were especially kind in that respect when his face contorted through the gambit of grimaces when another section of the orchestra would take over the theme of the music.
        The rehearsal went just fine. The selection performed by the orchestra sounded as good as it did on his tape recording of the Pathetique. The musical director pulled him aside after the rehearsal and told him that all he had to do was stand straight with his feet together and not make his left hand go so far upward. He even suggested that he should restrict his movements to his baton in his right hand as the orchestra was familiar with the other notations on their manuscript and didn’t need prompting with his left hand in this regard.
        On the night of the performance, he brought the black suit with tails, the white shirt and white bow tie with him and changed into them in one of the dressing rooms in the underground rooms next to the amphitheater where the performance was to be given. Then he sat on a chair and with the earphones of his Walkman pressed close to his ears, he began replaying the selected passages of the First Movement of the Pathetique, over and over again so as not to forget one note, one pause or one beat. Meanwhile, the concert had already begun and the orchestra was playing several selections from its repertoire.
         After a while, Donny suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder and he looked up and it was the music director of the orchestra. He had just finished conducting the Third Movement of Brahms Symphony No. 4  and had entered the changing room to fetch him. He smiled at Donny and said, “It’s time now.” Donny looked up at him, not unlike a condemned man looking up at the warden who is about to lead him to the gallows.
        As he walked along the short tunnel leading into the amphitheater, he heard the announcer say, "Ladies and Gentlemen. Our guest conductor for this evening’s performance will be Donny Davis who will conduct our symphony orchestra as they perform for you, an excerpt from the First Movement of Tchaikovsky’s Sixth Symphony, the Pathetique.”
         The audience’s clapping hands were reverberating through the tunnel as Donny was approaching the opening leading directly into the amphitheater. As he approached the opening, he immediately thought of the Christians as they entered the arena to face the lions.
         When he entered the amphitheater, he saw the orchestra in the center and while he was walking towards the podium, he gazed towards the audience seated on rows upon rows of concrete benches encircling the amphitheater. He knew that it could seat two thousand spectators and it appeared to be filled to the brim. He looked for the familiar faces he expected to be there to see his performance but the bright lights were shining in his face so he could only see figures.
          He smiled as he walked to the podium and as he was about to stand on it, the concert master (lead violinist) stepped up to him and offered his hand and said, “Good luck!” Donny took his hand and replied, “Thanks, I’ll need it.” The concert master responded with a smile, “Trust me. You will do just fine. Nothing will go wrong.” When the clapping of hands died out, all that could be heard was the whistling of the wind in the trees encircling the top of the amphitheater?
          He stepped onto the podium and faced the orchestra. Donny didn’t bring the conductor’s manuscript with him because he was going to conduct the piece by memory. He felt fairly secure with that prospect because he remember reading once that when Felix Mendelssohn stood at the podium to conduct his own symphony St. Matthew’s Passion that was two-hours in length, he discovered to his horror that he had accidentally brought with him the manuscript of a symphony written by Bach and not his own symphony, so the great composer realizing that he would have to conduct his entire symphony by memory, turned the pages of Bach’s score every once in a while so as not to alarm the members of the orchestra. The orchestra Donny was conducting wouldn’t be alarmed because he never referred to the manuscript during the entire rehearsal so they weren’t going to be shocked at him conducting the symphony by memory at the concert.
          As Donny stood on the podium, the crowd was silent as they waited for the performance to begin. Donny faced the members of the orchestra and as he raised his baton upward, a sense of dread crossed his mind. He asked himself, “Do they begin on the upsweep or when I bring the baton down?”  The answer was obvious as he began raising his baton. The members of the orchestra sat there in their seats, fixed as if they were statues. They would begin when he brought it down.
Now he knew that the beginning of the selection he had chosen would start with the string section of the orchestra playing the introduction of that part of the symphony very loudly, with the roll of a kettle drum as backup. This would require a dramatic down swing of his baton to get them started. And that is what he gave them. The orchestra responded with the sudden loud and powerful introduction to that part of the symphony.
         As the members of the orchestra played the first part of his selection, Donny waved his baton the correct way and he would on occasion, point with his left hand to the section of the orchestra that was to play a prominent part. If he wanted a part to be quieter than the rest of the orchestra, he would lower his hand, palm down and if he wanted it to be louder, he would raise his hand, palm up. The first part of his selection was dramatic. The full orchestra got into the act and anyone listening to them play that section, could think of it as background film music depicting a crowd running from something terrible that was chasing them. 
        A short time later however, the music was softer and within a minute, it began getting louder again and again more powerful music emanated from their instruments.
        When they reached the part where the first part of his selection
had finished, the orchestra began blasting out the sounds from their instruments, accompanied by one of the kettledrums and then the violin section began playing that part of the symphony that can be best described as a tragic dirge.
          Of all the symphonies he had heard, and he heard a great many, this second part of his selection was truly the most tragic of all music he had ever heard. He figured that Tchaikovsky must have written that part of the symphony while he was pondering suicide. Donny was thinking at that moment that it would be great background music to a movie showing Christ dying on the cross. It could even conjure up memories of lost loved ones.  It was enough to make anyone cry as they listened to it.
        Of course, as the orchestra played this tragic music, the beat was slower so it follows that there wasn’t any need for vigorous baton and head waving at this part of the music. Instead, he concentrated on the highlights of that part of the music and made a more pronounced use of his left hand to dictate the intensity of the music.
        He always liked this part of the music because it could elicit from the coldest of hearts, the emotion of extreme sadness. He remembered from watching other conductors, the music dictated the expressions on their faces so he let this part of the symphony dictate the expression on his own face as the orchestra played the music. His face had the look of anguish—the look of someone at the grave of a lost loved one. If the audience expected to see the full performance of their guest conductor, they were getting what they came to see. He put his heart into it and it was apparent to all that were watching him, that he had also put his entire body into it.
        As the music wound down at the end of the second part, he knew that the third and final part of his selection was a beautiful melodic piece of music and he would have to change the expression on his face and get ready for a change of tempo. This third part was one in which a listener could conjure up feelings of hope. Donny also knew that this final part of his selection was truly one of the most beautiful pieces he had ever heard and it would be a great finale for his performance.
         The orchestra followed him into the final part of his selection. The music emanating from the instruments was beautiful and it moved him as it did with those in the audience. The orchestra followed him without a missed beat. The hundred members were playing just the way the composer wrote it. His performance as a conductor was going off as well as was to be expected by the audience. Donny was in absolute ecstasy.
         When he swung his baton downwards for the final note of the
piece; the applauding of the spectators was thundering and the concert master stood up to shake his hand and said in a loud voice that could be heard over the thundering applause, “A magnificent performance, Maestro.”
         What a compliment that was. He didn’t address him as Donny or Mr. Davis but as Maestro—a form of address given to only the finest of musicians and conductors. As Donny walked back to his dressing room, the stagehands shook his hand and the musical director patted him on his shoulder and said with a big smile, “You did a grand job for one who has never conducted an orchestra before.” These moments were the high points in his life. He had at last, obtained his fifteen minutes of fame. 
        The following night, he attended the party his friends had arranged for him. At least fifty of them attended the party and many had watched his performance the previous evening. At one moment in the party, he saw a face that looked familiar but he knew it wasn’t one of his friends. Suddenly, his girlfriend pulled the stranger towards Donny, saying, “Donny, This is Barry Robertson. I think you too have met before.”
          Donny stared at the face and then the man said, “I was one of the violinists at the concert last evening.”
        “Of course.” replied Donny as he tried to place in his mind where the violinist sat in the string section.
        The violinist continued, “You did a very fine job on the podium. The performance went off without a hitch.”
         Others heard the violinist’s remarks and applauded and again Donny beamed. As the violinist and the young woman headed towards the table where the wine was being served, she stopped and turned to the violinist and whispered in his ear. “Every one tells me that Donny was a great conductor. Please. Give me your honest opinion.”                                                                                                                             He drew her closer and said softly, “Don’t tell Donny or any of his friends what I am about to tell you. She promised to keep it secret. The violinist continued, “A great conductor is like the lead sparrow who directs his flock to the Mission of Capistrano. We, as the players of a symphony orchestra follow the lead of a great conductor of the orchestra and we get to our final destination without incident like the sparrows do when they fly to Capistrano. In Donny’s case, if we had followed his baton, we would have been like a flock of sparrows flying in every which direction as they try to escape marauding of birds of prey. His conducting was that horrible. Thank God our musical director made us go over and over the music without anyone conducting us so that we would only have to look at our manuscripts and occasionally look at the Concert Master instead of our guest conductor for the beat in order to keep us playing in sync.”
         Near the end of the evening, Donny and his girlfriend were dancing the final slow number cheek-to-cheek. He moved his head closer to her so that his lips were almost touching the ear lobe of her right ear. Then, while seeking confirmation that he deserved the accolade given to him, he asked, “Tell me. Am I a great conductor or what?”
        She fought hard not to become unglued with laughter to the point that tears began to emerge from her eyes. She finally replied, “My lips are sealed, Donny.” 
        Of course, Donny never learned the truth. It was truly one of the orchestra’s best kept secrets. He had cherished the memory of that day his greatest ambition was realized. One of the country’s finest symphony orchestras played one of the nicest pieces of music ever heard, before an appreciative audience----and it was done entirely under Donny Davis’ baton—or so he believed.