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The 1963--1964 season was a dreadfully boring year. Most of my friends were away at school, so I had little social life, other than association with my one remaining buddy Fred Mercer, whom I had known since seventh grade. We got together almost every evening to play cards, chess, and pool. He beat me every time at all of them. I even gave piano lessons to Fred. Late in the evenings we'd go to the Pancake House and eat too much. I gained fifteen pounds that year, but Fred didn't, because he was an early morning jogger, a highly unusual habit in those days. Eventually Fred and I grew so tired of one another that neither of us wanted to visit much at all any more.
In
February 1964, the Beatles arrived in the US. I thought the whole
phenomenon was crazy, and at first paid little serious attention
to either the hysteria or the music, but I did find their Ed
Sullivan performances entertaining.
During that year I rarely worked long hours. Later in the year I bought my own music typewriter, and thereafter could work part of the time at home, saving the longish commute to Highland Park.
The rest of the year was saturated with music. I didn't want to give up composition lessons, so I got in touch with Dr. Reisberg and asked if he'd be willing to take me on as a private student. He didn't think there was much he could teach me, but I insisted that I wanted a teacher for the sake of the discipline, and to have someone knowledgeable to pass my work by, so he consented.[10] He came to our house, and we sat in the living room by the piano and talked about music, whether I had done any composition the previous week or not. During that year we became friends, but I always called him Dr. Reisberg out of respect, rather than Horace.
[10] Many composers I've known believe music composition can't be taught, though most are happy to accept money for pretending to try.
Sonata for Piano
July 6, 1964
Despite the lessons, I was not productive during that period, probably because I was lacking in stimulation. In early summer of 1964 I finally got to work. Following some intense late-night sittings, on July 6, 1964, three days short of age 21, I finished the Sonata for Piano I had been dinking at for so long, my second noteworthy composition. It became the first composition of my own that I prepared for duplication using my music typewriter. Roger Shields didn't premiere it until a student convocation program the following spring.
Trombone
and piano practice filled much of the rest of my time. In the fall
of 1963 I got in touch with Ed Kleinhammer, bass trombonist of the
Chicago Symphony, and asked him if I could take some lessons. He
agreed. As an elite working musician, he didn't have a regular
schedule for students. I made appointments for one at a time, and
met him in a studio in downtown Chicago once every two or three
weeks, whenever he was available.
Once again I began to practice hard. At my third lesson with Kleinhammer, he let me play all the way through a Schroeder cello exercise I'd been assigned without interruption. When I finished, he exclaimed: ``You're not only a heck of a trombone player, you're also a very fine musician!'' The compliment was one of the highlights of my life at the time.
The high point of my lessons with Kleinhammer came during the summer. He would be in Highland Park for morning Chicago Symphony rehearsals at Ravinia, far away from his home in Barrington, and would have several hours to kill. On two occasions he came to our house for my lesson, and after our regular lesson, he pulled out books of difficult trombone duets, which we sightread through for at least another hour. The experience taught me a valuable lesson: Even the best professional musicians sometimes make sightreading mistakes!
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