forwarded letter

["Dennis Leas" <dennis@mdbs.com>]

I was forwarded this letter and thought my fellow loopers might appreciate
it.  (As a side issue, I cannot vouce for it's authenticity.  But a
discussion about it's authenticity doesn't interest me much.)

Given our current discussion on the meaning of music, etc. I think it is
relevent.  I am NOT interested in stirring the political discussion pot.

Dennis Leas
-------------------
dennis@mdbs.com

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--
Some of you know William Harvey and those that do know that he is an

outstanding person.  William Harvey was the ConcertMaster for the New World

Youth Orchestra for a few years.  He is now attending Julliard and is very

close to the action in New York City.  I was recently given this e-mail

update about him.  I'm very proud of his actions and I think anyone who

reads it will be too.


From: "William Harvey"

Date: Mon, 17 Sep 2001 15:22:43


Yesterday I had probably the most incredible and moving experience of my

life. Julliard organized a quartet to go play at the Armory. The Armory is

a huge military building where families of people missing from Tuesday's

disaster go to wait for news of their loved ones. Entering the building was

very difficult emotionally, because the entire building (the size of a city

block) was covered with missing posters. Thousands of posters, spread out 
up

to eight feet above the ground, each featuring a different, smiling, face. 
I

made my way into the huge central room and found my Julliard buddies.


For two hours we sight-read quartets (with only three people!), and I don't

think I will soon forget the grief counselor from the Connecticut State

Police who listened the entire time, or the woman who listened only to

"Memory"

from Cats, crying the whole time. At 7, the other two players had to leave;

they had been playing at the Armory since 1 and simply couldn't play any

more. I volunteered to stay and play solo, since I had just got there. I

soon

realized that the evening had just begun for me: a man in fatigues who

introduced himself as Sergeant Major asked me if I'd mind playing for his

soldiers as they came back from digging through the rubble at Ground Zero.


Masseuses had volunteered to give his men massages, he said, and he didn't

think anything would be more soothing than getting a massage and listening

to violin music at the same time. So at 9:00 p.m., I headed up to the 
second

floor as the first men were arriving. From then until 11:30, I played

everything I could do for memory: Bach B Minor Partita, Tchaik. Concerto,

Dvorak Concerto, Paganini Caprices 1 and 17, Vivaldi Winter and Spring,

Theme from Schindler's List, Tchaik. Melodie, Meditation from Thais,Amazing

Grace, My Country 'Tis of Thee, Turkey in the Straw, Bile Them Cabbages

Down. Never have I played for a more grateful audience. Somehow it didn't

matter that by the end, my intonation was shot and I had no bow

control. I would have lost any competition I was playing in, but it didn't

matter. The men would come up the stairs in full gear, remove their 
helmets,

look

at me, and smile. At 11:20, I was introduced to Col. Slack, head of the

division.  After thanking me, he said to his friends, "Boy, today was the

toughest day yet. I made the mistake of going back into the pit, and I'll

never do

that again." Eager to hear a first-hand account, I asked, "What did you

see?" He stopped, swallowed hard, and said, "What you'd expect to see." The

Colonel stood there as I played a lengthy rendition of Amazing Grace which

he

claimed was the best he'd ever heard. By this time it was 11:30, and I

didn't think I could play anymore. I asked Sergeant Major if it would be

appropriate if I played the National Anthem. He shouted above the chaos of

the milling soldiers to call them to attention, and I played the National

Anthem as the 300 men of the 69th Division saluted an invisible flag.  
After

shaking a few hands and packing up, I was prepared to leave when one of the

privates accosted me and told me the Colonel wanted to see me again.  He

took me down to the War Room, but we couldn't find the Colonel, so he gave

me a tour of the War Room. It turns out that the division I played for is

the Famous Fighting Sixty-Ninth, the most decorated division in the U.S.

Army. He pointed out a letter from Abraham Lincoln offering his condolences

after the Battle of Antietam...the 69th suffered the most casualties of any

division at that historic battle. Finally, we located the Colonel.  After

thanking me again, he presented me with the coin of the regiment. "We only

give these to someone who's done something special for the 69th," he

informed me. He called over the division's historian to tell me the

significance of all the symbols on the coin.


As I rode the taxi back to Julliard...free, of course, since taxi service

is free in New York right now...I was numb. Not only was this evening the

proudest I've ever felt to be an American, it was my most meaningful as a

musician and a person as well. At Julliard, kids are hypercritical of each

other and very competitive. The teachers expect, and in most cases get,

technical perfection. But this wasn't about that.  The soldiers didn't care

that I had so many memory slips I lost count. They didn't care that when I

forgot how the second movement of the Tchaik. went, I had to come up with 
my

own insipid improvisation until I somehow (and I still don't know how)  got

to a cadence. I've never seen a more appreciative audience, and I've never

understood so fully what it means to communicate music to other people.


And how did it change me as a person? Let's just say that, next time I want

to get into a petty argument about whether Richter or Horowitz was better,

I'll remember that when I asked the Colonel to describe the pit formed by

the tumbling of the Towers, he couldn't. Words only go so far, and even

music can only go a little further from there.