From Chlorine to Carnegie Hall
Movement II: The Force of the Score: A Childhood Transformed by a Galaxy Far, Far Away
This essay is part of a four-movement series, From Chlorine to Carnegie Hall.
Movement II traces the moment I realized music could create entire worlds before I ever knew how it worked.
The second piece of music that had a huge impact on me came through another serendipitous moment. In fact, serendipity seems to play a large and important role in my life when it comes to music, whether it is discovering a new song, meeting musicians who inspire me, or beginning collaborations out of the blue.
Not long after those swim lessons, where I was literally thrown into the deep end, a movie came out that changed everything. It was called Star Wars: A New Hope, and from the moment I saw the ads on television, it was all I wanted to see.
Eventually, my parents took me to the local movie theater at the Village Mall in Hatboro, Pennsylvania. I vividly remember sitting in the dark, watching the opening crawl scroll into the stars as that epic theme thundered through the theater. The trumpet blasts. The shimmering triangle. It all lodged itself in my memory. I can still hear it clearly. I did not see musical notes, per se, but I saw colors and shapes in my mind. It was electric.
As a kindergartener in early 1978, I watched that crawl and began composing a play-by-play in my head, like a future film director setting scenes to the score. A few weeks later, I was in Woolco with my mom and little sister. My mom asked if we wanted a souvenir from the movie, since that was all the store seemed to be selling. My sister chose a Princess Leia action figure. But not me. I did not want a toy. I wanted the soundtrack.
Back in my bedroom, I would play the Star Wars score on my little Mickey Mouse record player while acting out scenes with my toys. I only had one or two actual Star Wars figures. The rest were Fisher-Price people and a random mix of action figures. It did not matter. I had the music. When the music played, all of those characters became part of Star Wars. I did not need Boba Fett or R2-D2. I had my imagination, and John Williams’ music gave it wings.
From that moment on, I was head over heels for John Williams. As a five-year-old, I already knew the name of the man who wrote the Star Wars soundtrack. Looking back, it is kind of funny. First, I was frozen by Raphael Ravenscroft’s saxophone in “Baker Street,” and then I was recognizing John Williams by name before I could even tie my shoes. I suppose I was an unusual five-year-old.
After hearing Star Wars, I was hooked on every film John Williams scored: E.T., Indiana Jones, Jaws, and Jurassic Park. I can watch them over and over, and it is always the music that pulls me in.
Now, back to serendipity…
In the summer of 2016, I found out John Williams would be conducting the Philadelphia Orchestra the following spring. I had a friend working in the library there, and I asked, half joking and half desperate, “Can you sneak me in to meet my hero?”
I dressed like I belonged at Verizon Hall in the Kimmel Center and sat alone in the empty hall for the open rehearsal featuring John Williams, Yo-Yo Ma, and the Philadelphia Orchestra. At one point, a woman approached and asked who I was. I casually said I was there with my friend and mentioned his name. She said she would be right back, and I suspected they were going to ask me to leave. So I quietly moved to another seat, just in case.
Eventually, security did come, and they asked me to leave. So I did. I walked up to the orchestra library to hang out with my friend. Then I asked the million-dollar question. “Do you think there is any chance we could meet Mr. Williams?”
He said, “Just stick with me and act like you work here.” So that is what I did. Honestly, it felt like we were using the Force. It seemed fitting because it just so happened to be May the 4th, International Star Wars Day. Everything appeared to align.
After rehersal, musicians were getting photos with Mr. Williams, saying thank you, having their moment. I stayed in the shadows and tried not to overstep. After the stage cleared, Maestro Williams and conductor Stéphane Denève were deep in conversation.
Then my friend approached Mr. Williams’ assistant and asked, “Would Mr. Williams have a minute to talk to me and my friend?” The assistant asked, and Mr. Williams nodded in response.
Just like that, we were invited onto the stage.
I spoke with John Williams for about five minutes. He was elegant and gracious, a true gentleman. He has met millions of people, and yet he gave me a few precious minutes. I was able to thank him for everything, for shaping my imagination and for influencing my life. It is a moment I will never forget.
That is the power of music.
And the quiet magic of serendipity.
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Verizon Hall, Philadelphia, PA May 4, 2017