Antonín Dvo?ák
This past week in the Seattle Symphony we played Dvo?ák’s New World Symphony as the final week of a three-week mini Dvo?ák festival. As we performed our concert this evening, I could not help remembering the time that we did the New World Symphony seventeen years ago in what used to be the Opera House. At that time the Ninth Symphony made a big impact on me, and Principal English Hornist Glen Danielson played such a rich and heartfelt rendition of the famous “Going Home” solo in the second movement. It was during that week that my sister Cheryl called me to let us know that we needed to get on a flight right away if we wanted a chance to see my grandmother Mary Vercoe before she passed away.
My four-year-old son Alexander and I got on the next morning’s flight for the trip from Seattle to Clarkson, Nebraska, near Omaha. We were able to spend her last three or four hours with her. She had been holding on, waiting for us to arrive, since she had yet to meet the son of her eldest grandson. Even in her weak state, she was thrilled to meet Alexander. I played some music for her on my viola, and I was holding her hand as she slipped away.
I had spoken with Glen Danielson about the English horn solo and gotten the score ahead of time to take with me, along with some manuscript paper. While all of us in the extended family were at my Uncle Earl’s house, I was busy writing an arrangement of the solo for viola and organ to play at her funeral four days after her passing. I felt that my performance of it at the funeral went well and was amazed that I managed to get through it without breaking down.
My uncle shared with me the history of Dvo?ák in relation to that part of the country, where there is quite a large Czech community. He told me that Spillville, Iowa, in which Dvo?ák spent the summer of 1893 visiting family, was not too far away from Clarkson. I felt privileged to have such a connection to that part of history and the piece that helped me to feel closer to my grandmother.
Playing Dvo?ák’s great final symphony this week brought back both warm and sad memories. I am left in stunned amazement that the first of this week’s three performances in Benaroya Hall was on October 2, seventeen years to the day from when my grandmother passed away. I believe that everything happens for a reason and nothing that seems to be merely coincidence, in the final analysis, truly is.
