Play & Book Excerpts
I Knew a Man Who Knew Brahms
(Regalo Press)
© Nancy Shear
In January 1972, I received my bachelor of music degree, and a few weeks later, I went to see Stokowski. He was studying a score when I arrived but I put my diploma on the desk in front of him. “It’s as much yours as it is mine,” I said, sitting down opposite him. “But I’d like to know why you wanted me to graduate in three years.”
He looked at me intently. “Because I know you better than you know yourself, and I knew you would become bored with school in four years.” He also said that he wanted me to have the security of a college degree if or when I tired of orchestra library work. He was correct on both counts, but I also wondered if his desire to have me live and work with him had played a part in his advocating for the earlier graduation. I didn’t see his friend Natalie, who was then living in his apartment, that day, but—from our conversation—I understood that she was still doing whatever library work he needed. I wasn’t terribly disappointed. Although I would have loved moving to New York, I knew that living in close proximity to him would have been isolating and restrictive. It was not the life I wanted.
I needed time to think, to plan. I was well connected in Philadelphia’s music circles but knew almost no one in New York, where I had wanted to live since I was twelve. I decided to go to England for a few weeks to see my lover–professor and consider my options. His family was away, so he had time to spend with me in London and on trips to Buckinghamshire and Oxford. The day I arrived back home, I called the president of the Theodore Presser Company in Bryn Mawr, Pennsylvania, near Philadelphia, looking for work. Luckily for me, Presser’s, a prominent music publishing company, needed a part-time person in the rental music library as well as someone to do freelance editorial work under the direction of composer Vincent Persichetti. The library position involved keeping the materials in good condition, sending conductors’ scores and sets of parts to orchestras throughout the US, and making sure that the sets were complete when they were returned. The editorial work was more interesting: preparing orchestral and chamber music scores and parts for publication, correcting errors in the master copies by hand—an exacting job. The company was using a photographic, not an engraving, printing process, so my work had to look as perfect as machine-set type. I’d cut out sections of printed notes or individual notes with clean-cutting scissors then, using sharp-pointed tweezers, a see-through lined ruler, and fast-drying glue, I’d move them into their correct positions. I also had to work with dynamic markings (they include letters that indicate degrees of loudness or softness, and other interpretative notations. Even a single note or dot had to be perfectly placed on the musical staff lines. There couldn’t be any perceptible flaws or irregularities in the note itself or in the lines it intersected; the horizontal lines and vertical bar lines had to be straight and seamless.
I enjoyed working at Presser’s but needed the security of a full-time job. Through the music business grapevine, I learned that there was an opening for a librarian at a major orchestra in the Midwest, and that an orchestra official would soon interview qualified candidates in New York. I contacted him, and we met in the elegant restaurant of the Mayflower Hotel, near Columbus Circle. It was early—breakfast time—but because I was nervous, I had only tea and toast. I remember him talking a lot—about his business experience, where he had gone to school—before the questioning began.
Leaning forward to stress the importance of the subject, he asked, “What will you do if you take the job, then at some point your husband won’t want you to work?” At first, I didn’t understand. Did he think I was married? Was he confusing me with someone else?
“I don’t plan on getting married,” I answered. “It’s not something I’ve ever wanted.” He shrugged, looking skeptical; it was, after all, the 1970s, and he probably thought all women eventually would want to get married. I didn’t even want to marry my boyfriend, Allen.
He moved on to the next question. “How will you carry the heavy music—all the parts plus the folders? And the scores.” I suddenly experienced a wave of nausea, caused either by the gist of his questions or by the sight of him shoveling scrambled eggs, covered with ketchup, into his mouth. (I suspect it was both.)
“I’ll do what I did for five years with the Philadelphia Orchestra,” I answered. “I’ll make two trips instead of one, or use a cart on wheels, which even my former boss Jesse uses. It’s not a problem.” It was obvious that he had no intention of hiring a woman, regardless of her capability. Sadly, his behavior was acceptable, and legal, at that time.
The experience was frightening. I realized that my future might be limited because of my gender. But part of me was relieved that I hadn’t gotten the job. It would have been difficult to leave my mother, who was still suffering from emotional problems, especially now that she had separated from my father. It would be better for me to look for work in Philadelphia.
I phoned Rudolf Serkin, the concert pianist who was director of the Curtis Institute of Music. He was in a position to know about other opportunities in the city. Curtis, located on Rittenhouse Square three blocks up from the Academy, was (and still is) one of the world’s great conservatories. It is perhaps the most elite of all, having an enrollment of only about 140 students, with every student on full scholarship (even millionaires don’t pay). Serkin told me that there was an opening (which I hadn’t known about) for an orchestra librarian who could also manage the orchestra’s rehearsals and out-of-town concerts, and I immediately joined the staff. I would now be able to move into an apartment of my own, even if it wasn’t in the best neighborhood, and I would have a substantial part of the summer free.
He looked at me intently. “Because I know you better than you know yourself, and I knew you would become bored with school in four years.” He also said that he wanted me to have the security of a college degree if or when I tired of orchestra library work. He was correct on both counts, but I also wondered if his desire to have me live and work with him had played a part in his advocating for the earlier graduation. I didn’t see his friend Natalie, who was then living in his apartment, that day, but—from our conversation—I understood that she was still doing whatever library work he needed. I wasn’t terribly disappointed. Although I would have loved moving to New York, I knew that living in close proximity to him would have been isolating and restrictive. It was not the life I wanted.
I needed time to think, to plan. I was well connected in Philadelphia’s music circles but knew almost no one in New York, where I had wanted to live since I was twelve. I decided to go to England for a few weeks to see my lover–professor and consider my options. His family was away, so he had time to spend with me in London and on trips to Buckinghamshire and Oxford. The day I arrived back home, I called the president of the Theodore Presser Company in Bryn Mawr, Pennsylvania, near Philadelphia, looking for work. Luckily for me, Presser’s, a prominent music publishing company, needed a part-time person in the rental music library as well as someone to do freelance editorial work under the direction of composer Vincent Persichetti. The library position involved keeping the materials in good condition, sending conductors’ scores and sets of parts to orchestras throughout the US, and making sure that the sets were complete when they were returned. The editorial work was more interesting: preparing orchestral and chamber music scores and parts for publication, correcting errors in the master copies by hand—an exacting job. The company was using a photographic, not an engraving, printing process, so my work had to look as perfect as machine-set type. I’d cut out sections of printed notes or individual notes with clean-cutting scissors then, using sharp-pointed tweezers, a see-through lined ruler, and fast-drying glue, I’d move them into their correct positions. I also had to work with dynamic markings (they include letters that indicate degrees of loudness or softness, and other interpretative notations. Even a single note or dot had to be perfectly placed on the musical staff lines. There couldn’t be any perceptible flaws or irregularities in the note itself or in the lines it intersected; the horizontal lines and vertical bar lines had to be straight and seamless.
I enjoyed working at Presser’s but needed the security of a full-time job. Through the music business grapevine, I learned that there was an opening for a librarian at a major orchestra in the Midwest, and that an orchestra official would soon interview qualified candidates in New York. I contacted him, and we met in the elegant restaurant of the Mayflower Hotel, near Columbus Circle. It was early—breakfast time—but because I was nervous, I had only tea and toast. I remember him talking a lot—about his business experience, where he had gone to school—before the questioning began.
Leaning forward to stress the importance of the subject, he asked, “What will you do if you take the job, then at some point your husband won’t want you to work?” At first, I didn’t understand. Did he think I was married? Was he confusing me with someone else?
“I don’t plan on getting married,” I answered. “It’s not something I’ve ever wanted.” He shrugged, looking skeptical; it was, after all, the 1970s, and he probably thought all women eventually would want to get married. I didn’t even want to marry my boyfriend, Allen.
He moved on to the next question. “How will you carry the heavy music—all the parts plus the folders? And the scores.” I suddenly experienced a wave of nausea, caused either by the gist of his questions or by the sight of him shoveling scrambled eggs, covered with ketchup, into his mouth. (I suspect it was both.)
“I’ll do what I did for five years with the Philadelphia Orchestra,” I answered. “I’ll make two trips instead of one, or use a cart on wheels, which even my former boss Jesse uses. It’s not a problem.” It was obvious that he had no intention of hiring a woman, regardless of her capability. Sadly, his behavior was acceptable, and legal, at that time.
The experience was frightening. I realized that my future might be limited because of my gender. But part of me was relieved that I hadn’t gotten the job. It would have been difficult to leave my mother, who was still suffering from emotional problems, especially now that she had separated from my father. It would be better for me to look for work in Philadelphia.
I phoned Rudolf Serkin, the concert pianist who was director of the Curtis Institute of Music. He was in a position to know about other opportunities in the city. Curtis, located on Rittenhouse Square three blocks up from the Academy, was (and still is) one of the world’s great conservatories. It is perhaps the most elite of all, having an enrollment of only about 140 students, with every student on full scholarship (even millionaires don’t pay). Serkin told me that there was an opening (which I hadn’t known about) for an orchestra librarian who could also manage the orchestra’s rehearsals and out-of-town concerts, and I immediately joined the staff. I would now be able to move into an apartment of my own, even if it wasn’t in the best neighborhood, and I would have a substantial part of the summer free.
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Nancy Shear‘s remarkable background includes 20 years as an orchestra librarian for the Philadelphia Orchestra and the Curtis Institute, as well as private work for Leopold Stokowski, Lorin Maazel, and others. Her articles have appeared in major outlets, and she has written two books, The Three Tenors and I Knew a Man Who Knew Brahms. Nancy has lectured for the New York Philharmonic, Philadelphia Orchestra, and Caramoor Festival; has hosted broadcasts of the New York Philharmonic, New Jersey Symphony, Frick Collection, and Naumburg Foundation; had her own interview programs on WNYC; and served as commentator for the American Public Media. She has taught at New York University’s School of Continuing Education and the Lillian Vernon Center for International Affairs at New York University, and she has lectured at The Juilliard School, the Manhattan School, and the Mannes School of Music at The New School. She is the founder and president of Nancy Shear Arts Services, a public relations and event production agency for the performing arts. |
Nancy Shear
Photo Credit: David Teubner |
