It was about sunset, I was standing at the rail again, thinking that I wasn’t coming back. Like a melodrama out of a movie, standing at the rail going back in retrospect and reviewing my life. Only this wasn’t a movie, this was reality. It was the true life drama that frightened me... WAR, and I was in it. I envisioned my whole life there on the horizon of the Atlantic, from left to right. It was there, near the sunset on the water’s edge, and I had the persistent negative thought that it was going to end there on the Queen Mary, or rather was heading for Act IV. I thought about my Dad and how I wore his dogtags along with mine, which I guess gave me a sense of security. But I did wear them through the war and back home again. I started to replay the incredible video tape with which we humans are gifted and I could hear my Pa playing his French Horn. He usually practiced every Sunday and always played the Horn sole which is part of the theme of Schuberts Unfinished Symphony. One Sunday in August, while I was alone at my workbench in the cellar, trying to build an amplifier, I couldn’t help but hear that familiar sound of dad’s horn coming through the floor above me. Although I had heard that sound all my life, ever since I could remember, I stopped to listen seriously and felt a chill. It was a strange but good feeling that I had never felt before. It distracted me to the point where I stopped what I was doing. I left the lights on in the cellar and hurried up the stairs and out to the back porch.
I was staring out at the willow tree that hung over from the next yard while I listened to Dad still playing. Suddenly, again I discovered I had never known such beauty. A few minutes passed, but it was there and then I made my decision that it would be me and the beauty of music for the rest of my life.