On June 29, we celebrate the Centennial of the birth of the late Bernard Herrmann, (arguably) my all-time favorite cinematic composer. Herrmann was the composer of reference of my entire youth, and the reason that I fell in love with classical music, opera and learned to have equal passion for, and better understand, the work of other cinematic music composers. While other great film composers are Herrmann's equals in my mind, by an inch I most personally relate to my love for Herrmann's scores.
I won't go through a laundry list here of Herrmann's life history and works, or even my intense passion for them. See the Official Website (published by his estate), the Wikipedia entry, and the Bernard Herrmann Society site for this information. All I'll say is that if you have never heard his music, your soul owes itself to hear some of the all-time greatest scores to some of the greatest films ever made.
Instead, I'll tell a personal story about Herrmann (yes, even though he passed away too soon -- 12 years after I was born -- I have one to tell): Bernard Herrmann was not only a native New Yorker, but, like me, a native Manhattan-ite from East 18th Street. I am particularly proud of this because, like this cinematic legend, "little old me" also hails from Manhattan--born a few blocks away from where he grew up, and lived (from day two of my life) one neighborhood away in Chelsea.
Many years after having fallen in love with Herrmann's music, I read his bio and learned that his father was an Optomitrist. My late father began to have issues with his vision in the mid-1980s and went to an Optomitrist in Chelsea to get a prescription for glasses. At one moment -- before there were cell phones -- my dad asked the Optomitrist's office staff if he could use the telephone. He called me at home and enthusiastically said, "Get down here to my Optomitrist's office." I didn't know why -- I was about 20 at the time and still in my undergraduate college years -- but ran downstairs to meet my dad on 8th Avenue from the apartment in Chelsea that I grew up in. I saw the sign on the door for the doctor's name. My dad introduced me to the doctor and I looked up on the walls of his office and saw one thing prominently displayed: a record album. The album? An opera recording for an opera called, "Wuthering Heights." The composer? Bernard Herrmann. I didn't make a connection other than to ask the doctor: "Are you a Bernard Herrmann fan? I've loved his music since I was a kid." My father laughed. The doctor had a very proud look on his face. The doctor's name? Louis Herrmann. Dr. Herrmann followed in his father's footsteps--becoming an Optomitrist. This, right in my own neighborhood, without my having known it for years, was the then-already-late Bernard Herrmann's brother! I was in shock. Dr. Herrmann said that he'd love to meet again and talk with me about his brother. He was going on vacation -- he used to take leave for an extended period in, I believe, summer -- but that we could get together after he got back. Unfortunately, my dad tried to make another appointment with Dr. Herrmann, but the doctor was ill and someone else was filling in for him. Not long afterward, he passed away, also far too young. Still, I was so happy to have made even a brief, once-removed connection to, perhaps, the composer that, in retrospect, most impacted my life. (I don't think I've ever privately or publicly mentioned this before.)
Happy 100th, dear "Bennie" Herrmann.
No comments:
Post a Comment