DID SOMEONE SAY CENTENNIAL? composer, arranger, songwriter, lyricist, author, radio personality and raconteur extraordinaire Alec Wilder
Allow me to take this opportunity to wish all of you, our readers, a Happiest of Holiday seasons and a Happy New Year, too. Thank you for having made Classical Domain Long Island such a success and we hope you will continue to support us in the forthcoming year. For myself, personally, it has been my pleasure to have the opportunity of presenting the Pernaskopy column to you. It is my hope that you have enjoyed the interviews with the great Norman Dello Joio, Angelo Mussolino, Redjeb Jordania, the legendary Les Paul, and the late Attila Hejja, plus all the reviews, the tributes to the great, late Frankie Laine and Alec Wilder and so on. More are on the way for 2008 so you will have much to look forward to.
This month's year-end features shall be no different. To conclude 2007 with a bang, there is a bit of an international flavor as our articles feature personalities from England, Latvia, and Canada and right from our own backyard. Here we go:
Dr. WILFRED JOSEPHS (1927-1997)
A TOOTH-TO-TONALITY TESTIMONIAL
I could have chosen a different photo of Wilfred to use for this feature. This one was selected in order that I could print the following anecdote. This picture appears on his catalogue of works. When Wilfred handed it to me, he noticed a puzzled look on my face. “What's the matter?”, he asked. I responded, “This picture's not you — I mean, it's you, but....” “Yes, I know”, he said. “They wanted a pose in which I looked dramatic.”
A number of great artists such as Barbara Cook, Andy Williams and Sir Colin Davis celebrated their 80th birthdays in 2007. They continue to perform at a high level of artistry and have certainly earned the label of legendary. Unfortunately, there were others who were not as fortuitous in reaching such a golden age, one of whom being Wilfred Josephs.
Had he lived until this past July, Wilfred would have also celebrated his 80th. Since I like round numbers, Wilfred passed away ten years ago (in November of 1997) at the age of 70 — see, a nice round number. In commemoration of the tenth anniversary of his passing, as well as to celebrate his 80th birthday, I wish to write these few words in tribute to a deceased friend before the year passes into 2008. These words were written on the last day of Hanukkah, which is particularly appropriate due to the fact that Wilfred Josephs was Jewish (and proud of it.)
Wilfred and I met in Albany where his Piano Concerto No. 1 was being presented by the Albany Symphony Orchestra. We had many opportunities to converse during that time — I even drove him around a bit in my car to a few of the places where his presence was required. At the end of those three or four days, we exchanged our addresses so we could stay in contact with each other (which meant via the mail, you know, the old fashioned way since the internet still lay in the future.)
A year later, I made my first trip to London and made certain that I called Wilfred who had previously sent me a postcard with the London Underground printed on it. I was toting that card around since it certainly was a Godsend. Near the end of my trip, I went to Wilfred's flat where we proceeded on to London's Greek district to eat. The dinner party included four people, Wilfred, me, one of his (two) daughters and her fiancée. It was a grand time, full of sparkling wit, cuisine, and stories and, as I recall, lots of laughter — and that was just from our table.
Yes, he was a remarkable person — as in remarkable with a capital R. Born in Newcastle-upon-Tyne on 24 July 1927, Wilfred trained and practiced as a Dentist — hence the Dr. in his name, while managing to find time to compose. Wilfred was proud of the fact that, having won a major international composition prize for his Requiem, which he built around the text of the Kaddish, he was able to discontinue his practice and turn from teeth to tonality, never looking back. For one thing, he was a superb storyteller, which is perhaps one reason his music is marked with such a sense of craftsmanship and brilliance. This means, therefore, that he could convey a story thru a musical narrative as deftly as he could tell one. He also had a distinctive speaking voice, which resembled that of the great, late Alfred Hitchcock. Every now and then, and this is one of those times, I can still hear it from the recesses of my memory.
While these facts are true, three factors exist which were my motivation to write these words. Just this past November (almost to the date of the tenth anniversary of Wilfred's demise — he passed away on 17 November 1997, this concert occurred on 8 November 2007), I had the pleasure of having had one of my latest works premiered. One of its movements is dedicated to Wilfred, so, the performing clarinetist, Gregory Barrett decided to include a performance of Wilfred's Sonata No. 2 for Clarinet and Piano, op. 149 along with my piece in order that the audience could make the connection (and what Gregory had to go thru to acquire the music — but locate it, God bless him, he did.) It was great to be reminded of how well written, how witty, how communicative Wilfred's music is to the listener; a majority of the Illinois audience having never heard of — nor heard — any of his eternally engaging work.
That's the good motivation, whereas these other reasons are less so. Last year, I wrote a letter to Wilfred's former representative who, in response to my note sent me some sort of cryptic e-mail thing about contacting some guy who may be able to assist me. Basically, she really couldn't have been bothered and, in truth, just like a politician, she really did not answer my query sufficiently !
As if that wasn't bad enough, this was the other item that really got my ire. I had read on an online site where Wilfred Joseph was described as a lesser English composer, or in some manner considering him as a minor composer in relation to Britten, Walton and some of his contemporaries who process a more original voice. If we are stating the term minor as it relates to notoriety, MOST composers aren't as remembered or performed as Britten is — but this seemed to have been written as a marginalization of Wilfred's compositional talents; as if Wilfred's works were less-than-great, minor, or even trivial. To this evaluation I 1000% CANNOT agree. That his work is undervalued and neglected should be of far greater concern than to express such an arrogant misappraisal of a vast output which includes chamber works, sonatas, operas, ballets, 12 symphonies, 22 concertos, scores for motion pictures and television (which includes the famous series “I Claudius,” “All Creatures Great and Small” and a little waltz he sketched out for “The Prisoner”) and practically anything else one could be asked to compose for. He did this with style, grace, craftsmanship and dignity. How many composers can THAT be written about? The answer — ONLY THE TRULY GREAT ONES !!!!!
The last time I saw Wilfred, he had just moved to a new flat in London — plus one door over because his new place leaked (so moving him over was the landlord's solution for the situation.) All sorts of his things were still in boxes but his piano was in place and he was working regardless of the apartment's disarray. He informed me that he had just been diagnosed with heart disease. Realizing that his time was drawing near, his spirit remained unbroken as he continued:
“If I, at 67, knew back when I was in my twenties that I would be at my artistic prime — my peak, if you will — now, at this time in my life, I would have never believed it. But I feel as though I am writing my greatest works — that I have finally arrived at a point where I can compose anything, ANYTHING and it all comes so easily now.”
He was hopeful that he would live long enough to hear his Piano Concerto No.3 premiered, an opus he had fairly recently completed that he was particularly proud of, stating:
“I feel that it is absolutely from my top drawer” (I use that phrase myself — TOP DRAWER — I got that from Wilfred. I mean, Masterpiece just sounds so pretentious, hyperfulious and standoffish, you know ! We are, after all, just people, not Gods.)
We had to cut our visit short since I had an appointment just a few blocks away, but expressed an interest in locating a nearby Sainsbury's if possible. We walked downstairs where Wilfred presented me with a CD devoted to his works for violin and piano (which I am still in procession of) and said, “You mentioned that you are looking for a Sainsbury's? ” to which I responded, “Yes”. We walked to his back door, which he swung open saying, “Behold...” as he pointed to the Sainsbury's not more than 20 feet away. We said our farewells and, as I walked to that Sainsbury's, I turned around and waved to him with the realization that that could quite possibly be the last time I would ever see him.
It was !
While Josephs is no more and is missed by those who knew him, how fortunate we are that his art remains for those interested in discovering a unique figure in music — 20th Century, British, or otherwise. For those of you reading this, take whatever glass you have of whatever you have in it and raise it up with me, please.
Here's to you, Wilfred Josephs,
a Mitzvah to the Master.
REVIEWS:
David Wiley
THE GREAT AMERICAN CONCERT
Long Island Philharmonic Orchestra, David Wiley, music director
Norman Krieger, piano
Tilles Center, Greenvale, November 18, 2007
Within an earshot before Thanksgiving, the Long Island Philharmonic Orchestra under the direction of David Wiley, served up a slice — or several slices — of apple pie as they presented a concert appropriately entitled The Great American Concert. You know these composers — Bernstein, Copland, Tower, Barber and Gershwin — as well as their music, some of which was featured on this classical Your Hit Parade of Americana.
As many of you may have already deduced, there were no unpleasant sounding works on this concert. The evening's festivities got underway with a buoyant reading of the Overture to Candide by Leonard Bernstein, which was followed by a performance of Aaron Copland's Fanfare for the Common Man. Scored for only the brass and percussion sections of the orchestra, their solo spot (the first of their two opportunities to be featured on this occasion) came off with just the right degree of Patriotic fervor this work demands.
From brass we turned to strings as the string section serenaded us with a lyrically intense performance of Samuel Barber's Adagio for Strings. Like their brass/percussion playing colleagues, this was their first of two featured works. How can someone not love this piece? The strings captured its warmth and sweep quite nicely.
Following Barber came two portions from Rodeo by Aaron Copland, Buckaroo Holiday and the ever popular Hoe-down, one of the most famous works ever to have been composed by anyone. I am afraid that Copland pulled the short straw this time around as the performance just seemed to never entirely come together. Solo work fell short, the balances went in and out of focus as it just lacked that certain spit and polish Copland's difficult music requires. I did like that Maestro Wiley had the concertmistress play the fiddle tune on which Hoe-Down is based before forging head long into what Copland sculpted it into.
The first half concluded with a little more Bernstein, this time, excerpts from West Side Story in an arrangement by Mason reminiscent of an arranging style heard on Andre Kostalanetz or Percy Faith records from the late 1950's early 60's. I rather enjoyed this as this medley depicted each song to just enough of a treatment that the listener did not feel gypped. This was well performed and a few audience members were attempting to sing along with these tunes (under their breath or humming) they are all too familiar with. Wiley caught just the correct sweep of this arrangement, lifting it from something that could have been pedestrian to something that spells out all the key points necessary to this music and this groundbreaking musical. Can music this fresh and alive be fifty — that's right — FIFTY years old? It opened on Broadway in September 1957, which means that that is true. Yes, that IS hard to believe, but it is obvious that the music Bernstein wrote for it (as, in this instance, this was an instrumental performance) will live forever. How fortunate we all are that it will.
Following intermission, the concert resumed with the brass and percussion sections performing Fanfare for the Uncommon Woman by Joan Tower. This was one of the highlights of the concert due to its high caliper performance (even Copland would have envied it.) Being a short work, Tower's fanfare paved the way for the following selections from Leonard Bernstein's Oscar nominated score for the motion picture On the Waterfront. This was tastefully cut down to fit a more comfortable length, presented very well without any loss of drama or lyricism inherent to Lenny's biting music.
As if this were not enough, the true highlight of this program followed when the string section presented Lullaby for Strings by George Gershwin. This was truly an exceptional performance of a work that has been a bit overlooked in relation to some of Gershwin's others (especially the one which was to follow.) It had just the right flow and tempo, smoothness and a refined sense of élan that felt like a blanket of velvet in sound. The great Gershwin would have been well pleased.
The Gershwin title that concluded the program was the Rhapsody in Blue. Need more be said? Pianist Norman Krieger joined the orchestra to perform a satisfying performance of one our Nations' cornerstone compositions (in the Ferde Grofé orchestration.) Now, if you have not heard of — nor heard — this piece, you need to get hip to Americana at its very finest. Over 80 years old and it is still completely fresh, vibrant and alive — sort of what America was to the generation in which Gershwin grew up. Krieger missed nothing and the orchestra was there with him every step of the way.
This is repertory that David Wiley knows well, conveying that to the musicians and audience alike. An entirely entertaining concert indeed was enjoyed by all, paving the way for a festive Thanksgiving and Holiday Season to follow.
A HOLIDAY CELEBRATION ON A PERSONAL LEVEL
One of the premiere professional brass ensembles performing today, here is a recent photo of the current 2007 Canadian Brass: Pictured from the top: Eugene Watts, trombone (original member); Jeff Nelsen, French horn; pictured in the middle, Manon Lafrance, trumpets/flugelhorn; Josef Burgstaller, trumpets/flugelhorn; and seated in the center, Charles Daellenbach, tuba (original member).
While I would normally have reviewed the concert that I had had the immense pleasure of attending this past December 9th at Avery Fisher Hall, due to a conflict of interests, I am unable to since I was an invited guest. An all-star affair of brass music bliss, a particular nirvana for any brass player, it was a pleasure to have attended the Holiday Brass concert that is held annually and jointly by the principle brass (and percussion) members of the New York Philharmonic and the Canadian Brass.
On a personal level, my enjoyment was heightened by one of the concert's participants at whose invitation (which appeared in the form of a complimentary ticket) my presence was made possible. Among the few friends I have (which translates to the fact that it has lasted for more than 20 seconds) is Manon Lafrance, the newest of the “new” members of the Canadian Brass (of which only two of the group's original members remain.) While I have congratulated her on her appointment via less public modes of correspondence (telephone, e-mail and regular mail — all three were used for good luck), one of the perks of writing a column, cyber or otherwise, is that I can post things publicly. Now I can publicly congratulate Manon on her appointment as well as for her debut at this particularly festive event, which has been occurring annually over the past twelve years. Since I do not wish to slight any of the other participants, Philharmonic members or her fellow Canadians alike, in the spirit of good cheer and fair play, congratulations on another year of music making for the Holiday Season by these forces. (Manon is totally a team player who would not be happy with me for singling her out, separating her from her colleagues. That is simply not her style! Please note that that was never my intention.)
Some may consider a concert such as this as being corny or passé in this day and age of modern technology, i-Tune downloads and anything that may correspond with the comfort-and-joy-things this season brings. If you fall into this camp, you are simply missing out. This concert is presented to be what it is, an entertainment — with a capital E — before a live, that's correct, LIVE audience (not a cyber download.) Judging by the packed house, the audience dug it, digs it, and, as long as they continue to dig it, let the shimmering glow of brass instruments usher in the holidays each and every year. As perennially as broadcasting Bing Crosby's recording of White Christmas music and entertainment like this just never goes out of style, nor should it.
INTERVIEWS
DID SOMEONE SAY CENTENNIAL?
2007 marks the centennial year of Miklos Rosza's birth. That's true — you know, the Oscar-winning composer best known for the scores he supplied for such cinematographic masterpieces as Ben Hur, The Lost Weekend, Spellbound, The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes, Quo Vadis... but, no, this article is not about him. Fortunately, there are lots of Rosza bits on the internet so, should you be interested in checking them out, do not let me stop you.
This past September 4th marked the centennial year commemoration of Edvard Grieg's death. (Some may sight this fact as the starting point from which civilization has deteriorated ever since.) Fortunately, there are lots of Grieg bits on the internet so, should you be interested in checking them out, do not let me stop you. Grieg was music's Giant Troll and the fact that his music is still before the public — even if it comes to us via the courtesy of Madison Avenue — is somewhat encouraging. However much I may adore the Norwegian master, no, this is not about him either.
This centennial feature DOES concern itself with one truly fascinating person, therefore:
W E L C O M E TO THE WONDERFULLY WACKY WORLD OF ALEC WILDER
who was born in Rochester, New York on February 16, 1907. His full name was Alexander Lafayette Chew Wilder and we can consider ourselves fortunate that he decided to simplify it.
We can also consider ourselves fortunate that Alec possessed so many talents — composer, arranger, songwriter, lyricist, author, radio personality and raconteur extraordinaire — all things he did to a high level of mastery. A fully accomplished composer, Wilder's facility allowed him to write whatever for whomever: Pop standards for the likes of Peggy Lee, Mabel Mercer and Frank Sinatra, serious concert songs for the likes of Eilleen Farrell and Jan de Gaetani; sonatas and chamber works written for his friends (often for free! — usually giving THEM the manuscript), music for radio, television, motion pictures and theatre, to symphonic works (yet, when his Symphonic Piece was premiered in 1929 with fellow composer Howard Hanson conducting, Wilder was so displeased with the rehearsals he got drunk at a nearby speakeasy and missed the performance.) While he did not complete his studies at the Eastman School of Music, a portion of Eastman's Sibley Library is named for Alec. He was awarded an honorary degree from that institution in 1973, one which now holds a large collection of his documents.
While I did not know Wilder personally, his music always caught my attention due to its direct craftsmanship, humor, wit, style and something which is all too lacking these days (in more ways than one), CHARM. While there are composers who could write with humor, very few could also write with a sense of whimsy that communicates to the listener. Wilder could — that was, and remains, a true gift. Because of this, the notion of writing an article with regard to Wilder had been on my mind for a while. In 2004, I composed a work for clarinet quartet entitled Wilder Syntax, largely in memory of Alec, since it grew out of an attempt to arrange one of his tunes for that instrumentation. With the arrangement attempt not working, I began to play around with the intervals to one of Alec's tune (e.g. I'll be Around) and, behold, something else came out. It just would not have been right to title the results in a different manner.
As for this article, I had filed the notion of writing it in the back of my mind. Why would a cyber magazine about Long Island want to carry an article about a once and former resident of the Algonquin Hotel in New York City? Apart from the fact that many of Wilder's friends, music related or otherwise, resided (or reside, e.g. Marian McPartland) on Long Island, it was Wilder's music which was featured strongly on Golden Crest Records, one of the first successful independent record labels which just happened to have been located in Huntington for a little over 2 decades.
The idea to go ahead with it occurred while I was driving my car. When I turned on the radio, k.d. lang's rendition of Matt Dennis Angel Eyes was just ending and, for some reason I thought about Sinatra (since that was one of his favorite songs) and Wilder, specifically the song he wrote for Sinatra called A Long Night. Lo and behold, what appears over the airwaves but the Chairman singing EXACTLY that song. That was a sign that I simply had to put keyboard to cyber space and cough up a fur ball for Alec. Written at Sinatra's request, Alec wrote the torchiest torch song this side of Trenton. In terms of a commercial Pop song, it doesn't — nor can it — get any darker. To put it a better way, supported by Gordon Jenkins' masterfully evocative arrangement for the album She Shot me Down, Sinatra sang the salooniest saloon song this side of Syosset (and say that five times fast after 8 or 9 shots of the “ emotion lotion” and see how well you can do.) No doubt his cornerstone performance was sung in tribute to his fallen comrade who had died prior to its 1981 recording session (Wilder's death having occurred in Gainesville, Florida on December 24, 1980.) Simply put, Sinatra dug in REAL deep to capture just the perfect level of intensity that song required. The album also features Wilder's last song, South — to a Warmer Place. Both tunes had superb lyrics by Loonis McGlohon but, for me, McGlohon's lyric for A Long Night remains among his very finest. (It should be further noted that Wilder and McGlohon created songs for the Land of Oz theme park in Banner Elk, North Carolina in the mid 1970's.)
Since South — to a Warmer Place was almost lost, the story behind his final song is one which underscores this wonderfully wacky world Wilder sometimes found himself in. Certainly aware that the end was near (and, for the fact that he died in Gainesville, Florida, could the title to his last song have been anymore ironic or appropriate?) Wilder suggested the title to Loonis McGlohon in the hope that he could create an appropriate lyric. Loonis wrote the lyric on a yellow legal pad on a plane flight. Normally, when Wilder worked from Loonis' lyrics, they were always typed on white paper. Alec thought this one, on yellow legal pad paper, was an unsolicited poem from a stranger in California and “returned it” to the Californian. When Alec asked if Loonis had come up with anything regarding the title, Loonis reminded him that he had returned the lyric, which he had hurriedly written, on the flight, adding that he had not kept a copy. Fortunately, the Californian stranger mailed the lyric back with the question “Why did you send this song poem to me?” Be thankful to the Muses — Wilder wrote the melody the next day!
How fitting that Sinatra recorded both songs in their maiden voyages for it was he who was an ardent champion of Wilder's music nearly from the very beginning of his professional career, however, not always as a singer. A couple of the Chairman's non-vocal efforts both featured Wilder's music prominently, namely Frank Sinatra Conducts The Music of Alec Wilder (for Columbia Records in 1946) and Sinatra Conducts Tone Poems of Color (for Capital Records in 1956; two of the poems, namely Gray and Blue being the compositions Wilder prepared for that album's sessions.)
As previously mentioned, Alec Wilder was also a brilliant author having penned his semi-autobiographical book Letters I Never Mailed (published in 1975) and American Popular Song: The Great Innovators 1900-1950 (with James T. Maher) for which he was awarded a Deems Taylor Prize. Both are masterpieces in their own right with the latter remaining one of the finest and most insightful books to have ever been written on its subject. Wilder even ran his own group in the late 1930's which was called the Alec Wilder Octet, a group that fused jazz and swing with the sounds of a chamber wind instrumentation, trap set and harpsichord.
Many years ago, I used to call people at all crazy times of the evening. One night, after most people would have gone to bed, I took the phone in hand and called the late Samuel Baron (a once-upon-a-time-Long Island resident), the renowned flutist and pedagogue who was a close friend of Wilder's. Keep in mind that I had never met Mr. Baron but I was aware of the many works Wilder had composed specifically for Sam's talents. Mr. Baron did not hesitate to inform me that he had been in bed, but when I told him why I had called, sensing my sincerity, he said he would share some of his reflections of Alec with me. That conversation lasted over hour in which the word unique was repeatedly stated as if it were a mantra. Since I remember some of it so vividly, I wish to share some of this with you, our readers.
According to Samuel Baron:
1) You know, Alec didn't really own anything. He didn't believe in it. His apartment contained a table, a couple of chairs, a piano, lots of pencils and pens, music manuscript paper, paper pads and stationary, books, books, books and books, enough clothes and an always packed suitcase so he was always ready to go wherever and whenever. That was about it.
(It is likely that he also owned a typewriter and a couch, or a related item on which to sleep. While Wilder was wealthy, by the time of his death, he was totally penniless. Since he couldn't have taken it with him, he made sure that he didn't have anything left.)
2) For a number of years, every summer, the members of the New York Woodwind Quintet and I would journey to Wisconsin for a retreat to practice and teach. Alec was always invited to join us, which he always did. Alec preferred to travel to the wilds of Wisconsin via the railroad. While most people would book their trip to go from New York to Chicago, and then head up to Wisconsin, NOT ALEC! He would figure out the most convoluted, most out-of-the-way route to get there. He would leave New York and travel thru, I don't know, Virginia and then head into Pennsylvania eventually working his way to Chicago when he would finally board a train to get him near enough to where we could pick him up at the nearest train station.
He took the long trip so it would give him time to read, read, and read some more interspersed with composing. By the time he would arrive, he would have produced a new woodwind quintet for us with parts so we could prepare it immediately for performance, which, basically meant that we had to sight read it. When asked if he would be willing to speak about his latest effort, Alec would come up with these prosaic things and then turn it over to us to present the premiere of his latest opus — and, you know, what he wrote wasn't exactly easy.
(In fact, Wilder may be one of the most prolific composers of the woodwind quintet with an output of 12 of them plus a set of arrangements for that instrumentation, if memory serves me correctly since I only saw and heard this recording once in a Library, called The Most Beautiful Women in the World, a set of pop tunes with womens' names in their titles by a variety of composers — Wilder originals included — for a Golden Crest recording of the same name.)
3) One time, Alec called me up to do a recording session. He was composing a score to the motion picture The Sand Castle in which he even appears and he wanted to record the score in New York so he could use New York players.
composed for this motion picture
Would I play on it? I told him that I had wanted to do more conducting so, while I would like to take part, could I be its conductor? Alec gave it some thought then said “OK, here is the recording schedule. Be there and I will have taken care of everything else” (in terms of contacting the musicians, studio, etc.) I did not get a score but I was aware enough with how Alec wrote and worked that I knew it would all be on the stands the moment I got there.
Normally, when a composer writes a score, they put the names of the instruments on it according to a standard that is centuries old. Not this score ! Instead it contained the names of the people — his friends — who were playing the session, like Stan Getz and Joe Wilder. He used the names of his friends instead — anyone who could make the gig determined the instrumentation that he would score his music for. Isn't that wild?
NO, NOT JUST WILD — WILDER !!!!
Alec Wilder (1907-1980)
THE LEGEND OF ATTILA HEJJA
This past August 7th, I had the opportunity to visit the renowned Stevenson Academy in Oyster Bay to interview the great, late Attila Hejja in what would prove to be his final interview. It came as a shock to all of us who knew him - friends, family, students and associates alike - to receive word of his peaceful passing which occurred in his sleep on August 26, 2007 on his boat, the other thing he loved so much.
Perhaps his true love truly was The Stevenson Academy as these, his own words, will attest. For those interested in knowing more about The Stevenson Academy, whose work is continuing, go to their website: stevensonacademy.com
Here now, words from the legend that was — and, in some ways, remains:
Attila Hejja (1955-2007)
Dana Paul Perna: If you want to, can you tell me when were you born and where were you born?
Attila Hejja: I was born in Budapest, Hungary in 1955, March of 1955. My parents left there a year after that. About a year and a half later — Hungarian Uprising — and we were immigrants. I'm an immigrant boy — first generation.
(Just for the record, his obituary sighted 1954 as Attila's year of birth, but March 5, 1955 is correct.)
DPP: Did you come here to Oyster Bay, or where did you settle?
AH: Sea Cliff.
DPP: So you did come to Long Island?
AH: We were fortunate; we had total strangers sponsor us who were living here. We were very, very fortunate.
DPP: Do you speak Hungarian?
AH: Read and write — yeah.
DPP: I was just wondering. Tell me about your artistic background, I mean, when did it hit you that, ‘Gee, this is what I want to do is to be an artist?’ — cause you're a classic artist, too, which is — you were born in the time of Expressionism, and Warhol would have come of age when you were.
AH: That's right! Stevenson was my mentor.
DPP: At this school?
AH: At the original school that was founded in Sea Cliff.
DPP: How did that come about as opposed to something else?
AH: There was this pretty girl in high school. I was in a studio art class in high school and this pretty girl said to me, ‘You're pretty good. I take lessons at Stevenson's. You should take lessons.’ I mean really pretty. I could take lessons with her and walk her home at night, you know —
DPP: Courtship, all right.
AH: When you're that young. And then I met Stevenson and everything changed in my life. He was, by far, the best artist I'd ever seen, perhaps, to this day. He was the finest artist I'd ever seen. And a prince of a guy — a really fine, fine human being — someone who cared a great deal about teaching, about art, about the quality of art. Also the most honest man I had ever met in my life — sincere. And he was really my inspiration for pursuing a career in art.
In 1960, Harold Ransom Stevenson founded the Stevenson Academy in his home in Sea Cliff, Long Island. In opening the academy, Mr. Stevenson sought to correct what he believed was the disastrous deterioration in training in the visual arts in this country. It had become difficult, if not impossible, for gifted and dedicated students to find the training necessary to master the art of drawing and painting in the classic manner. In 1965, Mr. Stevenson married a fellow artist named Alma Gallanos. During the seventies, Mr. and Mrs. Stevenson instituted their “New Renaissance Atelier,” from which many students have become highly successful illustrators, portraitists and fine art painters. Harold Ransom Stevenson continued to teach until his death in 1985.
AH: He was a protégée, one of only four, of Norman Rockwell. He studied with Rockwell as an apprentice for two years in Stockbridge, Massachusetts and he then embarked on his career as an illustrator, professional artist, illustrator and was very successful, but relatively short career of eleven years. And, retired, made a lot of money, retired and decided that, outside of his experience with Rockwell, he had just bounced around from art school to art school to art school, not really learning classical art because, so you mentioned earlier, was a period of Modern Art and he wasn't able to find a decent art school that taught classical art, especially in the late 1950's, early '60's. He was a student in the late '40's and Modern Art was the rage — they were literally, in the New York Art Students' League, and other schools, throwing the plaster casts out the window. They were literally doing that — we're not going to draw this anymore, the world has changed and no more classical.
IDIOTS — it was almost like book burning, it was almost like book burning. People don't realize what a tragedy the Modern Art movement has caused in the Art world. That nonsensical headlong rush into Modernism damaged Classical Art a great deal. It's not written about much, it's not really considered about much, but it really was a very damaging period of Art history. I think that, as time goes on we will look back upon it as being a rather ridiculous period of Art.
DPP: And, so you worked with Stevenson for, personally, how long?
AH: I apprenticed with him for three and a half years, from 1971 to 1975. I then left him, spent a year exploring the country. I started; actually, when I was very young, I started when I was 15 years old. I was a young man of 19 years old when I (no longer) studied, and, ah, got in my car and left. Toured the country — went west and then ran out of money. Had to work as a waiter, bus boy and, you know, all kinds of things, to work my way back to the East Coast — and then decided to pursue a career in illustration, which was always my goal.
I had no idea what I was going to do. Stevenson had always advised me — the same advice Rockwell gave him on his career, as to what to do — said, find — know what you love, that's first of all. You have to do what you love, it's the only way you'll be great at it, then, Rockwell said the way that you get a job is to identify absolutely the worst illustration you'd ever seen. Identify it. Find out who did it. Find out who he did it for. Look at the artwork. Make sure your artwork is better then that. Call up the art director. Make an appointment. Show him your artwork and go get the job.
One day, I am reading a Science Fiction anthology. I'm reading one story after another story after another story. The illustration on the book cover has nothing to do with any of the stories at all. I said to myself, well, I can do better that than that and, just as the words came out of my mouth, that the memory of his words just hit me. So I found Science Fiction Illustration.
I did a grand total of three pictures, three samples, and I packed my stuff up and made a call to the Art director for, of that company and he says, sure, come on by and we made an appointment, He looked at my work and bought all three pieces I hand him my portfolio, asked me if I was busy. I said no, not particularly, and gave me a manuscript to read — and that was my next assignment. That was May 15, 1977. From that day on until I stopped illustrating in 2000, I never had a day without work. Not a blessed day without some assignment on my books. May 15, 1977 when I had that meeting and it was all Science Fiction work, and the job that he gave me was a Science Fiction book.
Two weeks later, this movie opened — you might of heard of called Star Wars — and every publisher in the country was then scrambling to get Science Fiction books and those books illustrated. So I had more work my first year than I ever dreamed of. Within two weeks I had an agent. I was very, very lucky. First year, I made slightly more than eighty thousand dollars —
DPP: — That was respectable then —
AH: — and every year since then it could go over. It went from one hundred fifty to two hundred thousand dollars from working as an illustrator. But, I had a very lucky career. I was working in Science Fiction. I've made a good, handsome living as a professional. I never had the sad sack story of pounding the pavement endlessly trying to get a job, or starving in a garret some place, you know, cold water flat in Russia.
I was fortunate, but I was extremely well trained. You know, I had Classical Art education. If you are really good, you are capable of doing any kind of work. You have the knowledge and skills behind you to evolve into something different if you want.
This famous poster appears to have been painted from the air. While Attila was present for this launching at the official request of NASA, he was on the ground since NASA forbid any aircraft to be flying on the evening in which this launch occurred. He painted this renowned aerial painting from his own imagination.
AH: See, that's because of the training I had gotten from Stevenson. I was the only one who painted this scene from the air, even though I was on the ground along with everyone else, and it got picked up thru the media all over the world.
DPP: Now, you didn't go to any other college, you just — this was it!
AH: I went from High School. I was apprentice while I, from high school, graduated half a year early, and that was my education. Probably a better education than I could have gotten anywhere in the country.
DPP: Did you stay in touch with Stevenson as you had success?
AH: Actually, I did. We became good, close, personal friends as the years went by. He died in 1987. In 1999, his wife, Alma, called me. She had a whole school full of students. By the time, at the end of 1999, she had lost all but three students and she was 80 years old. She had, just, difficulty keeping it all together. She asked me if I could help go out to the school. I was retiring at that time. I had made a very good living. I was getting ready to move to France and buy a vineyard, paint beautiful, nude French women for the rest of my life, so, painting of nude women in Paris and make wine.
At that time, this came up and I really gave it a lot of thought and decided I'm really too young to retire. I still felt that, you know, this was a challenge to, basically, resurrect that school and turn it into a world-class institution. Stevenson was a great guy, a great artist by any measure, but he was not a businessman. And he always had a small, modest, private school run out of his home, but it was still a home studio.
DPP: But that WAS The Stevenson Academy?
AH: That was the original studio. Anyway, I took over the school from Alma Stevenson and built it up. We had about thirty students for the first year, one-and-a-half to two years. Basically, I saw it as a test period to develop curriculum, to build up all the basic concepts for the school. And, after two years of those preliminaries, I started looking for a new facility. I found this place and gutted this place. I redesigned this place. Everything from brick wall to brick wall was gutted. There was nothing here — no corps boards — NOTHING — it was just rafters. And I redesigned this whole facility and here we are now, three-and-a-half years later after the first day we opened.
We opened March 5, 2004 — Leanna, we opened in 2004, right?
Leanna Chipana: Yep!
AH: 2004, March 2004. (What do I know?) And here we are. We have just a little under three hundred; we have 265 students (note: that was as of August 7th, 2007.) With any luck, if things continue the way they've been, we probably will break three hundred by this fall. That's a serious school.
Since March 2004, the front entrance of The Stevenson Academy in Oyster Bay
DPP: And you are trying to get accredited thru the State, too, right?
AH: Ah, we are — ah, getting — we may find — we're building associations with some of the colleges here. Accreditation is a major undertaking, and not necessarily what.... we looked into it and what we'd have to do is to conform to the State syllabus. We out strip them in every category. For us to take a step backwards and have to teach what they deem necessary is counterproductive for us. (We took a brief pause so Attila could reach over to get a canvas panel to show me)
This student was one of thirty high school students that applied to colleges last year. We have, oh, some sixty some odd high school students here —
DPP: — you have a portfolio program here —
AH: — we have an extensive portfolio program designed to build their college application portfolio, so that they can get into any school they want. We have a tremendous success rate. Out of thirty-one students that completed our program last fall, every single one got into every single college they applied to. On average, they applied to six schools, so, roughly one hundred eighty some odd schools they got into. Every kid got into every school except for one kid who didn't get into one school. That's almost a perfect track record. Of those thirty-one high school students, every single one applied for scholarships and got scholarships — fifty percent or more. One of our students got a hundred percent scholarship — that's free collage based on the portfolio they produced here! So —
DPP: — Magnificent!!!! —
AH: — that's almost a perfect record. That's almost unheard of any school doing anything like that. It's just that, what we produce here is so impressive. The skills that the students acquire here are on a professional level, quite frankly, in many cases, comparable or surpass a lot of the college Art departments.
There are a lot of these students, virtually all of them, their parents insist on a degree. Not all of those students want to be professional artists. There's art direction, curation, gallery owner, you know. There are thirty different careers in Art, professional careers in Art to pursue. Being an artist who paints pictures for a living is just one. So there are many, many others, so we help them start to think about the different types of careers that they would like to choose. We have a guidance counselor, Paul. He's the former head of the Commack District's guidance department, so he has thirty years of experience as a professional guidance counselor. He's retiring from there next year, the end of the year, and he's coming on board here. He's managing our portfolio high school student's guidance, and he's also performing a sales role, marketing the school. He's going out to all the high schools on Long Island — the public, private high schools — and making presentations to high school students 'cause, if we can do this for thirty-one students, we can do this for hundreds of students.
Paul Thurman comes to the Stevenson Academy of Fine Arts via Long Island's most successful college counseling program. For the past eight years he was Guidance Chairman at Commack High School. He is widely regarded as one of Long Island's leading authorities on the college admission process. He is certified as a School Counselor and School Administrator. Mr. Thurman is also a Licensed Clinical Counselor in private practice where he works with adolescents and young adults. For the past few years Mr. Thurman has specialized in counseling students who are interested in pursuing college level training in the Arts. He is an expert on the college admissions process as it pertains to these students.
And, they come out of here with such an impressive portfolio, it's remarkable — it's really remarkable!
This kid. (As Attila shows me a oil painted canvas panel having been painted by Matthew Buck — see his charcoal portrait below.) That's professional work. OK? He's a high school student — a HIGH SCHOOL STUDENT!!!
While Attila showed me an oil painting by this former student, namely Matthew Buck, here is a copy of a portrait done in charcoal by Matthew, which he created under Attila's tutelage. Having completed the Stevenson Academy's Portfolio Program, Matthew is now enrolled in college on a scholarship. Matthew was among the last people to visit with Attila on his boat a week before Attila's lifeless body was found on the same vessel.
AH: All of this is very professional, every single one of these (as Attila flipped over more of Matthew's work and that of other students from the portfolio program.) Other art schools just don't — I mean, you've seen what comes out of that whole thing.
DPP: Yes, yes I have.
AH: So we are enormously proud of our students.
DPP: Well, actually, you said yesterday, said this is Long Island's only — what was it you said?
AH: Well, Long Island's only professional art school, meaning that all of our instructors here are professional artists, not professional teachers. They don't have teaching degrees but they are very accomplished and professional artists. They're not amateur artists that teach, teach for a living and paint part time. This is what all the other art schools do. They (referring to Stevenson's faculty) have only professional skills. They know how to teach it, so I select the best ones to come here to the school to teach — and, they have a real understanding of what the market is out there; what the real world market is out there; what is worth teaching, what is not worth teaching from a professional stand point. Not esoteric subjects, you know, that have nothing to do with reality. We train these people to become very, very efficient.
Somebody compared us to Juilliard — at that level of professionalism, and, quite frankly, eventually, we will, not only rival them in, not only quality, but in the numbers. We're going to have, eventually, nine hundred to a thousand students in this facility here. We have morning, afternoon and evening classes. Right now, we are about twenty five to thirty percent or our total capacity.
DPP: And you do the Jazz Sketch Nights, still? You're still gonna — ?
AH: Jazz Sketch Night is part of our ‘special events:’ a series of special events programs where we invite the public to come and join us for these types of events.
Jazz Sketch night is a night where we have a catered dinner. We reconfigure the classroom into a restaurant-type atmosphere: tables, table settings. Very elegant. We have a live jazz band that comes in from Manhattan, and, after dinner is served, we have an area where we have a stage, where three figure models come out. We have a theme for the figure models, last one was “Springtime in Paris” — beautiful hats with veils and high heels — very elegant.
And we had a packed house for about seventy-four, seventy-five people -DPP: — wonderful —
AH: — here for that. And it's one of the most elegant events; this is what we hear from the guests all the time. This is perhaps the hippest, most elegant thing that they have ever been to. And it's an Art school! This is what it all revolves around. We have chamber music concerts; we have Holiday Concerts in December. We have poetry readings.
We have — there's a small violin instructor with about twenty students and often does a recital — from very young students to accomplished adult students. Absolutely magnificent — studied at the Moscow Conservatory. We have a lot of those types of events that really make this into quite a special place.
DPP: And then, of course, you have the student showings, too.
AH: Our Annual Student Exhibition is coming up in March. It is always in March. Year to year to year — it's now our third one coming up. We have a hundred sixty to a hundred eighty pieces and we fill every wall in this place. And it's drop dead gorgeous. Quite frankly, a lot of this work here is better than what you can see hanging in most galleries across the country. Those aren't my comments; those are comments from people who have been here — reviewers. Newsday reviewed it. They said it was one of the finest exhibitions they had seen, professional or non-professional, ever. The fact that that was printed was just unbelievable.
(READERS, PLEASE TAKE NOTE: yes, while this event will occur in March 2008, there may also be one this November 2007. Classical Domain Long Island will keep you informed as further details are made known.)
AH: Again, we're at the same place. We are enormously proud of everything that everybody does here. We teach them really important skills that haven't been taught even in the 20th Century, and almost not been taught in the 20th Century. This is the real gift that they come here in the —
DPP: — 21st Century? —
AH: — even in the 20th —
DPP: — but you mean both?
AH: Both, yeah. There is a resurgence of interest in, especially in America, which is one of the reasons why we are so successful here. There is a very amateurish understanding of Classical Art in most universities and most art schools.
DPP: I teach a 101 class so..... we'll share when I shut the tape off.
AH: We have a much more sophisticated approach to teaching here. It's at a professional level and we have a set curriculum where achievement is required. We tell our students that they can expect to achieve things that they never would have dreamed of. We show them the site, we show them all the work that's been achieved here before and all of them roll their eyes and say, “I could never do that.”
DPP: You show them that you can !
AH: We show them that they absolutely can. It is a skills — primarily, in the beginning — it is a skills building process. We build basic, basic thorough skills in the students that most art schools just don't. We literally show them how to sharpen their pencils in two, three different ways. That we start that basic. Most art schools just gives you pencils, you know, HERE! They don't even bother to show 'em any of the subtleties of the finer points of drafting, draftsmanship. This is one of my pet peeves; how bad schools are, how poor they are, badly organized they are.
(At this point, Leanna had business with Attila so we took a brief pause. Once that had concluded, we continued.)
AH: Leanna runs the school. She's the manager. If it weren't for her.... couldn't get anything done. She really runs it magnificently. And we have a really good crew. Everybody. James (Albinson) is a really magnificent instructor. He gets the most out of students, equal to the training that I give the students. Suanne (Martin), the sculpture instructor, both of them, highly prized professionals. Very capable. They have great careers behind them.
After studying at the School of Visual Arts for several years, James Albinson continued his studies under classical Artist Robert Armetta of The Long Island Academy of Fine Arts in Riverhead. He then attended the Stevenson Academy of Fine Arts in 2000 where he became an apprentice to Attila Hejja for several years. James was able to develop and refine his skills as a master landscape artist, and now shows at several east end galleries James has exhibited at the Grenning Gallery of Sag Harbor, and now shows at the prestigious Hampton Road Gallery along side artists such as Andrew and Jamie Wyeth.
Born in a small town in Michigan in 1962, Suanne Martin's evolution as a sculptor began at Kalamazoo College in the early 1980's, after having won an art scholarship to attend. Attracted to the school's reputation for academic excellence as well as its foreign study program, Suanne was able to travel and study extensively throughout eastern and western Europe, as well as the Middle East. Despite the breadth of her undergraduate academic education, Suanne felt a strong foundation in the fundamentals of the discipline of sculpture woefully inadequate. Luckily, she found a mentor in master sculptor Jay Holland, an instructor at The Center for Creative Studies in Detroit, Michigan. Suanne studied under Jay for three years, learning the foundation of figurative sculpture and anatomy.
AH: Everybody that works at this school has to have had a remarkable career so we're real proud of every aspect of the school. It's full service in every slot and our progress is a result of the quality of the people we have here. I have always felt that the success of an organization really depends on the part of the people. I don't care how good your business plan is, or what the business climate is at the time, it's the quality of the people that, really, the public decides in any organization. Very fortunate to find these people here.
DPP: Any other future plans besides those you mentioned? — or — any parting words?
AH: Down the road, yeah. The idea is to have the school develop the target enrollment, once we fill up the rouster, is somewhere between nine hundred to one thousand students, which, for a professional art school, is not an unusual amount. We'll far out strip any other art school on Long Island. We are, if not already, soon to be, Long Island's premiere professional art school. Not just in Long Island, but maybe in New York State as well. The amount of students we have going out pursuing careers, you know, increases every year. And they achieve remarkable results — I'm going to show you a few things.
DPP: How many rooms, actually, do you have, that was the other question that I have. You have a sculpting room and —
AH: — we have four departments. What we want to do, eventually, is to expand to the floor next door to us here. What we want to do is, let the second floor finance the building of a film institute, film school and, eventually, a fashion design school. We are looking at a major expansion to happen sometime within the next five to ten years and, in ten years; we hope to have a world-class film school here. I used to work in the film industry as an illustrator for Paramount Pictures. I worked on the Star Trek series as a designer. I still have contacts and we're going to put together a real film institute. I got to roll up my sleeves and get to that. This is what we're planning to do.
I want this school to out live me. It's dedicated to Stevenson, to me, such a fine,
DPP: You, yourself are still painting? You haven't stopped painting?
AH: No, I retired from illustration.
DPP: No, but, I mean, for yourself.
AH: This is a full time job. I'm here from eight in the morning 'til eleven at night, ya know, when am I going to sleep? Ya know, it's just a full — you know, in ten years, I'm gonna go back to France, buy that vineyard and paint every beautiful Frenchwoman I can find — NUDE Frenchwoman I can find.
DPP: or clothed if that's the best you can get
AH: No, NUDE ! NUDE ! (laugh) So that's my goal — just want to go to France and paint beautiful things. That's ultimately the goal.
DPP: That's the dream. Right!
AH: So, I go there every year. That's the goal. The long-term goal is to build an institution that will survive me and will go on indefinitely and make a major impact on the Art-life of the United States. I think we can do that. Earlier on, Stevenson and I, when I was a student there, used to have this conversation and wanted to change the Art world: make it, improve it and make a more professional place, increase the level of, quality of Art in this country. We used to have long sessions into the night talking about this. We finally realized there was only one way to do it. We had to decide how to change the Art world for the better. We decided that, OK, I'll change myself, you change yourself and that's the two of us — and now we'll go out and change others. And now we'll pursue... and that's what we're doing, one person at a time, here. We're teaching them to become fine artists. That is just a beginning step. We will change the perception of Long Island and quality of Long Island. We've already done it — we're already doing it on the North Shore of Long Island — we've already become almost a household name. You may be aware of how much we're doing but we are making a difference. And it's, you know, in Art, we're a difference in a lot of people's lives. We're not only helping young people find careers, but people who have always wanted to learn how to draw and paint. To learn how to do this, it's a significant change ‘ it's like learning how to play music, and really well. It changes your life ‘ it improves your life. That's what we're doing here with people. We're not just here hacking out widgets, you know, large numbers. We're helping people improve their, and make, their lives more meaningful. This is one of life's greatest achievements.
And that's what it's all about. This is one of life's greatest achievements. To have people come and realize their hopes and dreams of becoming an artist, or saying, expressing themselves the way they want to express. This is an age-old dream that a lot of people have had — to become an artist and express ideas, right across the board, whether it's graphic arts, or, you know, music or literature. I am able to make a significant progression. We hear that from our students. That is the nature of what we do here. fine artist, instructor. He had the original concept of the school but didn't have the means of doing it. I was lucky I had a very successful illustration career.
DPP: FANTASTIC !
AH: Very touching.
DPP: No, that was it. Yeah. That's a good closing remark and, yeah, almost out of tape —
And, just then, the tape ran out, thus bringing to a close the final, formal live interview given by Attila Hejja. At this point, with the tape recorder off, as is often the case, the real conversation began. Attila showed me some of the work past students had done and, therefore, the work that future students will do. All impressive? Yes, indeed it was and is.Then Attila showed me his work. Impressive? Of course — all of it was, and, since he illustrated only on commission, all of his work remains for public viewing, even online. The stories were as impressive as the work, like the one he recanted when he painted for President and First Lady Ronald and Nancy Reagan (“Most people, most press people that is, painted him as a some old dowager, but I found him to be a highly, well informed man — and a real gentleman”), his work for Nasa, the United States Post Office, Grumman, and the interesting phone call he had received from a certain Colonel Paul W. Tibbets, Jr. that went something like this:
PT: Are you Attila Hejja? The one who painted those Nasa paintings?
AH: Yes.
PT: I really liked those paintings. When I inquired as to who did them, I was given your name and number. I am Paul Tibbets —
AH: Paul Tibbets?!?! The only person I know with that name commanded the Enola Gay.
PT: That's me!
AH: What can I do for you, Sir?
PT: The Enola Gay is about to go into the Smithsonian Instirute and I would like to know if I could commission you to paint a portrait of it.
AH: I would consider it an honor. You can send me pictures of it —
PT: Oh no, I want you to come to Washington (DC) to see it for yourself so you can paint it from life.
AH: I agreed and we set the date and I was flown down there where I met Colonel Tibbets. They were still setting up the Enola Gay for its display when Tibbets asks me if I wanted to step inside to get a better idea of things. ‘OK fellas, you mind if we go inside?’ And what could the workers say, NO? So we hoped inside and the Colonel took his seat at the cockpit.
DPP: No!?!? You sat in the Enola Gay?
AH: Yep, right next to the Colonel.
DPP: That must have been incredible?
AH: It was.
So honored was Atilla by the commission that he gave the (considerable amount of) money he earned from his completed effort to a Veteran's Charity.
AH: You know, Tibbets took command of that mission knowing that thousands of lives would be lost, but, because of it and what he and his crew did, probably saved the lives of five or six million people. Can you imagine getting assigned a mission like that and having to make the decision to go through with it or not? That took real courage to make that decision — to make the right decision. I really admire that.
Here is the masterful result of Attila Hejja's meeting with Col. Paul W Tibbets Jr
During this time, he shared his philosophy of teaching with me:
AH: You know, this has nothing to do with talent. People who come here tell me, ‘oh, you know, but I don't have any talent.’ I tell them that talent is a very relative thing. You don't need talent to study here. What you need, what you have to have, is an intense desire to learn and develop the techniques necessary to create Art. The second thing you need is the commitment and concentration it takes to learn and master those techniques. It's a basic skills program that, in the end will allow the student an invaluable opportunity to achieve things they, only weeks before, could only have imagined themselves doing.
Since he wanted me to mention a couple of prizes he had received prior to his retirement from illustration, I will do so:
The Hamilton King Award (the highest professionally bestowed honor for illustration in America); as well as the prestigious Ozzie Award for “Best American Magazine Cover of the Year” for his March 2000 Popular Mechanics cover illustration (voted the best in a field of 1,700 professional illustrators competing for the same prize.)
Attila's Ozzie Award winning cover for Popular Mechanics
He did confide in me the following, which I would not have printed if he were still alive. Due to his demise however, I feel it is completely relevant and necessary to publish such a revelation as a way of giving us one last glimpse into Attila's intensity, drive, and that-all-too-rare gift, focus:
AH: You know, I really don't want this to get out but, before I met Stevenson, I was running with the wrong crowd. You know, breaking into cars and — you know, things I should not have been doing. I was certainly heading in the wrong direction until Stevenson sat me down and told me what I should be doing, what I could be doing. He changed my life and probably saved my life, too.
Some of these kids here, you know, that's all they need — someone to tell them what is what. I had one student whose hair was long. When he came here, he seemed, ah, his technique was all right but unfocused — he was unfocused — and he seemed like he was heading nowhere. So, I talked to him and the improvement was almost immediate. But, his mother still wanted him to cut his hair, so I told her, look, he will cut his hair when HE is ready to cut his hair. About a week or two later, wouldn't you know it? He showed up for class with his hair cut. His mom was very happy. SEE! Sometimes that's all it takes.
Before he could take me on a tour of the Academy, he had to show a couple of students a few things. I watched him demonstrate proper shading and charcoal blending techniques on a Newsprint pad with just an eraser and a stump, in his own direct manner. It was like watching Sir Georg Solti conduct the Chicago Symphony Orchestra — yes, the REAL thing!!!!
Another artist was painting (in oils) a seascape-with-a-sailboat-in-it. “See how beautiful?,” he said, adding to the artist, “You may really want to consider putting some rigging into those sails, but, otherwise, no, I think it's lovely.”
After this, we finally set off on the grand tour of the facility. What a lot of people do not realize is that Attila spent $635,000 of his own money into the renovation of the Stevenson Academy's building; designing all the slats and slides for their sliding doors, the sculpture studio (which includes a kiln), the downstairs gallery, and the like.
AH: Do you know what this building looked like before it became this?
DPP: No
AH: Let's go. I'll show you.
We walked over to an eatery called Canterbury, which is adorned by all sorts of pictures documenting the career of Theodore Roosevelt. We walked from the front door to the back one where he pointed to a black-and-white photo.
AH: There! That's what it looked like when I got it, but it had become a Laundromat by then. The building was used by Theodore Roosevelt when he was Governor of New York. The second floor was where he kept his office.
I told him it was ironic that he took me there as I opened my bag to reveal to Attila the latest opus I was at work on — scoring my work “Col. Theodore Roosevelt's ‘Rough Riders’ Centennial March” for band.
DPP: You know, next year marks Roosevelt's sesquicentennial. I hope there will be some attention made to acknowledge that fact. There is a reason why HIS face is on Mount Rushmore, you know.
AH: Probably not. It will probably be soft peddled. Our government officials don't like leadership. Roosevelt was a leader.
Attila offered to buy me a beer so I agreed and we sat down at the bar. I informed him that that the Mother of our mutual colleague, Bryan Di Bartolomeo, had passed away about a week earlier.
AH: No. I had no idea. How old was she?
DPP: Fifty.
AH: FIFTY!? That's much too young. Ah, no one ever said life is fair. That's just not right. Thanks for telling me. What a shame — I'll have to contact him. (WOW, how ironic was THAT.)
I reminded Attila that I teach a 101 class and that there was a story I wished to share with him which was:
DPP: On the first day of one of our semesters, this student looked over at this thing we had covered up in a dark canvas. ‘What is that,’ she asked. ‘You mean, that?’ I said. One of the other students then said ‘Do you mean, the piano?’ — so she says ‘Is that what that is?‘
AH: NO! I do not believe that.
DPP: It is 100% the truth. I worked with a musician who I told this same story to and she didn't believe me either. Not only is it true, I have witnesses who were there.
AH: Did she know what it does?
DPP: I'm sure she didn't. She had no idea what a piano was or what it did until I played a recording of Rubinstein playing Chopin that she heard the instrument. Even then, she seemed to have never heard that before either.
AH: And what does that say about our society when, how old was this girl? —
DPP: — 18? 19? —
AH: — when she is not even exposed to something like that. What do they listen to?
DPP: I absolutely do not know. If I booked Martina McBride up there, there wouldn't be enough room to accommodate all the fans, but, apart from that, I have no idea ‘ but it is for certain that most of what I play in class they are hearing for the first time ‘ and that includes Gregorian Chant.
AH: What is wrong with our educational system in America? Don't they know that Art education has everything to do with a child's mental development, social interaction, let alone their creative ability — their ability to problem solve, math skills, science skills. It's been proven. Is it the parents? No wonder people are incapable of a thought.
DPP: But that's what our political leaders want.
AH: Exactly — but it is still completely inexcusable!!! This is the greatest country in the world, inhabited by a public that is completely clueless about everything. It's the dumbing down of Society.
‘ and I will omit our further comments since they may appear inappropriate for a publication such as this. We talked a little more about France, about Hungary (but he was interested in his future plans in France) and the potential student who was set to take the tour of the Academy with Attila in about 30 minutes.
AH: Look at the time. (Attila finishes his beer) Wow, I didn't realize I was that thirsty.
DPP: Neither did I.
We spoke only a bit more as we walked back to the Stevenson Academy when he told me that there was a show of classic cars that was to occur later that night on Audrey Road. We said goodbye and that was the last I saw of him until I saw him laid out in the Funeral home alittle over three weeks later.
I will never forget that sight — there he was, laid out in a casket that was just a bit too small for him. Not to further belittle the job the undertaker had done, but Attila's skin color was not even his flesh tone. Instead, the Maestro's face was cast in some sort of a pale green shade. As I stood over him, I could distinctly hear his voice in the back of my mind, like the true artist he was, utter these words:
Look at that. Not even my color!
The Mass Card for Attila Hejja that awaited us at the Funeral Parlor. On the left, Attila's painting of his beloved boat, the vessel in which his dead body was found. On the right, a memorial poem by The Stevenson Academy's Poet-in-Residence, Annabelle Moseley (who was appointed to that post by Attila Hejja.)
While the Funeral home was filled with people paying their respects to the Maestro, an equally large number of students and/or associates were not present. These people decided to go to The Stevenson Academy where, in tribute, they actively paid their respects in a manner they felt Attila would have preferred. PAINTING !!!
So, that brought to a close the legend — and majesty — of Attila Hejja, one of the greats with a great vision that one hopes will continue through the friends, family, associates and students he left behind — and, of course, the ART he created.
At the beginning of this month's features, I wrote a little piece about Alec Wilder. I felt it was fitting to conclude both features — the one on Wilder and this interview with Hejja ‘ with the following words. This little historic fact, however, needs to be prefaced first: at the conclusion of Alec Wilder's memorial service, the following poem (which Wilder himself had written) was recited. While there is a name in there referring to someone else with the same first name, keep in mind that this was written sometime before, or during, 1980. It is timely and ironic, bittersweet and poignant all at the same time — a most fitting way to conclude this tribute to two of America's truly outstanding and remarkable artistic figures:
Beauty! Art! Wit!
Wonderment! Humility!
Arrogance! Style!
Virtue! Decency!
Patience!
And all the others,
Gone, trampled by the
Newly-polished jack boots
Of the clog-suited society.
I'm a stranger here, from
Another planet;
Not spotted yet, but
Getting peculiar stares
Forbidden entrance to
All the places where
Air remains,
Where green is true
and water unmolested.
In any other time,
(Excepting Attila's)
I'd be a hero.
Why, they'd even name
An alley after me
And put a blotting-paper
Plaque on all my doors.
Not because I was great
But because I insisted on
All the words and ways rejected by
Those who wait ferally
In the ancient trees.
Alec Wilder (1907-1980)
All comments are welcome.
Gregg Deering, President
Classical Domain
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