The 7th Army Symphony played for the ballet company (from the National Opera of Paris), performed their own symphony concert and was the orchestra for Fidelio. We were there for many days, and there was a lot of rehearsal.
The scene was the Nibelungenhalle in Passau. We were well into the rehearsal of Copland's El Salon Mexico. Clarinetist Lloyd Greenberg had just begun a raucous and shrill solo. At that moment, the doors to the rehearsal room flew open and the entire city council of Passau strode into the room. The 7ASO had been to previous Passau festivals, but apparently they wanted to hear just what it was they had engaged for the performances. They seemed to be in some kind of shock. Maybe they had never heard Copland before. At any rate, they were not happy.
Maestro Schermerhorn stopped the rehearsal while introductions were made. Their spokesman (perhaps the mayor of Passau, but it's hard to remember details from so long ago) indicated they would like to hear the Leonore Overture #3. I guess they figured if we could play that they didn't have to worry about the Fidelio performance.
Sgt. Schermerhorn explained to them that we had little time left to rehearse the Copland and really needed to continue with it. There was an awkward silence, and then the Mayor (or whoever) firmly declared "BITTE, die Leonoren!" End of discussion. There was nothing for it. We assembled the Beethoven orchestra and began the Leonore #3.
During my time in the orchestra, I was impressed by its ability to rise to an occasion. If we ever needed some quality playing, this was the time. Let's call it a triumph of eternal art, or perhaps Beethoven himself. The stern expressions of the council softened when the first chords seemed appropriately profound. By the time Jake Berg began the flute solo, it was apparent we had the council on our side. The overture came to its triumphant conclusion, to applause and smiles all around. The day was saved, just as Florestan was saved by the trumpet call!
From that time, I do believe we could have played poorly and no one would have cared. As it was, the festival was a success, and the 7ASO was not the least of the events.
Passau Trivia from 1954
Our quarters in Passau were in a former orphanage, just off the banks of the Danube. We often stayed in quarters that could be described as "rustic", but this was unique because we all slept in bunks designed for children. The mattresses were made of straw. A few extra beers at night were required for proper rest.The famous and dramatically critical trumpet call near the end of Fidelio is usually played off stage. Since the Nibelungenhalle wasn't exactly state of the art, we found that the call sounded pretty good when played from the latrine directly in back of the orchestra pit.
Passau Fidelio Chorus, 1954
1/9/01, Charles Briefer
The tale I recall from the 1954 Passau Festival was Ken
Schermerhorn's first rehearsal of the final scene of "Fidelio," where
the released prisoners give thanks to the governor, Leonore, et al, with a
rousing chorus that begins, "HEIL! HEIL!." Only it came out
"Heil...Heil." Kenny looked at the chorus with a mixture of
scorn and amusement, and told them, dryly, "It's OK; you can say it now"!
The Festival of 1953
10/17/98, William C. Venman
The reason was simple and infuriating. Sigmaringen was the site of the ancient Hohenzollern dynasty and we were told that the town had not had any French music performed there in many hundreds of years and they weren't going to start then. Mozart, Beethoven and Schumann were fine (whatever the precise program was, I am certain it was all German/Austrian composers save one). Ling Tung, diplomatic as he was, did not oppose it as unhappy as he was, and we in the orchestra were not happy troopers by any means. We were sharing our music as good-will ambassadors and this went against the grain.
So, we played our music of Teutonic composers in that hallowed city of German history and nationalism, but we did break the barrier. Immediately after the last applause of the final piece, Ling turned to us and told us to pull out the Fauré which we then played as an encore. I don't recall whether or not it was announced (I suspect not), but the German audience there was treated to a beautiful piece of French music, probably for the first times in their lives. Sigmaringen survived it and is still there.
I was a PFC. After the day was over the First Sgt. called me into his office and said that Captain Gotowicki wished to see me. I went into his office and he asked me what I told the rest of the bass players to do. I explained that as the Principal Bassist it was my responsibility to see that the conductor's wishes were followed. He said that in army protocol a PFC cannot order higher ranking soldiers. As of the next day I was promoted to Sgt E-5.
How Pogo, later Herr Professor Dr. Rayner,
or from his students, Dr. Ja Ja, but now simply PA,
made Sergeant in the 7th Army Symphony
6/23/98, Clare G. Rayner
After a short, polite, but curt conversation, the sergeant there told him that he was to be promoted. Did he object? Most certainly not in this situation. Looking at his status, the sergeant indicated to Pogo that he was to be promoted to specialist something, and that his performance rating was somethng like a "3." Pogo calmly told the sergeant that his performance rating could not possibily be so low as a "3." After all he was a member of the symphony, and his rating had to a "10." Without reflecting, the sergeant concurred, and immediately typed in a "10."
We've always heard that even sergeants breathe, but this guy did not take a breath; rather he mumbled incoherently something to the fact that no one could possibly be a specialist of any sort with this rating, and that it had to be a sergeant. Excited, as all symphony members would be with such a promotion, Pogo casually told him that he concurred, and that the sergeant should change his status. Again, still without breathing, (was the sergeant underwater?), in total dismay at reading the information before him, that which he had just typed, he repeated, "you have to be a sergeant." Again, Pogo's excited reply was, "Fine, change it!" Obediently the sergeant did this, and sent Sergeant Pogo on his way.
Returning to the barracks, Pogo told the sergeant in charge there that he had been promoted to sergeant. As could possibly be expected, the sergeant emphatically stated that that would never happen, and that Pogo should definitely NOT change his stripes to sergeant. Oh. what a disappointment. Pogo will not be a sergeant. Only the first trombonist, Cloud Crawford, an ER from Kentucky, would remain a sergeant. Totally chagrined by this turn of events, Pogo wept all the way to his next beer, a Dinkelacker.
So off went the symphony on another tour with Specialist/Sergeant Pogo.
On return from the tour, the sergeant at the barracks accosted Pogo, as usual firstly about his duck-tail hair-cut, but secondly chastising Pogo for not having the sergeant stripes on his uniform. Shocked, dismayed, and delighted (?), Pogo rushed to the nearest Gasthaus for another Dinkelacker, to reflect on this clearly logical, but unexpected turn of events.
Well, Pogo did become Sergeant Pogo, but with no great respect, or adoration from the symphony members. That only meant that Sergeant Pogo had to mop the barracks each day in order to retain his honorable status. Most certainly Sergeant Cloud, in his typical obstreperous Kentucky manner, would never mop the barracks.
So went promotions in the Seventh Army SYMPATHY BAND, and Sergeant Pogo happily mopped the floors at Patch, looking forward to his next escapade with the symphony.
During a rehearsal in the downtown PX theater across from the Bahnhof,
a mumbling arose from the Cello section. Schermerhorn continued conducting
and we continued to play as the mumbling quickly grew in intensity. Suddenly,
Hahnl jumped up and, enraged, screamed "Faags, you domb sheet--you caan't
heeven spik no Henglish!!" Schermerhorn, doubled up in hysterical laughter,
nearly fell off the podium as pandemonium reigned for the next few minutes.
(End of Tales)