I WAS BORN in Queens, New York, in 1942. My sister and I were raised in a loving, caring family. Our parents gave both of us the best childhood possible and stayed supportive all through our adult lives until my mother passed away in 1976, and my dad passed away in 2014. So how does one describe a life blessed and fortunate to have such a family situation?

I always wanted to be “rich and famous,” but how funny it is that I have found remarkable success through the years without having to deal with public relations, managers, and marketing people. I never had to look over my shoulder and deal with the competition. Unlike famous celebrity orchestra conductors, like Lorin Maazel and Leonard Bernstein, who were always seeking that “one better job” and not thinking about the quality of music that they brought to the world, I stayed focused on the task at hand, always making sure to put my best work forward.

***

As a youngster, I was short for my age but precocious. My parents enrolled me in tap-dancing lessons at Mr. Reagay’s dance studio, located under an elevated subway station a block down the road from where we lived. I also took piano lessons with my mother. I have many memories of these moments, but one story in particular still makes me laugh. I would walk past John the Barber’s shop each Wednesday, and I would go into the shop where John would ask me for the latest tap step that I had learned at Mr. Reagay’s that week. After performing what I learned, he would then give me a nickel.

After doing this for six months, I came in one day, and as usual, I did the tap step for John, but when he handed me a nickel, I said, “No, no. It is now ten cents!”

“Why?” he asked, a little surprised.

“Inflation,” I told him.

“That is good, but inflation also means no more rewards

because inflation hits all of us,” was his response.

Another story that I always fondly look back on is one from a summer vacation when I was ten years old. I went to John the Barber and asked him to shave my head, thinking this would save my parents’ money during the summer. But when I returned home, my mother asked me, “What have you done?” I explained how this haircut would help save them money. My mother laughed and said, “You look like a convict!”

Needless to say, I wore a hat for the rest of the summer.

***

Friedelind Wagner, who was the granddaughter of the world-famous composer, Richard Wagner, was a friend of my mother’s. Friedelind left Germany with the institution of the Nuremberg Laws, which were laws dealing with the extermination of Jews. She settled in New York and refused to return to Germany un- less Hitler revoked the Nuremberg Laws. There were a number of assassination attempts on her because Hitler was embarrassed by her refusal to return. From 1941 on, Friedelind had 24-hour FBI protection. She told my mother in 1950 that, “Stephen had eine musikalisher Hinterkopf,” translating to “Musical back of the head and will become a conductor”

My mother thought that was a ridiculous thought and said, “Stephen will go into his father’s business.”

The mother tongue for both of my parents was German, but they also spoke Spanish. However, they spoke neither language at home because it was important for my parents to become fluent in English, and this forced them to practice everyday conversations and phrases. That led to even more funny moments.

My mother was skilled at learning languages, having learned German, Spanish, and English, but she never got her idioms right. She used to say, “The apple doesn’t fall far from the pear tree,” or “That person has one foot in the ditch,” when she meant, “That person has one foot in the grave.” Every now and then, my dad would mix up the meaning of a certain word. For example, he would insist that, “The master bedroom is for the master (young boy) of the house.”

Even so, both my parents thought that language skills were important, and so for two summers, they sent my younger sister and me to Switzerland to learn French and German. Even though this skill would come in handy later on, at the time, I felt very deprived because I wanted to join my friends in playing stoop ball and stick ball in the neighborhood. I did not appreciate having to spend my summers in Europe instead of playing stick ball at home, but overall, it was a memorable experience.

In Switzerland, we were to speak only German or French and were fined if we spoke our native tongue. And periodically, our summer school would take bus trips to tourist sites. Our classmates, Panayotis and Andre, would bring along little airline mini-alcoholic drink bottles. We would drink the bottles on the bus and then pretend to be drunk. One day, I received a ridiculous letter from my mother saying, “Stephen, you know drinking alcohol all the time will stunt your growth.”

I was puzzled about her letter until I spoke to my beloved sister and found out that she had written to mom and dad, informing them that, “Stephen is drinking all of the time.”

Neither of them had any idea we were just acting.

Our classmates included Panayotis Canellakis, son of the Secretary to the King of Greece, Andre Carantini, son of the Head of Coca Cola in Greece (the two that would bring the alcohol on the bus ride), Maxis Phocas, son of the Head of the National Tourist Office, and Brian Levan, who later became a British Member of Parliament.

In addition, we were friends with Fillipe D’alameida Trigoso, a Portuguese heir. I played tennis with Jon Rubinstein, son of the world-famous Polish-American pianist, Arthur Rubinstein. Jon went on to become a famous actor. These friendships lasted far beyond summer school—it was only later in life that I came to appreciate what my parents had done for my sister and me.

***

When I entered Junior High, I wanted to play an instrument, other than piano. The band teacher was so-o-o pleasant (obnoxious) and said to my parents, “Stephen is too short. Let him try the clarinet if you can find one.”

My parents found an all-metal clarinet at the army surplus and signed me up for clarinet group lessons at fifty cents per lesson. At home, we had an Upright Steinway Grand Piano, which my mother played, but she could not transpose my clarinet music in order to play along. She immediately called the piano tuner and asked him to tune the piano to B-flat so that she could play along. The tuner must have gone crazy just tuning the instrument down a whole step, but my mother was always there, supporting my efforts.

After only three weeks of taking lessons at school, the band teacher called my parents again and said, “Stephen is extremely talented and should have private lessons.”

My parents then paid for private clarinet lessons, but those only lasted for a few months. After three months of private lessons, the teacher was kind enough to tell my parents that I had surpassed his knowledge and that I needed to have a better teacher. Boy, was I lucky that he was so honest. He recommended Abe Klotzman, one of the best clarinet teachers in New York and who had taught many great clarinetists

Abe Klotzman agreed to take me on for private lessons, and this truly became the beginning of my advancing clarinet skills. He and his wife became good friends with my parents and even played bridge together. Mr. Klotzman took me out to a golf course and introduced me to the game. All this resulted in my perceiving him not just as a teacher but also as a mentor.

***

When I entered seventh grade, I was small for my age and young, compared to students in the same class. During this time, the community was dominated mostly by Italian gangs, but the neighborhood was changing, and there was an influx of Black gangs. This gave rise to Black gang members squaring off against White Italian gang members. Because of my small size, neither gang ever tried to recruit me, seeing me as an unimportant, potential member. Even in our school, which was Junior High School No. 16, located in Corona, a neighborhood in Queens, which is a borough of New York City, the racial tension was intense. One Black student was killed in the toilet.

I kept my head down and survived in a school which was the model for a film Blackboard Jungle and was an inspiration from a teacher who worked there.

***

Fiorello LaGuardia, who had been the Mayor of New York City in the 1940s, founded five special public high schools. They were High School of Music and Art (music and visual arts), which was later renamed to LaGuardia School of the Arts, Bronx High School of Science, Brooklyn Tech (engineering), Stuyvesant High School (science), and High School of Performing Arts (drama and dance).

My parents had me audition for Music and Art so that I would not have to attend the local high school. It was a longer school day, as well as a ninety-minute trip on the subway, but even in the 1950s, the rate of students from Music and Art who were moving onto college was very close to 100%. It was a far cry from the local high school—Newtown. The admission rate for Music and Art was one out of four applicants. What an honor to be accepted. When my attendance to Music and Art became official, my parents invested in a wonderful, wooden clarinet, instead of the metal instrument I had been using.

Music and Art was a learning experience. Talented students from all over NYC came to M&A. I became friendly with a violin student, named Toby Friedlander, who later became the famous violinist Itzhak Perlman’s wife. Other friends I made during those eventful years included the late Stephen Kates (concert cellist), Paul Shapsick (famous South African neurologist), and my dear friend, the late Michael Bartos (conductor and real estate executive).

***

Mr. Klotzman, my clarinet teacher, had a studio at the rear of Carnegie Hall, and when I was fifteen, I rode the subway from Queens to 57th Street and 7th Avenue in Manhattan every Saturday. Mr. Klotzman found me a wonderful set of clarinets from the famous company, Buffet, and was able to bargain for a really good price. After my lesson, I would walk across the street to the Carl Fisher store on 57th street. It was an unusual shop. The lower level was filled with music, especially compositions for clarinet, which included technical studies and other solo works.

I spent every Saturday there and during that time, I be- friended the Chief Librarian, a man named Emile, who went on to become a contestant on a show called, The Sixty-Four Thousand Dollar Question. Whenever I was in the store, Emile would send musicians who were looking for clarinet music over to me since he considered me to be the “resident” expert on clarinet music.

As a result, I met some very famous clarinetists, including the principal clarinetists from the Mexican National Orchestra, and Eric Simon, a much published, famous clarinet pedagogue. They invited me to hear the Mexican National Orchestra in concert, which was my first exposure to Mexican composers, including Silvestre Revueltas and Carlos Chavez. Then, Eric Simon and the two clarinetists, invited me to join them next door at the Russian Tea Room after the concert. The Russian Tea Room was a gathering place for many world-famous musicians.

As a side note, many years later, my wife went for lunch to the Russian Tea Room, and as she entered, Morton Gould, a very famous composer, saw her come in and shouted to her, “Where’s Steve?”

During that period, I also met Leon Russianoff, the legendary clarinet teacher of Stanley Drucker, and Kalman Opperman, a famous clarinet reed maker.

I loved playing clarinet and swiftly became principal clarinetist of the High School Orchestra. So, as I got closer to graduating, I began looking at colleges and decided to apply to Oberlin College in Ohio. The idea was that I could take a double major—chemistry and music—in the Conservatory and College. Because my parents expected me to go into my dad’s business as a food-processing engineer, and music was supposed to just be a hobby, I had to add Chemistry. A food chemistry degree was critical for any food technology degree, so Oberlin seemed like a great pick because of their science department, alongside the Conservatory.

During my last year of high school, I discovered the Café Metropole on 7th Avenue between 47th and 48th street. It was the mecca of jazz musicians, where they would stand on the bar and play. Such luminaries as Henry “Red” Allen, Lionel Hampton, Woody Herman, and Sol Yeged (who played Benny Goodman in the film about B.G.) were there. I was sixteen, but I had a fake ID that said I was eighteen, and although I looked twelve years old, I was never carded. The musicians took me upstairs and started teaching me how to play jazz.

Once, I asked Woody Herman what kind of instrument and reed combination he used. He handed me his clarinet and said, “I don’t know, but here, try it.”