The First End of an Era
I brought my accordion to the party, but no one asked me to play
My oldest brother, Larry, always wanted to be a farmer – literally. After graduating from high school in 1958 he attended Cal Poly in Pomona. Phil, my middle brother, really didn’t know what he wanted to do. After his high school graduation in 1960, he sold everything he owned, with the exception of his surf board, and left for Hawaii, envisioning a career as a professional surfer and instructor. That lasted for about 6 months or so and he returned home with a couple of LPs of Hawaiian music for Grannie who had talked of going to Honolulu for as long as any of us could remember. As my grandparents never owned a phonograph, we ended up with the albums. After his return, he also enrolled at Cal Poly. However, unlike Larry, who knew exactly what he wanted to do, Phil changed majors almost weekly.
His second semester came to an abrupt end after he went through the windshield of a car one morning and ended up with well over 100 stitches in his face. A friend was driving to class during one of California’s rare rain storms and offered him a ride. As Phil was reaching down to put his books on the floor, the friend’s foot slipped off the clutch and the car lurched up onto a fire hydrant. It was an old car and the windshield had been replaced with plate rather than safety glass; the cuts to his face were severe.
Phil had always talked of joining the Navy, most likely influenced from my father’s WW II sea stories. My dad had been one of the Navy’s 90-day wonders, the name for an accelerated Officer Candidate School (OCS) program during World War II. Phil loved the Navy, at least for the first half of his 4-year enlistment. He did exceptionally well in boot camp and in advanced training as a radar technician. During initial testing he qualified to enter the prep school for the Naval Academy, which had been his true love. Unfortunately he was 1 month too old for the statutory age limit.
With Larry’s upcoming graduation from Cal Poly, he was accepted for OCS and a commission in the Navy. He was finishing the last part of his senior year and when he was called for his draft physical. The Navy told him to just take the physical – though he was joining the Navy anyway. He failed the Army physical – on the spot – something about sugar in his urine. They checked him several times, but ultimately sent him out the door as a 4F (not fit for any military service). He called the Navy, telling them of the experience. Though he had passed the Navy physical, they told him he couldn’t serve having failed the Army physical. He never had any other indications of the medical problem.
So I was constantly listening to all this military stuff going on about me. As I mentioned previously, the main reason I went to El Camino in the first place was to get a 1SC student deferment. Remaining qualified for the deferment was a strong motivation to study and keep my grades up – though I thoroughly enjoyed college.
If I was diligent about one thing, it was keeping the draft board informed of my status. As my time as an undergrad at UCLA was coming to an end, I was looking for new ways to stay out of the Army. I viewed military service as a potential end to my musical ambitions and everything that was important to me.
After graduation in 1968, I enrolled in graduate school for the summer quarter. I was interested in historical musicology and systematic musicology – music related to anything other than music. In systematic musicology, I worked in musical therapy and also was looking at other issues such as hearing loss caused from exposure to high sound levels. The Dean of Fine Arts even wrote a letter to the draft board saying that if I were working in the field I was studying, I would be exempt from military service. I don’t know if that was really true, but it was worth a try. I appealed my 1A classification and was scheduled for a hearing.
During my year at grad school I was exceptionally active in all kinds of musical endeavors. I had an extensive schedule performing solo accordion, was in full swing with my rock band, and was also performing at countless Italian weddings with a local combo.
I don’t remember exactly how I got involved with the Mike Rugerio Orchestra, but I went to his home for an audition one night and was hired immediately. Mike had the corner on the Italian ethnic gigs in Los Angeles.
The ‘orchestra’ was a number of pick-up musicians that Mike would put together in any number of combinations – typically a drummer, piano, accordion, and horn. Though an accordion would have been adequate for the group’s harmonic requirement, piano was always included as Gloria, Mike’s daughter, played. She could bang with the best of them and every cent she made was going toward her own wedding. Mike played sax and clarinet. As time passed, Mike’s clients evolved into a group of friends and an invitation to Gloria’s wedding was obligatory. Many of the players were excellent; as was the money. There were a lot of gigs. Over the year or so I played with Mike, I recruited several of GallaRini’s other students as accordionists for Italian weddings were always in demand. Eventually, Carolyn Lee also started playing electric bass and doing vocals.
Mike had large 3-ring binders with all the music. We went through the songs in order with little deviation. The repertoire included all the Italian favorites. In addition to weddings and anniversaries, Mike also had the corner for all the special events sponsored by the Italian Catholic Church in central Los Angeles – just north of the Music Center. Most of these events were multi-hour marathons and were held in the Parrish hall. The priests insisted there also be an attraction for the younger parish members, so a rock band would alternate sets with Mike’s groups. The food was excellent.
There were some sketchy things about Mike’s groups – usually contributing to the fun. One was the booking and scheduling practices. For a larger or more expensive wedding, the preferred option was a larger group. Multiple events were often happening at the same time; sometimes there just weren’t enough musicians to go around. The solution was to use ‘ringers’ (my term) – a person who held an instrument, but didn’t actually play it. One regular I remember in particular was a very pleasant older guy who could sing two or three songs – one of them being a large interpretation of Granada. The rest of the time he would hold a string bass, pretending to play it, as we waited for the perfect moment to insert his vocal solo. He would smile at the older women as he expertly spun the bass as he played, and some would nearly swoon. There was only one problem: when he would get drunk he would actually start playing the darn thing. An out-of-control bass can throw an entire group off. But the string bass provided a big presence, so people would certainly think they were getting there money’s worth!
There was nothing creative about the arrangements. Everyone typically played melody in unison for every chorus. For the accordionist, it was best to play the same chords that Gloria played or the results could be a harmonic mess. She is one of the nicest people I have ever known, but I don’t think she understood the concept of harmonic give and take with another solo instrument.
A more critical issue was the musician’s union. The AFL CIO American Federation of Musicians union was extremely powerful in the 60’s and into the 70’s. A union house would not dare hire a non-union group as the entire business could be shut down if a union representative showed up and someone was playing without a contract, or if someone was on the ‘do not perform’ list. Though Mike had been on the ‘do not perform’ list for years, the orchestra played in many of the big union hotels and catering houses. In protest to the union, he had joined some other musicians and formed the ‘Guild’. The membership requirements and rules were much less restrictive than Local 47, and though the American Federation of Musicians didn’t like the competition from the Guild, they had not been able to shut it down. I always kept a very low profile as I didn’t want to jeopardize my membership in Local 47. Though Mike’s gigs didn’t pay quite as much as union scale, you were paid immediately in cash, didn’t have the hassle of getting contracts approved by the union, and there was a lot of work. I never did join the ‘Guild’.
I often played several accordion solos as a part of a wedding gig. The Italian audiences loved the accordion. My last gig with Mike was for an anniversary in one of the Music Center’s banquet rooms. Mike announced to the audience that I would be leaving serve my country in the next several days and I ended up playing a short recital.
A culmination of my career with Mike and the orchestra was Gloria’s wedding. It was a huge, first class event in one of the largest and most impressive hotels in Los Angeles. All of us who regularly played for Mike rotated in and out of the group. We were also wedding guests. Mike always insisted the band had a table and were fed at all the weddings. It was great fun and a memorable evening. Carolyn and Dora (from Music Emporium) were also invited and we did some rock numbers.
During my last year in Los Angeles, I was very active with Music Emporium and worked on various projects, most of which never came to full fruition because of the Army. One was a tour of Japan with the Roger Wagner Chorale. Another was a potential gig with Spike Jones Jr. and the Toonerville Trolley, a contemporary version of the father’s successful group.
Despite my clandestine performances with Mike Rugerio, I still hung out at the musician’s union. It was on the union’s bulletin board that I saw letters announcing auditions for the NORAD Band in Colorado Springs and the United States Military Academy Band at West Point, New York. Both had openings for accordionists.
‘Special bands’ were the premier musical units for each service branch and had some attractive options for musicians facing the draft. As a special bandsman, after basic training you were guaranteed assignment to that band for the duration of your enlisted service, be it 4 years or 40 years. With the draft hanging overhead, the quality of the musicians was superb. There were also positions for all kinds of musicians to include string players, keyboards, vocalists, guitarists, and in a variety of applications from combo and rock players to soloists. The special bands required a 4-year enlistment. So the tradeoff was 2 additional years to avoid going to Viet Nam; however a more accurate view was four year immersion in an extremely competent musical organization.
I played an audition for the NORAD Band at the union building and was accepted. The NORAD had players from all the service branches. I was told I would enlist in the Air Force as those billets were currently available. They explained band life and that the NORAD Band toured quite a bit.
The USMA Band requested an audition tape, so I forwarded one to them along with a copy of my latest album. I was also accepted there. George Secor was finishing a four-year enlistment as the band’s accordion soloist. I had known George for years. He played the Moschino Free Bass system accordion. George provided a personal recommendation for me. Years later I found the envelope that contained my audition tape and my accordion album; unopened in the band orderly room. From many years experience with the band, I am sure I am one of the only people who were accepted that didn’t audition in person – in fact, who didn’t audition at all. The tape included some segments from Music Emporium and some smaller jazz combos.
The USMA Band was a better option for me than the NORAD Band. They did not tour and were close to New York City. In the acceptance letter, I was told that I would most likely perform with one of the combos that played at the Officer’s and NCO Clubs and work in the library or on the arranging staff. They also explained that many band members took private lessons in New York City and there was financial assistance available from the Army to continue musical studies. The entry- rank for band members was E-5, which I would receive shortly after arrival at West Point. They asked that I delay my enlistment as long as possible as their current accordionist, George Secor, still had several months on his enlistment. The letter was signed by Lt. Bob O’Brien. Though I was still not excited about basic training and leaving Los Angeles, it was certainly a better option than being drafted and going to Viet Nam.
I signed up for the Army’s delayed enlistment program and passed the physical with flying colors. I remember the first stop in the physical process where a young man was taking blood pressure. He joked saying, you have a blood pressure, you are good to go. I am sure that personnel at the reception station in Los Angeles had heard every excuse and seen every possible antic for staying out of military service. I had even discussed some options on how to stay out, but couldn’t bring myself to doing them.
My day for reporting was Friday, June 13th 1969. Carolyn Lee and I planned our marriage for May 24th, the same day as my grandparents wedding anniversary. Knowing that we would be going to West Point after I completed basic training, we rented an apartment from Bettie Thomas that was located above garages in the back of her home. We traded in the ’63 Dodge 880 Station wagon and bought a Plymouth Road Runner with a high performance 383. As we were driving home from the dealership, I made the discovery that Carolyn had never driven a stick shift. After several attempts and lots of tears we decided it would be better for my dad to teach her. As she dropped me off at the reception station early on Friday the 13th, I wondered how the Plymouth would survive as I watched her lurch away from the curb. During basic, she would write me that Dora was also helping her get better control which didn’t help build my confidence. Dora was well known for her full-throttle power-shifts.
Basic training at Fort Ord was not as bad as I thought it would be. I kicked into some kind of survival mode, did whatever I was asked to do without internal or external questioning, and survived the process, sometimes with great amusement. I was one of the people who came out of basic weighing more than I did when I entered. I was also getting more sleep than I had in years and eating regular meals. Carolyn continued to play and also worked at Fedco while I was in basic training. Being surrounded by a bunch of guys who were ultimately headed for Viet Nam I didn’t talk about going to West Point to play in the band. During the final days, when orders were announced and handed out in front of the entire company, I remember my drill sergeant saying, “West Point, screw up once there and you will be in Viet Nam with the rest of us.”
Carolyn came up to Fort Ord with my parents for graduation, and after a few short days at home, we packed our stuff in the Plymouth and were off for New York. My parents had a big get together the night before we left, but rather than waiting until the morning to leave, we wanted to get a head start and leave later that evening so we could get across the desert at night. It was mid-August and the Road Runner did not have air conditioning. The accordion had been shipped ahead of time to Julio’s factory. I had planned on picking it up when I got to New York.
Early the next morning as we headed out of Kingman, Arizona, on one of the last 2-lane sections of old Route 66, I fell asleep at the wheel and woke as we hit a 1958 Oldsmobile station wagon nearly head on at 55 miles per hour. The car went spinning out into the desert, the engine shoved back into the driver compartment, the stick shift rammed all the way into the front seat. To this day I still remember the violence and sound of the crash.
Being a motor head at heart, I had worn seat belts since they became available in cars. I had even insisted on adding them to my original 1961 Ford Falcon Ranchero. The Road Runner was one of the first cars to have shoulder belts, which were a nuisance to wear as they had to be manually attached and adjusted. But Carolyn and I were both wearing them. I am sure it is the reason we survived the crash with relatively minor injuries. I bit all the way through my lip and the clutch pedal broke several bones in my left foot. As the dust settled, I saw smoke coming from under what was left of the hood and knew we needed to get out of the car. Both of the doors were buckled from the crash and I remember having to lay on my back and kicking Carolyn’s door (with the broken foot) to get it open. I got her out of the car and away from the crash, checked on the people from the other car, stopped the bleeding from my face, then got some coffee from our thermos and began the long wait for the police and wreckers to arrive. I realized my foot was hurting and when I took off my shoe my foot quickly swelled to the size of a football. The Olds was not as severely damaged as the Plymouth and none of the passengers were injured.
At the hospital back in Kingman I had several stitches put in my lip. My foot was put it in a temporary splint. They said the swelling needed to go down before they could cast it. Carolyn was sore and bruised from the seat belts, but otherwise unhurt.
We called my parents from the hospital and they headed down to pick us up. The next morning we went to the wrecking yard where they had hauled the Road Runner. We moved everything to my parents Chrysler Station wagon and headed back to Torrance. They said they didn’t know how we had survived the crash.
The next morning we went to the Naval Hospital in Long Beach. I was checked in. After a day-and-a-half where I never saw or talked with anyone, a Navy medic finally came by to get my personal information and told me it would be my million dollar injury. I would be reassigned to the Navy and would be discharged. The Army was not going to want me.
I called Lt. O’Brien at West Point and he told me to get out of there – whatever it took. He told me to go to the medical clinic at Fort McArthur in San Pedro and get them to send me to West Point as soon as possible. He told me that once I was out of the Army’s system the Navy could keep me indefinitely, and it was common to use people in my situation as long-term orderlies in the hospitals.
I went to Ft McArthur and was shortly thereafter en route to New York, this time via a Boeing 707. In those days, service members traveling with orders wore a uniform, so I hobbled about in my Army Class ‘A’ greens. I would spend the night in New York at a hotel close to Julio’s and get up to West Point the next morning.
As luck would have it, the airlines lost my luggage, so I headed to Julio’s with literally the clothes on my back. I stayed at the old Algonquin Hotel and Julio made arrangements for a ‘car’ to drive me the 54 miles up the Hudson River to West Point the next morning.
The ‘car’ was a limo, and with my accordion other pre-shipped musical gear I left for West Point.
I arrived at Thayer gate late morning and the guard directed us toward Bldg 685 – the Band Building. The reaction to a limo on a military base with someone in uniform sitting in the back was to salute – so I got saluted by everyone. They didn’t realize I was a Private E2.
I arrived at the Band Building as the band was getting ready to march up the hill for the Saturday Parade. It was August 30 – a big weekend for tourists. As I entered with the limo driver carrying my accordion, I remember one of the band members asking me if the limo was going to stay with me throughout my assignment. I signed into the orderly room and climbed the stairs up to the barracks bay. There were very few band members who lived in the barracks, but many had lockers where they stored their parade uniforms. My hair was still ridiculously short and some guys later told me they thought I was an undercover plant looking for drugs. Someone drove me to the PX so I could get a pair of slacks a shirt, and some underwear – otherwise I was going to be in my winter-weight greens for the rest of the weekend. Later that night we went to the Park Restaurant – which became a favorite spot for the next 23 years. That Sunday night, I could hear the louder parts of the band concert and the applause from the Trophy Point Amphitheatre in the barracks.
Sometime late in the weekend the airlines finally delivered my luggage. Early Tuesday morning the band building came alive. I finally met Bob O’Brien, the Band’s youngest commissioned officer. A Julliard graduate, Bob was the head of the arranging section. I was told that I would work there as a music copyist. Bob’s enthusiasm and sense of humor were infectious. The band was not what I expected.
When I entered UCLA, the Dean of Fine Arts had gathered all the new music majors together in one of the small auditoriums for an orientation. I remember his exact words. “Look around you. Everyone is at least as talented, or more talented than you are.” Be it arrogance, whatever, I never really felt that. As a member of the USMA Band, I truly felt what the Dean was talking about. Having never traveled to West Point for an audition, I hadn’t known what to expect. Though sometimes criticized for it, Colonel Schempf, the Teacher of Music at the United States Military Academy and the Commander of the Band (a congressional appointment) treated the Band as a musical organization first and military unit second. The band was also well over 200 members the day I signed in, much larger than the authorized size of 157! This included a full string section, pianists, vocalists, arrangers, instrument repair, sound recording technicians, librarians, dedicated rock musicians, and two accordionists (counting me)! George had decided at the last minute to re-enlist.
The caliber of the players was astonishing. In addition to the concert and marching band, there was the field music section, numerous chamber ensembles, a 17-piece big band (there had been two several years before), three dance combos, and two rock bands. In every sense of the word, it was an extremely active, working, musical environment. It became a practical learning experience that equaled anything I had done in my previous years. Over time I learned that band alumni played in nearly every major symphony, at the Met, on Broadway, or were recognized as a head of their special musical genre, whatever that may be.
I was assigned to the dance combo led by Chet Goscicki. Chet was a superb alto sax player. The bassist and drummer were also exceptional jazz players; unquestionably the best I had ever played with. We played at the officer and NCO clubs at West Point and Stewart Field on Friday and Saturday nights.
I also played electric organ with the Mighty Incredible Vegetable Band, one of the rock bands. The name was later changed to FTA (Fun, Travel and Adventure). FTA played the Service Club on Wednesday nights and the NCO Clubs on Thursday nights. Someone eventually realized the double meaning of FTA and we were told to change the name. The rock groups also played for Saturday night cadet hops, either in Cullum Hall for the Fourth Class or the Gym for the upper classes. The core rhythm section for FTA had been recruited as a group from the suburbs of Philadelphia and had that tight, funky R&B sound. There were always regular band or field music members who had a bit of that rock and roll gene in them who would augment the rock bands, either as horn players or as singers. With the popularity of groups such as Blood, Sweat & Tears, Chase, and Chicago, horn sections were in vogue. As with all the USMA Band members, the rock players were first rate. The USMA rock bands occasionally appeared at Greenwood Lake, a resort area relatively close to West Point that was known for its rock clubs.
There were very strict union rules about military musicians competing with civilians. You could remain a union member when you were on active duty. You didn’t have to pay dues, but there were limitations on when or where you could perform. Of course, there were ways around this. Some band members traveled almost nightly to New York City to play for Broadway Shows. Others played regularly in one of the Catskill Resorts.
There was another benefit of being in the USMA Band. If a musical instrument was part of your job, the Army was required to provide it. There was a budget that supported the regular replacement of instruments. The band had an old Excelsior Concert Grand which was due for replacement. George had elected to play his Moschino and I had my Giulietti. By the time I arrived at West Point, the combo’s weren’t big on accordion. Chet preferred to have me play one of the Band’s RMI electric pianos. In the rock bands I was playing one of the band’s Farfisa Organs. So when the question of a new accordion came up, I opted for the Hohner electric organ that was housed in an accordion shell. The bellows were replaced with a pivoting shell that controlled the volume. For an amplifier, I chose one of the large Leslie 900 Series 2-piece Speakers.
The Hohner made it possible to compete at any volume with the mere turn of a knob on the foot control for the Leslie – and the sound was quite good for a portable organ. But the visual image wasn’t well accepted by the members of the combo. I don’t know if it was because it looked too much like a Cordovox (which were considered hokey), or just like an accordion. And though the Hohner was superior to the Farfisa, it didn’t fit the rock band image. So I continued to use the RMI and the Farfisa – though I did use the Leslie.
Carolyn had joined me several weeks after my arrival at West Point. We moved into an apartment in Cornwall on Hudson as there was a one-year waiting list for band quarters. Stewart Air Force Base was closing at the time and was used as a housing annex for West Point. After living in a apartment for six months, we moved into housing at Stewart for another 6 months until we were assigned West Point quarters at 422H Bailey Loop. The 13 mile commute from Stewart required a commute over Storm King Mountain and could be especially difficult during winter ice and snow storms.
The arranging department was an immersion into something entirely new. When I arrived, the Band had 4 full-time arrangers – arguably some of the best in the country. Lt. Bob O’Brien was an Associate Bandmaster and led the group. Arnie Gross was another New York City working musician who could literally play any instrument and was particularly quick and skilled in his craft. Arnie continued his NYC gigs throughout his West Point career, acting as the assistant conductor for several Broadway shows and playing keyboards for others. Tex Arnold and Bob Brown rounded out the team. Tony DiCarolis, the guitar player/lead singer for FTA and I were the copyists.
The arrangers provided a steady stream of arrangements for the concert band. With the technical capabilities of the players and Colonel Schempf conducting, commercial band arrangements often fell short in complementing the bands musical potential. There were also special events, such as the Cadet 100 Night show, which employed a Broadway-type musical score that included a full string section. The band also played for football games – requiring spirit arrangements of current popular songs. The department also provided special arrangements for the Cadet Glee Club for performances that could include Ed Sullivan or Bob Hope specials. The arranging department was always busy, but would also peak in frenetic bursts with special events, sometimes requiring all-nighters by the arranging staff.
Tony and I made our first trip to King Brand Music in New York City with Bob and Arnie. In addition to supplying the staff-lined vellum paper used to copy parts, King Brand had a selection of the specialized pens used for musical autography and the indelible black lacquer ink. The pens looked like a regular fountain pen, but the tip would expand to create the note head. I had always used a pencil with a ruler to write music, but for professional purposes, this was too slow and did not create a bold enough image. Parts were copied onto the vellum and then printed with an oazlid process on heavy paper similar to that used for architectural blue prints. This provided a durable, readable, long lasting part. The individual pages were about 9 x 12 and were usually printed 3 or 4 at a time. They were taped end-to-end which allowed them to be spread out over one or several music stands.
There were many copying ‘rules’ that I needed to learn; things that made the parts more readable for the players. Arnie and Bob emphasized mastering the craft was easier when one increased the speed at which the parts were copied. Using a ruler with a fountain pen would not work.
Mistakes on the vellum were corrected with a razor blade. If it was really bad, you would cut and tape another section of vellum. I never mastered the art of autography. In fact, I have never been good with any type graphic art. The parts I copied were horrible. I don’t know how band members could read them. Tony’s weren’t much better. Our accuracy also left much to be desired. It was not unusual for the Colonel to stop the reading of a new score, have the parts collected, and pass them back to the arrangers to correct. In contrast, the parts from any of the arrangers rarely had mistakes. Their parts were top quality, professional manuscript.
I hardly played accordion with the Band during my assignment at West Point. I was too busy playing in the rock bands, the combos, and working in the arranging department. Carolyn and I did trade an old amplifier for a pre-1900, 85 note Steinway vertical. But there was a strange musical dynamic between us – almost a resentment if the other person actually practiced. With everything going on at West Point, we were easily distracted. Carolyn also started playing many West Point gigs.
Another critical distraction occurred at the start of the second academic year at West Point. Colonel Schempf had been trying to back away from the Cadet Glee Club for years as the Band requirements alone occupied almost all his time. The Glee Club added two evening rehearsals and typically about 10 trips per year to his schedule. It was decided that Bob O’Brien would take over the Glee Club. Bob knew of my background with the UCLA Glee Club and Roger Wagner, so I was to become his vocal coach. In reality, Bob didn’t like doing things alone. I was to be his side kick.
I also became involved with the cadet hop bands – so I was soon spending nearly every night of the week working with either the Glee Club or the rock bands. Before long, I was doing almost all the glee club rehearsals and developing a good relationship with the cadets. I also worked on the 100 Night show – rehearsing cadets and playing in the orchestra.
Toward the end of the academic year, my second year at West Point, Bob was told he needed to do an obligatory 1-year tour in Viet Nam. He really didn’t want to do that, and decided to resign his commission. After considerable discussion by the Glee Club Officers’ in Charge with the West Point Leadership and Colonel Schempf, I became the first-ever enlisted music director and conductor of the West Point Glee Club. It was a very exciting time. Several years later I was given a direct commission as a 2nd Lieutenant.
During this time, my accordion playing was during my many weekend trips to Brooklyn to Julio’s house. Anita would cook; Carolyn and I would play for hours at a time. I also made some road trips with Julio. Though Norma had finally gotten a car, it would have been unlikely for her to drive Julio to Pennsylvania, DC, or wherever. Julio was impatient in the car. He was accustomed to traffic in Italy; he was always in a rush. He would urge me to speed up; he stated that he would pay the tickets.
We also made trips to accordion events including a NAMM show in Miami and some local competitions. I also spent a lot of time at the New York shop. The Giulietti’s were my adopted family. We had many great times. One of my favorite activities was to make the obligatory trip to Coney Island with Norma to ride the Cyclone.
One amusing exception to not playing at West Point was one particularly amusing incident with George Secor, Bob O’Brien, and Colonel Schempf that happened in the band building. William Tell Overture has always been a favorite of Cadets – used to build spirit, especially when a game is going particularly rough. George and I were playing a highly animated, spontaneous version on our two accordions as Bob O’Brien, sweat pouring off of him, face scarlet red from the pure excitement, conducted us using a pool cue. Colonel Schempf happened to walk in at the climax and his face went initially into a blank stare. After the initial shock, he joined in our amusement and was convinced that we needed to repeat this at Saturday’s football game in Michie Stadium for the Cadets and the other 40,000 people who would be there. It took Bob and George and I lot of fast talking to convince him that was not a good idea (though the Corps would have probably loved it). The effect of the weather would be too severe for the accordions.
Julio’s reputation in New York was far greater than just accordions. I remember when Carolyn and I were going from Julio’s business on Park Avenue South to Manny’s on 48th Street – possibly one of the most famous music stores in the world in the middle of New York City’s music section. It was always a crammed with customers, many of them very famous. It was nearly impossible to get anyone to help you. As we were walking out the door, Julio called someone at Manny’s, and from then on, one of the two sons always personally greeted us and gave us attention usually reserved for major rock stars. I once asked them how they knew Julio and they told a story of how Julio had helped their father financially a couple times in the early days, and always ensured they had an excellent assortment of accordions during the instrument’s true hey day. On one of the days when it wasn’t quite so crazy, I noticed that some of the autographed pictures were New York’s most famous accordionists. Manny’s held Julio in high regard. Years later, Stewart Manny would bring his son to West Point for football games.
Over the next several years, the Glee Club and other cadet activities consumed more and more of my time. I had an office in the Office of Cadet Activities in the center of the cadet area, far removed from the band building. For the most part, I answered to the Glee Club OICs and the Cadet Activities officer. I played less each year. However, an event had an impact on my accordion career nearly 38 years later. It was customary for the Glee Club to sing Christmas Carols throughout the housing areas shortly before the Holiday Leave. The event would culminate with an appearance before Quarter 100s, the Superintendent’s house, when the cadets would be invited inside to sing for an assemblage of the Academy’s senior members. I remained with several of the OICs after the cadets had left the first year and was thoroughly surprised when General Knowlton brought out his accordion and began singing Christmas Carols with his wife and Rabbi Soltes. They concluded with Oh, Holy Night – in French! The accordion was a NY Excelsior Rocker Switch that I later learned he had purchased in 1939, shortly before entering West Point as a Cadet. It had followed him throughout his career.
A few days later I sent the General a copy of my last record, and he sent back a note of thanks concluding “he would never play in front of me again!” Before the academic year ended, I asked Julio if he would service the accordion for him as it had not been touched in 30 years. He agreed, and the accordion went back to New York for a couple weeks.
I had seen pictures of Rocker Switch Excelsior’s on the covers of countless pieces of music from the 30’s and 40’s, but had never played one – and I never did get to play the Generals. I had always thought of asking him to will the accordion to me, but it wasn’t the kind of thing one would do with a 4-star Army General!
40 years later, General Knowlton passed away. After several months, I finally got the courage to call his wife to ask what she was going to do with the accordion. I explained that I was conducting the West Point Alumni Glee Club, and given the instrument’s history of service to the Army, I would like to use it in some of our performances. She said she was happy that I had called as she had not known what she was going to do with the Excelsior. Her children didn’t play, and she didn’t feel comfortable giving it to a school. She said she thought her husband would be pleased that it was carrying on a relationship with West Point. It was the inspiration that made we want to play accordion again after a 30 year absence.
But after 1971, I hardly touched an accordion again until 1977.
I began worrying about the draft in high school. With two older brothers and increasing conflict in the Far East, it was a subject of daily conversation.
