Vignettes Of Dr.
Leonard B. Smith
Robert Getz
When I was a kid, I saw a 12” record called “Award Artist Series” featuring
Leonard B. Smith on the cornet. I really didn’t know who he was, but since the
album sported “The Carnival of Venice” by Clarke, of whom I did know, I bought
it. I was not disappointed! Though I found his playing a bit stiff, it was
flawless and the tone was secure throughout. I endeavored to mimic it on my
cornet. I purchased and learned every piece on the album. Little did I know that
one day that man would dedicate a piece to me and tell me I was “the son he
never had”. I still have that old record, and have kept it pristine and
playable.
Sept 18, 1977 I took a job in
fundraising with The Salvation Army in Detroit. Prior to leaving Boston to go to
Detroit, a professional trumpet player friend, Wilfred “Bob” Roberts, pressed me
to look up his old teacher and friend . . . Leonard B. Smith in Detroit. I did
so and it was an explosive love affair from the start. Leonard and I were
inseparable. Even when I moved an hour away from his Grosse Pointe haunts I
would arise in time to drive that hour and still be on time for breakfast with
him at 5:30 a.m. when the local Big Boy restaurant opened. This, often six days
a week!
Leonard frequently opined that the
reason his marriage had lasted with his actress/publicist wife Helen Rowe was
because he was a morning person and she a night-owl . . . meaning they spent
relatively little time in the same place. She would often still be up when he
arose! Dinnertime was generally their only time together outside of band and
social commitments. Anyone who spent much time in his jam-packed office will
attest that he was quite sharp with her on the phone, often to the point of
rudeness, sometimes worse. It seemed to roll off of Helen like water off a Duck.
She was fiercely loyal to his banding mission and indefatigable in her efforts
in his behalf. Persons very high in the publishing chain today (then with the
local media), who shall remain nameless herein, used to joke about Helen’s
incessant calls. They claimed that when Helen called they would grunt and say
“uh-huh” into the phone from time to time and even go to lunch laying the phone
down and she’d still be talking when they returned! Anyone knowing Helen will
know how these jokes came to be. The lady could talk . . .
To know Leonard was to know that
there were two ways to do anything, his way . . . and the wrong way! If one
could keep this little rule straight, and live with it, one found a most
affectionate and eager friend in Leonard B. Smith. If not, one had better watch
their backside. Leonard was manic in his affection. He loved with a deep (albeit
very conditional!) love and hated with an equal hate. Both were instant in
coming.
I mentioned Helen as an actress.
Apparently she had done a film or two earlier in life, which fact surfaced from
time to time. The Helen I knew was the aging remnant of what surely must have
been a rather strikingly beautiful woman in her youth. However, she retained
much of the 1930’s look a little too long. Huge waves in her hair and bright red
lipstick did not do her any favors.
Very often Leonard and I would take
Helen and Barbara to Anton’s (our favorite haunt among many high-end
restaurants). As the hostess led us in saying “Walk this way please”, Leonard
would mutter to me (with a “ain’t I cute?” Benny Hill blink) “If I could walk
that way I wouldn’t need talcum!” He had a dozen or so of these favorite one
liners that he got great pleasure out of proffering. On these nights out,
Leonard was the supreme gentleman and treated Helen and Barbara like queens. The
men’s room sported a sign advertising outrageously expensive Gardenia corsages
for sale, and we never failed to surprise the ladies with these rare and fragile
flowers. Leonard was the tightest man I ever met, yet when on these outings the
sky was the limit.
Regarding “his way” . . . I recall
once writing a little solo for kids on “Take Me Out to The Ball Game”. I tried
to make it fun by having “wind-up” trills in the piano followed by “strikes” for
the soloist in the introduction. I then avoided cliché harmonies in the
accompaniment to make it interesting. I achieved a listener-accessible but
unique setting of the old favorite tune. I did not “Stravinskyize” it by any
means, I just made it interesting. Leonard fairly exploded when he saw it! “It’s
all wrong!” said he. He then, in my absence, scratched out a most prosaic
version, using 100% anticipated diatonic harmonies, and tossed it at me when I
returned (I still have it). “THAT’S what it should sound like!” says he. He
later bragged that “I’ve never written a wrong chord”, which really meant he’d
never written anything but textbook harmonies (used creatively, but expected
nonetheless.)
He took his training with the great
Erik Leidzen very much to heart and was very proud of that lineage (who wouldn’t
be?) Leonard could write complicated band arrangements absent any score. He was
a most competent and facile writer, never a wrong note in a part. Many was the
day that I sat with him while he was writing something for the band. He could do
this while carrying on a lively conversation, firing off instructions to his
unbelievably devoted assistant Marylou Hornberger, and listening to his police
scanner . . . all at the same time!
As a bandmaster he was ferocious. His
first rehearsal of the season laid out the rules about sitting up straight with
ones back away from the chair, no booze on the job, be early and learn the book
before we start, etc. Speaking of early, all rehearsals possible and all
recording sessions started in the very early morning. He opined that everyone
was at their best then, having rested all night. We might have been “at our
best”, but it didn’t make anyone happy! He was strict and tolerated no mistakes,
even in rehearsals, like a viper! Recording sessions were incredibly tense
affairs, as were performances. All that was on his mind was how much it was
costing him per second . . . which he regularly quoted in his frequent
harangues. A couple anecdotes might illustrate.
Once he saw me writing on my part and
demanded “What’re you doing?!” I told him I was fixing a mistake in the part. He
shouted at me “NEVER do that! Let the next sunuvabitch fall in a hole!” This
seemed to run contrary to his preoccupation with how much things cost per
second, so I waited until he wasn’t looking an fixed the part! (Sorry, Leonard!)
We were at the Masonic Temple
recording a couple of albums. One item was the cornet solo, “The Bugler”,
written for him by Edwin Franco Goldman (really ghosted by Erik Leidzen). He
took after the assistant conductor that day in a most merciless way. The tempi
were always wrong. He finally literally threw his cornet in the case and called
a break. When we returned he had at it again and it went much better. So well,
in fact, that he played an E above high C at the end that we thought might take
out the back wall of the hall! With this out of his system, he was in a much
better mood.
On another occasion, while playing a
Sunday afternoon concert in Livonia, Michigan, I had a solo passage on
euphonium, just before intermission. The tune was “Edelweiss”. I played it as I
thought it should be played, with a little appropriate schmaltz and tenderness
(not too much, just a little). He glared at me throughout. Backstage I saw him
storming straight for me and I was prepared, as he often put it, to have a new
sphincter (expletive deleted) torn into me! Just as he was about upon me about
five or six people from the audience ascended the stairs asking for me. They
then began to gush about how beautiful my solo was. Waving an instructional
index finger skyward, Leonard proclaimed “That’s what happens when you put it in
the hands of an artist!” and he stalked away. (PHEW!!)
As salty as he could be in rehearsals and such, he could transform out of it in minutes as well. He could ream you to a fair-thee-well and half an hour later have a convivial lunch with you as though nothing had happened at all. He was an enigma.
Only one person in my experience
never received criticism from Leonard and that was Karen Nixon Lane, his
principal hornist. I once heard him remark that she was remarkable and that he
never heard her make a mistake. I know I never did either. Leonard’s praise was
often generous to those currently in his favor, but never as much or as
consistently as with Karen.
Leonard loved to reminisce. He talked
of the old days in New York and the kick-backs to the union-hall guys . . .
“smelly-crotched old men in shiny suits” he called them. If they held one finger
out of their vest pocket, it meant you had to kick back a buck, etc. A nod got
you the job. When playing trumpet for the old Lone Ranger radio series and
others in the early days of network radio in Detroit, his stories were
wonderful. It seems the actors were on one floor and the musicians on another!
There was a traffic light affair that they had to keep an eye on. Yellow meant
get ready. Green meant play. And red meant stop. The rest of the time they
played cards. The World’s Fair in California brought the most affection into his
voice. As soloist with the Goldman Band he apparently played more consecutive
days of solos than anyone in history and especially more successful high F’s
than anyone before or since. He told me that when his back was to the wall, and
he faced uncertainty for a high note, he’d dry his lips and mouthpiece and twist
the horn as he went for the high one, thus reducing the size of the aperture and
nailing the note! At this time, he played so much that his front teeth started
to become loose! He was panicked! He went to dentist who told him to rinse his
mouth several times a day with a glass of water containing a few drops of Lysol!
It worked, and the teeth tightened right up! He had a million of them like this!
One of his proudest was that he played Taps at FDR’s funeral while in the U.S.
Navy Band.
Leonard could be generous. He adopted
one young man and put him through college, to eventually become a trumpeter with
the Cleveland Orchestra. Due to his great admiration for our mutual friend Phil
Catelinet (for whom the Vaughan Williams tuba concerto was written) Leonard
funded an annual scholarship in Phil’s name at Carnegie Tech. When Del Staigers’
alcohol problem found him missing engagements as principal trumpet with the
Radio City Orchestra, Leonard subbed for him at no cost.
My attachment to Leonard was
basically hero worship. I wanted to assist his banding mission in any way
possible. I never dreamed of nor even wanted to play in the band. He pressed me
and I told him that I’d hung the horn up years before. Finally, at one of our
many breakfasts he told me he wanted me to audition for the band. I wrestled
with him and finally told him to give me an idea of what to expect, as I’d never
auditioned for anything before in my life. He asked me “How do you do with Arban?”
I said I didn’t know, as I never owned one. He was totally flumicated. He said
that I’d just shot down one of his most famous lines. He said most people say
“Pretty good” or something similar. His answer was always the same, “Perhaps I
should study with you, because I have a helluva time with it!" He then presented
me with his own copy of Arban’s method book and instructions on how he expected
me to use it. He had three workouts that covered exactly the same material using
different parts of Arban. When complete, one would have done a little of
everything possible on a brass instrument. It could be accomplished in about 30
minutes. He also gave me a copy of his personal warm-up exercises. I found that
I would be spared some slings and arrows in rehearsal and performance if I made
sure he heard me using them prior! Part of every workout included all possible
scales, major, natural minor, harmonic minor, melodic minor and chromatic . . .
in every key, an octave up, and an octave down. He expected this in less than a
minute and a half! He said, “It’s easy! 144 beats to the minute in sixteenth
notes. Listen.” He picked up his horn and did it in closer to a minute than a
minute and a half. In the end, I managed a minute and twenty three seconds, and
I was more than satisfied!
But I’m getting ahead of myself. I
agreed to audition in three weeks time upon getting back from vacation. Our plan
was to drive from Detroit to Camp Lake, Wisconsin to visit with Eric and Olive
Ball who were guests at The Salvation Army Central Music Institute. Then we
would drive to Rhinelander to see Carl and Ula Lindstrom (my dear friend and
former bandmaster of The Chicago Staff Band.) From there we would drive west and
north around Lake Superior and on up to Cochran and take the train up to
Moosinee and Moose Factory Island (just below Hudson’s Bay!) Then we would drive
across Canada to Maine and eventually back across the U.S. to Detroit . . .
which we did. Rather I should say Barbara did! Most of the way I had my Arban
book on the dash of our Audi and the bell of my euphonium pointed out of the
window . . . gaining facility with all those scales and other items sure to be
on the audition. And . . . I think I may have inadvertently propositioned a
moose or two along the way!?
When the time came I was as nervous
as a June-bug sitting on a duck’s bill! There was the great Leonard B. Smith . .
. and poor old me! He made me offer up my scales and some of the Arban and then
to read a couple marches that no one ever heard of, and I was in! I must say
that while I was very proud to be a part of his musical life, I never really
enjoyed playing in the band as there was so much tension that it killed the
music for me. I was used to more gentle and genteel maestros like Eric Ball,
Irwin Fischer and others.
The only time I felt relaxed when
playing with Leonard was when I played trombone as part of his personal brass
ensemble, playing Easter Services at churches. Here, he bowed to the church
music director and was simply the principal trumpet.
Leonard, always the cautious man,
gave me a picture of him and autographed it as follows: “To my friend and
colleague – with warmest personal regards and continued admiration. Sincerely
Leonard B. Smith 1981” I only realized years later that he didn’t put my name on
it!? He told me frequently that I was the son he never had. He dedicated a
little solo to me entitled “Helios” – the sun. When I asked why it was so simple
and not a variation solo, he said that if he wrote a more complex piece and
dedicated it to me only a few would see the dedication. This piece would sell
hundreds of copies, perhaps thousands to youngsters across the country and,
consequently, more people would know of his affection for me.
Eventually, Leonard asked me to
become Chairman of his Board of Directors, which I did. I used this as an excuse
to cease playing in the band. I recruited a number of good people, including the
head of the General Motors Corporation Foundation, a senior partner with Arthur
Anderson and others. Activity increased and revenues were dramatically up.
Leonard was a happy camper. As I announced the numbers, I developed a rapport
with the audiences and a healthy banter between Leonard and myself. I dressed
“spiffy” for most concerts and for on season-closer I wore my tux. When we came
to the last number Leonard went to the mike and said “We’re going to play this
number very fast, because Bob has to get the suit back to the undertaker!” It
brought the house down! These were good times!
As chairman, I worked behind the
scenes to repair relationships that both Leonard and Helen had jeopardized via
their inflexibility and frequent brashness. They had a dream of building a
concert hall in the shape of a bass drum just off the freeway west of Detroit.
The building they envisioned could be a regular auditorium or slide the walls
around to have an open-air atmosphere in summer. It was ingenious! I started a
quiet fundraising campaign to try to realize their dream. I had persuaded my
good friend and former Board Chair, Chet Mally, to “start the bidding” at a very
exclusive party to be held at The Detroit Athletic Club. He was prepared to
nudge the rest with a pledge of $1,000,000!
In addition, I was quietly working
with other philanthropists in the area. One was Gil Hudson of the Hudson-Webber
Foundation. Gil had expressed that their only reservation was continuity. He
said that Leonard was old (Hardly! he was about 62 and still prime and
energetic!) and might die at any time. ‘Who would keep the band going?’ I asked
who would keep the Detroit Symphony going if its conductor kicked the bucket.
This didn't convince him. Finally, I said that any number of the members of the
band, including myself, could carry on until a permanent conductor could be
found. This seemed to do the job and he said they’d make a grant. So far so good
. . .
. . . until Helen got on the phone
with Gil! She immediately interpreted this to mean that I wanted to bump Leonard
out and take over!? I wouldn’t have taken the job for a million dollars a year.
Regardless, she got Leonard fired up and he called a meeting of the Executive
Committee in his office. There had been no prior discussion with me or anyone
else. There were four of us there, plus Leonard. He opened the meeting with
almost a shout of “Gentlemen, you have been duped!” He went on to explain that I
was no businessman (which I never claimed to be!) and that he’d had me
investigated by a private detective and found this and that. All of it was
accurate but had nothing to do with anything. The fact that he’d stooped to such
nefarious activities had us all in shock. One of the Board members, a long-time
and affectionate Smith supporter, went almost ballistic! I really thought he
would physically assault Leonard. I was speechless. The rest of the group tried
to get Leonard to become coherent, but he became even more bellicose, turning on
long-time friends and generous supporters. They all finally got up in disgust,
resigning on the way out. The entire board resigned upon hearing of this, and
Leonard appointed himself chair and moved on.
He announced my alleged takeover
intentions to the band and well beyond. This eventually ended up as a cover
story in the Detroit Free Press where he and Helen unleashed an incoherent
diatribe against me and I countered with dispassionate facts and passionate
respect and love for them and sadness over the misunderstanding. Leonard told
his musicians that anyone who played with me would never play with him again . .
. this including a sextet which I formed and which had nothing whatever to do
with his band other than that some of the members played in his band!? He was
vicious. I had to move on.
He retired soon thereafter and moved
to Arizona. I missed him. I wrote to him and tried to patch things up (short of
groveling), but never received a reply. Then Helen died. I saw it in the paper
and noted there was to be a service at a local cemetery. I went, intending to
pay my respects to a woman that both Barb and I genuinely loved, respected and
pitied more than a little. I did not want to cause Leonard any stress, so I hung
back at the fringe of the group assembled. Leonard saw me, and I was prepared
for the worst. To my great relief, he shook my hand warmly and said, “Bob, how
nice of you to come!” I never saw him again.
No rehearsal of Leonard’s life would
be complete absent mention of Marylou Hornberger. For decades, she tirelessly
worked nights and weekends for Leonard and was loyal beyond imagining. She was a
former pupil of Leonard’s that apparently did not pursue music further. Marylou
understood Leonard as no other person ever will. Professional loyalty merged
with personal affection between them and she was his vigilant champion until he
died. We should all have such a friend. She is retired near Phoenix.
With all of his foibles and as
difficult as he could be, I love Leonard to this day . . . unconditionally. I
count it one of God’s great gifts to have been the son he never had.