A father's gift that will last a lifetime

Aging column by Dr. Michael Gordon (06-14-2002)
Reprinted with permission from Toronto Star

I sometimes think it was because of music that I was able to get through medical school. I used music to relax and prepare for my nightly studies. In the coal-fired or gas- heated rooms in Dundee, Scotland where I studied medicine, I'd close my eyes after supper and listen to music for an hour before hitting the books.

And my love for music was a gift from my father.

The connection between music and my father came flooding back to me on Father's Day last year when, during my usual long Sunday bicycle ride, up came the music of Rachmaninov on my radio, including his second piano concerto, the favourite piano concerto in my historical and emotional repertoire.

As always, my heart swelled when I heard the opening chords and conjured up the image of my father setting up the small 45 r.p.m. record player. The five red discs with the large hole in the middle sat on the compact changer. I'll never forget the look on my father's face as the music came through the radio's speaker. It was our first recording of the new technology, which replaced the older, scratchy 78 r.p.m. records.

This was a miracle of sound. Over the years I listened to those records repeatedly, often when I was alone in the small apartment in Brooklyn where I shared a bedroom with my younger sister and elderly grandmother.

In the living room in which my parents slept, a low bookcase divided their "bedroom" from the area with the baby grand piano. My grandmother had bought the piano for my mother with weekly payments during the Depression and war years. It was on this piano that I practised my lessons. The record changer sat on top of the bookcase so I could lie on my parent's bed and be mesmerized by that Rachmaninov concerto.

Some years after my grandmother died, the new "long-playing" 33 r.p.m. records became available. A whole symphony or concerto could be contained on one record. I was quite a collector and eventually purchased a record changer, amplifier and separated speakers, providing brilliant stereo sound.

My first L.P. record was the Rachmaninov concerto. But it took years before I could get used to the music playing without the pauses I had become so accustomed to with the 45 r.p.m. set.

Throughout my adult years, the concerto continued to play a special role but many other pieces became favourites, too. It was, however, during the final days of my late mother's illness almost six years ago that I once again felt the power of concerto.

During her last days I sat with her, holding her hand, listening to her rhythmic but at times erratic breathing. During the long hours I listened to a tape of the piano concerto over and over again as I waited for her time to come. The music was deep inside me as I held my mother's hand in that noisy ward, remembering my childhood and how music was always part of our life even as we struggled to make ends meet. My sister and I always had our piano lessons and my mother would take us to concerts and recitals, even if the seats were the cheapest and furthest from the stage. Some concerts were free and outdoors in New York parks.

When my mother passed away, the Rachmaninov was engraved in my soul once again.

So as I cycled to the Beaches on Father's Day, the chords and lyricism of concerto wafted into my consciousness and the memories of my father plugging in the record changer and my mother's laborious breathing mingled with the notes and the melodies. The tears in my eyes were not from the wind in my face but from the power of the music and the memories.

When I made my customary stop at the coffee shop, I called my father in Chicago to wish him a happy Father's Day. I told him I was thinking of him and he said the same about me. His voice, despite his 90 years was that same voice that told me in Brooklyn to listen to the music that has become part of my life and soul. It was a gift from my father that will last my whole life.

Dr. Michael Gordon is Vice-President of Medical Service at Baycrest, a professor of Medicine at the University of Toronto, and a member of the National Advisory Council on Aging.

These columns appeared in The Toronto Star in 2001 and 2002 and are reprinted with permission.