MEMOIRS

"In the beginning," the first quote from a very important book, conjures up all kinds of thoughts. We all have to have had a beginning insignificant though it might be, and mine occurred on the 7th day of March 1904 in a small house in back of another house on the northeast corner of Vance and Ewing streets in Toledo, Ohio. The attending physician was a Dr. Bringham (those days, hospitals were not considered necessary to be born in). Also in those days, doctors would make house calls. To make matters a little more exciting, my arrival, according to my mother, was two months early. Hence the first years of my existence were a catch up game (again from information handed down from my mother). Apparently my first seven years were rather precarious ones especially where the digestive system was concerned and I was obliged to be denied some of the goodies I particularly liked, namely peaches of any kind. This prompted my elders to impress upon me the futility of eating any because, as family anecdote has it, "Peathes aw gone." I can still vaguely remember my disappointment in hearing the dictum from on high.

The first seven years of my life having been "lived through," I was ready for normal childhood, that is, free from the devastating diseases which plagued young children those days, such as polio and diphtheria. Modern man should be grateful for the relative demise of those diseases. In due time I was enrolled in Kindergarten and then in elementary school, a good half mile from home. We kids walked over and back. At that time school bussing was an impossible dream of the distant future. Memories of those years are rather dim, except for one rather indelible event. I was in the third grade. School was letting out in the Winter time and the streets were icy. A light one horse candy wagon was approaching the corner where I was about to cross. For some unavoidable reason I crossed right in front of this horse and wagon. The horse, stepping high to keep from slipping, succeeded in mowing me down with the wheels of the wagon close behind. It was over in a few seconds and there I lay, no doubt crying lustily. As luck would have it, on the opposite corner was a potato chip factory and several men were outside with an available automobile handy which they used to drive me to the nearest doctor's office. The flesh had been scraped clean from my nose, requiring a number of stitches to close the wound. I was still in shock and no anesthetic was necessary so I was told later. The shock must have continued for I can dimly remember my mother and my aunt working for hours to get warmth and circulation back into me. In a few days I was up and around, but I still have the scar to prove it.

By this time my parents had bought a house in a newly developed part of the city, a nice, comfortable six room dwelling, with dual fixtures for electricity and gas. Vestiges of the "gas era" were still around. Vestiges of the ethnic complexion of the city of Toledo were very evident in that the immigrants, as they arrived from Europe, tended to flock together. Hence there were sections of town where the Germans lived, known as the "hill" and the "ward." Just beyond the Germans on the "hill" were the Poles. Another section of the city, Lagrange Street, claimed more Polish settlers. There were also Hungarian and Irish sections, each with their religious persuasion evident in the form of an imposing church. Lutheran churches marked the horizon in the German sections and mostly Catholic churches in the others. The word of God was preached in the language of the old country. That language was heard also on the streets and in the stores of the vicinity, except that it was frequently in the dialect of the group. Low German or Plattdeutsch was the home language of the Germans, the dialect of north Germany.

About a year after my "affair" with the horse, I began my acquaintance with the violin. How and why does one do these things? I guess it was, as a youth, my father had fiddled a few tunes on this instrument and therefore had a kind regard for it. In any case, a violin was made available and I started taking lessons from a teacher of sorts who lived but a block away. This teacher also taught all the plectrum instruments, the mandolin, banjo and guitar. As a result, my bowing technique must have been sadly lacking. In due time, I believe it was two years, I changed to another teacher, Emil Sturmer by name, a good professional violinist who served as an excellent role model for me. Through this connection, the Toledo Conservatory of Music, I was gradually introduced to the realm of student recitals. My first student offering was Beethoven's Minuet in G. It launched me into the dim life of a plodding music student, first with one teacher and then with another. My esteemed teacher, Mr. Sturmer, pulled up stakes and moved with his wife and children to San Francisco. The next two teachers were from the professional ranks of the movie house orchestras and left little lasting impression upon my budding musical and violinistic awareness. Eventually, around the age of fifteen, I joined the class of one of the leading violin teachers, Lynell Reed by name. He had gone to Belgium to study with the famous Ovid Musin and had returned to Toledo to dispense the knowledge and inspiration gained to the upper crust of aspiring violin students.

About this time I became associated with a number of orchestras, the first being a theater type organization under the name of the Toledo Newsboys Orchestra, playing the pit of the large auditorium of the Newsboys building each Sunday during the season.. World War I was in progress and many were the times we played the current popular war song, "Over There." The next group was the inevitable Sunday School Orchestra which had to be endured because of church ties. Concomitantly with my teen age years the Toledo Symphony Orchestra was organized and I became a member of the second violin section. Most of the members of the orchestra were recruited from the ranks of the various movie house orchestras in the city. That was my first introduction to symphonic literature under the somewhat questionable baton of the superb organizer, Louis Clement. The concerts of the orchestra were held in the auditorium of Scott High School, my Alma Mater.

During my freshman year there, an orchestra was formed under the guidance of an aspiring conductor, Mr. Bostleman. He was the head of the newly formed Institute of Music. Speaking of a "mostly Mozart" concept, I remember his imposing upon this fledgling orchestra the Jupiter Symphony of Mozart for the whole year. For a long time after that it was impossible for me to listen sympathetically to that symphony. The next year a high school orchestra was formally organized and added to the curriculum. Bessie Werum was hired to conduct, a position she held for many years. Eventually I became concertmaster of this orchestra through my senior year.

In 1916, I attended the funeral of my paternal grandfather who had immigrated to the U.S. from his native northern Germany at the age of 50, with his wife and six children, the youngest of whom was my father, aged two. In Germany, my grandfather had been a shoemaker of the old school, that is, he was skilled at making shoes by hand. However, in the new country there was no demand for the handmade variety, so he had a difficult time getting used to the new situation. The year 1916 sort of marked the end of an era. Europe was at war and America was still at peace, but on the brink to enter this "war to end all wars." My grandfather's funeral also in a sense marked the end of horse drawn carriages. The horse drawn cab would call for one at his home and drive first to the church and then to the cemetery. The working details for a large funeral must have been very complex for the man those days who was called the undertaker. Just a final observation about my grandfather Ahrendt. He was born in the year 1832, one year before Johannes Brahms and within 75 miles of Hamburg, Brahms' birth place.

In the Fall of 1918, I entered high school. All freshmen were assigned room 64, our study hall for the year. On November 11th, 1918, at the eleven o'clock hour, I was sitting at my study hall desk when suddenly the announcement was made of the Armistice, which meant the end of World War I. Great rejoicing ensued. Nevertheless, our classes in military training continued instead of physical education which it replaced. Also, about that time, legal consumption of alcohol was replaced by the Prohibition laws and my father, who was a liquor salesman, was out of a job. Dad, a superb salesman, beloved by his customers, soon became associated with a wholesale distributing company, selling cigars, cigarettes and other tobacco products. The school year 1921-1922 was notable for the fact that my parents bought an automobile, an Overland sedan. I had learned to drive earlier on a Maxwell (the car of Jack Benny fame) and my father picked up the skill quickly since he had to drive a company car in his territory, northwestern Ohio.

During my senior year in high school the local B.F. Keith vaudeville theater held a talent competition, the winner or winners of which would be given a week's contract to appear as an attraction on their weekly stage show. Three seniors at my high school entered the competition, Karl Young, pianist, Russell Gohring, baritone, and myself. Through the strenuous efforts of our friends and relatives (with my many aunts, uncles and cousins, I believe they account for half the population of the city of Toledo) we won. On the week we appeared, the headline act was the popular monologist, "Chick" Sales. That was still in the vaudeville era though near the end of it.

During the high school years (English, Math through trigonometry, Physics) I became increasingly involved in the local music scene with little time left for anything else. It seemed perfectly natural that I consider further study at the college level, my wonderful parents being willing to assist financially as best they could. Earlier thoughts dwelt on the Chicago Musical College, but our minds were changed at one of the concerts of the Toledo Symphony Orchestra. During an intermission, my father engaged in conversation with a Mr. Julius Sturm, a 'cellist member of the Detroit Symphony, who was one of the professional musicians hired to strengthen the local orchestra for the concerts. Dad spoke of my plans to study in Chicago at which point Mr. Sturm warmly recommended the Cincinnati Conservatory instead. For years he had been a member of the Cincinnati Symphony. Only recently having moved to Detroit, he was familiar with the opportunities at the Conservatory of Music in Cincinnati and recommended the violin teacher there, Mr. Tirendelli.