On a warm Los Angeles day in 1962, two high schools competed in a version of the popular television quiz program College Bowl, which pitted two universities in academic combat. For the high school version, topics were known in advance, and each team could be assembled based on the presumed expertise of its students.
My squad represented Los Angeles High, and our opposition was rival North Hollywood High. One of the categories was classical music, the only reason I was placed in the group. On the other side was a young man whose name I knew but had never met: Michael Tilson Thomas.
The questions flew fast and furiously. We were played brief musical extracts and asked to identify the piece. Back and forth it went, with Michael and I matching answers equally—until the end.
All of a sudden, I was completely baffled, but my opposition knew Benjamin Britten’s Prince of the Pagodas. I have no memory of which school won the battle, but from that day onward, before he was known as MTT, the two of us maintained a distant yet close relationship.
We did find each other on the same stage once. Michael played oboe at USC, and I was a middling violist. It was for a performance of Beethoven’s Missa Solemnis under the direction of Roger Wagner. After that, our paths did not cross all that often. But whenever they merged, we would spend hours talking about music.
Michael was more focused than perhaps any musician in my age group. He knew what he wanted and was not afraid to reach for his goals. His lightning wit and facility with the baton took his career even farther than he might have imagined.
His innovative ideas garnered him widespread praise. With his appointment in San Francisco, Michael had the platform to truly expand what it meant to be a music director in the United States. He was the logical heir of the Bernstein mantle, able to expound on music in both simple and complex ways. Whereas I was the all-American kid, Michael was the more sophisticated and elegant spokesperson.
He was a pleasure to watch. Economical in his technique, he always conveyed what the music meant. Michael elicited wonderful performances from the various orchestras he led, whether the top-of-the-line professionals or the marvelously talented young musicians in the orchestra he founded, the New World Symphony.
I last saw him a few years ago in Miami. He and his husband Joshua had my wife and me over for lunch. It was as if we had just seen each other the day before. News of his ailment hit hard. He penned a note to everyone, graciously accepting that his role in the music world was at an end. His words were meaningful, with a particularly poignant sentence at the letter’s conclusion: “A ‘coda’ is a musical element at the end of a composition that brings the whole piece to a conclusion. A coda can vary greatly in length. My life’s coda is generous and rich.”
Words to live by as we continue on life’s journey. I willingly accept my defeat in high school, knowing that MTT brought meaning to the lives of so many people.
Rest well, my friend.