Farewell Old Friend...

I like to think that by sitting in the front row, dead center for each complete season of the National Symphony Orchestra for over 20 years, my face would be familiar to the conductor.  It’s true that many, many times over the years he has nodded to me, asked me a question, even once singling out my young companions for recognition.  But, maybe I’m fooling myself, maybe he didn’t know me, maybe I was just another face in the crowd.  No, I believe that my red-haired friend and I -- reliable fixtures on Saturday nights for so many years – were known to him on some level.  I know the first violinist knows me, she nods to us frequently and once when I saw her in another venue taking her children to music lessons, she greeted me like an old friend (albeit she didn’t say my name…) 

Why am I pondering this? Because Marvin Hamlisch -- long-time conductor of the NSO Pops at the Kennedy Center, famed composer of Barbra Streisand songs, Broadway musical and movie scores and a proponent of the All American songbook -- died today.  I was eating breakfast in the Greek diner with my husband and his family visiting from New York when my brother-in-law pointed to the TV behind the counter and said “Look, Marvin Hamlisch died.”  Since then I’ve heard he died after a “short Illness” and that he was 68 years old.  (Geez,  that’s way too young to die…). 

I really feel bad, like I lost a friend.  My symphony-going partner is in Oklahoma, so I can’t commiserate with her at the moment.    I did send an email to the couple that sits next to us at the Kennedy Center and I posted my regrets on Facebook, but it just doesn’t seem like enough.  It’s not like I can call Mrs. Hamlisch or go round to their apartment with a covered dish.  But, somehow it seems like I should be able to.  I guess that’s indicative of today’s strange and wonderful relationship we have with celebrities.  Although, it’s not like Marvin was some kind of reality show, cable TV, tabloid-reported on kind of celeb.  He was more like the kind of celeb who would appear on the Ed Sullivan show, if there was still an Ed Sullivan Show.  He’s my kind of celeb -- comfortable in his white tie & tails, no non-traditional garb for Mr. Hamlisch.   He was a consistent presence, even though over the years I saw his hair grow gray and his waistband expand.  You could always count on his exuberant enthusiasm and admiration for NSO performers ranging from Ray Charles to Kristen Chenowith.  Sometimes he shared things with us, like his obvious joy at his fairly late-in-life marriage.  Sometimes he was like the goofy older brother you never had or the crazy uncle who visited at the holidays, as he attempted to rap or lamented the lack of a good Hanukah song.  But most of the time he was the consummate entertainer steeped in old school traditions.  I am going to miss you, Mr. Hamlisch. 

I’m just saying…