Rosemont College was in a suburb near Villanova, and many considered it to be the sister school, because both were exclusively and respectively female and male and were in close proximity.
My girlfriend-drought after the PLC affair continued, and David, being the friend he is, suggested I come to an event being hosted by his girlfriend.
Rosemont was another one of those mind-blowing revelations set on a huge suburban campus with turn-of-the-century stone buildings connected by roads rolling under the canopies of hundred-year-old hardwoods.
I met David at the coffee house his girlfriend ran and immediately hit it off with one of her classmates.
After a few dates, she invited me to attend their Christmas performance, which she described as a recital-like event of Christmas songs. I expected Jingle Bells, Silent Night, and so on.
When she stepped on stage in an evening gown and sang two selections from Handle’s Messiah, she not only blew me away, but ruined Handle’s Messiah for me in the way Judy Garland ruined Over the Rainbow. No one has been able to sing it properly since.
Her circle of friends were artists among whom I felt welcomed and well tolerated (I almost wrote appreciated). The circle included singers, instrumentalists, painters, and sculptors. Her sister, who attended a music college in Philly, for example, played the viola, her boyfriend the bass.
Since I was the only one with a car, we would often roll up to take her sister and her boyfriend on double dates. This group was fascinating. My girlfriend, in addition to singing like an angel and swimming at the Olympic level, spoke five languages and could tell you not only what brand of liquor was in a mixed drink but the brand of mixer as well.
Her sister and friends were extraordinary players of Drop the Needle. Drop the Needle is a game played with a phonograph. One player would choose a recording and, secreting the title, put it on the turntable. They would then drop the needle on some random spot on the spinning plate, and the others had to guess the piece and artist.
They could tell you the name of the orchestra, who was conducting, and the venue.
On one occasion, we decided, actually they decided, to see P.D.Q. Bach at the Academy of Music.
They explained that among pretentious music aficionados, the Bach family of composers were differentiated by their initials: J.S. Bach, J.C. Bach, etc., providing a source of amusement for much of the musical community.
Peter Shickele, a professor at Julliard and musical satirist, created P.D.Q. Bach as a fictitious lost relative of the Bach family. He invented the person P.D.Q. and composed music, which he attributed to him.
His performance was hilarious, especially with this group to interpret and translate.
This evening, I picked up my date and drove to the music college, another collection of stately stone buildings with arches and courtyards. It was a hidden oasis in the middle of inner-Philly, with parlors elaborately decorated with thick Persian rugs, 19th-century period furniture, and walls adorned with tapestries and intricately carved wood trim. It appeared as if an old English walled estate had fallen from the sky and landed beside the cobblestoned streets of one of the densest areas of the inner city.
When we arrived, it was obvious that a special event was in progress. When my date saw this, she burst out, “Marian Anderson is here tonight!”
Her head was on a swivel, taking in the bright lights illuminating the walks and the limousines delivering people in tuxedos and evening gowns.
As we walked into the campus, she said, “Wouldn’t it be something to be able to meet her?!” And added, “They probably won’t let you in tonight. You’ll have to wait outside!”
Her usual cool demeanor and received British accent noticeably disaffected. The wait outside remark particularly uncharacteristic.
Now, in case you’re not familiar with Marian Anderson, she was born in Philadelphia in 1897 and was the most famous American contralto singer – ever.
She had in her lifetime accumulated numerous awards including the first Presidential Medal of Freedom, a Congressional Gold Medal, the National Medal of Arts, and a Grammy Lifetime Achievement Award.
She sang for sold-out audiences worldwide, including performances on TV and in movies, as well as at Dwight D. Eisenhower’s inauguration. Eisenhower appointed her as a delegate to the United Nations Human Rights Committee.
She sang for JFK’s inauguration and christened the USS George Washington Carver nuclear submarine.
She entertained troops on U.S. bases during WWII and the Korean War, and the Metropolitan Opera named her one of the few permanent members of the opera company. She was awarded 24 honorary doctoral degrees by Howard University, Temple University, Smith College, and others.
The event was a $2,000 per plate fundraiser, spotlighting her life as a musical treasure. That’s equivalent to almost $25,000 a plate in today’s money.
When we arrived at the main entrance, the dean was on the stairs greeting the arrivals. This was not a big school, so the dean was familiar with me and my date, and as she predicted, he told her to go in to get her sister, adding, “Michael will stay here with me.”
When she left, he took me to a room off the main hall, which turned out to be an elaborately outfitted parlor/library with bookcases of leather-bound classics built around huge stone fireplaces opposite settees for reading and conversation.
With a mischievous smile, he said, “Wait here in the green room.”
I chose a nice, comfortable couch facing the fireplace and sat down to wait for my friends.
About a minute later, there was some cheery chatter outside, and the door opened. The dean escorted a woman in and asked her to wait here a few minutes. He winked at me and shut the door behind her.
When she turned, I stood with my mouth open, thinking, “This can’t be happening!”
She walked directly to where I was standing, and as I extended my hand, I smiled and said, “You’re Marian Anderson!”
She said, “Yes! Yes I am!”
“You know we come from the same neighborhood!” I blurted out.
She asked me where I was from and acknowledged we did come from the same part of SW Philly.
We chatted on the couch for twenty minutes or so about SW Philly, her travels, my plans, and just had a nice conversation. The attraction for the $2,000/plate tickets was seated next to me in the green room. When the dean returned and told me my friends were waiting outside, it was hard to break away.
“It was nice meeting you!” I told her.
Marian Anderson said, “It was nice meeting you too!”
I shook her hand and left.
As I drove to the academy, the others shared their excitement about Marian Anderson being at the school. My date chatted animatedly over the front seat with her sister and her boyfriend.
After five minutes or so, when there was a pause for breath, Miss ‘you’ll have to wait outside!’ turned to me and repeated, “Wouldn’t it be something to actually meet her?!”
I said, “Yes, I just had a nice conversation with her in the green room while I was waiting for the three of you to come down. She’s quite lovely.”
They turned to stone!
Then they got mad.
Then, they bombarded me with questions for the remainder of the trip! They couldn’t believe that I, the only non-musical, non-artistic one in the bunch, was the one who got to meet her.
What are the chances of that – do you suppose?