TROUBLE IN “PARADISE” I played on the August/September 1982 Philharmonic South American tour as a substitute in the double bass section. For me, having spent the month before teaching bass at the Festival do Inverno in Campos do Jordão , it was familiar turf. At the Festival the previous month, I had been teaching bass to twelve Brazilian high school students.
Here are six of them- Clovis, Fausto, Orley and Adail (photo on left) and Sergio and Flaviana on the right I learned an important lesson from Orley. One night at the Festival, I attended a concert. While I was talking with another American teacher, I noticed something strange. Orley and Fausto were seated to my left. Every time I spoke, Orley would start saying, “Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah” to Fausto. At first I couldn’t figure it out but I soon realized that my English was mere gibberish to Orley! Truly, thinking that English is universally understandable and predominant is a misconception for many Americans. Communication with my students was diƯicult at first. Only one kid spoke English. So that I could eƯectively teach, I learned the Portuguese words that pertained to playing a stringed instrument. I mixed these words in with the Spanish I had learned in junior high. In addition, every day in my hotel I studied Portuguese verb tenses and the basics of the language. By the end of the month, I could have a simple conversation in Portuguese and I was proud about that.
It was thrilling to be able to return to South America with the New York Philharmonic only a few weeks later. I was definitely psyched! The tour started in Caracas, Venezuela- at that time an oil rich economy. We continued to Rio de Janeiro and Sao Paulo where I got to see some of my former students again.` Also, by then, I could actually chat with them in their own language. I hung out with the best bass player in the group- Sergio de Oliveira e Silva. He was a “wiz” with virtuoso bass repertoire but spoke absolutely no English. Next stop was charming Montevideo, Uruguay where this picture was taken (below right). The name of the intersection made me feel right at home (LOL)
Photo by Ben Simon Then on to Buenos Aires where we played concerts in the historic Teatro Colon. This was the era of the “Falklands War” when Argentina fought with Great Britain to hold on to a territory they call Malvinas . There was terrible hyper inflation for the Argentines and the American dollar was suddenly much stronger than it had ever been. (I am kind of ashamed that I took advantage of this.) I had steak dinners with wine for two dollars and bought a $1200 ebony Moeck Rottenburgh alto recorder for just $25 at Ricordi’s.
Playing at the Teatro Colon was marvellous. Also they put “subs” like me in the program!
As you can see on the itinerary (upper left), September 3, 1982 was a free day for the orchestra. The orchestra management thoughtfully scheduled a day trip to Iguazu Falls- an extraordinary natural wonder at the intersection of Argentina, Brazil and Paraguay (see my crappy photo below)
Photo by author
Two luxury buses left from the Hotel Sheraton in Buenos Aires and I was scheduled to be on one of them. The Philharmonic did everything up in style on this tour- great hotels, big per diem allowances- first class all the way. I hurried to make my bus. In my haste, I had left my passport and cash in my hotel room. I thought to myself that since we were traveling as a group there couldn’t be any problems with that. When we arrived at Iguazu Falls members of the orchestra wandered about snapping photos of this awe inspiring natural vista. People were having a great time. I remember former principal bass John SchaeƯer relaxing with his girlfriend Martha and flutist Sandra Church avidly taking pictures of the Falls.
So, with the orchestra on a day trip to the Brazilian side of the falls I grabbed what seemed like a great opportunity to improve my language skills. I noticed a group of Brazilian local tourists were intent on exploring the densely verdant area close to the parking lot. This area was like a very small jungle ( selva ). I joined them.
I was chatting up the tourists and practicing my conversational skills. I lost track of time - never a good idea on a tour! Suddenly, I remembered that I had been with a group. I got nervous and furtively made my way to the parking lot. There I made the astounding discovery that the Philharmonic buses had departed . I asked a random person there, ‘ Diga-me o que aconteceu com ônibus americano ” (Tell me what happened to the American bus) He answered, “ O grupo americano já foi embora” (The American group just left) I was frozen in panic. Forget about speaking Portuguese, I could no longer speak English. All I could do was say a four letter word over and over while it dawned on me that I not only had I missed my connection but I also had neither passport nor money. I was truly f-cked! The Brazilian tourist I had just spoken with said something I did not understand and drove me to a small administrative oƯice on the outskirts of the park. They will help me, he seemed to say. The administrator in this oƯice was dressed like a parks ranger. She had a mop of curly hair and sat with her feet on a steel desk on an old fashioned roll back chair. She did not speak one word of English.
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I did my best to explain my situation to her and had recovered my composure. She listened to me intently and then leaned all the way back on her chair suddenly breaking out into unrestrained laughter. This bothered me because I was not being taken seriously at all! I was, after all, playing in a prestigious musical group. Then she got on the phone and started talking to somebody. I still remember what she said because it made me feel even worse “ Diga-me alguma coisa senhor. Que tipo de guia deixaria um bobo americano que não fala português e que também não tem dinheiro o passaporte - no meio da selva?” (Tell me something sir. What kind of tour guide would leave an American fool who doesn’t speak a word of Portuguese- who has no money or passport- in the middle of a jungle?) I didn’t like that my skills were being slighted and made a face. She amended her comment somewhat.
“ Estou te dizendo - que tipo de guia deixaria um bobo americano que fala um pouquinho de português no meio da selva?” ( I’m telling you- what kind of tour guide would leave an American fool who speaks a little bit of Portuguese- in the middle of a jungle?) I had no idea what was going on until two Peruvian looking guys stopped by about 10 minutes later. They asked me to get in their car and I was driven to a dock on the Paraná river. There was a rowboat moored there which they eƯiciently paddled across the river. At the other end of the river was Paraguay.
AI generated illustration When we got to Paraguay, I was met by a fiftyish woman wearing black with a lit cigarette hanging over the side of her mouth. She spoke rapid fire Spanish with an Italianate lilt like many Argentinians do. I postulated that she might be Argentine but really didn’t know. Nor did I know her name or have any idea what the trajectory of the mission was at this point.
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She drove me to an inexpensive looking one floor motel near the Asuncion, Paraguay airport. It was in this vicinity. As you can see, there is this predominant color of red clay everywhere and a complete
absence of high rise buildings. I truly felt that I was “someplace else” now and that I was somehow irretrievably “out of sync” with the rest of the orchestra. The next morning, a driver comes to the motel and books me on the plane from Asuncion to Buenos Aires. I never paid for the plane ticket or the motel in Paraguay. They were all, by means unknown, “taken care oƯ”. When I got oƯ the plane in Buenos Aires, I was met by the assistant to the orchestra General Manager. She said, “Joe, everybody in the orchestra is so worried about you!” She drove me to the elegant Sheraton Hotel- a far cry from the motel I had stayed at in Paraguay.
I was hungry so I went to the hotel restaurant. None other than Maestro Zubin Mehta invited me to his table and bought my ravioli. “Joe”, he said expansively, “ Everybody has been so worried about you. How did you ever find your way back?” We chatted over pasta for about a half an hour. The maestro was charming and locquacious. I was amazed that he even knew my name! (Substitutes in an orchestra feel anonymous and invisible).
AI generated illustration of Zubin Mehta eating lunch
I was feeling like a “celebrity” until I ran into Jimmy Chambers, personnel manager and legendary first horn player in the Philharmonic (until 1969). He was a great musician and always honest with people. He had great integrity. I didn’t enjoy what he had to say, though.
He looked at me with his deep set blue eyes and said, “Joe, there is no excuse for what you did. What you did was unprofessional . You acted like a child!” Mr. Chambers was right, of course!
On September 6th we were on the way to our next destination- Santiago, Chile. Who should I see on the bus to the airport but Maestro Zubin Mehta himself. I made a little joke (since we were now on “social terms”. “Maestro, it’s not everyday that you get to ride the airport bus with the music director of a major orchestra. It is truly a special occasion.” He shot right back as I was snapping this very picture.
Jerome Roth and Stanley Drucker laughing at Maestro Mehta’s joke
“It is a special occasion for me too (pause). It is the first bus on the whole tour that you actually remembered to get on . I learned three things from this episode. 1. Always stay with the group
2. Always bring money and needed documentation 3. The conductor will always have the last laugh
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