My Dad was a classical music fanatic. He was the type of guy who could hear the first few opening notes of a piece and immediately call out not only the symphony number and movement, but also composer and even the era. He was THAT GUY. So while I suffered through a childhood of car rides filled with WDPR, Cincy's WGUC (which I called "double-you-GUCK"), and Cleveland's WCLV, I eventually gained a sensible, although not fanatic (and certainly not remotely knowledgeable) appreciation of symphonic music.
All, that, is, except for Anonin Dvořak's Symphony No. 9, From the New World. Specifically the second of four movements titled "Largo". Dad was elated when I said that not only did I like that piece, but that more than just a casual yen, I enjoyed it so much as to label it my favorite. He always was proud of me for singling out and particularly enjoying that piece of music. It was our little inside bond, Dvořak's Largo.
I am working at a retirement home in Elyria, Ohio, just west of Cleveland. Today while we were working in resident's apartments, from an adjacent unit (as I was working in an empty Guest unit), I heard the dulcet strains of WCLV wafting across the hallway. It made me think of Dad, and then of how it's been possibly over a decade since I've heard my favorite piece... and how I would love to hear it again. A few minutes later, the symphony which was playing ended, and after a station identification and then brief pause, I immediately recognized the very opening chord of the next piece.
Antonin Dvořak's Symphony From the New World, Largo movement.
On my work ladder I fell completely silent and still, taking in the music as though re-connecting with an old friend from the distant past.
And I felt the distinct presence of my Dad, to the point of nearly catching his scent, reassuring me with this beautiful gift of my favorite symphony that he was still very much alive and present... and listening.
And I whispered to him "Hi, Dad.", and "Thanks."
