"One thing about music, when it hits you, you feel no pain." Bob Marley

In my freshman year of high school,I joined the Harper Cardinals concert and marching bands. I had taken accordion lessons in 8th grade and learned how to read music. I was able to progress in a few months from playing clarinet in the beginners band to bass clarinet in the Concert Band. This pleased me no end. My parents were very proud of me.
    When football season came round the next school year, I learned to play the tenor saxophone in the Marching Band. I had many good friends in the band, on the football team and in the cheering squad. The band played at home and away games. We had routines for every half-time, and cheered like idiots from the stands. One year, we marched in the Loop Chicago St. Patrick’s Day parade. It was chilly and we had to manage to play with gloves on our hands, but it was quite a thrill knowing that we were on television.

    I was now learning a great deal about instrumental music. I really enjoyed playing in band concerts and winning a first place in a woodwind group competition. By the beginning of my junior year, I had earned bass clarinet first chair. I proudly wore my school sweater with a band letter and a medal. There was no doubt that making music was making me very happy.

I was beginning to be very intrigued by the folk music that was popular in the early ‘60’s.Together with three friends, we formed a folk group that we called “Sonny and the Ramblers.” I bought a used guitar and taught myself folk songs to play in our group.
    We first performed at a retirement home, later at several private parties, at our synagogue youth group, ,and every chance we could get at mixers all over the city. (A sure fire way to attract girls.)

    I performed solo several times at my high school, and at the end of my senior year, coordinated and performed in a “hootenanny”at our synagogue. My parents and friends were there, beaming at me from the audience; the event was a huge success and a personal triumph. I continued to play and give guitar lessons in college and later, in the town where I got my first teaching position. I also led a guitar interest group at that junior high school, wrote and directed a play where I was a part of the jazz band, and accompanied the school chorus at a holiday concert, playing electric guitar. My son, David, who is an accomplished guitarist, and I played “Bad Moon Rising” for a variety show at my school. At a faculty holiday party, I dedicated Eric Clapton’s “Wonderful Tonight” to my wife. I also loved performing with my musical friends at school variety shows.

    I am now learning to play the ukulele for my grandson. He seems fdelighted by the simple tunes that I can play and sing. I love to see his little face light up when he hears me play.

    Recently , my wife suprised me with a beautiful 12 string acoustic guitar for Fathers Day. The rich sounds that come out of it remind me of of the folk tunes that I played with such great enjoyment so many years ago.

Happy Birthday, Julie Sarah!

It was a very cold December in 1981, when Julie Sarah decided she couldn’t wait to be born.
Mom was in her 8th month, still working at nearby Kapuler. She was having some minor contractions, but just shrugged them off because it was too early. Mom got home that evening and took a bath and relaxed with a glass of wine.
At 9:00 PM, I was leaving Harper College,after teaching my last class before winter break.
When I got home, I fully intended to catch up on my favorite TV show, Hill Street Blues. It didn’t happen.
No sooner then I came into our condo, then I heard some moaning from the bathroom.
Mom was already in labor and stuck in the tub. With some difficulty,I managed pry her out and help her get dressed. She was now having fairly strong and regular contractions, so we called her doctor and were advised to come to the hospital right away.
There was a slight problem. Mom wasn’t able to walk down the flight of stairs to our car.
There was a couple down the hall who we were friendly with. They volunteered to help me get Mom downstairs and follow us to the hospital.
As excited as I was, believe it or not, I passed the expressway exit for the hospital. The nearest exit was Woodfield Mall, so I drove to their parking lot . A policeman was sitting in his car, staring at us.
    I rolled down the window and nervously explained that I needed to get my very pregnant wife to the hospital.
Could he could give us an escort? Officer Friendly said he was “off duty” and drove away. 
Despite that, we got underway to the hospital .All the way ,I was silently cursing the cop and worrying you might be born in our car. I had taken first aid classes in the Army, but they failed to include delivering a baby in the back seat of a Buick Century.
At the hospital, nature took its course.. There was no time for an epidural, so Mom just squeezed my hand and did her Lamaze breathing. 
You were literally born a half hour later, right before midnight, December 17, 1981.
After spending some time with Mom getting to know you, I finally drove home to get some sleep.
The streets and the expressway were covered with snow .I rolled down the windows and sang along with the radio to keep me awake. Before I knew it I was home ,bubbling over with excitement.
    Our precious daughter, Julie Sarah , was born during one of the coldest weeks in the 20th century, but she has left a glow in my heart that burns stronger every day.
G-d had given us a wonderful gift to share with the world.
Happy birthday, Julie Sarah! We love you very much.