Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeek.    Auuuuuuuuk.

No, I wasn't killing a chicken. I was trying to play my oboe.

I played the oboe in the junior high school band.

Let me correct that..... I didn't play the oboe in the junior high school band.

Although I knew every key and every note,  as much as I tried to force my breath through the double reeded instrument a civil sound  never came out.. Occasionally an obscure toot would eminate from from the bulbous base....but a recognizable song? Never.

 My music teacher was very sympathetic.  At my weekly lesson, Mr. Slater tried to teach me how too make the two reeds vibrate between my lips to make a sound. But it never happened. The oboe would screech obscenely as if it were being strangled

My mishandling of the oboe didn't seem to bother Mr. Slater.  Conducting a herd of seventh graders with varying degrees of talent, he would occasionally nod at me when I managed a sound...any sound from my instrument.

"Just enjoy what you are doing," he said to me. "And the music will come."

"Gather round, Boys and Girls," Mr. Slater announced one day soon after we entered the room. "I have some very good news!"

The class was buzzing. "What kind of good news?"

"We have been selected to join the Mount Vernon All-City Orchestra for the annual Christmas concert!" he announce proudly. He clapped his hands to get the class's attention. "All three  junior high schools will join together to form one big orchestra.  Between now and December 21st  we have alot of work to do," he warned. "Although every school is learning the same songs, you won't get a chance to practice with the other two schools until the day of the concert."

I looked at my oboe. Playing for Mr. Slater and the other seventh graders was one thing. Playing for the city of Mount Vernon was a whole other matter.

"I raised my hand." Do we have to do this? I asked.

"Yes," Mr. Slater replied, "All seventh graders must participate.

The next few weeks was a jumble of "Jingle Bells', 'Silent Night,' "We Wish You A Merry Christmas" and other holiday songs. I say jumble because every song I played sounded the same.

Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeek.      Auuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuk.

December 21, Wood Auditorim. The initial rehearsal with all three schools. I was relieved to see Mr. Slater step up to the podium. Maybe this woudn't be so painful after all.

"OK, class," he announced, "We will start with "Frosty The Snowman." He raised his baton and the song began. As usual, I could barely get a sound out of my oboe. I saw Mr. Slater look at me and smile as I wrestled with my instrument.

After three hours of torture, Mr. Slater lowered his baton. "Boys and girls, you can go home now. Have dinner, change into your school colors and be back here for our performance at seven pm."

Sixty chairs slid back, and almost as many music stands fell over as the orchestra raced to get off the stage.

I had made it through rehearsal. I guessed I would make it through the concert.

December 21st. Seven pm. Wood  Auditorium. We were ready for our performance. I saw Mr. Slater standing on this side of the stage. I waved to him. He waved back at me. Then he did something I never expected.

He left.

A fat bald headed man in a wrinkled ill-fitting suit limped across the stage and stepped up to the podium. It took him two tries to get himself onto the platform. "Ladies and Gentlmen, I am Dr. Kern." He glared at the class. " Let me make a few things very clear." he extended his finger. "I will tolerate no talking. I will tolerate no fooling around." His face turned red. "Is that clear Ladies and Gentlemen?"

"Yes" we all mumbled."

"What's that?" he roared

"Yes," Dr. Kern, sixty children replied

Probably from nervousness, Albey Firestone giggled.

"What' so funny young lady? the tyrant asked.

Albey was silent. The blood drained out of her face.

"Get out," the fat man was livid. "Get out of my orchestra. Now!"

Albey started to cry as she  looked at the angry man.

"But I...."

"Get out!"

 Albey realized that Dr. Kern was serious.. Albey also realized that her family, who was waiting to see her perform, would not be seeing her. She would be watching the concert from backstage.

"Anyone else?" the man asked in a tauntingly.

The room was now quiet. No one moved a muscle.

Showtime.

The curtain opened and the audience applauded.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, pick up your instruments." our conductor instructed.

We picked up our instruments.

And then it happened.

The reed on my oboe struck the music stand and shattered  onto the floor. Scraps of wood flew around my feet. There was a black hole where  the reed had been.  The instrument was worthless.

Afraid of following Albey Firestone off the stage for my clumsiness, I shaped my lips like I was holding the reed between my teeth. I held the oboe in it's usual place and began fingering the keys.  I began  by not playing "Frosty the Snowman." then I didn't play, "Silent Night." 

I  soon realized this was fun. Without the worry of accidentally  making a rude  sound, I could be as animated as I wanted to be. I swung the oboe up. I swung the oboe down. I swayed from side to side.

Somehow I made it through the concert. Faking my way through every song. the show ended. Dr, Kern took his bow. We stood up and took our bows. the curtain closed.

And the Mount Vernon All-City Orchestral Concert was over.

"Now go backstage and retreive your instrument cases and hats and coats," Dr. Kern instructed, "and find  your parents. Sixty children got up to leave the stage.

"You!" he pointed to me. "You with the oboe. Come over here."

"Oh no," I thought. "I didn't fool him. I'm in trouble."

"What's your name,  young man?" the  man in the wrinkled suit asked me. Still standing on the platform, he towered over me."

"Steven Katz," I murmered.

"Well, Mr. Katz," the man actually smiled. "I have never seen such enthusiasm in a seventh grader. I could see how much you enjoyed  playing your oboe. I could see you are a skilled musician." the man's smile vanished. "That is all."

"Thank you Sir," I said as I backed away.

"I retruned my oboe the foloowing day. I received no protest from Mr. Slater.

"Next year you'll chose a different  instrument," he said reassuringly." Something easier. Don't  worry about it."

And that was the last I saw of my oboe.

Some people might think I failed miserably that night at the Wood Auditorium. Playing an entire concert without uttering a note is not exactly what a great musician would do.

"Just enjoy yourself and the music will come." Mr. Slater had taught me so many years ago.

 That night, in the Wood Auditorium, I really did enjoy myself.

And in my ears, I heard every note.