By Alexander Bernstein
It seems impossible that twenty years have passed since my father (Leonard Bernstein) died. Or perhaps, I should write, I haven’t seen my father for twenty years! Sometimes I feel as though he is on tour again and will be back at any time now…
My father traveled a great deal. When he was home, though, he was
really home. As a composer, he didn’t have an office to go to like
the other dads. He would stay up very late working and then wake up
very late. He would always be there when we came home from school,
ready to play (or at least not minding if we played quietly in his
studio while he worked). In the summertime we had him all day long for
swimming, tennis, sailing, or just eating six ears of corn apiece.
Sometimes he would play something for us as soon as he finished
writing it and would ask our opinions. Undoubtedly, it was always
“terrific” because he had such faith in his work and played with such
joy and energy.
When he was conducting (which was most of the time), he would be home
studying the scores or out at rehearsals. Occasionally he would take
us kids along to the rehearsals. We would spend all day at the making
of his televised “Young People’s Concerts,” running around Carnegie
Hall or the Philharmonic Hall (now Avery Fisher Hall) as if we owned
the place. It was sort of like “Eloise at the Plaza.”
Evenings were often festive times with relatives and friends from the
New York arts world. I remember much laughter, noise and a lot of word
games. My mother was a wonderful hostess, making everyone feel
comfortable. She would always add her own sense of fun and silliness
to the occasion.
Once in a while we got to travel with our father, and it was such a
treat! Everything was first class with lots of attention. We would
see all the sights, meet all the mucky-mucks, and stay up late
ordering room service. Heaven.
We learned the music as we sat (and ran around) during rehearsals. We
never really knew that we were getting an education in “Classical”
music, but my father was a great teacher. Whether it be music, poetry,
philosophy, or politics, my father’s greatest passion was to share and
to communicate. My sister has said that his real ambition was to
connect, in one way or another, with every person on the planet. For
having lived only 72 years, he didn’t do a bad job of it. My father loved
people and made love with multitudes. He never stopped learning. His
appetite for knowledge and life was insatiable. Not only did he read
constantly, but he would stay up all night with a group of students
talking about music, love, and religion. He would drink them under the
table and still be ready to rehearse at 10 a.m.
I was a very bad music student. I rarely practiced piano and dreaded
my lessons (given by a series of game, but ultimately frustrated
teachers). I did listen to the music. I listened to my father talk
about art, humanity, social justice and education. Eventually, not
long before his death, I was a teacher with a Master’s Degree. My
father was increasingly interested in education. We talked a lot about
what exactly it was that made an engaged, life-long learner. The more
and more we talked, it became clear that art and its processes could
be the great connectors between disciplines. Learning itself is a
creative act. Only by truly making knowledge one’s own can one deeply
understand it and connect it with other knowledge.
After his death, our family started The Leonard Bernstein Center for
Learning. We developed The Artful Learning Model (tm), now being
implemented in schools all over the country
. Teachers and students
come to see themselves as creators as well as scholars. Not at all
to diminish his composing and conducting, but it is Leonard
Bernstein’s legacy as an educator that I hope will have the most
impact.
I guess he’s staying on tour after all – he is still communicating!
Editor’s Note: On the 20th anniversary of Leonard Bernstein’s passing, his son writes a tribute to his father for dot429.
Πήγη: http://dot429.com/articles/2010/10/14/remembering-my-father-leonard-bernstein-82518-101490
