Saturday, June 20th was my thirty-second lesson, and for a while, it seemed like it might just be my last.
We worked on both of the pieces I had selected for my recital, the following day, and I continued to work on them on my own for an hour after the lesson, after which, Maestro York returned, with another student who had arranged practice time.
At that point, I was informed that we would not be moving the console out into full view (unlike every other organ recital I had attended at St. Luke's), and I would therefore be almost completely hidden from the audience. He seemed to think I should be relieved, and was truly surprised that I would be disappointed.
The disappointment at not being seen, and my having found out about it only the day before the recital, festered in my mind, and by that afternoon, I had decided to cancel my appearance at the recital, and informed Maestro York of that decision.
The next morning, at church (University United Methodist, that weekend), my attitude was adjusted. While the joy of hearing (and seeing) Maestra Puhl play what seemed an exceptionally fun postlude (listed in the bulletin as "What God Ordains is Always Good," by Burkhardt) was probably a factor, as was the chance to speak to her as a friend, in my attitude adjustment (as were the various messages I got, both supportive and chiding, from various pen-pals), the primary factor was the reading, and the sermon: The Parable of the Prodigal Son. As soon as I got home, I left messages for Maestro York, letting him know that if he would still have me, I would play the recital.
When Maestro York returned my call, I found that he would be happy to allow me to play in the recital, and so I was back in.
That evening, I was one of ten of Maestro York's students, including three other organ students and six piano students, who performed for our friends and family. I remember very little of the actual performance; it seems I "zoned," and performed on "autopilot." I do know that I made a few mistakes, but recovered from them, and nobody watching seemed to mind.
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James H. H. Lampert