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‘Germglish’ we used to call his insistence on combining German and English words into fractured sentences. If we did not use the correct hand positions with the bow or on the fingerboard, we felt the sharp sting of the ruler he always carried. I went home many times with bloody knuckles, but I owe my perfect technique to his pedagogy. He used to keep an old Brazilwood bow around for some of his more recalcitrant (meaning bratty and disrespectful) girl students, whom he bent over his desk for a more ‘traditional’ form of correction … but modestly over clothing. ‘Ouch!’ I can still feel those bow strokes on my bottom, and the red welts they left! So here I stand, playing this lovely and ethereal piece to perfection in front of an appreciative audience, with my ex-lover conducting me. Anton was far from my first, of course. I those honors go to Henry Cunningham, when both of us were eighteen. Henry was a French horn player, and we were at band camp the summer before our senior year in. We even dated once or twice, but eventually, I got involved in a new area using spherical coordinates to embed code within moving simulated 3-dimensional images. She got involved studying for her psychology comps, and a hockey player from Northeastern. Long story short, we drifted apart. And no, I never slept with her. But here I was suddenly, depressed, disoriented, slowly freezing to death, and only about a block from her house. Even if she wasn’t home, I knew where she hid a key, it would be easy enough to break in – just to warm up mind you. She lived on one side of a duplex house, a little run down, with a creaky porch and all, but a house with a girl in it no less, and with the mood I was in, that did me just fine. I rapped on the storm door, anxiously waiting, waiting. Finally, there were footsteps, a girlish hand pulling back the door curtain, and then her face in the doorway behind the chain. ‘Alex, I told you not to call me anymore. I told you not to come here.’ She said..
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