It was many years ago; come to think of it, everything was many years ago, I had the pleasure of prepping a piano for Maestro Watts at the Philadelphia Musical Academy. That, in fact, is where he studied and had some lessons with my piano professor, Mrs. Florenza Decimo Levengood. His studies at PMA were under Genia Robinor, Doris Bawden, and Clement Petrillo, then of course Leon Fleisher at Peabody.
I had to babysit the Steinway B and Mr. Watts. He was doing Tanglewood auditions, as I remember.
Student after student filed in and played what they thought would impress him enough to get selected for the summer program in Boston. Between students I got to hear story after story and we laughed and joked, and then were interrupted by the next victim. He smoked this huge cigar I would need two hands to pick up.
By the end, he reached into his coat pocket and came out with two tickets to his performance that Friday afternoon. I asked what he would be playing, He said, “I was supposed to play Mussorgsky’s Pictures at an Exhibition, but I can’t even read the darn thing!” I, in a bit of shock, reminded him the performance was in a couple of hours and asked what the strategy was.
He explained that under contract to Columbia Masterworks at the time and being booked years in advance, he was doing 100 recitals a year. Practice came at a premium. So, he would play pieces he knew, then throw in some new pieces to test them out…YIKES! He would indeed change the program that afternoon.
He went his way, and I went mine. Of course I went to the recital. I had great seats and took a friend.
Just before the recital, the hall manager came out and announced that there would be a program change and instead of Pictures, Mr. Watts would be doing the B-minor Chopin Sonata, some excerpts from Candide, in honor of Leonard Bernstein, and some of the usual suspects.
Out on stage he comes, changed into his suit; matinees usually didn’t come with tuxedos, he bows to thunderous applause, knows where I am, winks at me with a tiny smile, turns to the piano and sits. His hands approached the keyboard and out came the unannounced Beethoven’s Fur Elise, played at a painfully slow, yet artistic tempo. After that, the stated changes.
OK, when all was finished, ancors and all, I went backstage to collect my final hug. I went to the green room where he greeted me like an old friend. I got my hug but asked, “Maestro, what the heck was that?!”, “Oh, you mean the Fur Elise, I told you I’m short on time, that was my warmup!” We laughed and I parted with a great memory and a great story.
Maestro died at 77, way too soon. I shall always remember our day together; what a gift. You can’t see me, but I have tears running down my face.