DO YOU HEAR WHAT I HEAR ?
While recovering from surgery in a military hospital in 1947, my new
wristwatch displayed an unusual defect. It would only tick for my right ear. Gradually
it dawned on me. A year earlier, after hitching a ride aboard an Army Air Force
bomber, the roar of its engines caused me to lose hearing in both ears for
about three days. Apparently, my left ear had suffered some permanent damage.
Over the years, this condition has
worsened. Hearing aids never worked for me, causing me to cope in different
ways. A speaker phone solved most of my problems at work. In social settings my
preferred solution is to position myself on the left side of my bride during
any discussion, not wishing to miss a single word of what she may be saying
about me. She accuses me of having selective hearing loss, able to hear her
whisper on the phone but unable to obey her direct order shouted at me from
five feet away to take out the garbage.
Single-eared hearing people like me exhibit a stiff-neck syndrome. We twist
to hear speakers, freeze in that position, and wind up resembling fans who
watch only one player in a tennis match.
My hearing loss has not deterred me
from attending concerts or theatre productions. I usually buy seats as close to
the stage as possible. Even so, there are times when some parts of the dialog
or song lyrics go unheard. You won’t count me among the audience wishing an
actor would speak more softly or a singer to turn down his vibrato a notch.
Of course, hearing music blasting from boom boxes and other stereo equipment
at the highest decibel level makes me cringe, causing me to run for cover,
hands clapped over my ears. Which I should have done while attending a
performance of the Phoenix Symphony one evening.
The first half of the program featured familiar classical pieces played
without benefit of electronic amplification. After intermission, the show
continued with a pops-style format. Ben Vareen sang with the orchestra that had
been wired for maximum volume. The sound level hurt my good ear, literally. It
pained me to sit through the entire performance.
My enjoyment of music is not dependent upon acoustical enhancement. At
home, it is not unusual for me to turn up the volume occasionally, BUT NOT THIS
LOUD . Granted, what may be a perfect sound level for some patrons of the arts
may be excessive for some others. Musical appreciation is, after all, in the
ear of the beholder.
Science has proved that the line
between loud music and unbearable noise is located at the entrance to the bedrooms
of my youngest son and my oldest granddaughter. Din and excruciating sounds
wail from within their lairs which they insist is music. Hah! What do these
young people know about this subject? They have yet to discover the joy and
beauty of classical music, which concerns me. Will they ever have an
opportunity to enjoy our local orchestra?
Many symphonic organizations around the country are falling by the
wayside because their communities can no longer support them. Cultural dollars
are hard to come by. The Phoenix Symphony is not exempt from these tough
economic conditions. The immediate issue: Should I renew my season subscription
or opt for some other form of entertainment?
My heart tells me to renew. But the dread of attending another
performance that might fracture my eardrums causes me to hesitate. Having given
one ear to the country, my rational mind says, “Don’t take the risk. Stay home.
Listen to music under conditions you control. Hope that your money and your
hearing will play out simultaneously, your plate licked clean.”
A solution is at hand. I plan to buy two season tickets to the symphony,
one for my son, the other for my granddaughter. That'll teach 'em. Did you hear
that, Beethoven?
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