The Hall

By Jeff Laffel

THE HALL is a series of fictional short stories, all of which take place over one hundred years at Carnegie Hall. All the characters are fictional and no real persons living or dead, other than the Mahlers, are to be found here. The author asks that the stories are read in the order as many are interconnected.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: May 4, 2021
• ISBN: 9781664168350

Jeff Laffel

Jeff Laffel was born in New York and has lived there all his life. After undergrad work at SUNY New Paltz, and graduate work at St. Johns University, Jeff taught at both Dutch Broadway School and Elmont Memorial High School in Elmont, Long Island for thirty- five, to quote him, “of the happiest years of my life.” At EMHS he taught Film Study as well as 12th grade English and AP English. He is currently working on a collection of short stories.

Book preview

THE HALL

Jeff Laffel

Copyright © 2021 by Jeff Laffel.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted

in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying,

recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system,

without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the

product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance

to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 04/13/2021

Xlibris

844-714-8691

www.Xlibris.com

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CONTENTS

1.    Programs

Mahler – "Symphony #2

November 25, 1942

Sing, sing, sing

Symphony In One Movement

Get Happy*

L’arlesienne

Passing Through

Encore

March 1, 1933 – The Romantic Symphony

Intermission

La Valse

Oct 3, 1935 - Thursday-Klemperer

March 2, 2017 Symphonie Fantastique

A Poet Sang

Memory Of A Beloved Place Gabrielli/ Beethoven/ Tchaikovsky

Ghost Light

The author would like to dedicate this book to the following people:

Tilly M. Frank

Jean Gollobin

Gertrude Lerman

Marian Harding

Susan Sussman

Lorna Lewers

Gert Laffel

Mary Elian

Rose Elian

Sylvia Elian,

Joyce Carlin Levy

David Horowitz

Lanny Davis

Joyce Laffel

Bobby McKinnon

Judy Judkowitz Slotnick

And

Jonathan James Bialek

All of whom brought different forms of music into his life.

THE HALL is a work of fiction. All the characters other than Gustav and Alma Mahler are fictitious and have no connection to anyone living or dead. All the concert dates are accurate.

Many thanks and love to Bernard Condon, Patricia Clary Condon, Emma and Mister B Condon who are always there for me. And to Joyce Laffel, Dylan, Shaney and Soren Etkin and Megan Henderson; a world apart but always close.

Special thanks to Trish Clary and Mister B for the beautiful cover.

1

Programs

Francie Smith made sure that the programs were neat in her hand as the first people made their way past her, took theirs from her, and headed to their seats. It was the third week at the job and she still wanted to make a good impression. Her assignment was at the left-hand entrance to the Balcony section. At first, she had been dazzled by some of the most beautiful dresses and coats that she had ever seen, but they didn’t come up this far. Those were the Parquet ladies. She didn’t like the furs. She loved animals far too much for that. Even the fake fur her Pops had bought her Mom bothered her.

After three weeks she was still dazzled by the hall itself. Sometimes she would get there early just to stand in front of the stage and look out at the magnificent space in front of her. She had never handed out programs to the Parquet people, but she knew that if she did her job well, she would stand down there one day and see the Hall from a different perspective. The place was over a hundred years old and Francie wondered at the people who had come before her. Her Moms told her that Grandma Francie had come here when she was a girl, but Moms didn’t know what she had seen or if she had enjoyed it. Over one hundred years! Damn!

Can you direct me to my seat?

A girl, about her age, not that well dressed with kinky black hair and large glasses stood in front of her smiling. Francie smiled back, checked the girl’s ticket and pointed down the row of steps that ran toward the front. You’re there, center section row A, Francie said and handed her a program. The girl said Thank you, then paused staring at the gold pin Francie was wearing. Francie, she said, that was my great grandmother’s name. My name’s Judith. Francie’s smile grew broader. My Grandmom’s name too. Must have been a sale on Francie’s back in the day. Just down those stairs? Judith asked and Francie said, All the way to the end. Good view of the stage. An old couple came up and took two programs.

Judith took off her coat, found her seat and made sure she had turned off her phone. Oh, how she loved this place! Being a New York City teacher didn’t pay all that much. Would be nice to be closer, but maybe someday. It was the music that mattered and the acoustics in Carnegie Hall were perfect. Judith turned in her seat so she could see the lovely black girl named Francie. A fake fur coat brushed her face and, disgusted, she turned and opened her program. Mahler. The Resurrection. Her favorite. Once, she had stopped on the way to the lady’s room to see an actual Mahler score framed on the wall. My God, the man had actually conducted on the stage before her. Judith reached into her coat pocket, found her phone and made sure it was off. She popped a Ricola into her mouth to be sure she wouldn’t cough and leaned back into her chair.

It was time for the program to begin.

PLEASE TAKE YOUR SEATS

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MAHLER – "SYMPHONY #2

Resurrection Symphony

December 8, 1908

He hadn’t been feeling well again, not terrible as he had been in the past, but just unwell. Alma had pushed him to see Dr. Schmidt but he declined. After the premiere, he said and, as always, Alma simply nodded and acquiesced. That was her role in the day in/day out drama called MAHLER and, as always, she accepted it. She smiled to herself as she waited to hand him his cufflinks. With certain deviations from the script, she thought. She had been a good and dutiful wife to the little Jew, but when they lost kleine Maria, something was shaken in her.

Before they married, he had insisted that there would be only one composer in the family and agreeing, she had given up composing, the only creative outlet she had. This was something that her father railed against, but so be it. Though he stifled her creativity and independence, the one thing Mahler could not take from her was her beauty and her desirability to other men. The only affair she had found intriguing was the one she had with the young architect Gropius. But Mahler had learned of it and instead of throwing her into the street, had promised to be more attentive to her wants. She gave up Gropius without a look back for she knew that there were other men who coveted her and that being married to Mahler she would never be just a hausfrau; his celebrity assured her of that, but still, when she walked it was always in his shadow.

Where are my cufflinks, Shatsy? Mahler asked, still looking at himself in the floor to ceiling mirror. A second later they were in his hands. He smiled and then, remembering what tonight meant, his face once again took on it’s look of deep suffering. Alma hated that look, but she had never mentioned it to him. Why should she? He was one who would never change. Ach, she thought, ach!

The premiere of his Seventh had not gone well back home and she knew that the acceptance of his massive Second, premiering in America tonight, would dictate his state of mind and, consequently hers, for weeks to come.

His mood had first soured when he found he would have to share the conducting duties of the Metropolitan Opera with the youngster Toscanini, but lightened when the Philharmonic had reorganized and offered him the position of principal conductor. Here he was in his element, conducting the old masters as well as some of the more modern composers’ works.

As she took the whiskbroom to his jacket, Alma softly sang a melody she had come up with earlier in the day, only to be stopped by Mahler’s curt, Alma, Please!

Sorry, my darling, she muttered. And I, too, Mahler replied, holding out his hands to her. She took them and once again marveled at their soft translucence, as she knew so well their tremendous power. I’m an old bear and for that I am truly sorry, he said. It’s just that this means so much to me.

I know it does, my darling Alma replied. It was thoughtless of me to sing whilst you are so burdened with the premiere. And as she looked into that face that once had fascinated her, she