"Dear Maestro," dazzled, seven-year-old-Daron wrote to conductor Kenneth Schermerhorn, then music director of the Milwaukee Symphony. I bit the end of my pencil, wracked my brain for the perfect word: "Your performance last week was simply superfluous!" Decades later, over lunch, I asked Kenneth if he remembered the boy who couldn't find a word big enough to described how impressed he was. As he shook his head, laughing, I marveled at how indispensible Kenneth had made himself to the Nashville Symphony, what a noble example of service his career represented. We laughed until we wept. Afterwards, we wiped our eyes, and sighed. I called him "an indispensible man."
We raised our glasses. "To Art," I began. "To Life," he replied. "To the collision of the two," I said. "Ah," he sighed, smiling, "now there is where the trouble begins." And, to that, we drank.