Elm St. Junkyard

Me & My Pal Vladimir Horowitz

  I was working in PR at AT&T when a note crossed my inbox. We were sponsoring a Horowitz concert at Avery Fisher Hall, and the note gave the inclusive M.O. for the event -- a meet and greet luncheon. a strategy session covering acoustics, seating arrangements, etc., an after-concert social -- that sort of stuff. About 3/4ths down the list was a single line: 2pm dress rehearsal.

 That was it. Nothing about any attendance or tickets. I thought, 'Geez, I wonder if I could get into this thing, y'know, flash my AT&T badge, brass it out?'

 And so I did. I got there about ten minutes before two. On stage was the orchestra and Mr. Horowitz. Along each wall were maybe a dozen or so people with clipboards and papers. The hall was darkened, and there was nobody in the seats. Nobody!

Uh-oh. I didn't have the balls to insinuate myself into the clipboard crowd. What should I do? I pretty much decided to exit gracefully, but then I thought, 'Hey, it's dark down here. Who's going to notice me?' I slid into an aisle seat at row 20 and scrooched down so only my head was visible.
 Mr. Horowitz motioned to the near wall, and somebody trotted out and up to the piano. He leaned over to the Maestro, listening to an instruction of some kind, and then came straightaway to me!
 'The maestro would like to know who you are, and what are you doing here?' I gulped blurted out the truth - a nobody AT&T employee who found out about the rehearsal and thought I could sneak in. I was ordered to wait while this information was passed to the piano player. He peered out and waved OK!
 After the concert Mr. Horowitz jumped off - yes, jumped off his chair and came directly to me. He leaned down and put his hand on my shoulder.
'Well?' he said. 'What did you think?'
Really!