The Enduring Enigma of Dale Clevenger

Feb 4, 2022

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I have to confess something. I have mixed feelings about Dale Clevenger and his legacy.

When I say this, please realize that this opinion comes from a limited perspective. It comes with a caveat.

At the time of my encounters with Mr. Clevenger, my view was slightly askew. I was a student looking at life through a cracked lens and so I must admit in all fairness that my perspective today may be a bit distorted.

Background

My best memories of Dale Clevenger stem from my time with the Civic Orchestra of Chicago, a training orchestra associated with the Chicago Symphony Orchestra (CSO).

This was in the very late 1980’s or so, when the CSO and its brass section were at a historic peak. Media outlets of that time – television, magazines and newspapers – were focused on the CSO. They praised its legendary brass section with regularity.

I grew up reading those reviews. I ingested and metabolized all those glorious Mahler symphony recordings from that era, over and over again.

I vividly remember that epic Chicago Sunday Times magazine cover featuring Clevenger, seated in a chair with Bud Herseth and Arnold Jacobs standing behind him, their hands on Clevenger’s shoulders as if he were being anointed by the gods.

Rose Records

When I moved to Chicago to study independently and gain some experience, I wanted to soak in and absorb all that energy like a sponge. I ended up working at a local record store chain (when such things existed) where we would play classical music through the store’s speakers.

Sometimes, we would play CSO recordings all day long.

Hey… its the hometown team! Turn up the volume a little. Oh man, Bud Herseth sounds so good… Song of the Nightingale? OK, put that on next. (pause) Wait… what is this? (pause) His playing is so beautiful… sublime… (long pause) W-w-what on earth am I hearing right now?!

Welcome to Fantasy Island

Meeting Dale Clevenger for the first time was a mind-blowing experience, especially for an eager beaver who was hungry for knowledge.

That mane of well-groomed, salt-and-pepper hair. That magnificent beard. That resonant voice with the big Southern drawl.

Add into the mix his position as principal horn and his supreme confidence. The total experience was hypnotic, like waking up and wondering if you were still living in a dream. It was like meeting a movie star.

I diligently recorded every private lesson. Afterwards I would go back with the sheet music in hand and study those recordings, over and over again, taking notes and hanging on every word.

At that time (and years later) I would hear rumors about inappropriate behavior with female students. This was none of my business, but nevertheless it sunk in. It made a lasting impression that would eventually make me question my motives.

Civic Orchestra sectionals

The Civic horn section would get regular coaching sessions from CSO musicians, including Mr. Clevenger. One member of our section was a guy who was a bit older than the rest of us. He remains as one of the sweetest human beings that I have ever met.

He always had a smile on his face and rarely said a bad word about anyone. He was a treasure trove of thought-provoking quotes and ideas. We had many laughs together.

But – by my best recollection – he had some technique issues that limited his abilities and perhaps even, his job potential.

A moment, frozen in time

After one of our sectionals, Dale quietly came up to this young man and asked him to step aside, for a one-on-one talk. They walked away from the stage and out into the hall.

They kept going and ended up somewhere in a quiet corner.

I did not hear what was going on, but it looked and felt like something profound was happening. Dale was talking quietly to this young man like a kind, caring father. I could tell by the expressions and body language that it was a serious conversation.

At the end of it, Dale hugged the young man, patted him on the shoulder… and that was it.

This event remains as one of the most magnanimous and compassionate things that I have witnessed from a horn teacher and yet, I have no idea of what actually occurred. Above and beyond, I am not sure that this lack of inside knowledge even matters anymore.

What matters is that it is part and parcel of an enigma, one that has left a long-lasting impression, stuck in my mind after all these years.

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