FROM DONNIE

Donnie had quite an adventure in Houston yesterday.


This may have been my first time in downtown Houston. As usual, I got there way too early, so had three hours to walk around.

On a Sunday, it might be the usual barren concrete wasteland that is most cities. But yesterday a chalk art fair filled several blocks with people, bands, dancers, $6 designer hot dogs, and hundreds of temporary works of art drawn on the streets.

I was also reminded that the first word spoken from the moon was "Houston."

It proved surprisingly easy for me to drive into and later escape the downtown...good thing, as I will do it again in two weeks.

The music concert itself provided a little drama the composer never intended.

The symphony features a virtual battle between two sets of tympani, one at each extremity of the orchestra.

As the tumultuous finale approached, I noticed no drummer at one of the sets. Then out of the corner of my eye, down the side aisle of the audience hall, I saw a thin man in white shirt and tie, with a very worried look on his face. He strode right down to the stage, glancing repeatedly at the ceiling, I thought, though he must have been watching the conductor. Suddenly he pulled himself up the stage front, rather conspicuous by now, and quick-stepped to the drums, and none too soon, just in time to grab his sticks and pound out the opening salvo.

As the second drummer answered, the first slipped into a jacket and became a properly-dressed member of the orchestra...and the piece came to its rousing close. After taking his bows, the conductor headed for the wings, passing right by the errant drummer. The drummer had a long look of supplicating apology and anxiety on his face, but the conductor reached out and shook his hand with a wide grin, as they exchanged a few words.

We'll probably never know the story--either the drummer was sick or accidented or sleepy, but in any case, he made it, played his part, and all's well that ends well.