Aside from my five part brief autobiographical blogs, “Pentimento,” readers know my writings have generally not dwelled on my own accomplishments. I have always felt it unseemly to blow one’s own horn.
Now, as Gabriel is loosening his lips to trumpet me into the hereafter, I find myself increasingly comfortable acknowledging that, within the limitations of my potential, the products of my endeavors were not too shabby. I once was more proud of how hard I worked on those projects than on the results. Everything I did, I tried to do well. Few of us are granted star quality genetics but we can still choose to strive, as even born champions must, to develop what assets we possess. The results may surprise us.
Aside from the primary focus on academic and professional competence, my priorities were always split between two endeavors, music and athletics.
I started writing lyrics to go with popular melodies in grammar school, and they were sung in our class plays. Later I sang my parodies at summer camp talent shows. In junior high, I joined the glee club and appeared in school musical productions with the chorus. In early high school I embarked on learning to play the trumpet and joined the school band. Making music, alone and with others, always gave me an indescribable feeling of joy.
At the same time, being a guy, I also dreamed of athletic glory. I joined school and age-group swim teams. Music versus macho. These split priorities came to a head in my sophomore year of high school when the swim coach took me aside and bluntly made it clear I had to choose between the band and the team. Athletics won out. After all, they were perceived as more “cool” and manly. To the great displeasure of the band leader, I turned in my marching uniform and pretty much gave up the trumpet.
It was a difficult one, but that fateful decision was the right one. Thanks to swimming, my life took a sharply positive turn when I was recruited by the Union College swim coach. Still, I always missed the joy of music. During the folk craze of the’60s, I had taught myself rudimentary guitar and ventured to write some songs, but my guitar chops remained limited while the main efforts in my life were applied to academics, then to career and family and to swimming, always swimming. Somehow I also found time to become a good skier, serving a stint as an instructor, and to play tennis regularly.
During my mid-forties, having enjoyed a surfeit of success in swimming competition, I allocated more time and energy to music, aiming to gain competence as a guitarist and singer. Over the ensuing few years, I participated in open mic nights at the Eighth Step Folk Club in Albany and wrote a number of songs to perform there. Typical of myself, I lacked confidence that these songs were very good, did not record them and seldom performed them. At the same time I was jamming and performing with a blues ensemble. This led to my stint as lead guitarist in a rock band that, over the couple of years it existed, pulled my energy away from the competitive running team I had taken up with a few years earlier.
And so the push-pull between sports and music persisted throughout my life. In more recent years, the music again assumed dominance. People have said my lyrics are good poetry, and now I can acknowledge their praise. Poetry led to prose, hence the novels and blogging.
Looking back, I realize that the interplay of these and seemingly oppositional forces played a huge role in my personality development. They piggybacked on each other in the context of my natural proclivity toward critical thinking to create a somewhat atypical person. A lover as well as a fighter, also a philosopher of sorts.
To view music videos of 15 my songs go to YouTube at NormanDovberg@ndovberg4964
Listening to these songs, I see that, like much of what I have devoted my time to, they are labors of and an outpouring of love— love for the people who have touched my life, love for this flawed yet beautiful world, love for the gift of life itself.
Life, the greatest gift. In my way, I tried to make the most of it. I am grateful that much of that love has been returned in kind.
Among the archangels, Gabriel got the largest role in my novels. You could say he owes me. (I’d like to say I immortalized him, but, after all, he’s been immortal all along.) Now I hear him tuning up to blow the fanfare that will accompany me on my way to the next world, if one exists. If it does, perhaps he’d enjoy playing some duets when I get there.
An Author's Inner Mind 