Remembering Bernie

[1924-2025]

Calgary Philharmonic Bassoonist Michael Hope offers this personal remembrance of his teacher –
the legendary Philadelphia Orchestra bassoonist Bernard Garfield.

When I was in Grade 8, I played the clarinet in my junior high school band. I loved music, but somehow, playing the clarinet didn’t provide me with the kind of attention I needed as a budding young musician. Then one day, during the lunch hour, I was in the band room and started looking at some of the LP records stored in the cabinet there. One of the records was by the Philadelphia Orchestra, with the Mozart Flute Concerto on one side and the Mozart Bassoon Concerto on the other—played by my future teacher and friend, Bernard Garfield.

I put the record on and immediately fell in love with the sound of the bassoon. It was Bernie’s distinctive tone and playful dexterity that made me want to play this peculiar but wonderful-sounding instrument. A few weeks later, I went to the high school music teacher and told him I wanted to play the bassoon when I started Grade 9. He practically thrust one into my hands—he was so grateful to find someone who actually wanted to play this odd instrument. And before I knew it, I was a bassoonist. That was the start of me getting the kind of attention I needed as a young musician.

A few years later, I started getting bored with high school and decided I wanted to go to music college instead. So, in the spring of 1977, I flew to Philadelphia to audition for Bernie at the Curtis Institute of Music. The audition was nerve-wracking—not only because I was so excited to meet the man from the Mozart recording I’d heard in the band room, but also because Bernie was very efficient at determining who would make the best students.  And who wouldn’t. 
I wasn’t quite sure how it went, but a week or so later, I received a letter from Curtis telling me that, unfortunately, I had not been accepted.

I made plans to go to Indiana University instead and was starting to get excited about that. But a few weeks later, I got a phone call from Curtis saying that an opening had unexpectedly come up (they only have four bassoon students at a time), and Mr. Garfield wanted me.  I was so excited. That September, I enrolled at Curtis and began my many years of lessons and friendship with Bernie.

As a teacher, he was not unfriendly, but very serious about the art of playing the bassoon. He expected preparation, and when things weren’t as they should be, he could be very direct in his criticism. He thought I was extremely musical but lacked discipline and technique. He tried his best to change that and was always honest but kind in doing so.

I remember him finally getting frustrated with me for never remembering to put down the E-flat resonance key when playing the half-hole G. One day, during a lesson, he yelled, “I keep telling you to put down that key—why the hell won’t you? Just do it!” From that moment on, I put it down. Always. As I said, he could be very direct and efficient.

He taught me so many wonderful things about our instrument and about music-making: the beauty of a compact yet projecting sound, the importance of humour in everything you do, and the value of learning how to get along with certain types of colleagues. (He certainly had to deal with a few during his 43 years in the Philadelphia Orchestra!)  He also had a great way of teaching us how to make reeds. I would go to his house on weekends and use his profiler. Years later, when a colleague found out I had studied with Bernie, he asked, “Do you use the Garfield Scrape with your reeds?” I wasn’t quite sure how to answer that, so I wrote to Bernie and asked if I used the “Garfield Scrape.” Bernie wrote back: “What the hell is the Garfield Scrape?”

Bernie taught me the value of having a pure bassoon sound—just reedy enough to have character but never buzzy, and always warm and expressive. “A little bit more like an English horn and less like a trombone,” he’d say. I really came to understand that sound by listening to him play with the Philadelphia Orchestra. One of the great treasures of studying at the Curtis Institute was the opportunity to hear that orchestra live every week. During those wonderful concerts, I really learned what that sound meant. Hearing Bernie cast his magic in the orchestral setting was a treat.

Bernie believed that the best sound came from a 7000-series Heckel. One day, before I retire, I hope to try—or even own—one of these instruments. I’m told they’re hard to come by because John Clouser and the rest of the Cleveland Orchestra bassoon section have all the students at the Cleveland Institute rightly buying them up. John, also a Garfield student and the current owner of Bernie’s famous black 7000, knows exactly the sound I’m talking about.  For now, I’m still playing a beautiful 5000-series horn that I bought in 1980 with Bernie’s guidance.  Even though it wasn’t a 7000, Bernie approved me getting it. (I had a 12,000 before my 5000, which Bernie certainly did not approve of!)

When I was at Curtis, I had a couple of superstar classmates: Nadina Mackie Jackson and Rick Ranti. One day, when Nadina was having reed troubles, Bernie told her to go to me for advice. I took this as a great compliment—until, a few weeks later, when I was having reed troubles, he promptly told me to go to Nadina for advice! Even after all these years, the three of us are still in touch, remembering how at school we would joke about how Bernie encouraged us to follow each other’s advice, sound like each other, and inspire each other.  Nadina and I stayed in touch with Bernie for decades, and Rick of course  went on to play with him in the Philadelphia Orchestra.  Years after Curtis, I sent a couple of students—Julia Lockhart and Alexandra Eastley—to study with Nadina and then Bernie at Curtis. Both went on to become principal bassoonists in major Canadian orchestras. Bernie, Nadina and I were both so proud of them.

As the years passed,  Bernie’s guidance continued when I needed it. I remember, in 1982 getting to play The Rite of Spring with the Colorado Philharmonic. The Stravinsky was in the second half of the concert, and during intermission, I was terrified I would screw it up. I found a payphone and called Bernie for advice. “Take a deep breath,” he said. Simple. Efficient. And it worked.

Then came the day I won my job in the Calgary Philharmonic. After the audition, I called Bernie right away to share the good news. He was so excited and supportive. He was especially delighted that the principal player in Calgary was someone he had also taught many years ago—Stephen Franse, the now retired principal of the Calgary Philharmonic and current member of the COCB board. “He hired you? That’s wonderful!” Bernie said.

In 2010, I was deeply touched when Bernie asked me to come to Cleveland to record three of his songs for an album John Clouser was putting together of Bernie’s works. Julia Lockhart played the piano accompaniment while I sang. It was such a joy for two bassoon students to take on completely different roles to pay tribute to our old teacher.

– Michael and Bernie, 2016

Over the years, Bernie and I kept in touch through letters and, later, emails. His birthday became a yearly tradition—I’d send birthday wishes and updates about my life, and he would always write back. He even sent gifts when both of my kids were born. So thoughtful.  In 2016 we had a lovely visit near his Lake home in New York State. As usual, he gave some great reedmaking advice and told dozens of wonderful stories.

A few years ago, just after the pandemic I noticed he wasn’t replying to emails anymore, and I learned from his family that he was having trouble using the computer. So I began sending handwritten letters again, and he responded the same way—just like in the old days. The letters were short, always full of humour, and he apologized for his now scratchy handwriting.  Bernie was slowing down, but he was still himself.  I was touched at how his lovely family was taking care of him.  And that he was still living in that same house in New Jersey where I’d gone to profile cane so many years ago.

Then in 2024 I received an invitation to his 100th birthday party.  I made arrangements to attend and am I ever glad I did.

It was a fun event.  His family had special cookies and coasters made tor the celebration!

A bunch of his former students were there, and to honour Bernie they played Weissenborn Trios arranged for 13 players. Some of the great superstars of the bassoon world were present, and as I listened to them warm up, I noticed they all had one thing in common: that beautiful, pure Garfield sound he taught us all to love. It was a marvel to hear them sounding so alike in that way.

When I heard in late April that Bernie had quietly passed away—just a month shy of his 101st birthday—a quiet smile came over my face. I looked up, thinking of the long and splendid life he had lived, always creating, inspiring, and being a good soul to so many bassoonists just like me.

Thank you, Bernie. You were a masterful musician, a splendid teacher, and a wonderful friend.

Michael Hope has been Assistant Principal Bassoon for the Calgary Philharmonic since 1982.  He studied with Bernard Garfield at The Curtis Institute from 1977-1981.  Michael is member of the Board of the Council of Canadian Bassoonists.