Requiem for a Musician -- My Brother, Keith
Requiem for a Musician
"Put another nickel in/
In the Nickelodeon/
All I want is lovin’ you/
And music, music, music.”
The silver-haired ladies and the gentlemen at Pacific Place Retirement Home on Lake Boulevard in Oceanside could only hear the echoes of 89-year-old Keith Weeks’ music in the hallways today. He died Monday night, even as his kinfolk hummed melodies close to his ears to catch the fading glimpse of recognition in his eyes.
Born on the wind-swept prairies of North Dakota in 1917, Keith lived a full life of music -- composing, arranging, playing, directing and teaching music, gathering in those around him. And yet, in the end, only they could hear him play.
Like Beethoven, Keith lost his hearing, but not the touch of the ivories on his keyboard.
“Let’s play, ‘ Name that Tune,’” he would say. Whether it was “Rock of Ages” or, “Down in Havana there’s a funny looking boobah/ Who plays the rhumba on the Tuba Down in Cuba” – Keith knew them all. The “groupies” would scribble the name of a song on a notepad. He would play them, not hearing but an occasional note or a rhythm beat himself.
So beloved was he that a troupe of student musicians from California Polytechnic Institute, where he served as head of the music department many years, came all the way from Pomona to surprise him with a serenade at his retirement home recently. No, he didn’t hear but a straying refrain of it, but he was overcome by their coming to see him.
In his teens he had his own jazz orchestra, with the whispering Hawaiian refrains of “Song of the Islands” as their theme. Majoring in music at the University of New Mexico in Albuquerque, Keith played gigs with the Varsity Club band while studying the intricacies of the classics in the classroom.
After graduation, Keith taught briefly at an elementary school in Los Lunas, N.M., until the U.S. Army Air Corps sought him out at the beginning of World War 2 to direct the band at a nearby airbase.
From there he was summoned to West Point for more drill in military music. When he finished top in his class, he was given his choice of stations to head their band. He chose Palm Springs, where he was fortunate to have some of Hollywood’s best musicians with him. It also meant that he could be with his wife, Florence, and their two children, Donna and Linda.
After the war, Keith’s urge to have a family life led him to turn down an application from the military to direct the band at West Point. He accepted an offer from Cal Poly, then a tiny college in San Dimas to teach music to the young students.
On holiday occasions, he was sought by “big bands” of the jazz era to play gigs from the blaze of lights in Las Vegas to the stage at Disney Land. He kept his membership in the Musicians Union in Los Angeles for a lifetime.
After his wife died and in retirement, he took as his companion Margaret McGrath, former head of the library department at Cal Poly. The McGraths took him in as a member of their family and kept in touch with him after Margaret died six years ago.
He took his instruments, a grand piano and several electronic keyboards and his own library of music to Pacific Place where he ran from the treble clef to the bass clef over and over.
He was active until he broke a hip in a fall about two weeks ago. The injury led to rapid degeneration of his health.
Keith’s ashes will be placed next to the interments of his parents and his wife in Glendora, his daughters said, and a grand, musical celebration of his life – complete with his own recorded music and his voice will be scheduled in Oceanside later.
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"Put another nickel in/
In the Nickelodeon/
All I want is lovin’ you/
And music, music, music.”
The silver-haired ladies and the gentlemen at Pacific Place Retirement Home on Lake Boulevard in Oceanside could only hear the echoes of 89-year-old Keith Weeks’ music in the hallways today. He died Monday night, even as his kinfolk hummed melodies close to his ears to catch the fading glimpse of recognition in his eyes.
Born on the wind-swept prairies of North Dakota in 1917, Keith lived a full life of music -- composing, arranging, playing, directing and teaching music, gathering in those around him. And yet, in the end, only they could hear him play.
Like Beethoven, Keith lost his hearing, but not the touch of the ivories on his keyboard.
“Let’s play, ‘ Name that Tune,’” he would say. Whether it was “Rock of Ages” or, “Down in Havana there’s a funny looking boobah/ Who plays the rhumba on the Tuba Down in Cuba” – Keith knew them all. The “groupies” would scribble the name of a song on a notepad. He would play them, not hearing but an occasional note or a rhythm beat himself.
So beloved was he that a troupe of student musicians from California Polytechnic Institute, where he served as head of the music department many years, came all the way from Pomona to surprise him with a serenade at his retirement home recently. No, he didn’t hear but a straying refrain of it, but he was overcome by their coming to see him.
In his teens he had his own jazz orchestra, with the whispering Hawaiian refrains of “Song of the Islands” as their theme. Majoring in music at the University of New Mexico in Albuquerque, Keith played gigs with the Varsity Club band while studying the intricacies of the classics in the classroom.
After graduation, Keith taught briefly at an elementary school in Los Lunas, N.M., until the U.S. Army Air Corps sought him out at the beginning of World War 2 to direct the band at a nearby airbase.
From there he was summoned to West Point for more drill in military music. When he finished top in his class, he was given his choice of stations to head their band. He chose Palm Springs, where he was fortunate to have some of Hollywood’s best musicians with him. It also meant that he could be with his wife, Florence, and their two children, Donna and Linda.
After the war, Keith’s urge to have a family life led him to turn down an application from the military to direct the band at West Point. He accepted an offer from Cal Poly, then a tiny college in San Dimas to teach music to the young students.
On holiday occasions, he was sought by “big bands” of the jazz era to play gigs from the blaze of lights in Las Vegas to the stage at Disney Land. He kept his membership in the Musicians Union in Los Angeles for a lifetime.
After his wife died and in retirement, he took as his companion Margaret McGrath, former head of the library department at Cal Poly. The McGraths took him in as a member of their family and kept in touch with him after Margaret died six years ago.
He took his instruments, a grand piano and several electronic keyboards and his own library of music to Pacific Place where he ran from the treble clef to the bass clef over and over.
He was active until he broke a hip in a fall about two weeks ago. The injury led to rapid degeneration of his health.
Keith’s ashes will be placed next to the interments of his parents and his wife in Glendora, his daughters said, and a grand, musical celebration of his life – complete with his own recorded music and his voice will be scheduled in Oceanside later.
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posted by Paul Weeks at 10:29 AM
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