FIT BODY BY ANTHONY

WHAT IS 20 MINUTES AFTER 33 YEARS...

He was 19 but he could have been 90 to my 8 year old sensibility. And he had an afro that put those of the Jackson Five to shame. But none of that mattered. What struck me was his height. He was a giant of Goliath proportion! We met at a program called P.E.E.R. at Allegheny College in Meadville, Pennsylvania. I was assigned to the giant's group. I found out that his name was John. Most of the kids called him BIG JOHN. I called him THE GIANT. We'd meet 5 days a week at the college during summer break and we'd go swimming and hiking, we'd play games, but more importantly, we got to eat in the college dining room with the college students. And we got to drink as much soda and eat as much ice cream as our little bellies could hold!

As we were walking through the Campus Center that housed the music department, we saw a piano and I, wanting to impress the Giant, played Twinkle Twinkle Litttle Star with one finger. BAM! How 'bout THAT, oh Giant! The giant sat down and played with ten fingers and left me with my mouth wide open. He then turned to me and at that moment, I knew the Giant was now to become John Holter. John asked me if I wanted to take piano lessons. I told him that I would have to ask my foster mother. The next day I returned to the college, only to tell John that I was not permitted to take lessons. John told me that he would teach me free of charge. My eight year old legs scurried that evening to tell my foster mother that there would be no charge for the lessons. She said no. Disappointed, the next day, I had to let John know that he would not be able to enjoy my company, other than during those too short days at the campus. But John was as hard headed as I turned out to be. He told me he wanted to talk to my foster mother.

That evening, John told her that he'd like to give me lessons, and that there would be no charge, and that he would walk to my house to give me the lessons. She had no choice but to say yes. And thus it started.

The piano was there when we moved into the house on Poplar Street. It was a sad old thing. The body was sturdy, but the teeth, well, the teeth....they could use a fine dentist. Of the 88 "teeth", perhaps 40 of them actually made sounds. I started with Schaum books, moved to John W. Thompson, on to Lila Fletcher. But it was the real music that captivated me. At the end of each lesson, John would play something with his 10 giant fingers, and I knew that one day, I'd play with 10 fingers as well.

My very first piano recital was in 3rd grade at a talent show. I played DONALD THE DINOSAUR. That evening at the performance was the first time that I actually heard how the piece was supposed to be played. See, that piano with the 40 working keys did not permit me to hear it as it should have been. I always had to play it an octave higher. It was a masterpiece! I remember being introduced as "our very own Liberace." Well, at 8 years old, I thought a Liberace was another term for a piano player. For a long time afterwards, I would always tell people that I was going to be a Liberace for a living. For those that didn't know, I had to let them know that it was a foreign word for piano player.

Over the next four years, John Holter walked to my house to give me piano lessons. Rain, snow, hail, sleet, he was there. John lived near the campus and I could have lived on Mars, so far was my house from his. But he showed up. Our lessons turned into "Hey, do you want to go to a concert?" And of course I did. I am certain that my imprint is still on those seats in the auditorium at Allegheny College and at Ford Chapel on the campus. Concerts turned to hiking trips and to outings to visit John's family in Erie, PA, light years away from our tiny town of Meadville. John introduced me to botany, taught me how to skip stones like a pro on any body of water that we'd encounter, introduced me to adults. ADULTS! Adults that smiled and seemed happy when they saw me. Most of my other enounters with adults were at church where we were greeted with scorn and pronounciations of how God was going to crush out our guts because we laughed like children do. On many of the visits to John's college apartment, he would make lasagna and we'd eat with his college roommate, Frank. John was not a typical college student. He had a library of vinyl records in dark green cases. All classical music. They eventually became my records, even though we didn't own a record player. But I cherished and treasured those albums. John also gifted his chemistry set to my brother and me, and we would litmus test everything in sight. I decided that like John, I, too, was going to study medicine and become a doctor.

After his four years at Allegeny College, John was accepted to Medical School and I was heartbroken. I felt like I was losing a big brother and a friend. Before he left, he made it possible for me to continue my piano lessons by signing me up for a scholarship offered by the Meadville Chamber of Commerce.

John's last visit to my house was on a school night right before he left. I asked if he could come for dinner - the only time in those four years of free lessons. I will never forget that meal. John and I seated in the kitchen eating Kentucky Fried Chicken off of paper plates. I was mortified, and at twelve years old, I vowed to find him and one day fix him dinner on fine china. John left that evening and i experienced an intense sadness that lasted for years.

Three years after John left, I came home from school to find that my piano was gone. Given to the Salvation Army. The explanation: "You don't play that Lionel RIchie song the way it is supposed to be played." No warning. BAM. Gone. FUCK YOU, Lionel Richie. FUCK YOU. But not really. (I really do adore Lionel Richie!) I vowed at the very second that one day I would own a baby grand piano. Thank you, God, for the gift of stubborn.

After missing John and having no idea how to contact him, at 17, I walked into my English class at Strong Vincent High School in Erie, PA, to see a substitute teacher. It was Bill Holter. John's brother that I had met years before. He gave me John's address and I wrote to him. But I never heard back from him. I would find out many years later that John had graduated from that very same high school.

For many years I looked for John Holter. Finally Al Gore created the internet (Thank you, Mr .Gore!), and I began searching for Dr. John Holter in Ohio. FAIL. I even traveled back to Allegheny College in 2006 and found that John had been there the week before my visit. But no one could tell me where he lived. In 2007, I did a simple internet search for Doctor John Holter, without adding Ohio, and up popped his photo. I froze. Paralyzed. Could not move. When I came to my senses, I called the hospital where he worked and I left a message on his answering machine with my e-mail address. For the next three days, I checked e-mail almost hourly, hoping to hear from him. Finally, I saw his name in my inbox and I opened up a novel of an e-mail. It was December 2007. We began a voluminous e-mail correspondence and 5 months later, I woke up with "I MUST SEE JOHN HOLTER" on my mind. I bought a ticket and then sent him an e-mail telling him that I was coming to visit. We still had not spoken to each other on the phone. I wanted our first conversation to be face to face.

After two full days of travel, I arrived at the airport and turned on my phone to a message. It was from John. It read: THE BOARD SHOWS THAT YOUR FLIGHT WILL BE 20 MINUTES LATE. WHAT IS 20 MINUTES AFTER 33 YEARS?

We saw each other and we began laughing. Uncontrollably. It was the greatest meeting of my life. As I sat in the passenger seat of his car, we picked up right where we had left off thirty three years prior. During the trip, we attended several concerts. During intermission at one of the concerts, I said to John, "Look...we are the only ones who have remained in our seats." It took me back to my 9 year old self when I was nervous to leave the auditorium during the intermissions. John would sit right beside me until the intermission was over, keeping me comforted. We reverted right back to those roles 33 years later.

Back at his house, John asked me to go into his music room as he wanted to show me something. He opened his desk drawer and pulled out a folder titled ANTHONY - ARTWORK. It contained every story, card, letter or picture that I had ever given him. From SECOND GRADE. He also showed me a framed picture of a grand piano that my brother, Bobby, had drawn for him. Bobby dedicated the picture with: "To John Holter. The greatest piano player in the world."

Over the past 8 years since we found each other, John has traveled to Italy to perform free chamber music concerts with other musicians in something I call the HOLTER MUSICFEST. In some way, each time he visits, I try to repay him for saving my life. We recently spent a week together in France, and then he came to visit me in Italy. I finally realized that no amount of compensation will ever make up for all that John did for me. I no longer try.

The music group, 4HIM, wrote a song called A MAN YOU WOULD WRITE ABOUT, and in this case, it seems written just for John. Part of the lyrics read: "I want to be a man, you would write about a thousand years from now, a man of favor, a man who heard your voice...."

John Holter, I will write about you for the rest of my days, and will forever be grateful to you for all that you were to my brother and me.

ILYTL