MARCH 20, 2021 – Friday marked the death of Byron Hanson, musician and teacher extraordinaire at Interlochen Arts Academy.
I first heard about Mr. Hanson from my sister Elsa. As I prepared for my first year at Interlochen—immediately following Elsa’s last—she told much about his genius, dedication, and inspiration.
A graduate of Edina High School in Minnesota, Byron went on to the Eastman School of Music in Rochester, NY—famous for its brass faculty—as a baritone/euphonium player. He excelled as a performer and much broader range of musicianship.
A fixture on our orchestra’s podium, he possessed an encyclopedic knowledge of symphonic repertoire. He communicated as clearly with words as he did with the baton. At the piano, he could play anything—perfectly. For his genius, good cheer, and indefatigable dedication, Byron commanded everyone’s unqualified respect. When he spoke, we listened.
Everyone who interacted with Byron Hanson over his 50-plus years at Interlochen can recount an anecdote revealing extraordinary qualities.
Once Byron accompanied me on a movement of Lalo’s Symphonie Espagnole, which I was performing on some group recital. During our rehearsal I learned more from him than I’d learned in months of studying the piece with my violin teacher.
When the physics teacher called in sick one morning—first hour—Byron Hanson stepped in. With refreshing enthusiasm and a wholesale grasp of the subject, he didn’t miss a beat . . . or an electron.
My classmate, the famous percussionist, Peter Erskine, tells how his accompanist—a member of the piano faculty—couldn’t shovel out from a blizzard in time for Peter’s audition of the Milhaud concerto for the annual competition. The piano accompaniment was impossible. Peter scurried to find Byron. Without time to rehearse—only to page through the score—Byron quipped, “It’s been a few years since I’ve played this, but it’ll be fine.”
Peter writes:
[Byron] caught every possible rubato and forward or back phrase. He anticipated and guided this 16-year-old drummer through a classic piece of music and taught me [by his accompaniment] how to respect the piece. I think I learned more about making music in those eight-and-a-half minutes than at just about any other point in my life.
Elsa tells of a conversation in the cafeteria line the morning after Byron’s personal disaster. He and all-time favorite teacher Howard Hintze, who taught English, shared a dwelling not far from campus. Their place had burned to the ground the night before. Fortunately, Hanson and Hintze escaped unscathed, but they’d lost everything. Byron’s summation of the disaster: “These things happen, and when they do, you just have to pick up where you left off and carry on.” He devoted the rest of his day to students.
Not so many years ago, Elsa and I met Byron Hanson for coffee during his brief return to Minnesota to check on his aged aunt. Classic Byron—always putting other people ahead of himself.
He leaves a legacy of inspiration in the lives of the countless people his life influenced.
(Remember to subscribe to this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.)
© 2021 by Eric Nilsson
