Neal Tidwell

[timayer]

It is with great regret that I inform you of the passing of Neal Tidwell. Neal was one of the best tuba players and men I ever met. He played in the New Orleans Philharmonic for 23 years until moving to Pittsburgh where he played principal in the River City Brass Band and taught at Duquesne University until 2 years ago. I know he touched a lot of people because over the past few years I have received numerous emails and PMs asking about how he was faring. Neal was diagnosed with cancer 3 1/2 years ago and fought it as only Neal could have done, not slowing down a lick in his passions. Despite his illness, the last 3 years of his life were, as he said, as happy as he had ever been.

Neal brought a fire to teaching that was utterly unique. He never let a lesson just pass by, nor did he wait for weekly lessons to tell you what he thought of your playing if he happened to pass by while you were practicing...even if you weren’t his student. He always had something to say that improved you instantly. Many of my friends called me while Neal was at Duquesne saying they had impromptu lessons with him and loved every minute of them. He always made sure to pull the best possible playing out of his students, no matter what it took. I remember one lesson where he had me running from one room to the next (with my 2155 in tow) just to play low C’s over and over, screaming at everyone “He’s got it! He’s got it!â€

[timayer]

There will be a memorial service for Neal at the Christ Community United Methodist Church in Butler, PA at 1 pm on Tuesday, June 5.

[Mojo workin']

I've heard nothing but really good things about Neal's playing. Verry sorry to hear, what sort of cancer did he suffer from?

[Alex C]

Neal was a terrific musician, as capable in legit music as he was in Dixieland. He had a great sense of humor and a drive to perform. I am lucky to have known him for almost 40 years.

During his first season in the New Orleans Phil, the orchestra played a concert in Hattiesburg and Neal asked the conductor to let him play the piccolo part in the encore, Stars and Stripes. The conductor was unsure and asked if Neal had played it before. The conductor was unconvinced until Neal finally said, "It's only Hattiesburg, Mississippi. Nobody will know."

He performance was fabulous.

Someone please let me know where to send a card. I do want to express my regrets to his family.

[Richard Murrow]

It was my pleasure to have known Neal for MANY years. Neal was a few years older than I am and started his career with the New Orleans Symphony when I was still in high school. I grew up in a small town just west of N.O. and will always remember a run out concert the N.S.O. did in our civic auditorium for all the school kids. I was a senior in high school at the time, in love with the tuba and already knew what I wanted to do with my life. Well, as fate would have it, the Overture to Die Meistersinger was one of the pieces on the concert and the conductor had Neal play the tuba soli spot before the orchestra played the piece. Needless to say, I was blown away. A short visit with Neal after the concert and I discovered that he had studied with Raymond Young, world-class euphonium soloist and musician/teacher extraordinaire. After a stint in the Naval Academy Band I was off to study with Ray Young. Interestingly, during the summers when I had some time and knew I might be near New Orleans Ray would suggest that I take a lesson with Neal. I only did this a couple of times, but it was well worth the time. During those days the N.S.O. season was only 40 weeks or so and Neal would play dixieland on Bourbon in the summers. I’d stand outside of The Famous Door or Crazy Shirley’s and listen to Neal play Dixieland with the same conviction and flare that he played orchestral literature! Neal was certainly one of the most underrated tuba players in the world. He was a complete musician and a virtuoso tubist.

Richard Murrow

[LoyalTubist]

My thoughts and prayers go with his family.

[Zade]

I'am sorry to hear of the passing of Neal Tidwell. I auditioned for Duquesne University in 2004 and had about 5 lessons with him. I really enjoyed working with him. I send my condolences to the Tidwell family.

Zade

[Alan Baer]

I'm so very sorry to hear of Neal's passing,
Neal was a good friend and was the first one the believed in me enough to trust me with his job AND his home when he went to audition for River City.  At that time, Neal had a parrot, I can't remember his name, but Neal's last word's as he left the house to drive to Pittsburgh was, "remember, don't swear in front of the bird".  Well, that went over like a lead balloon...  
Neal was a great musician and a great friend, I'll miss him. 
Rest in Peace Neal.. 
A Baer

[Steve Marcus]

Neal’s playing was also one of the joys of my first years at college. Every note he played had a thick, gorgeous core, and his vibrato was unmatchable. The thing that struck me about his playing, though, was the sheer musicality of it all the time. Neal never just played a note or a phrase. He knew no other way to play than masterfully.

What recordings of Neal Tidwell are available?

[Dave Kirk]

Dear friends,

I attended Neal's memorial svc in Butler, PA. His family was very gratfified to hear of the tributes and memories you've offered here. There may be some interest to put together a tribute website in the future. Here is an obit (w/photo of Neal).

http://www.post-gazette.com/pg/07157/791737-122.stm

[Steve Marcus]

From Jenifer Tidwell's LiveJournal entry of 6/17/07 (Father's Day):

I want to post the draft of some comments I made at my father's funeral back on June 5.

You may know some of the facts about Neal Tidwell's life. He was a musician, of course -- a highly regarded tuba player, first with the New Orleans Symphony and then with the River City Brass Band. He taught many students how to play the tuba. He had two daughters, a beloved wife, two former wives, and a large extended family that loved him very much. He enjoyed model airplanes, wine, and other hobbies.

But that only scratches the surface. I want to tell you two things about who my Dad was.

First, he always experienced life as fully as he could. He had no time to drink boring wines, or eat boring food, or be a boring parent, or stick with boring hobbies. Oh no. He was the kind of person who would put three different breakfast cereals into his bowl, plus five kinds of fruit, and praise every one of them. And then he'd add vanilla ice cream to make it even better. He'd call me from some resort in Jamaica or Cancun or wherever he and Lana had gone on vacation, and he'd rave for forty-five minutes about the food and wine and people they'd met.

Every few years, I'd learn about his new hobby -- sailing, fixing up a wooden boat, wine tasting, flying model airplanes. Near the end, he was wanting to get into stock car racing; I still wonder what he'd have done with that. I also think he was meant to own a vineyard sometime, with the knowledge and love he had for wines. He taught Lana and my sister and me most of what we know about wine. The night he passed away, we uncorked a 2001 J. Lohr cabernet sauvignon and drank to his memory. It was just as he'd have liked it: a big, dry California red, rich with dark fruits and long on the palate. As he'd have said, it "knocked our socks off."

And as for parenting -- having him as a dad was never boring. He taught me to drive, to type, to sail, to shoot guns, to handle parrots, to do algebra, to play duets well, to sing in harmony, to stay away from troublesome boyfriends, and to cope with being a parent myself. As we were growing up, my sister and I were always putting on puppet shows and making Christmas ornaments and such; looking through these old drawings and ornaments last night, I could see my father's gentle hand behind them, encouraging us, giving us all the art materials we wanted, and lovingly labeling each crayon drawing with a name and date.

In his last years, during the cancer treatments, he often said to me, "Every day is a gift." But the truth is, he knew that all his life.

Second, he knew that human beings are made for relationship. I noticed yesterday, as I was looking through many years of photos, that I hardly found any pictures with only him in it. He always surrounded himself with people who loved him, and he gave that love back ten times over. He knew how to pick women -- my mother, Betsy, and Lana are wonderful and amazing people, and they've all been role models for me. He had several lifelong friends that he remained in touch with to the end. He adored his two grandsons; the last time I saw him smile was when Matthew, my seven-month-old son, reached out to him as he lay on his hospital bed, patting his face and playfully grabbing at his nose and chin. Also, he wanted the people around him to love each other as much as he loved them. The last volitional thing he ever did was take a picture of Lana, Lynn, and me, all with our arms around each other.

He had a special affinity for animals, too. I remember the string of pet birds he had through the years -- Cheeper the mockingbird, various other rescue cases, Tinker and Bird the cockatiels, and the parrots, Max and Giuseppe. (I've continued the tradition with my own parrot Charlie, whom Dad always adored.) He enjoyed watching the wildlife out in his back yards -- the turkeys, goldfinches, towhees, woodpeckers, hummingbirds, hawks, rabbits, and deer. Even though he'd eat wild venison with great enjoyment, I don't think he could ever have hunted anything. He saw all animals as unique and amazing little beings.

One of my sweetest memories is of a conversation that took place a few weeks ago. Dad had taken a break from the noise and chaos inside Lana's house, and had gone outside to work in the gardens. I went out and joined him, pulling out dead leaves, carefully making space for the new fern fronds to uncurl. I don't even remember what we talked about; it's not important. But we worked side-by-side, chatting, reminiscing, sharing the clippers, just being together -- as if nothing had changed and nothing ever would. We weren't in denial; we were simply enjoying each other's company.

Every day is a gift, and every person in your life is a gift. These are my father's most enduring lessons for me.

[Chuck Jackson]

That may be one of the nicest things anyone has ever said about another person I have ever read in my life. And what a life that man must have had. I was going to drink beer and watch baseball tonight, but instead I am going to harvest some basil and tomatos, make pesto with a nice pasta, crack a bottle of J. Lohr I have in the wine rack and toast a man I didn't know and wish I did. May God grant him eternal peace.

Chuck