In Memoriam by Michael Rosen. Photos by Lauren Vogel Weiss.

Alan Abel was a giant in a trim package enriched by determination and youthful vigor. He was as indefatigable as he was generous—a sensitive musician and gentle soul. His exuberant nature coupled with a mischievous sense of humor were appreciated by all who met him. Everything he did, whether it was performing, inventing, building, or heading up “Shine-up Saturdays” at church was done expertly, and never with the expectation of accolades. Alan touched so many lives and was devoted to his family, friends, and his church community. In the Ardmore Presbyterian Church, his wife, Jan, sang in the choir and he provided percussion accompaniment and conducted the handbell group, and both were active in the youth program, which was an important part of his life. He always showed how much he cared about people and accomplished so much good in his 91 years.

Students will remember him, of course, for his brilliant performing skills and his prodigious teaching ability. To be an Abel student was something exceptional. His former students carry his legacy in orchestras and universities all over the world. Students would visit his house in Wynnewood, have an inviting cup of tea served by Jan, and then descend into the “dungeon” for a lesson that was unforgettable for its stores of information, unwavering expectations, and helpful encouragement. He was a mentor who shared his knowledge with everyone. His accomplishments define the title “Renaissance Man”: he was a carpenter (as was his father before him), an electrician, an inventor, an author (repertoire texts), a sailor, golfer, gardener, card player, puzzle master, and an all-around fix-it guy ready to help at a moment’s notice. 

Alan was a Hoosier, born in Hobart, Indiana in 1928 to Daniel Abel, a carpenter, and Wilma Reynolds, who was a professional singer and teacher of voice. His brother, Bruce Abel, is a professional singer living in Stuttgart, Germany. Alan started his journey as a member of the Hobart Championship Band (1947), went to Eastman, graduating in 1951, and joined the US Air Force Band. 

After his military service he played with the Rochester Philharmonic (1947–51), the Oklahoma City Philharmonic (1951–59), and finally joined the percussion section of the Philadelphia Orchestra in 1959, becoming assistant principal in 1972 and associate principal in 1988, and he was a key member in the section until his retirement in 1997. He then returned to play extra with the orchestra until 2018 when he was 89! 

His reputation as a teacher started at Rowan University, then at Rutgers, and continued at Temple University where he taught until 2020. He continued to do master classes at universities and conservatories while heading his yearly Summer Orchestral Percussion Seminar that began in 2006

One cannot speak of Alan without speaking of his soulmate, Jan. She was always close by with a big smile and a warm greeting. If Jan was not with him, the first question he was asked was, “Where’s Jan?” They were an indispensable part of each other’s lives. Both of them cared so much for his students, and Jan knew every student well. The couple met when they were students at Eastman in the late 1940s. Janet (Voorhies) won the Concerto Competition, singing an aria from “The Consul.” Alan always said that her performance was so dramatic that he knew at that moment that he wanted to have her in his life. They were married on October 19, 1951, one year after they met. 

The term “end of an era” is often bandied about, but in this case it is not an exaggeration. I watched Alan play in the halcyon days of what is considered by many as the greatest percussion section among great percussion sections in the late 1950s and 1960s. That was my introduction to his talent. Then, the Philadelphia Orchestra section consisted of Mickey Bookspan, Fred Hinger, Charlie Owen, and Alan. When he joined the orchestra in 1957, he was assigned mostly to bass drum and triangle, but what he did with that assignment is legend. He brought his extraordinary sound concept to the bass drum because of his innovative bass drum stand and, of course, those fabulous triangles he first manufactured in 1963, which have become a staple in percussion sections all over the world. The original triangle that he became famous for was made from a knitting mill spindle used in a yarn factory. Alan told me about the genesis of the bass drum stand. As the stagehands were carrying the drum off stage after a concert, he happened to hit it as they were passing by and the sound was freer and fuller. This made him realize that the drum sounded better if suspended. The rest is percussion history. 

Alan gave any music he played style and character; the notes were just a starting point for him. As a member of the orchestra, he performed at hundreds of concerts and made many extraordinary recordings with Eugene Ormandy, Ricardo Muti, and Wolfgang Sawallisch, to name a few.

Alan instituted and organized the Symphonic Emeritus Percussion Section concerts at PASIC. I was privileged to conduct the group for many years and saw first-hand his amazing organizational skills. He divided up the parts, wrote the copy, recorded the music, and timed the entire program to perfection—and played, too! What I saw and heard at his last performance with the Emeritus Percussion Section at PASIC 2019 was the same extraordinary player that I saw in 1960 when he was in his thirties. He was elected to the PAS Hall of Fame in 1998.

Alan is survived by Jan, his wife of 68 years, his brother Bruce, his children Marianne, Alan, and Paul, in addition to his grandchildren Andrea, Erica, Christopher, David, Sarah, Stephen, and Kristen, and 17 great-grandchildren!

I knew Alan well and I know he would agree that this should not be a time of mourning. Rather, this should be a time to celebrate a life filled with passion and excellence. The memories of this man and his influence on so many will endure. As percussionists and musicians, we are lucky that he was one of us and that we were witness to a life so well lived. And what a roll! 

A Tribute to Alan Abel and the Greatest Generation of Orchestral Percussion Artists

By Niel DePonte
Principal Percussion, The Oregon Symphony

Once upon a time, the world was not so small, not so interconnected, not so homogenized. Countries had provinces that were distinct with varying architectures, cuisines, and dialects. And if you loved orchestral music, the orchestra you loved best was the one in your major metropolitan area, the place where you lived. That group had its own sound! You knew it when you heard it. With the broad distribution of recorded music beginning in the 1940’s, the world became one degree smaller. You could hear orchestras from other parts of the USA. 

Those of us who grew up with vinyl records, or lived in a major metropolitan city, primarily followed our hometown orchestras as one followed baseball teams. Who was the new manager (conductor)? Who was the star pitcher (concertmaster)? And for those of us who saw ourselves as perhaps 2nd basemen (clarinets), or outfielders (trumpets), or sluggers (trombones), we would have happily collected their orchestral baseball cards with their stats, if such a thing existed. 

But for those of us who saw ourselves as pinch hitters (percussionists) or home run kings (timpanists), there were a group of men who were on most of our recordings, most radio broadcasts, and taught in most, if not all, of the important conservatories, or taught us privately. These men whom we followed fanatically, and whose styles and musical dialects were the subject of great debates in practice rooms across America, were the position players we came to revere and hoped to emulate.

I am talking now about the 1960s–1970s in the main here. And I will quickly apologize for being regionally biased, or Big Five Orchestra biased, or having missed some important names from our field. It is nearly impossible to be complete and comprehensive in an article such as this. But if you feel I left out your favorite percussionist or timpanist from this period (or abbreviated a list below because sections changed over 20 years), it is very possible that they came from a slightly smaller city, recorded less often than these men, or taught fewer students during this period of time. Or, even more likely, they were already disciples of these percussion titans, having been taught by them in the recent past. In any event, here are the timpanists and percussionists from the Big Five Orchestras of this period whose names we most remember.

• Chicago Symphony: Donald Koss, timpani, Gordon Peters, Al Payson, Sam Denov, James Ross Sr.  
• New York Philharmonic: Saul Goodman, timpani, Walter Rosenberger, Elden “Buster” Bailey, Morris “Arnie” Lang
• Philadelphia Orchestra: Fred Hinger, timpani, Michael “Mickey” Bookspan, Charles Owen, Alan Abel
• Boston Symphony: Everett “Vic” Firth, timpani, Arthur Press, Tommy Thompson, Tom Gauger, Frank Epstein
• Cleveland Orchestra: Cloyd Duff, timpani, Richard Weiner, Joe Adato, Robert Matson, Donald Miller

Consider these percussionists the trunk of the great tree of percussionists that sprang from the roots set by German, Russian, Italian, Jewish and other emigres from Europe in the 19th and early 20th centuries. Those of us who are at least 45 years of age or older know these names, knew these men, studied with them, performed with them at times, and expanded the percussion diaspora that, with the world growing smaller and smaller each decade, created the enormous percussion world as we know it today. It is an incredibly diverse world, an incredibly intelligent world, and an incredibly talented world. We stand on the shoulders of these great men, from “The Greatest Generation,” as the book would tell us, who were innovators, who were professionals in every sense, and who were generous in their artistry in performance, on record (and cassette, 8-track, CD, and retro-concert streaming), and in their teaching.

And it is why the passing of a man like Alan Abel strikes each of us so profoundly. I had a few connections to him. I loved the sound the Philadelphia Orchestra percussionists made in concert and on recordings. Then most of my teachers were from the Eastman School of Music and studied with Philadelphian William Street, or were from Philly like my friend percussionist Bill Cahn. The Nexus percussion ensemble members were also acquaintances of mine and many had studied with the Philly section growing up. And Mr. Abel was part of a trio of orchestral percussionists who chose me as the winner of the first PASIC Mock Audition at the first PASIC in 1976. He was a man whom I could call and ask advice. He was always generous with his time and thoughts.

More than that, I knew dozens of percussionists who went to Temple University where Mr. Abel taught, and I learned from them in turn. And for those of us who knew any of the other players from The Greatest Generation, you knew that when you had a moment with them, even just to meet them, that this was a precious moment. 

Most of these men are gone now. My friend Arnie Lang is still with us, and I am not sure of the others. But I know Mr. Abel’s passing was the end of an era in Philadelphia, and I feel the loss as if I were related to him. In a sense, we all are. His was a rare gift of generosity that permeated our field. We all felt somehow connected to him, I believe. I have some of his percussion DNA within me, not as much as others, but enough to leave me feeling his loss more profoundly than I thought possible.

I met or knew about half of these men. I studied with Hinger for a time. I once received a nice note from Charley Owen after he played a piece of mine with his wife playing clarinet. I got to talk shop with him once when he said, “You know, nobody ever plays snare drum softly enough in an audition.” But with the passing of Alan Abel, and my own retirement in June as principal of the Oregon Symphony after 42 years, you begin to see the long line of players that have moved our field forward. And you hope that you have contributed in a way that would have won the approval of the men you looked up to when you were at the back of the line. 

May God grant peace to all these men, and all the others of that generation, who gave all of us so much. And may all of us along the lineage of players, at the front, middle, or back of the line, always look long and hard, and in both directions, down that line and learn something from everyone who is on it.

Read Alan Abel’s PAS Hall of Fame profile here.