On July 29, 2012, my oboe (Fox Model 450, Serial Number 20094) got stolen from the back of a car in Saratoga Springs, New York where I had traveled to perform with a friend and his band. I’ve owned the oboe for 10 years and this past spring even had it completely overhauled for a factory refurbish. Essentially, it was a brand new oboe, yet one that I had a decade of experience and musical personality with.
At first, I could not believe it to be real. I guarded the instrument tenaciously. The neighborhood it was taken from was pure American apple pie–couples, baby strollers, nice lawns. There was only a window of 20 minutes during which it could have been taken, and only by mishap as the vehicle must have been unlocked during that time inadvertently, although we all believed it locked, and none of our company happened to be smoking on the front porch where the car was parked. Sparing all the details, the end result was that, as we were to leave, the backpack–containing an oboe, reed-making tools, 28 reeds, black shoes, a toothbrush, toothpaste, and a multiple outlet electric cord–showed up, or rather “un-showed” up, as missing.
Violated beyond belief.
Tenons clawed my heart.
My spirit dissipated like a withered balloon.
How could this be happening? Having played oboe my entire life (or rather, since I was eight or nine), I was on the cusp of auditioning for symphonies and preparing for a senior recital in December–the final hurdle towards a Bachelor’s degree in Music Performance, in addition to the English degree I already hold. I’ve played with many musicians among a wide spectrum of genres, including with two members of the Grateful Dead, my own rock-based band which features amplified oboe, and many other talented and creative souls.
I was carving out a unique and creative, self-designed, professional career for myself as an oboist. Now it’s on hold. Yes, I have a student oboe, but it’s nowhere near the caliber of the Fox that I lost. No, it was not insured and will not be replaced. It will cost me over $5,000 to get its equivalent and the required reed-making tools. The life lesson learned is hard and biting, heart staking and painful–these things ought never be uninsured.
Instead, my only insurance is perseverance and hope. The perseverance of setting in place the means to acquire another one, even if it takes me years, and the hope that perhaps before that, somebody somewhere who has already pawed through my belongings and realized the complexities of trying to sling an oboe on the open market, will find it the best decision to turn it in to a local police department as “found” or to a church as “stolen.”
I know they didn’t realize what was in the backpack. Perhaps some wandering teenager happened to glance in the car which happened to be somehow open and casually slung it over his or her shoulders hoping to get home and find themselves with a new laptop, smart phone, wallet full of cash or other valuable and cool gadgets of useful or monetary value. Instead, they found some stinky black shoes, and a lot of oboe stuff.
It’s not like you can just keep the oboe like you might a guitar, hang around the campsite with your buddies and “pass the oboe around.”
But I can’t do anything without it. My life has come to a halt. I’m left scrambling for solutions. And the person who took it can’t do anything with it.
My soul weeps.
Yet I must accept responsibility for my lapse of attention to its security, the unguarded moment, the lack of insurance. As every day goes on, I pray and plead to the higher powers, the collective conscience and goodness of humanity, that the person who took it or whomever comes across it, realizes their own chance to accept responsibility by reporting it to the authorities or otherwise arranging its safe return. My livelihood has been greatly compromised without it. I am more angry at myself than the thief.
It can be returned to a police department or church with a note–“For Saratoga Springs, NY Police Dept.” Claim it as found, no questions will be asked. A cash reward is being offered to the person who brings it in. My spirit will be returned–with a lesson learned, but returned nonetheless–back to the way it was July 28, yet wiser, and sharper.
Any information about its whereabouts may be shared with the Saratoga Springs Police Department at 518-584-1800, or any other local law enforcement agency.
Oh boy, would I love to just get back on with my life as usual. Seeing that back would make my… day, year, well… life, and give me confidence about humanity.
Until then, without knowing if it will ever return, whether my eyes will ever see it again, those same eyes shed tears still believing that they are watering the seeds of hope that may one day become the flower that is the universal goodness of people.
