I contrast the overwhelming reaction to the death of Stephen Sondheim with the death of Richard Rodgers, who inconveniently died on the night before New Year's Eve, 1979. I'm not discussing the reaction of the theater community, but of the national media in general. The announcement of Rodgers's death was greeted with the same fervor as had the death of Soupy Sales.
Particularly annoying was the column of Pulitzer Prize winning columnist Ellen Goodman, who wrote for the Boston Globe. She showed a mastery of the art of damning by faint praise.
He could and would write a song to fit a scene. if Woody Allen is right in saying that 'Eighty percent of life is showing up, well, Richard Rodgers showed up."
"Some Enchanted Evening" will never go into the annals of great classics. The King and I is not Aida. But Rodgers was very useful to provide a hard-working man in the blouse business with a method of expressing himself. If he likes a tune, he can whistle it and it will make his life happier."
As a child of the Rodgers' era, I can never quite understand the deep mentor relationship that Sondheim had with Oscar Hammerstein. Did Sondheim ever venture over into the world of Hammerstein's sentiment? Here is a description of the last meeting of the two:
[Sondheim] remembered that shortly before Hammerstein's death, Hammerstein had given him a portrait of himself. Sondheim asked him to inscribe it, and said later about the request that it was "weird ... it's like asking your father to inscribe something". Reading the inscription ("For Stevie, My Friend and Teacher"
choked up the composer, who said: "That describes Oscar better than anything I could say."
When he walked away from the house that evening, Sondheim remembered a sad, sinking feeling that they had said their final goodbye. He never saw his mentor again; three days later, Hammerstein died of stomach cancer and Hammerstein's protégé eulogized him at his funeral.