Helga without the H

In memory of one of the coolest guys I’ve ever know, I am sharing a brief bio I wrote (in both LV and ENG) 5 years ago, after I had the honor of interviewing Andrejs Jansons in preparation for Baltimore Dziesmu Svetki.

AJ (as he was affectionately nicknamed by some of us kids he inspired in Katskili) was a legend. He taught me to play kokle as a kid, but my most vivid memories are of him when I was a counselor in the early 00’s.

Some brief anecdotes, to get a sense of how down-to-earth but awesome this legend was:

– I’ll never hear Gerbies Saule Sudrabota without thinking of him, or without instinctively clapping my hands in a weird off-rhythm that he for some crazy reason thought a bunch of no-attention-span 7 year olds would be able to master. He would come in and say “ok lets do a hard thing” like it was nothing, and we counselors would think “this is too hard, no way these kids can do this.” And then the kids would just… do it. Like magic. “Gerb-CLAP saaaul-CLAP-CLAP sud-CLAP-ooot-CLAP-CLAP, Nu CLAP taav-CLAP-CLAP prec-CLAP niek. CLAP-CLAP.”

– At the end of each summer camp, we have “Dinejballe,” basically “camp prom” where the kids take a date to a “fancy” dinner in the mess hall and then on to a dance. For “ambiance” I was asked to play the piano during dinner. I am NOT GOOD AT ALL at playing the piano. I am thoroughly unskilled, with a very limited repertoire and no sight-reading ability. BUT, the piano was so thoroughly out of tune, and the kids are all young and don’t know any better, and nobody is listening to the piano anyway, so I agreed. I basically was just pretending to be a pianist, cuz it’s for 7 year olds. But who winds up coming to dinner and sitting down RIGHT BEHIND THE PIANO? Oh, it’s just world-class super-famous professional musician Andrejs Jansons! No pressure! My playing was terrible. I mean truly terrible. But, again, nobody is playing attention, so who cares? At the end of dinner, though, as the kids are shuffling out and I can finally stop pretending to play, AJ leaned over to me and said (in Latvian) “I really liked that Bach piece.” I just about died. I knew I was terrible. He knew I was terrible. I knew he knew I was terrible. But he was also so goshdarn nice, and was there with a compliment, always ready to encourage us regardless of skill (or lack thereof).

– AJ wore the exact same outfit every day at summer camp, regardless of the activity or the weather. He must have had a closet full of nothing but dark blue shorts and light blue short-sleeved button-ups. One sweltering day, we took the kids for a grueling hike. Everyone was in sneakers or hiking boots, sweating through our t-shirts and tanks, absolutely exhausted after a long climb. Completely drained, several of us “jauniesi” collapsed at a resting point, guzzling desperately from our water bottles and dripping sweat. What do we see coming at us in the distance? Those unmistakable blue shorts. AJ appears in the middle of the woods, looking completely fresh and jovial, not a single wrinkle in his pristine buttoned-up outfit, presumably no blisters inside his definitely-not-hiking-boots shoes (loafers? sandals? I can’t remember). He looked down at us confused and asked why we’re stopped, then just keeps on effortlessly trucking up the mountain like a boss. I think he was around 70 years old at that point.

– Last one. One winter I was visiting my sister in NYC. She had lots of artsy friends, plus had theater connections from work. So when I visited, I got to go to cool artsy big-city stuff like off-Broadway plays. On this visit we went to a small reading of some sort (details fuzzy- maybe a play?) at Lincoln Center. I turn around after the show, and what do I see? That familiar blue button-up and blue shorts! (given time of year my memory might be off and he may have been in slacks, but… I dunno… this is AJ we’re talking about). PLUS a bike helmet! So of course I go over to chat with my 70+ year old friend at this super hip event. Spotting the bike helmet, I asked AJ where he’d biked from, figuring it was somewhere nearby. He’d biked from home… in NEW JERSEY. I have no idea where in NJ he lived, but it’s over an hour from Lincoln Center to cross the bridge (also… WINTER!). He looked at me like I was crazy for thinking this was impressive. And that moment may have been the exact moment that solidified AJ as one of the coolest people I’ve ever known.

Blue shorts, mountaintops, NYC winters on bike, helmets at readings, tolerance for seriously bad piano… AJ just seemed fearless. Both the most untouchable, and the most down-to-earth guy. Plus, you know, he was pretty decent at that whole music thing.

Vieglas smiltis, AJ.