Tony Thomas Remembered

by Preston Jones

Two years later, I was living in Hollywood, working on what I hoped would be a book about behind-the-scenes movie people. Thanks to a series of interviews with Hans J. Salter, I was befriended by that genial old-world gentleman whose scores had thrilled me since childhood. When I read in the paper that none other than Tony Thomas was organizing a series of meet the-composer events for Filmex, the local festival, I obtained his number and ventured to call him. "Yes?" he answered in that inimitable voice. (Readers of FSM are well aware of Tony's accomplishments, but unless they have heard his albums of interviews with film land greats, or his narration of "Vintner's Daughter" by Rozsa, they have missed the pleasure of hearing that English accent, seasoned in Canada, and spoken in one of the most distinctive and soothing tones this side of the late Alexander Scourby. In years to come, I would always smile at Tony's answering machine greeting: "You're listening to Tony Thomas on tape!" But tape and broadcast were indeed the natural habitat for Tony's voice.)

After introducing myself, and thanking him for Music for the Movies, I asked Mr. Thomas if he'd be interested in including Hans J. Salter on his panel of composers for horror and science fiction films. He was both stunned and enthusiastic: "My God, is he still alive? I'd love to meet him!" A meeting at Hans' home was quickly arranged—catered by Viennese cookies courtesy of Hans' wife Mausi—whereat the composer greeted the author with characteristic cordiality. Be it noted, however, that Salter couldn't resist pointing out matter-of-factly that, much as he, too, had enjoyed reading Music for the Movies, he'd noticed that his own name was not mentioned within its pages. Tony somewhat abashedly explained the space limitations under which he had been laboring in this ground-breaking tome. But, if he felt remiss in not including Hans in his book, Tony more than made up for the slight many times over in the years that followed. For, despite the hundreds of titles in his resume, Hans had never had a single record album devoted to one of his scores. It was a glaring oversight in the musical marketplace which Tony quickly set out to rectify. Like flowers suddenly blooming in the barren wasteland, Salter soundtrack LPs sprouted forth in record stores under the imprimus of Tony's labor-of-love label, Citadel.

This record-releasing company was of course one of Tony's finest accomplishments. He didn't merely proselytize for the music he believed in, he did everything he could to make the scores available to his fellow aficionados. And he enjoyed providing encouragement and opportunities for those of us who aspired to follow in his footsteps. I was one such fortunate recipient of Tony's consideration when he invited me to write the liner notes for Hans' first LP, the TV score, Maya. (As compensation, Tony offered me my pick of Citadel albums, and to this day those discs constitute one of my most welcome salaries.)

Maya already existed as a fully-produced yet unreleased album when Tony brought it out on Citadel, but all the other Salter LPs were carefully supervised Tony Thomas productions. I enjoyed being a fly-on-the-wall while Tony and Hans were selecting tracks for the Wichita Town album, choosing cues and then comparing takes for optimum tempo, orchestral expressivity, etc. I happened to particularly enjoy one item of source music, a honky-tonk piece for saloon piano, and suggested it be included on the disc, but Tony had a very definite reason for disagreeing with me. He explained that in his experience the majority of film music fans preferred that a record contain exclusively selections featuring full orchestra, as opposed to vocal or instrumental solos. Although I tried unsuccessfully to lobby for this one exception, I had to admire Tony's knowledge of his audience and his desire to create a product which would please them.

But it wasn't merely the recordings which made me glad that I had introduced Tony and Hans to each other. It was always a particular delight to enjoy their interactions over the years. To the composer, in the last decades of his life, it was a boon to have a new friend who shared so many old affinities, a man of culture who could converse in English or German about the Vienna that had long ago vanished and her musicians who will always be with us. Every January, Hans invited his circle of friends to the Sportsman's Lodge for his birthday brunch, "At which," as his verbal invitations stipulated, "No gifts are to be brought, and no speeches are to be made," to which of course many of us couldn't resist bringing presents and making speeches. I have many fond memories of Tony at these occasions, serving perfectly as the unofficial toastmaster, reading letters from such well-wishers as Miklos Rozsa and Henry Mancini, and always offering his own testimonial to his friend with wit, eloquence and grace.

As Hans and the century embarked upon their tenth decade, Tony enjoyed discussing with Hans his ideas for a special celebration to mark the composer's hundredth birthday, and for many years it looked as if this event would become an actuality. Alas, two years shy of the mark, and within a year of the passing of his beloved Mausi, Hans left our planet. Tony's final speech in tribute to Hans was delivered at his friend's graveside, and it was characterized by the depth of affection and artful selection of words which had distinguished all of his birthday toasts—and his many books and album liner notes.

How I would have wished for Tony the full hundred years which he had wished for Hans. One would think he truly had lived that long, looking at the number of books, records, shows and documentaries he managed to write and/or produce in his allotted span. A number of notable composers and producers joined family and other friends for Tony's memorial at the theater of the Beverly Garland Hotel on July 12th. More than one speaker mentioned that Tony's innate dignity and reserve could sometimes make him seem distant and a little aloof, and from my own experience of Tony I could identify with these remarks. And yet, here we all were, a packed house of mourners celebrating our love for the man who had brought so much love to us through his life's work.

So much love, and knowledge, and beauty. We will spend the rest of our lives reading and re-reading books by Tony, and listening to albums of music which never would have been recorded and/or released had it not been for Tony's steadfast love and dedication. To have touched and enriched so many lives is, of course, a form of immortality, and no one—not even Alfred Newman or his brother-in-law—could ask to leave behind a better legacy.

But I'm still going to miss Tony's voice.

Preston Neal Jones

Hollywood, California

July 30, 1997