Steve Bulota:  

Let's just say I'm a musician who wound up getting a job in the real world, although I never put the timpani mallets away. I was born in South Bend, Indiana, where I spent the first ten years of my life, to Lithuanian immigrant parents. They fled their homeland in 1944, ahead of the advancing Soviet army as the Germans retreated. They spent 4½ years in a German refugee camp, where they were married, and came to the US in 1949 under the auspices of the Displaced Persons Act when my grandfather was invited to teach at Notre Dame. Thanks to my father, I now bleed for the Irish football team. Being Catholic, I don¿t have much choice ¿ rooting against Notre Dame is sacrilege.:) I am a lifelong churchgoer who has a lot to be thankful for. I have one younger sister who lives in New Jersey with her family. Music is and always will be my first love. My grandmother was my first music teacher. I studied piano and music theory with her, to the extent that I could already read music in the first grade and knew the Cycle of Fifths a year later. I realized at an early age that I could instantly recognize pitch and was under the mistaken impression that everyone had this ability. When I was ten, we moved from Indiana to New Jersey. When my father informed us that we would have to move, I took it very hard. It meant leaving behind friends and everything else that was near and dear. It also meant we wouldn¿t be seeing my grandmother very often anymore. She moved to Chicago to live with my aunt, as we didn¿t want to leave her all alone in South Bend (my grandfather had passed away three years before). There was one redeeming factor in our move ¿ being close to New York City. We had visited New York two years earlier and had gone to the World¿s Fair, but the event I remember the most was my very first subway ride. It left such a profound impression that to this day, July 21, 1965 is a red-letter date in my life. So when we moved to New Jersey, the first thing I wanted to do was visit New York and ride on the subway. Two weeks after moving, we did just that. Chicago was nice, and we¿d been there many times, but New York was, well, New York. My mother says that once we started going to the city regularly, I forgave my parents for moving. Not that I was ever bitter about it. It wasn¿t long before I became immersed in the New York City subway system, and my love affair continues to this day. I have all sorts of memorabilia ¿ maps, roll signs, even a service information sign from the 1960s that I remember seeing in 1967. Within a year of moving to New Jersey, I became fascinated with playing drums. At first, I wanted to take oboe lessons after hearing what it sounds like and realizing that it was prominently featured in Chaikovsky¿s ballet Swan Lake. When that didn¿t materialize, I took up drum lessons. Even though my teacher said I was doing well and that ¿they¿d kick out whomever else they had and take him instead¿ if I were to join the school band, I still had doubts. Finally in eighth grade, I tried out for band and was accepted. A year later in high school, one event took place that put me on course to where I am today ¿ timpanist of a Denver-based orchestra. A group of us were in the band room when someone brought up absolute pitch. When I said I had that, I was put to the test. After instantly recognizing a few notes struck on a piano, everyone was convinced. Just then, our band director walked in and everybody told him about me. He was a percussionist himself and suggested I play timpani, knowing that a good ear is essential. The rest, as they...Expand for more