A “townie” who done good
When I arrived at college, I quickly realized that if I wanted to attain any type of outstanding student status like I had in high school, it would take a lot of work. My grade point average was solid, and my work ethic was strong, but in the arts, you needed something else.
I realized what that “something else” was once I met a few of my classmates who had “the gift.” You see, “the gift” was not something you could work for. It was part of your DNA, and it didn’t matter what your ethnic heritage, your parents’ income bracket, your eye color, or your appearance was.
In music, the gift was that magical ability to outperform any of your peers in such a way that only dust would appear around them when you were done. It was not, however, vindictive in any way. It was like Babe Ruth in baseball. You either had it or you didn’t, and those who did were amazing.
One kid, a “rownie” from Indiana named Steve had the gift. He was an amazing clarinet player but an even better piano player. I remember Steve walking into my apartment during our sophomore year, lifting the rotary phone and listening to the dial tone to get the pitch. Then he sat down with a piece of manuscript paper and wrote down the music that was playing on our record player, note-for-note, all by ear. If you think that’s an easy thing to do, try it.
Steve and I graduated, and we took one of our first post-graduate classes together. It was a class that he helped me ace by using his ear and analytical ability to completely dissect a Brahms Symphony.
He went on to do graduate work at both Carnegie Mellon and Duquesne universities, then got jobs with the Pittsburgh Civic Light Opera and a theater in Cleveland. He was still young when he landed a job at Disney World. That’s where the story really begins.
Steve Skorija became the principal music director at Walt Disney World Entertainment, and what a journey that became. He’d call me when he was on the road, and the conversation would go something like this. “Hey, Steve, where are you today?” To which he would reply, “I’m in Abbey Road Studios in England recording the London Philharmonic for an upcoming show, and it still smells like marijuana here.” Or he’d say, “I’m in Prague recording the Czech Orchestra.” Or was it the Vienna Symphony Orchestra?
Steve wrote or recorded the music for things like the fireworks display at Epcot. He collaborated with the biggest composers in the world like Hans Zimmer, and he rehearsed the performers for the Disney shows and the Disney cruise ships. Back in the 1970s, when half-time shows still featured bands, he wrote and directed the shows for several Super Bowls. Steve has worked for Tokyo Disneyland, directed the Disney Hong Kong and Paris opening ceremonies, and produced the Brazilian Glorioso.
Once when we visited him, he took us into Disney World after hours and showed us the underground tunnel system, explained how they got rid of bodies when people died on Space Mountain, told us the secret of the names on the windows on Main Street USA (employee recognition), and bought us drinks with a group of performers who kept yelling, “Steve, let the mouse pay for it.” He had a Mickey Mouse credit card.
Throughout all of his fame, Steve remained grounded and levelheaded, and even though he worked with all the big stars, he still made time for his friends back home.
Steve has finally retired after more than 46 years, but there’s a good chance when you watch a Disney movie, visit one of the parks, or just turn on the radio, Steve’s musical genius gift was somehow involved.
So, Hail Indiana, and Hail Steve Skorija. You done good.
Nick Jacobs is a Windber resident.