RICHARD PONTZIOUS is the founder and executive director of the Asian Youth Orchestra (AYO). The 10th anniversary rehearsal camp begins tomorrow which means, according to the schedule organised by Pontzious, that today is orientation day, and more than 100 young musicians from 11 Asian countries will find out who they're going to be living, and touring, with for the summer. They are also given a handbook which sets out the AYO's ground rules. I had a quick flick through it and was struck by how much the list conveyed the tone of a loving but faintly weary parent: 'take a shower every day' (otherwise, it seems, there are always complaints about smelly feet), 'put things back where you found them', 'clean up your own mess', 'don't borrow things without asking' and (sweetly, at the end) 'have a great time'. As it happens, Pontzious isn't a parent and when I asked if he would like to have been a father, he said, thoughtfully, 'Actually, I don't think about it. I love kids of all ages ... but no. I have a world full of kids that I've had some influence on for good, bad or indifferent.' I had a good deal of sympathy for him: it's bad enough organising one's own travel arrangements, so how wearing it must be to juggle at least 100 others' with all the attendant (and, by all accounts, nightmarish) drama of their visas. And, frankly, it's not as if the AYO, despite its association with such luminaries as the late Yehudi Menuhin and Yo-Yo Ma, garners that much attention in Hong Kong. This year it will play two concerts here (on July 30 and 31) and then it's off to Japan, Canada and the United States. Pontzious knows the score: 'We're only a summer project. In a sense we don't get the public attention we should but, gosh, we're only there for a minute. Who knows we're even there?' We met on the afternoon of June 30 - the eve of his 55th birthday - and Hong Kong had that fag-end feel of a summer city in which people are thinking about taking flight. 'Quiet already,' remarked Pontzious, wryly, glancing at the phone. Perhaps the unusual silence which had fallen on his small office made him introspective, or perhaps it was his impending birthday, but he gave the impression of a man thinking aloud on his way to a crossroads. He pondered every answer, chin resting on a steeple of fingers, as if he wanted to assess just where he was in life. Part of his thoughtfulness may have sprung from a personal anniversary which occurs every July (and, he later told me, an aunt had also died the preceding weekend). 'In 1990, the year the orchestra started, about a week before it began, my father passed away. He had a stroke and there was a question about whether I should go back, but my mother and father agreed I should stick it out in Hong Kong. So I wasn't there to say goodbye. At this time of the year ... those thoughts are there. Life is very precious. We should not take anything for granted, that's for sure.' When did he realise that? 'I have a constant comparison between my life and my brothers' lives. They have what I call normal lives. For any of us living abroad, there are lots of opportunities, I have been enormously blessed, but we're so transient ... We don't have a normal life living abroad.' He is the eldest of four boys who grew up in California. His father, an engineer, was 'a bit of a cowboy' who always had horses; the family had its own brand - WE 6 - to underline its cohesiveness. His brothers are still in California but Pontzious (the name may be Greek but he says no one knows for sure) wanted to travel. He became a music teacher and, in 1967, took a job at the American School in Taiwan. Early on in his first term, he invited a couple of fellow Chinese teachers to dinner at an American officers' club. When it was made clear to him that this was not acceptable behaviour, he quit. He had, however, even in those few weeks, organised his first, presciently dramatic, tour - to a concert hall in a cave on the island of Quemoy, which China shelled continuously, 'but it didn't bother us during the performance'. He moved on to Japan, then returned to the US, where he was eventually offered the job of music critic on the San Francisco Examiner. It was in this capacity that he met some students who were on an exchange visit from the Shanghai Conservatory. As a result of that encounter, he taught conducting in Shanghai, first for five weeks and then for a further year. On his return to San Francisco, he came up with the idea which eventually grew into the AYO. 'I wanted to celebrate the achievements of these young people, to hold a mirror up to them and say, 'You're as good as this because you learned it in your own country.' ' He had excellent contacts, and the person who funded his arrival in Hong Kong was then Sing Tao boss Sally Aw. (I was about to make a comment on the rich irony of a woman who failed to face the music facilitating a full orchestra when Pontzious said, firmly, 'The good things are forgotten but we don't forget them here. And God bless her.') And now he wants to go home to California. 'This is a consuming project. You're never away from it, you cannot let anything go by. Everything is date-controlled, there's that kind of pressure. My father died at 78. Let's say I have 20 active years to go - why not enjoy those 20 years? Why not sit down and write something about those experiences in Asia? Why not take some time for myself?' I wondered how long he'd been feeling this and he replied, 'I think it's part of growing up.' When will he leave? He gave a big laugh. 'I like to think there'll be a nice intelligent succession. The new person will probably be three people and that will be healthy for the organisation.' Perhaps he already has a foot out at Chek Lap Kok: since November he has been living in the Renaissance Harbour View Hotel, and when he's travelling, the management puts his clothes in storage. It's no wonder he feels so transient. Still, he'll be at the rehearsal camp at the Academy for Performing Arts on Monday when, as AYO tradition dictates, he will conduct the opening piece. And he'll conduct the last piece at the last performance, in Honolulu on August 28, the final encore of the summer. Does he feel sad that this might be his last summer on the road? 'Definitely not. I wanted to travel the world and I've certainly done that. I've had my moment in the spotlight and everybody likes that, don't they?' fionnuala mchugh
