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Donald Whitton once described himself as having a “cello character.”
And his life, like the sound of his string instrument, was weighty, rich, deep and warm. A Second World War veteran, Whitton became a pioneering musician in Canada: a founding member of both the rock group Lighthouse and the National Arts Centre Orchestra.
Lauded by musical giants such as Glenn Gould, who once called him “the perfect continuo player,” Whitton served as the NAC Orchestra’s principal cellist for two decades before stepping down from the role in 1989.
“He was a true voice of the orchestra,” said Alan Molitz, the principal bass of the NAC Orchestra for 21 years.
Grant Cameron, a founding member of the cello section, said Cameron played a key role in the launch of the orchestra in September 1969. “He was very respectful of our individuality, but he also had the most positive way of helping us come together as a section,” Cameron said. “We learned he was certainly a man we could trust.”
Whitton died at his Ottawa home on April 26th. He was 94.
At a recent memorial service, family members remembered him as larger-than-life figure who could always find the right thing to say. “He could make you feel better with three words,” said his grandson, Nigel Newman.
His daughter, Sylvia Newman, said he was a gentle giant with a quiet sense of humour who took joy in his children and grandchildren: “He loved to share the wonder of the world with children: whether it was a Wordsworth poem or a spider just trying to get along in the world.”
Donald Richard Whitton was born on Aug. 2, 1923, in London, Ont. His father worked in a warehouse and played the saxophone, while his mother was an amateur pianist who had the benefit of one year of formal lessons.
As a child, Whitton studied piano and hoped to take up the violin at school, but a bit of bad luck changed his life. His music teacher handed out the available instruments alphabetically, but by the time it was Whitton’s turn to choose, all of the violins were gone. He opted for a cello instead.
“It was and is the perfect instrument for me,” Whitton once wrote. “That’s the story of my life: just falling into the right place at the right time. Funny how that works.”
The family moved to Toronto in the 1930s, where Whitton heard an orchestra for the first time as part of an after-school series put on by the Toronto Symphony Orchestra. The sound of the string section thrilled him and he resolved to pursue a career in music. “I was floating eight feet high all the way home on the streetcar,” he once recounted.
Whitton’s infatuation with the cello was interrupted by the Second World War. After graduating high school, he enlisted in the army and joined the Second Canadian Division, 4th Artillery Regiment, as a combat signaller. His unit was sent to Normandy, France one month after the D-Day invasion, and took part in heavy fighting at Caen and in the Battle of the Falaise Pocket.
As a signaller, Whitton’s job was to establish and maintain communication links between the front lines and headquarters — a role that often left him exposed to sniper and mortar fire. He once had a shell land in front of him that failed to explode; another time, he was pinned down by gunfire in an open field with only a shovel to protect himself.
A young Donald Whitton in family photo
Whitton survived the war, but its terrors never left him: Decades later, a sudden clap of thunder could send him ducking for cover. He explained to his daughter that lighting storms reminded him of heavy gunfire “which I’m allergic to.”
After the war, Whitton studied music at the University of Toronto and joined the Toronto Symphony Orchestra in 1950. He played with the TSO for a decade before deciding to work as a freelance musician, which brought him an eclectic mix of opportunity: everything from commercial jingles to Broadway musicals to Glenn Gould concerts.
In 1968, he was recruited as a founding member of Lighthouse, a 13-member Canadian band that fused rock musicians with jazz instrumentalists, classical violinists and cellists.
Whitton left Toronto the following year to join the newly founded NAC Orchestra as principal cellist.
Violinist Elaine Klimasko, another founding member, called him a man of “magnificent eyebrows” and a champion of one-liners. “I once asked him what he thought about a guest conductor and he replied, ‘No talent is forever.'”
Whitton, who retired from the orchestra in 1993, continued teaching and playing cello late into life, and made his last recording at 85.
“The cello has a sound that’s like nothing else in this world,” he once told an interviewer. “I like all stringed instruments, but the cello sound hits my ears in a particular way that appeals to me more than anything else.”
He leaves his wife, Gail Halliday, his children, David and Sylvia, two grandsons and four great-grandchildren. His youngest son, Philip, died from cancer at the age of 29.
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And his life, like the sound of his string instrument, was weighty, rich, deep and warm. A Second World War veteran, Whitton became a pioneering musician in Canada: a founding member of both the rock group Lighthouse and the National Arts Centre Orchestra.
Lauded by musical giants such as Glenn Gould, who once called him “the perfect continuo player,” Whitton served as the NAC Orchestra’s principal cellist for two decades before stepping down from the role in 1989.
“He was a true voice of the orchestra,” said Alan Molitz, the principal bass of the NAC Orchestra for 21 years.
Grant Cameron, a founding member of the cello section, said Cameron played a key role in the launch of the orchestra in September 1969. “He was very respectful of our individuality, but he also had the most positive way of helping us come together as a section,” Cameron said. “We learned he was certainly a man we could trust.”
Whitton died at his Ottawa home on April 26th. He was 94.
At a recent memorial service, family members remembered him as larger-than-life figure who could always find the right thing to say. “He could make you feel better with three words,” said his grandson, Nigel Newman.
His daughter, Sylvia Newman, said he was a gentle giant with a quiet sense of humour who took joy in his children and grandchildren: “He loved to share the wonder of the world with children: whether it was a Wordsworth poem or a spider just trying to get along in the world.”
Donald Richard Whitton was born on Aug. 2, 1923, in London, Ont. His father worked in a warehouse and played the saxophone, while his mother was an amateur pianist who had the benefit of one year of formal lessons.
As a child, Whitton studied piano and hoped to take up the violin at school, but a bit of bad luck changed his life. His music teacher handed out the available instruments alphabetically, but by the time it was Whitton’s turn to choose, all of the violins were gone. He opted for a cello instead.
“It was and is the perfect instrument for me,” Whitton once wrote. “That’s the story of my life: just falling into the right place at the right time. Funny how that works.”
The family moved to Toronto in the 1930s, where Whitton heard an orchestra for the first time as part of an after-school series put on by the Toronto Symphony Orchestra. The sound of the string section thrilled him and he resolved to pursue a career in music. “I was floating eight feet high all the way home on the streetcar,” he once recounted.
Whitton’s infatuation with the cello was interrupted by the Second World War. After graduating high school, he enlisted in the army and joined the Second Canadian Division, 4th Artillery Regiment, as a combat signaller. His unit was sent to Normandy, France one month after the D-Day invasion, and took part in heavy fighting at Caen and in the Battle of the Falaise Pocket.
As a signaller, Whitton’s job was to establish and maintain communication links between the front lines and headquarters — a role that often left him exposed to sniper and mortar fire. He once had a shell land in front of him that failed to explode; another time, he was pinned down by gunfire in an open field with only a shovel to protect himself.
A young Donald Whitton in family photo
Whitton survived the war, but its terrors never left him: Decades later, a sudden clap of thunder could send him ducking for cover. He explained to his daughter that lighting storms reminded him of heavy gunfire “which I’m allergic to.”
After the war, Whitton studied music at the University of Toronto and joined the Toronto Symphony Orchestra in 1950. He played with the TSO for a decade before deciding to work as a freelance musician, which brought him an eclectic mix of opportunity: everything from commercial jingles to Broadway musicals to Glenn Gould concerts.
In 1968, he was recruited as a founding member of Lighthouse, a 13-member Canadian band that fused rock musicians with jazz instrumentalists, classical violinists and cellists.
Whitton left Toronto the following year to join the newly founded NAC Orchestra as principal cellist.
Violinist Elaine Klimasko, another founding member, called him a man of “magnificent eyebrows” and a champion of one-liners. “I once asked him what he thought about a guest conductor and he replied, ‘No talent is forever.'”
Whitton, who retired from the orchestra in 1993, continued teaching and playing cello late into life, and made his last recording at 85.
“The cello has a sound that’s like nothing else in this world,” he once told an interviewer. “I like all stringed instruments, but the cello sound hits my ears in a particular way that appeals to me more than anything else.”
He leaves his wife, Gail Halliday, his children, David and Sylvia, two grandsons and four great-grandchildren. His youngest son, Philip, died from cancer at the age of 29.
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