Summer in Oregon, particularly summer in Eugene, is punctuated by the Fourth of July. Most people in the Northern Hemisphere mark summer's start by the vernal equinox, but in the Pacific Northwest, the rains of Spring continue until at least July 1 and by the Fourth, Oregonians are ready to celebrate.

Eugene's festivities begin early in the morning with the annual Butte to Butte 10K race and Mayor's Walk. Thousands of participants enter, hundreds participate unentered, thousands line the streets in soulful communion with those padding by. The race forms a Eugene collage with its mixture of all levels and abilities. Special Olympics athletes run alongside the local housewives who run beside the university president who runs behind world class racers. At the finish line, all&emdash;observers and runners and walkers&emdash;revel in a sense of community spirit.

The evening brings the group back together again for Eugene's farm club baseball game and fireworks display. True, the light show can be seen and heard from many vantage points in the town, but the accompanying show of the hometown team and the flair of Americana are best inside the stadium itself. Neighbors greet neighbors while cheering on the young players struggling to make their mark in the semi-pro league.

On July 4, 1997, Civic Stadium, a classic wooden structure about forty years old, opened its gates at 4:30 p.m. for the 6:35 game against the Yakima team. Crowds queued up around the block in hopes of nabbing the best bench space as all the box seats had been sold out long ago. Blankets were spread across the stadium saving seats for late arrivals. The blankets were to be on double duty this night; after the game the crowd would be allowed on the field to watch the fireworks shot up from behind the left field wall. In the meantime there was a ball game to be played. Snow cone, program, and peanut vendors paced out their territory. "Beer here!" shouts rolled up into the crowd.

Out from behind home plate strolled Bob Beban, the tall, tanned, and richly handsome general manager of the Eugene Emeralds team. Walking beside him is a four-foot-something man whose arms resembled six- or eight- inch wings extending from his shoulders. His misshapen body contrasted with the cool slender build of Beban. The crowd rose, knowing the pre-game ritual for the national anthem. As a hush fell over the stands, the crowd watched as Bob oriented the smaller man toward the flag. Over the public address system came the introduction of the visiting baritone, Thomas Quasthoff, from Hanover, Germany, here to perform for the Oregon Bach Festival. Our guest singer and this elf-like man were one and the same being. The crowd remained still as he fumbled while he positioned the hand-held microphone close to his mouth.

The first words of the "Star Spangled Banner" sprang forth from his mouth and the audience collectively dropped their jaws. His voice was deep, rich, resonant, and inspiring. The starkness of his physical appearance floated away as the strength and stature of his voice enthralled us. The chatty, incessantly moving fans of a few minutes earlier stared raptly in the face of this profound talent. His remarkable voice captivated all.

Suddenly the microphone began cutting out. The voice continued but with varied intensity. Beban burned his silent eye-messages to the control room, but no improvement occurred. The singer calmly attempted to adjust the mike in his diminutive hand. Static and staccato verses prompted a unified wave of empathetic shuffling in the stands. The uncertainty of the event prompted nervous glances throughout the stadium. Finally the sound system seemed to have totally quit and the audience, almost as one, began to softly support Quasthoff by their voices. Deferring to his pace and dominant talent, the fans blended their subdued tones to a cosmic finish. The applause roared as a moment of magic drew the group once more together for the start of the game.