When I attend Cincinnati Symphony Orchestra performances, I make sure to get there early enough to watch the musicians assemble on stage. In the past, as many hastily ran through a passage or quietly acknowledged colleagues, my eyes instinctively looked to the cello section, searching for the lanky, dignified, elegant Black man. I’d spot him and think, okay — everything’s cool.
I can’t explain why he was my focal point, but cellist Norman Johns, who served as the CSO’s assistant principal cello, was a vital presence, a source of strength and assurance — especially for the legions of students he taught and mentored during his astounding 50-year career with the CSO.
The CSO announced Johns’ death last week following a two-year ordeal with cancer. While the announcement wasn’t surprising, it hit hard. To honor his memory, I turned to his colleagues at the CSO and beyond, all of whom were heartfelt and generous in sharing memories.
Everyone I spoke to used the same words: Presence. Elegance. Dignity. Selfless. Dedicated. Johns was a real mensch.
Johns’ presence was deeply felt, even by those who rarely encountered him or never met him at all, as it was for Cristian Măcelaru, CSO’s music director.
“I had the privilege of meeting Norm twice when I was conducting in Cincinnati, and I remember vividly the elegance he carried in the way he played as well as his entire presence,” Măcelaru wrote in an email to CityBeat. “There was a quiet confidence in him, a calm assurance paired with a deep curiosity that stood out. I was always struck by the depth of his insights into the music.”
And while he projected extreme reserve, according to his colleagues, he “held court” after rehearsals or concerts, discussing everything from politics, religion and ultimately music with laughter and no pretense. He was an avid chess player, a pool shark and loved jazz.
Johns was hard to miss: at 6’5”, he was one of the tallest CSO members, and as assistant principal cello, he was seated near the front of the stage. For 25 years, he was the only Black musician in the CSO.
In a 2016 interview for the Enquirer, he told my colleague Janelle Gelfand that the prospects for a Black and Native American boy who wanted to study music in Philadelphia in the ’60s were almost nil.
But thanks to robust music and art programs in Philadelphia’s public schools, Johns began studying the cello as a nine-year-old. He was part of his high school’s string quartet, coached by the conductor of Philadelphia’s All-City Orchestra, which led to the quartet receiving full scholarships to what is now the University of the Arts.
Johns taught music in the Philadelphia public school system for three years while studying privately. He made his Carnegie Hall debut in Weill Recital Hall in 1973, winning a competition sponsored by the National Association of Negro Musicians.
He used the prize money for advanced studies in Switzerland. Two years later, he auditioned for the CSO — his one and only orchestra.
Johns always expressed gratitude for being welcomed by the CSO and the Cincinnati community. He remained the CSO’s sole Black musician until 2000, when 20-year-old clarinet phenom Anthony McGill joined the CSO as associate principal clarinet.
“I just know it wasn’t easy for him,” McGill said, speaking from Vermont. “I can’t even recall what he told me, but it was enough.”
McGill spoke with deep affection and admiration for Johns.
“He was the coolest cat in the building, no doubt about that. “
“He was more than a role model,” he continued. “He established himself and showed what it meant to be a player in that orchestra. Having him there made me feel like I could do it… Everyone was supportive. But having somebody like him representing what he represented to me as a young kid — that was so important. He was there for me. He was there.”
McGill left the CSO in 2004, joining the Metropolitan Opera Orchestra, and in 2014, became the New York Philharmonic’s principal clarinet.
Johns began teaching privately as soon as he moved to Cincinnati and usually didn’t charge, quietly advocating for inclusion and being one of its prime movers, whether through teaching, artists or music.
“When we began Classical Roots nearly 25 years ago, Norm’s steadfast encouragement helped me in particular, and our entire team, to build it right,” recalled Cincinnati Pops Conductor John Morris Russell. “Quick to rattle off composers, soloists and repertoire I should take a serious look at, he was a teacher at heart. And like a great teacher, he would pull me aside after the performance with thoughtful and kind words that would impel me to do even better the next time.”
Johns’ love of music extended across genres. When Maya Angelou died in 2014, shortly after recording Aaron Copland’s A Lincoln Portrait with the CSO, the family asked the CSO to provide a string quartet for her funeral service.
“Norm eagerly volunteered, though feeling unwell that morning — and seriously ill by day’s end — he was determined to honor the moment,” wrote Robert McGrath, CSO president and CEO, in an email to CityBeat. “He played with all his heart and signature artistry. And I’ll never forget his expression listening to Alyson Williams’ performance of “God Put a Rainbow in the Clouds” — pure joy radiated from him. That moment captured everything Norm stood for: a life dedicated to beauty, service and uplifting others through music.”
Johns was a CSO veteran when Ilya Finkelshteyn joined the CSO as principal cello in 2009, and CSO Music Director Laureate Louis Langreé was appointed music director in 2013.
Finkelshteyn agreed with McGill’s description of Johns as the “coolest cat in the building,” adding that his way of walking was equally cool, even as cancer progressed. “His walk was almost a glide.”
“Norm was always very supportive of me when I first arrived, and that support extended to his colleagues in the orchestra and to soloists,” Finkelshteyn said.
“He had an attitude that’s extremely rare nowadays,” Finkelshteyn continued. “He was also always very grateful for being able to play music on stage, to make music for other people. I think that is something that I’m going to miss the most. Besides, we had wonderful conversations. He had a very beautiful way of speaking, a wonderful kind of language that reflected his deep spiritual sense.”
The veteran cellist had a presence that Langreé called “elegant with an attitude of nobility that his reserve seemed to emphasize. In my first season, we performed Dvořák’s New World Symphony and immediately after, he told me, ‘I’ve done this symphony millions of times and tonight I had the feeling it was the first time!’” recalled Langreé, speaking from Paris. “He was ecstatic, and it was so moving for me, especially coming from a musician of his age and experience.
“Thanks to his commitment, he allowed our ‘norms’ to expand, to develop and move forward.”
Johns was devoted to teaching throughout his CSO tenure. He had a gift not only for music, but for seeing the potential in others, according to Carol Dunevant, the recently retired CSO director of learning.
“A friend whose child studied with Norm told me he gave private lessons freely, never accepting payment, believing that music should be passed from heart to heart, not transaction to transaction,” she wrote in an email to CityBeat. “Norm wove a legacy of kindness, ensuring that the music would live on in the hands of the next generation.”
It didn’t matter if the student wanted to play drums, sax or flugelhorn — Norm would find the instrument and a teacher, according to Aurelia “Candie” Simmons, longtime chair of the CSO’s Multicultural Awareness Council (MAC).
Simmons led the campaign to endow the Norman E. Johns Chair award to encourage participation from middle and high school orchestra students traditionally underrepresented in youth orchestra programs.
The award was established by the CSO to commemorate Johns’ 20th anniversary with the CSO — and he was totally shocked, by all accounts.
“He never expected any recognition,” Simmons said. “He always gave from the heart.”
One of the award’s beneficiaries was violinist Michael Jorgensen, who went on to attend Eastman School of Music and is now a professor of practice in orchestral strings at Lehigh University.
“Norm mentored Mike and so many more with opportunities to perform chamber music and learn about the orchestral field,” wrote Jorgensen’s mother, Kathy Finley, a former CSO staff member. “Thanks to Norm, we’ve witnessed the positive growth of many talented adults who work in the music industry and are lifelong classical music lovers.”
Following the cancer diagnosis, Johns continued to play until it became too difficult.
“If he couldn’t play at the top of his game, he didn’t want to be there,” Simmons said.
“He was always an optimistic person, from beginning to end,” Finkelshteyn said. “The last time I saw him was in May when he was honored for his retirement. He was pretty frail, but it didn’t seem like he lost a lot of energy. He urged us to keep bringing the light in, to everybody, to society.”
That was indeed a poignant, bittersweet moment. Seeing Johns in a wheelchair was a shock, but as Finkelshteyn and his section immediately stood up, followed by the audience, Johns’ radiance warmed the hall.
Award recipients compiled a book of photos that were presented to Johns in May, and he constantly looked through it in the last weeks of his life, according to Finkelshteyn.
“As much as I thought, oh no, when he’s not here anymore, the face of the orchestra will have changed, but actually, no, the face has changed, thanks to him,” said Langreé. “He was very involved with our Diversity Fellows Program, an important evolution in the life of the orchestra. He was a role model for young musicians. We can really be so grateful. His legacy is so much larger than a human life.”
Johns’ life was an inspiration and a source of hope. For those musicians who felt excluded from orchestral music, he was a beacon.
“Part of the reason why my time in the CSO was smooth and supported was because of me being able to literally stand on his shoulders,” McGill said. “Sometimes people say we’re standing on the shoulders of the people that came before us, but his shoulders were right there.”
This article appears in Aug 6-19, 2025.