NEW YORK (AP) -- The staging area was much smaller than expected, but the two 12-foot-high doors loomed like the Great Gate of Kiev. As I walked through the doorway, I thought of some of the people who had been there before -- Tchaikovsky, Dvorak, Mahler, Horowitz, Heifetz, Casals, Piatigorsky, Bernstein, Stern.

On the other side of the threshold was the stage. Not any stage. Carnegie Hall's!

After 2 1/2 decades of playing the cello, I was finally preparing to perform at the grand temple of music. I was one of 72 musicians in the Park Avenue Chamber Symphony about to play a concert that raised $70,000 to combat multiple sclerosis.

The orchestra was making its Carnegie debut, too. It also was the first time our music director, David Bernard, conducted there, and was the first Carnegie solo for our featured performer -- 13-year-old violinist Jourdan Urbach.

What's so special about this 113-year-old venue?

``Carnegie Hall is the capital of musical performance. It's the place where every orchestra excels and looks forward to play," Bernard said. "Its history and tradition make it more than simply a concert hall. And so the fantastic thing about this evening, was that as we walked out on stage we became part of that tradition''

Formed in 1999, our orchestra is made up of nonprofessionals, many of whom attended conservatories but went into other professions, such as law, biological research and investment banking.

Its mission is to support nonprofit organizations though music -- its concerts have raised $160,000 for musical education groups alone.

Bernard, 40, has conducted for 20 years. He studied at the Juilliard School precollege division and is an alumnus of the Curtis Institute of Music. When he's not conducting, he runs a 10-employee management consulting firm. To prepare us for performances, he combines his management skills and mild-mannered personality with great efficiency.

My cello playing began at age 8 at the Settlement Music School in Philadelphia. I dropped out at 16 to play football and pursue other adolescent endeavors. I took the cello to college but would only occasionally pick it up to strum along with rock albums. Years later, I returned to the cello after my family secretly got it repaired for a birthday present. I'd practice for hours to decompress from work and to demonstrate problem-solving techniques to my children: Identify the problem and work it out slowly.

Eventually, I became proficient enough to play in an amateur workshop at the Chamber Music Society of Lincoln Center. Another participant was a flute player who was a member of the Park Avenue orchestra. She recommended me, and Bernard invited me to join. But because of my work schedule, I declined -- until last spring, when he told me the orchestra would be playing at Alice Tully, Avery Fisher and Carnegie.

I was in awe when we rehearsed at Lincoln Center's Alice Tully Hall for a fall concert. I felt like a usurper. What was I doing on this stage, where the world's greatest musicians perform? After playing for an hour, the seats began to bother me. I realized that the chairs on Tully's stage were no better than those at any high school -- perfect medicine for my nerves.

Three months later, it was time for Carnegie.

I felt giddy as I stepped on stage for the rehearsal. I looked out at the darkened auditorium that was softly illuminated by the double halo of lights on the ceiling and the glow from the stage. The regal red seats and four ornate balconies were empty but so classy, waiting to be filled.

As I took my seat, I noticed what looked like freckles in the pine floorboards. They were holes from previous cellists. Even before playing a note, I noticed how lively the legendary acoustics were. It would pick up any noise, and voices echoed.

After our two-hour rehearsal, I found an unoccupied dressing room and made it my private practice area for my last chance to polish the difficult passages of Brahms' Fourth Symphony.

I was among the last on stage for the concert. The path to my seat was blocked, and I didn't want to walk out in the front of the orchestra. I opted for the rear route, but by the time I reached stage left, I encountered another roadblock -- the basses. So I raised the cello over my head -- a la Gregor Piatigorsky -- and walked between the violas and cellos to my seat.

The main floor was about three-quarters occupied and the first and second tiers seemed full. Among the audience were my family and friends, smiling and waving.

The first piece was an appropriate selection: Verdi's Overture to ``La Forza del Destino'' -- dramatic and filled with the force of destiny. Bernard took it at a fast tempo because of the clear acoustics. We kept up, even through a 3 1/2 octave 16th-note run that ends suddenly on a high E. The audience gave us an enthusiastic reception.

Next was the Sibelius Violin Concerto. Jourdan, the wunderkind, played it with great maturity, mastering all the difficult spots. The fast passages were steady and the slow movement was filled with passion. He got three well-earned curtain calls and four bouquets.

Our biggest challenge was after intermission. Brahms' Fourth is a huge symphony, a masterpiece to hear but awkward to play. I savored it, as did my colleagues and the audience, judging by the rousing response.

The musicians seemed to closely follow Bernard's wise advice. I know I did: ``Just relax and enjoy Carnegie Hall,'' he told us at rehearsals.

As I stood for the final bows, I looked down at a little hole in a seam between the floorboards, where I had planted my endpin. I had left my own mark at Carnegie Hall.

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On the Net:

http://www.chambersymphony.org/