There are certain melodies that define a generation. For those of us who grew up in the latter half of the twentieth century, no composer has shaped our collective memory quite like John Williams. From childhood TV shows to teenage adventures at the cinema, from raising our own children to sharing stories with grandchildren today, Williams has been there, his music weaving through the fabric of our lives. It’s no exaggeration to say that John Williams is the composer of the soundtrack of our life.

With a music teacher mother, music was always a part of my early life, and I was captivated by its many forms. I remember sitting in front of our family’s television set in the 1960s, completely mesmerized by the themes of TV shows as arranged by a composer who would go on to define what movies should sound like. Williams cut his teeth in television during those golden years when families gathered around the glowing screen together. He composed for “Lost in Space,” “Gilligan’s Island,” and “Land of the Giants” – shows that became fond memories of my childhood. That distinctive “Lost in Space” theme, with its otherworldly electronic sounds and driving rhythm, promised adventure in the great unknown every single week.

But it was the movies where Williams truly became part of our DNA. In 1975, when “Jaws” hit theaters, we learned something profound: two simple notes could create visceral terror. That ominous, pulsing theme didn’t just accompany the shark – it became the shark in our minds. Swimming in the ocean has never been quite the same since. Williams won his first Academy Award for Original Score for that work, but more importantly, he demonstrated that film music could be a character unto itself.

Then came 1977, and everything changed. When the opening crawl of “Star Wars” appeared on screen, accompanied by that triumphant, brass-heavy fanfare, we didn’t just hear music – we felt the universe expand before us. Williams had reached back to the grand symphonic traditions of Golden Age Hollywood, to composers Erich Wolfgang Korngold and Max Steiner, and made them relevant again for a new generation. Coming at the end of my freshman year in college, my friends and I left the theater humming those themes, unable to articulate it at the time, but knowing we’d experienced something transcendent. Williams had given us a musical language for heroism, for the Force, for an entire galaxy far, far away.

The late seventies and eighties became the John Williams era, though we barely noticed how omnipresent he was. “Close Encounters of the Third Kind” taught us that five notes could represent communication with the infinite. “Superman” gave us a theme so perfect, so purely heroic, that it defined what nobility sounds like. Personally, the love theme from “Superman” – “Can You Read My Mind” – became “our song” for my wife and I. “Raiders of the Lost Ark” brought back the spirit of adventure serials with a march that made us want to grab a fedora and seek ancient treasures. “E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial” broke our hearts and mended them again with music of such tenderness and wonder that many of us wept openly in darkened theaters. Williams’ work for the 1984 and 1988 Olympics and the 1986 100th Celebration of the Statue of Liberty brought the spirit of America to the forefront with its bold, brassy sound.

As we moved through the nineties and into the new century, the music depth and breadth kept expanding: the “Viet Nam” trilogy – “Born on the Fourth of July,” “JKF,” and “Nixon;” “Saving Private Ryan;” a new Star Wars prequel trilogy; the initial Harry Potter movies; and “The Patriot,” among many more.

Certainly for our family, Williams music has accompanied us from college to kids to grandkids. As our generation raised families of our own, Williams was there too. We introduced our children to Indiana Jones, watched them wave toy lightsabers while humming “The Imperial March,” and saw their eyes widen during “Jurassic Park” as those majestic dinosaur themes swelled. In our house, three generations have now grown up with Williams’ music as their reference point for how emotion and image combine.

What many forget is that Williams has also been a champion of concert music. For a decade and a half, he conducted the Boston Pops, bringing orchestral music to millions and proving that the boundary between “serious” music and film scores was always artificial. His Olympic fanfares and ceremonial pieces have marked important moments in our national life. He’s composed concertos for violin, cello, and other instruments – even the tuba! – ensuring his legacy extends beyond the screen. Dozens of celebration pieces have given a memorable sound to a wide-ranging list of events from the wedding of Japanese Crown Prince Naruhito and Crown Princess Masako (“Sound the Bells!”) to a commemoration of the Boston Red Sox’s 100th anniversary (“Fanfare for Fenway”).

Williams has composed for seven decades, earning five Academy Awards, four Golden Globes, and over fifty Oscar nominations – more than any living person. He’s worked with Steven Spielberg on nearly thirty films, creating one of the most fruitful artistic partnerships in cinema history. Yet numbers don’t capture his true impact.

The real measure of Williams’ genius is this: his music has become inseparable from our memories. We can’t think of summer blockbusters without his heroic brass. We can’t imagine childhood wonder without his soaring strings. We can’t conceive of movie magic without his harmonic language.

For those wanting to delve deeper into the life and craft of this remarkable artist, John Williams: A Composer’s Life offers an comprehensive look at both the man and his methods, exploring how he created the scores that shaped our cultural landscape. As I read through the book, I would often pause and play a specific tune just referenced, and the memories came flooding back each time.

As this was being written, a surprise announcement was made: John Williams is scoring Steven Spielberg’s new, untitled movie, set to be released in 2026. This will mark the duo’s 30th film together, and if history is any indication, this 93-year-old film music icon’s collaboration with one of the most celebrated directors of our time will be another classic.

We Baby Boomers have been fortunate. We’ve witnessed the moon landing, the digital revolution, and profound social change. Through it all, John Williams has been our constant companion, giving voice to our dreams, our fears, our sense of wonder. When we close our eyes and hear those familiar themes, we’re not just remembering movies – we’re remembering who we were when we first heard them, and who we’ve become since.

That’s the mark of a true master: John Williams didn’t just compose film scores. He composed the soundtrack of our life.

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Part of a regular series on 27gen, entitled Wednesday Weekly Reader.

During my elementary school years one of the things I looked forward to the most was the delivery of “My Weekly Reader,” a weekly educational magazine designed for children and containing news-based current events.

It became a regular part of my love for reading, and helped develop my curiosity about the world around us.