Monday was the day of the tornado, and I walked into the house just a little after 6 still reeling from the experience. . . and I’m not sure just how I would have shaken loose from those jitters had I not had a couple of wonderful visitors at 7 that evening who took me away at least for a few minutes from all thoughts of funnel clouds and sirens and photographs and storm damage and news coverage. . .
At 7:00 – or rather 7:10, since I was still taking care of some radio business – I gave a voice lesson to a former student of mine named Ben Schoening who will soon be auditioning for entry into a doctorate program. It seems like only yesterday, but in fact it has to be more than a dozen years ago, that our phone rang one day (this was when we lived out in the country) and it was one of the best piano teachers in town, Ruth Schoening. She was calling to see if I might be willing to give some voice lessons to her 15-year-old grandson Ben, who was a student at Park High School at the time. At the time I wasn’t doing too much private teaching yet but it was something I wanted to explore, so I said sure.
A few days later, Ruth comes to our house with this young man who loomed over the two of us like he was one half of Park High School’s defensive line. Ben was a big, imposing guy – but so gentle and very talented. (He was a fine french horn player back in those days.) We hit it off right away and thus began one of the most pleasurable student>teacher relationships I’ve ever had. Ben was a baritone like me, so I felt especially comfortable teaching him ( now I’m confident with all manner of voice students, but this was back when I was still rather inexperienced) and Ben was just the sort of “sponge” that is so fun to work with. I could have asked Ben to douse himself in flour, climb up on our roof and tap dance for an hour and he would have asked “is unbleached flour okay?” He was willing and ready – and able – to try anything at all. One of my most enduring memories of those lessons back when Ben was in high school was of those days when he would come to his lesson straight from soccer practice, often skinned up and muddy in his soccer duds but ready to sing, all the same. It’s weird now to realize that the house we lived in back then (which we rented from Dr. Will Nimmer) was bulldozed a few years ago when they widened Green Bay Road – and we have almost no pictures at all with which to remember that house where we spent years two and three of our marriage. But one of the images that stays with me is of voice lessons with Ben in that living room – and I can still remember feeling that thrilling sensation of knowing that you’re helping someone discover a new and exciting path.
Fast forward however many years it’s been and now I’m giving another voice lesson to Ben who now teaches voice and directs a choir at a college up north – and who hopes to pursue his doctorate and needs to get five pieces fully polished for his upcoming audition. And his grandmother was along to play for him, so I got to stand across the room and luxuriate in the GORGEOUS sounds that emanated from that throat. Ben is all grown up now and with a voice to match, but it still has a beautifully natural, unforced quality to it even when he’s letting loose with a thunderous high note. I found some picky things to say but mostly I just stood there agog . . . amazed . . . and very happy that I played some small part in getting this guy both excited and serious about singing all those years ago.
And what a joy to reconnect with Ruth, who is someone I so deeply admire. Not only is she a fine teacher and church musician, she is also someone who has quietly and selflessly offered lessons to certain young people over the years who showed great promise but who came from rough or deprived backgrounds and who otherwise would have had no hope of studying music privately. I get a lump in my throat when I think of the lives which very likely were changed profoundly for the better because of her compassion and generosity – and it makes me really angry with myself that I thought so many times about doing something similar. . . maybe approaching a high school choir director and having them select someone promising who could benefit from private voice study who couldn’t possibly afford such a luxury. . . but I never got past the “thinking about it” stage. As I continue to age and feel an increasing need to leave a legacy behind me, I wonder if this isn’t something for me to consider again – probably not at the moment but maybe down the road.
Anyway, happiness is reconnecting with a former student who has gone on to great things . . . and happiness is when that former student believes that you still have something to teach them . . . and happiness is allowing your house to fill with the sound of wonderful singing on the same day that tornado sirens sent you scurrying to the basement. Life is full of amazing surprises, isn’t it ? ! ?
Pictured: Ben and his grandmother Ruth with yours truly, Monday night right after our voice lesson.