Yesterday Carthage bade farewell to one of the most beloved figures in its community, Alan Anderson – a graduate of 1950 who had worked for the Carthage in all kinds of different capacities in the intervening years including two stints as Acting President. It’s hard to imagine anyone who was more loved or admired. I was really honored to be part of the service, but one thing that really struck a chord with me was the strange contrast between this celebration and the memorial service which occurred back on September 3rd – the memorial for the Carthage freshman who died so suddenly and mysteriously the same day that his parents had dropped him off to begin his life as a college student. One service for a young man only 18 years old . . . and yesterday’s for someone who lived 86 rich, fulfilling years. Such a puzzlement.
As I sat there, I also thought back to a memorial service for which I sang over a dozen years earlier- for a beloved long-time faculty member named Larry Hamilton who died from cancer. The sermon that day was given by his dear friend Dudley Riggle, who began with these words: “I Don’t Want To Be Here Today, but There Is No Other Place I Would Want To Be.” He was saying, of course, that it was with such sadness that we were gathered – and yet it was so important for us to be there. This felt like that to some extent, although Professor Hamilton’s death was more untimely, due to cancer – while at least in this case we were memorializing someone who by all measures had lived a long, full, rich life.
The service for Alan Anderson was as wonderful as he was- with heartfelt tributes interspersed with hymns he loved. And I think he would have been delighted that the occasion drew so many old friends together again, albeit under sad circumstances. But this didn’t feel all that sad because there was so much to celebrate. And I think he would have been amazed, amused, bemused, bewildered, that such a fuss was being made over him. That quality of humility and grace was one of the neatest things about the man. In fact, one of my most favorite Alan Anderson memories is after a concert when I got to introduce him to Weston Noble – and vice versa. I remember bringing one man over to the other, and saying “I am so excited that two of my favorite men can meet. Weston Noble. . . Alan Anderson.” And those two men were so gracious to one another, each deflecting the spotlight to the other and demonstrating the kind of quiet class that is an increasingly rare commodity in the modern world.
I was grateful to be a part of several different moments in yesterday’s service. First of all, the Chamber Singers were asked to sing a medley of Alan Anderson’s favorite hymns (one of his daughters told me that the list was safely tucked away in his sock drawer) and their director, Peter Dennee, asked me to play piano for them and provide some transition between the various hymns. The “requests” they sang were Children of the Heavenly Father, What a Friend we have in Jesus, Love Divine, All Loves Excelling, and Here I am, Lord. I think it’s neat that an 86-year-old would have a contemporary hymn on his list of four favorites. It says something about him. The Chamber Singers sang beautifully, and then returned later to close the service with perhaps the loveliest, most heartfelt performance of “The Lord Bless you and Keep you” that I have ever heard.
Secondly, his daughter Jolene wanted to sing something as part of the service and needed me both to play for her – and to be on stand-by in case she became too emotional to sing and needed me to jump in. She also thought it wise if she was standing off to the side so as not to draw too much attention to herself – and she also wanted her name left out of the bulletin. So when the moment came in the service, right after her brother had delivered the fourth and final eulogy (and movingly so) I walked up to the grand piano from which I had sung a few minutes earlier – played the introduction to “On Eagle’s WIngs” – but then instead of me singing, from someplace else in the sanctuary rose up this beautiful, clear soprano voice as though from an angel. The only thing that sort of jolted me from the sublimity of the moment was seeing 400 heads suddenly jerk with surprise, wondering where in the world that voice was coming from. (She had slipped out quietly and largely unobserved before her brother’s talk, and was singing into a wireless mic, almost completely hidden from view.) And she sang wonderfully and didn’t miss a beat. I was happy for her because I know this was important for her to do.
Lastly, I was asked to sing “I was there to hear your Borning Cry,” which is a special song at Carthage. I have sung it for every Carthage commencement for almost twenty years now – as well as for every new student convocation where our new freshman gather – but of course this hymn is also one with which many people feel a special connection for all it says about the various stages of life and how God is with us through them all. It was strange to be singing this song yesterday not standing up at the podium, wearing my academic regalia, caught up in the festive joy of the moment, but instead to be seated at the piano, playing quietly, trying to sing the song with a sense of poignancy and tenderness. All I know is, you could hear a pin drop in Siebert Chapel. (I suppose they might have all been asleep, but I hope instead that they were listening with special care.)
I actually did one more thing for the service which was interesting, and actually the invitation to do so was fairly dramatic. I was right in the middle of teaching my Vocal Diction class on Wednesday when Dr. Ripley, the music department chairman, walked into the choir room and stood at the back, obviously needing to interrupt. That might not seem like a big deal, but it is very very rare for one’s class to be interrupted like that- and honestly, the first thing I thought of was “Kathy’s been in a car accident.” No, nothing as serious as all that – The media people had decided to put together a slide show (or I should say the digital equivalent of an old fashioned slide show) for Friday’s memorial service, and needed/wanted someone to play both the old and the new Carthage alma maters on the piano to be used in the background. . . but that recording needed to be made yet that afternoon and it was fairly urgent that the logistics of that be worked out. WHEW! ! ! It turned out to be a fun little exercise with my colleague, Mark Petering, who’s our department’s tech whiz, and I played both alma maters in a set of variations that each took about three minutes. . . and did so in a single take. (“One Take Berg” Mark calls me.) And we both thought the same thing- it felt so much like I was recording “take me out to the ballgame” for Ken Burns’ Baseball series, or “My Old Kentucky Home” for his civil war series. I had no idea exactly what images would be used, but as I played I just pictured Alan Anderson himself and that gentle, sweet smile which he shared so generously with the world.
Every word spoken about Alan Anderson was so meaningful yesterday, including the sermon by our campus pastor, as well as a lovely eulogy from Steve Wohfeil, who was the Anderson’s pastor at Bethania. (He also does some work at Holy Communion and it just about the best preacher I have ever heard in my life.) I especially appreciated President Campbell’s beautifully crafted remarks, which included some very frank discussion of how difficult things were at Carthage when President Campbell assumed the reins in 1986. He talked about how Alan Anderson was an incredibly valuable aid to him especially in that first challenging year – and he described how the first time he walked into the president’s office, which at that point was still occupied by Acting President Anderson (the previous president was basically asked to step down because the college was in such desperate straits) he heard the sound of whistling and President Campbell wondered what in the world Alan Anderson could be so cheerful about. President Campbell went on to say that he learned that day that for Alan Anderson sometimes meant “I’m happy” or “life is good” – but sometimes it also meant “Hang tough.” I love that story.
Even more I loved the quote with which President Campbell ended his remarks – “ When you are Old, Plant Trees.” The point, of course, is that there is something so beautiful about leaving a legacy behind, and Alan Anderson did that so beautifully. In fact, it’s one of the most precious things about being a part of education. . . the planting of countless seeds.