I’ve known two 100-year-old women in my life, and one of them just passed that astounding milestone a few weeks ago. Henrietta Welch was a teacher for 42 years, and her career began as an 18 year old teaching in a one-room schoolhouse in northern Wisconsin – and ended with her presiding over one of the most consistently excellent music programs in southeast Wisconsin. The lady was a legend, particularly for the fierce resolve with which she demanded the best from her students. The headline in the Journal Times article about her referred to her Velvet Hand and Iron Fist, and that’s an apt image. There was and is a very tender side to her, but wrapped around it is a no-nonsense, clear-eyed, highly practical, completely fearless deeply- grounded exoskeleton that made her – and still makes her – a very formidable figure indeed. One of my favorite photos of Henrietta from her professional prime is from some sort of marching band competition in which a number of musicians are in formation on a football field, and standing in the foreground of the photograph are the conductors of the participating bands: five men and one woman, Henrietta. It’s a potent reminder that she was a band and orchestra conductor in an era when it was quite uncommon for a woman to direct such ensembles. But she was more than equal to the challenge and not the least bit hesitant to be something of a maverick.
And right along with her passion for music and her stainless steel integrity is a wicked, disarming sense of humor with which she has felled many a foe – and surmounted many a challenge. I suspect that it was always there, but it maybe deepened when she was teaching in that one-room schoolhouse and finding herself confronted by one bewildering challenge after another, when she was scarcely older than some of the students she was teaching – challenges like keeping the small wood-burning furnace working …. or having to ski herself to school …. let alone the challenges involved in teaching all of those different grades simultaneously. You can just tell from the stories she tells of those days that Henrietta was as serious a teacher as has ever been born – but she also knew how to laugh … especially at herself – and that twin capacity of being able to laugh and knowing how to get others to laugh has served her incredibly well both in her career and in her life.
And then there is that incredibly sharp mind …. and a memory that puts most people half her age to shame. I have been with her on so many occasions when she has been recognized in a restaurant by someone who studied with her maybe thirty years ago …. and Henrietta would remember them, remember what instrument they played, who some of their classmates were, etc. Her memory is a miracle, plain and simple.
I have known Henrietta Welch for the last 25 years because she is a member of Holy Communion Lutheran Church, where I am minister of music – and when I began working there back in 1988, she was a member of the sr. choir and director of the men’s chorus. I’m not sure I can adequately convey what a valuable advisor she was for me in those first several years when I was trying to follow in the formidable footsteps of my predecessor, Dr. John Windh. Henrietta had been around church music for many decades and had such a good knack for knowing what works and what doesn’t- and also had a terrific gift for sizing people up and knowing what made them tick. And she was not exactly shy about sharing her concerns and suggestions in my first few years (and to this day, to a lesser extent) – although when she would call me on the telephone the day after choir rehearsal and offer some sort of suggestion that was more of a gentle criticism in disguise, she would almost always finish out her statement with “don’t be mad at me.” I can’t imagine she was genuinely worried about me being mad at her, but I think it was more a gesture of respect. She knew she was crossing a certain line and she was always careful to do so almost gingerly. That’s an adverb not often associated with her, but with me I always felt like she was cautious and careful and sensitive, not wanting to overstep her bounds. In other settings or with certain people, she could (and can) deliver criticism like a blowtorch, if she felt/feels it was warranted. And her observations were almost always right on the money …. in part because she had decades of experience as a conductor upon which to draw …. in part because she was an exceptionally perceptive about other people ….. and in part because people would offer up candid thoughts in her presence, not realizing that she was not the least bit hesitant about taking anything she thought I needed to know right back to me.
It was early in my time at Holy Communion that Henrietta reconstituted the men’s chorus, which had been on hiatus for several years – and it was incredibly inspiring to see her in action with her guys. Most of them could not really read music as such, but she had a knack of choosing just the right music in which they could be successful …. and she hit just the right balance between working them hard and making it incredibly fun. And as a result, her guys really sang well and added a lot to our congregation’s music ministry. And that’s why, for yesterday’s birthday celebration, we invited any men in the congregation to come together as a men’s chorus of sorts to sing in her honor …. and we ended up with a dozen men serenading her beautifully! In all my years at Holy Communion, this was one of my Top Five favorite moments. Henrietta is also responsible for starting Holy Communion’s first handbell choir- and had not only a fine adult group, but an extremely impressive youth bell choir that consisted of five high school guys. As you can well imagine, they were like rock stars – and they would have walked through fire for Henrietta (and vice versa.) And to acknowledge her important legacy, our present-day bell choir – who are marvelous – played several pieces for her under the direction of Diane Johnson. It was so fitting that the day was not so much about her as it was about the amazing gift of music … because that’s what goes on and on. In the weeks leading up to and following her 100th birthday (which is actually Christmas Day) Henrietta has heard from hundreds of her former students (including my father-in-law.) One of them – a retired judge in Chicago – wrote this:
I was delighted when friends in Racine wrote to me, letting me know that you would be celebrating your one hundredth birthday. They did so because they knew how much I value my association with you as my teacher and orchestral and choral conductor. While I was fortunate to have fine piano teachers, it was your love of music that was contagious for me, as it was for generations of other young people. As a result, music has continued to be an important part of my life as a discipline and, more importantly, as sheer pleasure …… You can be sure that you are one of those teachers whom students remember fondly for their entire lives, and who hope their own children will be as fortunate to study with teachers who care and who inspire just as you did.
I love this letter so much because it speaks of the ongoing value of what teachers do. Yes, what happens in the moment matters a lot …. but what’s truly thrilling is to think about changing lives forever – introducing people to new joys that will accompany them for the rest of their lives – and finding ways to help people make the most of the precious, unique talents they’ve been given, be they in music or whatever. When those twelve guys stood up in front of the congregation and sang for Henrietta, half of them were doing so because she had been their teacher, a long time ago …. and in a couple of cases, she taught one or more of their parents as well. The thank you could have been said with roses or money or flowery speeches. How neat that the heart and soul of the thank you was conveyed with music itself.
The first time I met someone who was 100 years old was 1985, when I was serving an internship at Luther Valley Lutheran Church. One of my primary responsibilities was visiting homebound members … one of whom was a lively, feisty, fascinating woman with the wonderful name of Alma Lovejoy, who lived by herself in a house way out in the country. (She seemed to be the most remotely located of any of the members I visited.) My dad was clear in his instructions to me: Ring the doorbell or knock loudly on the door …. and then WAIT for Alma to get to the door to let me in. (Evidently, there were a few instances in which someone would call on her and not realize how long it took her to make her way from her living room to the back door with her walker and would leave before she got there. How sad would that be?) My dad actually used to yell through the door “I’m here, Alma! I’m here!” so she wouldn’t rush too frantically and possibly fall. . . until he realized that she couldn’t hear him.
I vividly remember the first time I drove out to Alma’s house (years before there was such a thing as GPS, so I was lucky that I found it) ….. rang the doorbell ….. and waited. And almost immediately, I heard a frantic, faint voice from deep inside the house calling out “I’m coming! I’m coming!” (It was the voice of an very elderly woman, but one with a good pair of lungs! The sound was actually a tiny bit reminiscent of Margaret Hamilton when she said “I’ll get you my pretty!” – or the way Gilda Radner’s elderly lady character Emma Litella would say “never mind.” Alma sort of sounded like that.) So I called out “I hear you, Alma! I’m here!” But she didn’t seem to hear me, and continued to call out every few seconds “I’m coming! I’m coming!” For just over two minutes, I stood there on the stoop – but I knew she was getting closer because her voice was getting louder and I began to actually hear the squeak of her walker on the floor. Eventually, the door swung open- and there was this diminutive woman standing there, absolutely beaming. And we proceeded to have the first of what turned out to be a number of delightful visits over those subsequent months. I wish I could remember more specifics about those chats; what I remember more than anything was just thinking to myself “this woman is 100 years old! Grover Cleveland was president when she was born!” But only much much later did it occur to me that what was most remarkable was not that she was 100 … but that she lived by herself in a ramshackle house way out in the country, at least a mile away from the nearest neighbor, and didn’t seem to mind one little bit. And her home was not luxurious in any way; it was a drafty, battered old farmhouse – but it was home, and it was obviously where she was happy. And it’s where she ultimately died.
Alma Lovejoy was not nearly as “famous” a person as Henrietta Welch. Her life was quiet and simple, and she passed the milestone of 100 years without a front page newspaper article or receptions with fancy cake and punch. But she could be just as proud of the life she had lived and the person she was … a joyous, grateful, and courageous woman – words that also describe Henrietta Welch to a tee.
I’m thankful to have known them both.
pictured above: Henrietta Welch at the reception at Holy Communion honoring her 100th birthday.