I Don't Believe In Destiny, or the Guiding Hand of Fate...

Okay, so that's not ENTIRELY true...

Sometimes fate doesn't just guide you. On occasion, fate can grab you by the cajones with all the subtlety and tact of a rabid pit bull and just yank you along the right path.

Case in point:
I started my Bachelor of Music Education degree in Septemer 1993. Marriage, kids, house, apathy, laziness - all factors that have slowed me along the way. Nonetheless, I have plugged away at it over the past 16 years. Now, all that remain are 3 classes, my student teaching...and 4 credits of private lessons. These are only offered at 1 credit per semester, which means that despite being able to finish my coursework in 1 year, I am a minimum of 2 years from my degree. It seems so daunting and far off.

I started taking private lessons my first semester at Wayne with Ron. Helluva player, fun to talk shop with, never one to pressure you, but insisted on improvement. A GREAT teacher. I took 4 semesters with him and passed each one. Not always with stellar grades, but enough to pass.

I took some time off school to start a family. When I returned, Ron had been replaced with Ken. Ken expected you to START at a minimum conservatory level, and if you weren't there, you weren't worth his time. I took 5 semesters with him and only passed once - when he didn't show up to my jury. This man became the gatekeeper of my degree. In order to finish, I needed to pass 4 semesters with him, and I couldn't. So, I decided to wait him out. His students were dwindling and sooner or later, the administration would notice. (see more on this in my original post from 9/06 HERE)

So, my obstacles for a long time were time, money, and my private lessons. Flash forward to this present day. Last month I watched the premier episode of Glee. I truly identified with the director character and between the odd parallels in the character's story and the inspirational music, I started thinking real hard about what I might have to do to finish my degree and start teaching.

Next, after not taking classes for 3 years and being rather consumed with other areas of my life that are exploding right now, I get a form letter last week from the WSU Music Department, inviting me to return to school and finish, complete with numbers to call to find out what I need to do. I'm sure they sent the same letter to several students, but it came just as the thought of returning and finishing my degree popped to the forefront of my mind.

Next, I get this new job at Starbucks. Not much money, but MUCH greater flexibility in the schedule to be able to fit in my student teaching durring normal school hours. Having had jobs that run 9-5 as my only available work time, and my primary income, that hasn't been much of a possibility at all.

Finally, I'm running into the warehouse today to talk with one of the guys about a customer's order, and who's sitting at the counter picking up supplies...but my old teacher, Ron. Apparently, he's now the primary trombone teacher at WSU. Ken is gone, and Ron's who I would be learning with. We start to talk about how close I am and that lessons are the longest part, taking a minimum of 2 years to complete. He suggests that there is precedent to double up the lessons to 2 credits per semester, getting me out in 1/2 the time.

Time and private lessons have been taken care of for me. Time for me to take the bull by the balls and get the money. I have to find $850 to pay off my old balance so I can register. I have a few days next week. I will be researching every grant, scholarship, and loan I can find to make this happen.

It's now within the realm of possibility (and I can't believe I am saying this) that I could have my degree by May. It depends on several factors and paying my balance this month, but that's the earliest I could have it.

My heart just sped up to about 120bmp just typing that. And I'm a band guy. I KNOW 120BPM!

Penultimate honors…

One of the many blogs I peruse had a topic of "10 things to do before I die". I figured this was a great topic, but as I started to think about it, one of the items on my list got me stuck, contemplative, and irritated.

I have always wanted to be a champion at something or part of a championship group; a personal or collective effort to be the best at any given talent, task, or genre. I have always been considered or become involved in groups that are considered good – even very good – but as of yet, every competitive endeavor I have undertaken has fallen just shy of being the "best" by whatever powers that be are making the decisions.

I'm very competitive. Not fiercely or unhealthily so, but I thrive on the motivation competition inspires in myself and others. Being pitted with and against one's peers toward achievement of a goal is by far the best way to get one of one's ass. Of course the rules of good sportsmanship and proper perspective apply, but competition is a fantastic motivator.

All through high school, I was 2^nd chair trombonist in the band. Even when I tied the first chair at auditions, the director chose not to upset the status quo. Second fiddle (trombone) became my standard. I did manage the lead in my high school musical my senior year, but that was largely due to my already knowing "The Music Man" backwards and forwards and 3 years of some serious brown-nosing of the director.

My high school marching band came in 3^rd place at state finals my senior year. Better than we had placed in about a decade, as I understand, and MUCH better than any of us had expected, thanks largely to an unexpected stand-still prelims competition due to weather. It was a thrill to make it to finals at all, and was recognition of the musical talent in our group and progress we had made, but not first place.

My drum corps, the year I joined, came in 2^nd at Drum Corps International finals in Division II. We lost by one tenth of a point out of a possible 100 – the smallest increment one could lose by, at the time. The kicker there was that we lost in field percussion to a corps that didn't even march a drumline – only pit percussion. Yes, you're going to have a cleaner sound when you have ONE person playing snare, but c'mon! In '92 we did manage to take the Drum Corps Midwest Championship, but faltered a bit by International. Minor gratification, but still no medal or championship ring. The patch on my jacket was nice, though.

My barbershop chorus has placed 2^nd at every district representative contest I have participated in with them (except the last one where we took 3^rd), usually losing to the Macomb chorus by a slim, yet significant, margin. My chorus has won the district championship a time or two when eligible, but that was only when Macomb wasn't eligible to compete (a chorus can only win once every 3 years).

Granted, being the international representatives for the Pioneer District is rather like being the valedictorian of the "special class", as our district is looked on as the red-headed step-child of the Barbershop Harmony Society these days. Aside from the Vagabonds, Center Stage, and Power Play quartets, we haven't turned out a champion anything in decades. Even our district rep chorus has consistently placed in the mid 20's in international competition. We have never made it to international, and our prospects aren't good this year, either. Still, it would be nice to go.

Even when I'm not performing with a group, they do well, but not excellent. The marching bands and drum corps I have worked with always come up shy of a first place. All of the groups I have worked with improve from their previous years in whatever capacity I am assisting, improving their scores above what they have done before. I haven't joined up with any groups that have a history of winning in recent years and it's gratifying to watch them improve and gain momentum, but they never manage to go "all the way" while I'm there.

I've taken a little selfish solace in the fact that the band that cut me from the staff this year for "budgetary reasons" has fallen to dead last in the rankings this year. I feel horrible for the kids – especially the seniors – but (perhaps unrealistically) feel I had something to do with their previous success, moderate though it may have been. A circumstantial fact I hope isn't lost on the director when compiling the staff for next year.

I appreciate the moderate respect I get from being "good" at whatever it is I try to do. The sincere compliments and thanks I get from spectators, band parents, what-have-you do not go unnoticed or unacknowledged. Still, it would be nice to be considered more than just "very competent" or "quite good" at SOMETHING once in a while. To be considered "the best" or "top notch" at something would not only be boost to my self-esteem, it might get me a bit more work in areas like teaching, coaching, performing, etc.

No matter how good you are at something, there will always be someone better. That's a simple fact, and I understand it. Still, it'd be nice to have someone call me that or refer to me as such to others once in a while.

It's not something I dwell on, but it creeps into my head now and again. I don't apply this to my quartet's upcoming contest, as I don't expect much by way of placement, anyway.

Maybe I'm just being a self-centered egomaniac

Today, I lost a Mentor...

It's funny how little you may recognize or appreciate how important someone can be to the greater plan of your life – even when it's perfectly obvious to everyone else.

Dick Perkins was not a warm & fuzzy kind of man. As my high school band director, he was very proper, professional, and extremely dedicated to his work. Our relationship never went beyond teacher-student to become respected colleagues, as I had hoped. Even as I became a music educator myself, he was just one of those teachers, no matter how adult you get, you could never call by his first name to his face. He would always be Mr. Perkins.

I would see him at marching band and drum corps shows fairly regularly after I had graduated and gone on to instruct, myself. We would make eye contact, walk up and say hi, we would banter briefly about this band's woodwinds, that corps' guard or what some classmate of mine/former student of his is doing what nowadays. Our conversations were always brief, good-natured, but awkward and uncomfortable. I always felt like such an amateur talking music to him, like a 3^rd grader talking to a physics professor about how well he knows his multiplication tables. Eventually, I tended to avoid going out of my way to say hi when I would see him at shows to avoid the awkwardness.

I'm bitterly regretful of that now…

Today I received a call from Ralph Biggs. I hardly ever hear from Ralph anymore. I could almost sense what was coming.

Richard H. Perkins died this morning in a hospice of a rare brain disease, as I understand. He went peacefully in his sleep. He had suffered what was originally thought a stroke several weeks ago, and his health had been failing since.

I had just seen him at the DCI Quarterfinals broadcast last August, looking fit as the proverbial fiddle, and exchanged a few awkward sentences.

Of course, it was a great disappointment to me when I heard the news, but to be honest, I didn't feel particularly sad. I was at work, distracted with a million different tasks, thoughts of the coming holiday, and basically shrugged it off with the feeling of, "that's a darned shame."

Later, after grabbing some pizza and inviting our friend, Leigh, whom we were in the band with, I dragged out some old cassettes of our band concerts. We listened through pieces like Holst's "First Suite", some show tune medleys, and such, and toasted him with Jolt Cola (the favorite drink for 7am marching band rehearsal in 1990). Then a lush, gorgeous arrangement of "Danny Boy", played with depth and dynamics rarely heard in a high school group, wafted through the living room. I imagined Mr. Perkins waving his baton in front of me on the podium as I played…and I cried. I finally realized what I had lost. I had lost one of my greatest mentors.

I have always attributed my interest in music and my desire to pursue music education as a career to several teachers in my life, often giving more credit to the ones that used the style of teaching I wanted to emulate: the slightly off-the-wall, exuberance and energy that is magnetic and inspires the same energy in others. Richard Perkins was not one of those teachers.

Richard Perkins was the kind of teacher that didn't need any of that. He inspired great performance and learning by an exceeding love and knowledge of music. Most importantly, however, he never underestimated the talent of his students. He would pull out class AA music for a band of 50 high school kids and have them playing it every bit as well as a university level symphony band. He taught theory, history, multiculturalism, and balanced it all with an unrivaled diversity of repertoire that expanded every student's musical horizons.

I suppose I never appreciated it much, even recently, because it was a standard I felt I could never live up to. Cracking jokes, getting excited, and being a cheerleader to get kids to work – that I can do. But having the kind of depth of knowledge of music and skill and/or knowledge of every instrument, music history and theory, let alone the work ethic to be able to fit it into virtually every lesson plan – that, I feared, I could NEVER do.

And so I distanced myself from him. Not intentionally, but I let his legacy and the greater lessons of his example slip lower in priority in my professional memory. I focused my attention to the teachers that fit more into my teaching style: the fun ones, the ones that cracked the occasional bad (or usually dreadful) jokes, the ones that made the work not seem so much like…work. Many equally good teachers, mind you, but completely different from Mr. Perkins.

After reflecting today on 4 years (plus one season instructing) with Mr. Perkins and the Dondero bands, I came to an epiphany. I realized that my professional development, as with all things, must be about balance. Being a cheerleader and full of energy and enthusiasm for the subject I teach is useful and important, but just because it's what I'm comfortable with doesn't mean I should rest on my laurels by relying on it exclusively.

If there is one major life lesson I learned from Dick Perkins, it was this: The work may be hard, it may be boring or even excruciating at times, but the rewards are far richer when you do it right, learn something from it, and know that you succeeded through your own perseverance.

Thank you, Mr. Perkins. You will forever be a part of me, and your legacy will live on through every student I teach and ever note of music that emanates from me for the rest of my life. I will work for that.