Most people that know me,
even in passing, know that I have deeply held ideas and opinions. Its just part of my DNA. Since I have always loved words and
imagery, I often take my opinions into the “verbosphere” (like that?) and this
is another of those well-intentioned rants.
I’m
an accidental teacher. I really
never had opinions, positive or negative, about the profession of
teaching. Teaching was never what
I imagined myself doing. I dreamed
of being a lawyer; but I would have only accepted being Perry Mason, and the
job was already taken. I could
have imagined myself a journalist, writing impassioned stories, exposing
injustice and corruption. The
problem was always that I loved to play the piano. My first piano teacher disabused me of the idea that most
professions would allow time for the amount of piano playing I required; all
except one: if you become a
college professor you will be expected to play the piano as part of your job,
she said. The idea was like
offering me my own warehouse of dark chocolate. Yes, I’ll become a college professor of piano!
{Cut to 10 years later}
I
had two interviews set up; the first was to be at Louisiana Tech University, in
Ruston, Louisiana. The second was
to be a week later in Flagstaff, Arizona.
Both seemingly nice, hot places; I didn’t think I would miss those days
where the ice coated the trees of Iowa City. I didn’t have a Plan B. My high school piano teacher had assured me that what I
needed to sustain my life was in one of those two places. I would become a college piano teacher,
and play the piano to my heart’s content.
I didn’t even question myself when I learned in Ruston that there had
been over 200 applications for my job. It did occur to me that I was one of 5 semi-finalists. Instead of spending my time worrying
about the application process, I looked through the yellow pages of the phone
book in my motel room: wow! 50 Southern Baptist churches in the
parish (county) the university was in.
I went to the university library and tabulated the books specifically
dealing with piano music, piano literature, piano teaching, etc. I found that my own library was far
superior. I knew I would have to
fix that.
It
was a good several days; I was feeling very good. I talked to lots of people and knew that my biggest
weakness… not being able to remember names… was going to be ultimately
exposed. I did spend a little time
with one of my favorites pastimes; I loved to match people up with their
instruments. It always seems to
work. If you’ve ever met a drummer
or a sax player you know what I mean.
They simply become their instruments. I sought out the tuba teacher (I played tuba in highs school, college, and even in the Army when I wasn't busy with the Signal Corps). He looked OK, smiling his "Oom Pah" best when he didn't know me from Adam. I was only slightly taken aback when I was offered the job
before I left. But, what about
Flagstaff? I was able to get a
stall of a couple of days, although they really wanted my answer right on the
spot. But, it was my spot that I
was on, so I was allowed a decision period of 3 days. I had decided by the time I got home, so I called and
cancelled the interview in Arizona.
It
was only after my first day of teaching Freshman Music Theory and meeting the
piano majors that were relying on me that the thought struck me: my boss had no idea if I could teach; I
had no idea if I could teach. What
little experience I had was in a guided and protected situation, with lots of
talented students that seemed that they would do just fine, with or without
me. Oh, reality, thou cruel, cold,
damp towel that… OK, enough of that.
I had to think about how I was going to approach this.
I
remembered the first recital I prepared without a teacher. I was hired to play a whole recital for
the Cecilian Club of Freehold, New Jersey. I had a grand piano to work on, and time to practice. Life was good. OK, I know what I want to play. Now what? I listened closely, and I could hear the voice of my college
teacher. I knew what he would
say. “That went quite well,” which
meant I sucked. “Your Chopin is
‘growing’, but you haven’t gotten control yet.” So I let John Holstad teach me that recital, in
absentia. It worked pretty well,
so I thought I understood.
When
my first piano major came to her first lesson, I observed the score of her
Chopin Nocturne. It was full of
colors of many markings. Joseph’s
Coat had nothing on the E Minor Posthumous Nocturne. She explained that the colors were the “feelings and
emotions” that she would apply at the different points. The look on her face when I expressed
confusion, concern and not a little disagreement, showed that she missed her
teacher from the previous year. I,
on the other hand, knew why they chose someone from the University of Iowa,
rather than another Indiana University elite. I knew that John Holstad’s wisdom would fall on deaf ears,
so I had to think of something.
So
I said, “Leslie, where are you having trouble?” She thought for a while, forgot about her rainbow score, and
played one of the phrases with the intense Chopin figuration that everyone
agonizes over. For myself, I just
thought, if this were me, and my piece, what would I do? Practicing is what I do. Diagnosing problems and determining
solutions… that’s what I do. If
nothing else, I know how to practice.
We got to work. I worked
with her for the rest of that year on technical matters that prevented her from
playing the best she could, and on other little things that seemed to disrupt
the flow of the pieces she had begun.
She had won a regional competition, and I helped her to move on to the
state finals. I helped her prepare
for her admittance to the upper division, where she would have to play a short
program for a panel of faculty.
She did well on both, and I felt very good about working with her.
Leslie
taught me quite a few things; first, I learned that it really had nothing to do
with my teaching. It had to do
with her learning. Most of the
information that I have explored since, in over 40 years of teaching, has had
to do with how people learn. It
turns out that not everyone learns in the same way. We, the teachers, have to figure out how each of our
students can become… and then address them in that fashion. There is no method. There is no solution. I found that I don’t teach music; I
don’t teach piano. I teach
students.
Along
the way, in twenty years at Louisiana Tech University, I noticed that something
interesting was happening. I was accidentally
becoming a teacher. My students
taught me how to become a teacher.
As I taught, I found that I played better myself. I was teaching myself, too. I no longer had to imagine John Holstad. I used my "closet." My closet had all of the answers. I also want to believe that I taught my
students to find their own closet. Oh, wait… I guess a word of explanation is in order? That will have to wait for the next
installment, I’m afraid.
