JAM: October/November 2002 Issue: Diary of a New Music Teacher

Diary of a New Music Teacher

by Mike Metheny

Back in 1989-91 one of the finest public school systems in the state of Missouri took a chance and hired a jazz trumpeter/former college instructor to teach part time in its equally acclaimed instrumental music program.

Make that beginning instrumental music program -- grades 4 through 6 -- in multiple elementary schools.

To say that this New Teacher was in over his head would be an understatement. (Imagine a meatball tossed into a pool of piranhas. Or Custer trying to maintain order at Little Bighorn.) Yet, despite the New Teacher's inexperience (trust me, six years on the Berklee staff means nothing to a savvy 10-year-old with an eye for naked emperors), some good bonds were formed, and a handful of kids began their lives as musicians on solid ground. Or at least it is still hoped.

What follows are excerpts from an actual diary kept during 1989-90. It is a chronicle of this trial by fire and hazing by half-pints that speaks for itself. Rest assured, surrealism and exaggeration were not sacrificed in favor of accuracy, and some of the incidents recorded stand as blurred composites of multiple events that remain seared into memory as well as imagination. Post traumatic stress can play some interesting tricks.

So, here it is. The diary of a deer caught in the headlights.

May the musical survivors of the classes of 1996-99 find it in their hearts to forgive. And may we continue to salute those dedicated elementary music teachers who last longer than two years.

* * *

Actual anonymous note,
received Spring 1990

10/2/89 -- The big week is here. Students have either rented or purchased instruments and arrive for the first band class proudly displaying their new possessions. The room is full of excitement as these little chatterboxes eagerly assemble horns and music stands, and as the New Teacher (yours truly) readies himself for the first cacophonous blast.

The New Teacher prepares the fidgety class for a virgin downbeat; fifth grade lungs expand and inflate; eyes bulge; knuckles turn white; and tongues arch with impending sledgehammer attacks.

On cue the First Note explodes from eleven cornets, five trombones and two snare drums causing windows to rattle and the floor to shake. A small crack is seen running up a nearby wall.

With his ears still ringing and a pulse racing wildly, the New Teacher searches for diplomatic encouragement.

Finally, he blurts:
"Very good! ...Anybody get hurt?"

10/16/89 -- The New Teacher continues to marvel at how much standards of acceptable classroom language have changed since he was in grade school three decades earlier. Today, as he attempted to explain the potential consequences of misreading a common musical indicator, a student casually completed the New Teacher's sentence by replacing the intended "you will make a mistake" with "you will f**k up..."

Not an eye blinked, and not a gasp was heard. It was yet another ho-hum moment in the lives of today's young potty-mouths.

When scolded by the New Teacher for such a tactless choice of word, the offending student stood up, announced that "BAND SUCKS!" and stormed out of the room.

10/23/89 -- Today the New Teacher is scheduled to be observed by a supervising principal. The class the principal will visit is a particularly rowdy bunch and a constant source of stress for the New Teacher. Nevertheless, the principal has agreed to drop by, offer some helpful hints, and provide whatever support he can.

With the principal conspicuously seated behind a row of cornetists and drummers, the New Teacher attempts to lead the class through a series of rudimental exercises. However, not only does musical chaos quickly ensue, but as soon as the ensemble falls apart, as it was always destined to do, the New Teacher is powerless to restore order for a good minute and a half, causing the principal to shift impatiently in his too-small and hard "kinderseat."

Once the musical free-for-all has been reduced to a series of random "blats" and "splats" by the pleading and nearly hoarse New Teacher, it is determined that another attempt to play the same exercise is in order. This time, however, the New Teacher decides that a slower tempo will be the solution to what ails this unruly ensemble.

As the easier beat is clapped by the New Teacher, the students raise their instruments in anticipation of the command, "one, two, ready, play!" However, just as the New Teacher is about to speak those words, a lone euphonium player "breaks wind" with earth-shattering force, the magnitude of which causes a nearby music stand to partially collapse sending a copy of the instructional manual crashing to the floor.

The class erupts in uncontrollable laughter, the New Teacher can barely be heard to bark, "No talking! No talking! A CONsequence for you, young man!..." and the observing principal slowly folds his notebook, shakes his head in dismay, and leaves the room.

The New Teacher is then left with pandemonium surrounding him on all sides, as he tries to dodge the plastic bottles of valve oil that are being tossed back and forth across the band, in front of and behind the New Teacher.

10/24/89 -- A wasp flew into the room today. The band class that meets at this particular school and hour is usually on the brink of being out of control as it is, but the arrival of a dive-bombing bug is to cause a major dilemma for the New Teacher.

Should the wasp be ignored? Will wise and reassuring proclamations like "If we leave HIM alone he'll leave US alone" sound convincing? Should the New Teacher take full command of the situation and attempt to swat down the wasp to restore order in the chaotic classroom? Will such an effort by the New Teacher win the respect of the class skeptics? Or, if the New Teacher fails to conquer the invader, will he be seen as comical and impotent?

Despite the New Teacher's attempt to appear calm, the angry and confused insect makes repeated passes at the teacher's spinning head, much to the gleeful entertainment of the cheering class. And after several of these "buzzes," the New Teacher finally corners the wasp as it rests on the top shelf of a nearby library stack.

______________________________________________________

"...Trust me, six years on the Berklee staff means nothing to
a savvy 10-year-old with an eye for naked emperors."
________________________________________________

The impact of the New Teacher's music book on that shelf not only puts an end to the wasp, but it also creates a domino effect of toppling books, sending at least 50 different volumes of everything from "The History of the Civil War" to "The Gabe Kaplan Story" crashing to the floor.

11/2/89 -- A genuine first was witnessed by the New Teacher today. A particularly troublesome fifth grade cornetist (we'll call him "Jason"... or maybe "Freddie," in honor of the cinematic namesakes) was asked to play a brief solo for a routine test score. At this stage of the game, these "tests" are usually graded on one's ability to simply make it to the end of the short exercise. Correct notes and rhythms are optional bonuses.

As Jason/Freddie eagerly began his rendition, clearly enjoying this moment in the sun, it was obvious to all that he needed to empty a copious amount of accumulated saliva from his gurgling cornet. The New Teacher pointed this out -- over the clamor of the other bandmembers' moans of disgust -- and, as Jason/Freddie readied himself for this first attempt to "let out the spit," a sly grin appeared on his face.

It seems that he had gotten into the habit of sucking on a lime Lifesaver each day in band class -- each day for the past four weeks -- and he, and ONLY he, knew what was about to be released from his horn.

Sure enough, as the New Teacher and the rest of the class watched in disbelief, a steady and seemingly endless stream of viscous green discharge oozed from Jason/Freddie's cornet, hitting the floor with a series of sickening splats.

And despite the New Teacher's after-class attempt to wipe up the mess with bathroom paper towels, a bright green stain would remain on that floor for months to come -- an enduring reminder of the day Jason/Freddie grossed out his peers (and the New Teacher) with the living-color elimination of a new horn's precious musical fluids.

11/7/89 -- Today there was an early morning meeting of the faculty at one of schools the New Teacher visits each day. These gatherings are usually of no interest to the New Teacher as they tend to offer up a tedious menu of grade school banalities... like the topic of today's meeting: bathroom supervision.
It seems that an unusually large number of male kindergartners had been "missing the target" lately, creating numerous headaches for the custodial staff as well as fellow students. In the course of this detailed discussion (that involved predictable anecdotes about "wee-wees getting caught in tiny zippers"), it was revealed that one particular boys bathroom was equipped with a malfunctioning commode, and that someone had placed (with all the very best of intentions) an "Out Of Order" sign on the unit.

Of course, as was also noted, students at that grade level have not yet learned to read (laughter from the assembled staff), and after further discussion -- and the formation of several committees to address the problem -- it was decided that, until the toilet was fixed, a large "international sign" with a thick diagonal "red line" across it would have to suffice... that red line drawn through a stick figure seen urinating into the silhouette of a toilet bowl.

12/4/89 -- The New Teacher came upon a startling sight this morning. Apparently a lone fourth grader had just accidentally bumped his head on a hallway handrailing (after dropping his pencil and then raising up too quickly) and was knocked out cold, his helpless form lying in a heap up against the wall of the hall.

"Cyanide in the school drinking fountains!... thanks to JASON and FREDDIE!" the New Teacher mouthed as his mind raced with "What do I do? What do I do?!"

Disturbing images flashed of mouth-to-mouth resuscitation... or an incorrectly administered Heimlich maneuver... or chest-crushing CPR. All with the inevitable lawsuits -- and New Teacher dismissal -- that would follow.

But thankfully, the student began to come around on his own, told the gathering crowd of his encounter with the handrail, basked in all the attention, brushed himself off and returned to class with a spring in his step.

The New Teacher was off the hook.

1/10/90 -- While approaching the main entrance to another elementary school on this blustery winter's day, the New Teacher was greeted by an amusing and somewhat prophetic sight. It is at this same time each day that the New Teacher's arrival coincides with the release of the entire third grade for its playground recess, weather permitting. And because today's temperature was just on the border of acceptability, warm attire for outside activities was a must.

As the New Teacher stood aside to allow the mass exodus of third graders through the doorway and into the January chill, he was gripped with the sight of dozens of little heads, each attired in colorful ski-masks. It was impossible to look upon these cherubic disguises without flashing on past news photos of similarly masked bankrobbers, their crimes captured on hidden surveillance cameras.

Up until this day, the New Teacher had, on prior occasions, made sarcastic references to "the bankrobbers of tomorrow" when describing selected troublemakers. Now there was visual proof to substantiate these premonitions.

2/6/90 -- This was a traumatic day in which circumstances arose that the New Teacher had long feared. Today he is to be solely in charge of the entire fifth grade band class at one of his schools, an ensemble numbering 60. Up until now, the group has been dealt with in smaller sections of no more than 20, but because of the planned absences of the New Teacher's two more seasoned and experienced colleagues, he must face the masses on his own, in one large and unwieldy rehearsal.

10:27 a.m.
There is a peaceful tranquillity to the school cafeteria where the class is to meet at 10:30. The only sounds are those of kitchen workers preparing that day's lunch of "taco pitas" and "lasagna burgers." The New Teacher takes a deep breath.

10:28 a.m.
The distant sound of thunder signifies either a freak February storm or the impending arrival of the band. As this low-frequency rumble increases in volume, it becomes more clearly defined and is soon the staccato patter of sneaker-clad feet, all of which are stampeding in the direction of the cafeteria... and the New Teacher. The band students have arrived like a herd of rabid buffalo, and the other-worldly calm of one short minute ago has been replaced by the mega-decibels of an atomic chain reaction.

10:29 a.m.
The New Teacher is in the middle of a swirling vortex of frenzied, out-of-control ten-year-olds. He stands straight and tall -- as if in front of a firing squad -- and silently concludes that what he is witnessing is no different than what would occur if someone emptied a gunny sack full of mice onto a small kitchen table... or if one attempted to keep 60 plates spinning atop 60 sticks, with each plate eventually wobbling and crashing to the floor. It is Pearl Harbor, Dresden and Hiroshima all rolled into one. And the New Teacher is up against the wall... ready to utter his "final words."

10:30 a.m.
Once horns are ordered onto faces and a downbeat given (for "Old MacDonald"), the rehearsal is not only underway, but the New Teacher is somewhat relieved at the notion that the next half hour may actually proceed smoothly. Things do go well, but just as the New Teacher begins to conclude that this will indeed be an uneventful and injury-free encounter with "the hornet's nest," a bewildered young cornetist urgently approaches and squeals, "Look!"

The source of the student's plight? A mouthpiece full of blood, the result of an admirable yet painful attempt to "carry on" after being accidentally bopped in the mouth by a classmate during the aforementioned stampede. The color quickly drains from the New Teacher's face as he confronts the very image of every trumpet player's worst nightmare: a Bach 7C mouthpiece drenched in the hemorrhage of a ruptured obicularis oris.

3/9/90 -- The New Teacher has come to realize that sixth graders tend to be a cocky, audacious and irreverent bunch. After all, they are the "seniors" in each elementary school, and until they are reduced to rookie seventh graders in the fall, they seem determined to get away with whatever they can.

Today the New Teacher witnessed some of this boldness when he walked into a classroom a bit earlier than usual, inadvertently stumbling upon a simulated "live birth." Seems that "Johnny", "Freddie" and "Jason" had smuggled a basketball into the classroom and Johnny -- in an act of raw spontaneity -- decided to stuff the ball up his shirt in order to appear pregnant.

With Freddie and Jason serving as "mid wife" and "loving, Lamaze-trained husband" respectively, Johnny was in the midst of final heaving "contractions" as the New Teacher walked in the door. While the New Teacher stood stunned and speechless, a brand spanking new Spaulding Indoor-Outdoor basketball came into the world... and into the arms of its panting "mother" -- a sobbing, yet grateful Mrs. Johnny.

4/25/90 -- Today the New Teacher had to break up a fight.

Well, this confrontation never actually evolved into true fisticuffs, but it was an unpleasant situation nonetheless. The antagonists in this classroom drama were two trombone players who have hated each other from day one of the school year... even before the start of formal band classes. Once armed with slide trombones, it was then just a matter of time before the instruments would serve as weapons (a battering ram, a crude sling-shot, a poisonous blow gun) for both offensive and retaliatory purposes.

As was inevitable, today's clash was spawned by Johnny gouging Freddie right in the stomach with a rapidly extended and quickly retracted trombone slide. As the New Teacher (and now referee) stepped between them -- and as each student slowly rose from his seat to face off, nose-to-nose, each awaiting the other's next false move -- the New Teacher demanded an explanation from Johnny as to why he'd provoked Freddie in such a flagrant manner.

Johnny's answer, delivered with a completely straight face and without a hint of remorse: "I was practicing seventh position, sir."

4/30/90 -- The Big Spring Concert and the culmination of months of hard work is set for tonight. As is the decades-old tradition in this renowned school music program, a mass gathering rivaling a Cecil B. DeMille epic is staged each year in the high school field house, probably because an airport hanger is not within driving distance and a field house will just have to do.

On this occasion every fifth grade band student in the district is assembled into one large ensemble numbering in the hundreds. The same is done with sixth graders on up, although as grades ascend so do numbers decline.

To the New Teacher the mere thought of a 350-piece fifth grade band is staggering and incomprehensible. Equally paralyzing is the spectrum of potential disaster, both musical and logistical. Seven months of flashbacks race through the New Teacher's mind as he tries not to think of specific things occurring again -- all on one night and in one place -- even though the odds dictate that they surely will.

...Malfunctioning instruments; confrontations and altercations; bloodied mouthpieces; students running into field house walls and dropping to the hardwood in irreversible comas; kaleidoscopic upchucking; volleyballs, basketballs and other spherical objects being "born" onto the field house floor; students in ski-masks cradling their instruments like flame-throwers; strings of expletives chanted in unison by row after row of unruly brass players (protégés of the New Teacher, no less) and overheard by the president of the local P.T.A.

And the most feared scenario of all: the possible collapse of the field house itself once the music begins, its structural soundness stretched beyond the limits of even the most well-fortified bomb shelter.

Thankfully, none of the New Teacher's fears come to pass. All goes according to plan, and each student rises to the occasion as if spurred on by the very best that a combination of adrenaline and the muse can offer.

The New Teacher leaves the field house with a sense of accomplishment, opens his car door and carelessly hops in without looking where he's going.

He accidentally bumps his head on the exterior roof of the car, draws blood, and touches the soon-to-be infected wound with fingers that have just spent the last two hours in contact with a germ-infested field house, jammed cornet mouthpieces (each moist with noxious childhood secretions), and hundreds of those "gummy" folding chairs, the cleanest and most sanitary of which still dripped with the residue of the decades.

5/11/90 -- As the school year nears an end, a feeling of satisfaction, accomplishment, and yes, survival begins to wash over the New Teacher. Most of his students have come through the year in fine shape and with solid musical beginnings. One class even throws a spontaneous year-end surprise party (sanctioned by the principal, of course) complete with cake (well, it looked like a cake), soda and plenty of smiles.

For nearly nine months the New Teacher has feared that his inexperience might be to the detriment of these new musicians. But they are mostly good kids who seem destined to do good things, musical or otherwise. Hopefully they will also, at the very least, have a fundamental understanding of music well-played, and will someday look back on the fledgling efforts of the New Teacher with appreciation.

In Praise of a Great Teacher

As a beginning cornetist in October of 1959 at Westview Elementary School in Lee's Summit, I was one of the lucky ones. My first teacher, Keith House, was not only an inspirational educator, but also a virtuoso trumpeter and an all-around worldclass musician. How many fifth grade band students have the opportunity to take their first steps as musicians under such ideal conditions?!

Keith House in 1965

Although I knew at the time that Mr. House was someone special (he remained my teacher for the next eight years, all the way through high school), my respect and admiration for him continued to grow once I went out in the world and encountered other public school band directors. I've known and worked with some good ones over the years, but none compare to Keith House.

I've stayed in touch with my first teacher since those early Lee's Summit days. Just last spring Mr. House, now retired from a distinguished 45-year career as one of Missouri's most revered music educators, came to hear me solo with the University of Missouri/Columbia jazz band. And yes, there I was in 2002, a "kid" again doing my best to please an important first musical influence.

Moreover, I found myself still trying to do justice to the high standards I'd first encountered so long ago as a student. "Always play for the one person in the audience who really understands what you're trying to say," Mr. House used to remind us. At MU that night, there was no doubt who that one person in the audience was.

So yes, I was one of the lucky ones. And so were many hundreds of others who learned about music, integrity and character from the one and only Professor Keith House.

May we never forget how the great teachers have always brought lofty ideals to the job. And may we always remember that what makes them great is a steadfast desire to put the music first.

-- Mike Metheny