MENSCHLICHKEIT, at least part I

 Alle Menschen werden Bruder....
(originally published March 1, 2011)

 

I cannot remember who it was, nor the circumstance, but many years ago someone called me a mensch.  Me being the neophyte that I was at that time, and of course growing up in a small community with a non-existent Jewish population, that was not a word that was part of my own lexicon.  So, I really didn't know how to take it:  did this person just compliment me or insult me?  So, I just plain asked, and then I learned.  A recent web site that I stumbled upon describes it this way:  "A mensch literally means "a person" in Yiddish, but figuratively it means something much deeper.  A mensch is a person with whom you would be happy to befriend and associate with, because you feel genuine in a mensch's presence. A mensch is a highly evolved human being. Menschlichkeit (the art of the mensch) has nothing to do with looks, with wealth, with success or with intellect. A mensch exudes a certain magnetism that attracts us, whether or not words or glances are exchanged. A person is a mensch because he simply makes others feel good."

In my own experience, I would equate a mensch to a mentor, those spiritual, professional or personal guides who come into our lives and--probably unknown to themselves--make a lasting impression upon us.  At my most recent concert (chronicled in a previous post), I made a point to express my extreme gratitude to at least a small number of my musical mentors--one of whom I have previously mentioned was in the audience.  And as things usually occur, this spurred within me all the people who have played a part in making me the musician I am today.  I have been debating whether or not to change their names, because I will probably be forced to say an unkind word or two.  BUT, in case any of my own "menschen" should happen to read this, I want them to know how thankful I am that they have played an important part in my own musical growth.  I'm sure that this post will probably be followed up by a number of notes written to express how I feel toward these people.  We really need to truly communicate (I should have included that in the CREDO) how we feel toward the vital people in our lives before they have passed away from us.  In a couple of cases, I've lost that opportunity and for that, I am deeply ashamed.  As for the rest, this is my tribute to you.

 My first musical mentor, for a short while, was my mother, Thala.  The most important thing that I learned from my mom was not to try to teach my own child.  I was a brat and would not practice so she gave up after only a few months (can't blame her).  But as there was always music in the house (her many talented students), I eventually started messing around on the piano and our small organ.  So, until about six months worth in college, I was a self-taught pianist; interestingly enough I could sight read like a banshee but my technique--to this day--is still horrendous.

I had actually taken a good portion of the day away from blog writing, but still thought about who would be included here and I realized I almost forgot my guitar teacher, Kerry ____ (I can't for the life of me remember his last name.)  I was a mediocre player at best--always got stuck playing rhythm in our garage/basement bands because I couldn't do anything else.  BUT, the important thing was that Kerry taught from a "theoretical" standpoint and I learned how chords were structured at the age of 10.  This invaluable information would come to serve me well in high school, college and beyond.

Eileen Houston was my first band director and she surely had the patience of Job.  Because of tax issues, we started a year late; the school we were supposed to attend--a brand new middle school only a short walk through the woods from where I lived--sat there empty for an entire year.  Eileen taught all of these beginning students everyday in one large group.  There were no lessons as we have out here in the Heartland.  She instilled in us an unbelievable esprit des corps and a level of dedication toward music that I may not have witnessed since.  And she expected nothing but excellence.  I wished I'd paid much more attention to her pedagogy, but hey, I was in seventh grade.

(Special note:  Mrs. Houston only recently retired I believe.  I probably haven't seen her since basically leaving home in the early 1980s.  Recently I received an on-line message from a high school classmate who ran into her at the store and who did she inquire about?  Needless to say, I was surprised that she would even remember me.)

Band in high school was a shambles.  For my first three years there, dealing with split schedules and an all-volunteer marching band (led by one of the other middle school directors because the high school teaching was just plain lazy) we went nowhere.  The once-fine program had lost all of its luster due to this unnamed individual who we (the students) actually managed to run out of the school....but that's another story for another day.  Everything turned around with the arrival of Harvey Benstein, a tiny little man who, quite frankly, scared the crap out of us.  He was from the old school--a real screamer and baton thrower--but he got results.  I truly wished I had learned a lesson or two from him on how NOT to deal with students; it would have made my own first few years of teaching much better.

At the same time, I began studying organ with Steven Lange, the cantor at a large, nearby Episcopal Church.  He was a quiet man, but an excellent pedagogue.  For awhile I sang in his choir:  performing masterworks by Haydn, Vaughan Williams and others.  His wife, Nancy, was our high school choir director.  I sometimes regret that one of my actions soured our previously good relationship, but still I learned the importance of fine repertoire at that early age.  She only programmed the finest repertoire; in fact, sometimes I am still amazed at the things we sang, largely based upon the finest repertoire, from Palestrina to Daniel Pinkham and beyond.

Of course, all through this time I was thinking of college and in all actuality, a career in music couldn't have been further from my mind.  I could do a lot of things:  first chair in high school band (with a lot of work--I only played the trumpet because that's what we had at home--another lesson learned), sang in the choir and select group, played rhythm guitar and keyboards in some garage bands, etc.  But I never really thought I excelled at anything, so off I went to Michigan State University with the intention of becoming a Political Science/Pre-Law major:  I had the gift for gab, had been a debater in hs, etc.  That probably lasted two weeks....I was never far from music--took some theory classes, etc., but was bored to tears because quite frankly, I already knew it all (not to sound cocky, but I'd had that guitar training and a year of theory and history in hs) but they wouldn't (or couldn't clep me out of it.)  So I would sit in Dr. Johnson's theory class (there were so many of us it was held in the auditorium), and read the paper.  Every now and then, he would pose a question and then say, "Mr. Hughes?"  I'd pop up from whatever I was reading, give the answer, and go back to my reading.  I had to upset him something terrible.

The "Alpha E" House--great times here...

But I wasn't cut out for the factory that MSU was--I've lived in several smaller cities--and I took time off from school to get my bearings and figure out what I was going to do.  I realized how important that music was in my life and decided to bite the bullet and head in that direction:  for one good reason (an inspiring choral conductor Andy Zerban) and probably two wrong ones:  a couple of ex-girlfriends from high school.  While I had some fine teachers at Olivet, I have to remember in particular a theater teacher, John Hooker (every now and then I try to track him down, but with such a common name...).  He was a visionary director and cast me in what would be my last appearance on the theater stage:  in the ensemble cast of Jacques Brel is Alive and Well....my best work ever and all because of his insight and dedication to excellence.

Of course, one has to eventually leave the nest (it took me longer than most--but that is for another day).  I was a December grad with a BME and a Speech Com/Theater minor.  Michigan's economy was slowly heading into the toilet, so I hung around Olivet for the spring, picking up odd jobs in the department as a keyboardist (actually had some rave reviews in a Battle Creek paper for my harpsichord renderings in a Haydn opera.)  It was fun doing music without a grade attached to it.  But I eventually had to find work.

Through an extremely curious set of circumstances I ended up in Gilbertville, Iowa--(in a Catholic school of all things!) a long way from home.  It was a good move at the time because there were things I needed to forget (another blog post), but of course one cannot run away from one's problems--yet another posting.  I was fortunate enough to befriend Leland Triplitt, the junior high band director from a neighboring school, who mentored the young teacher and supported me in so very many ways.  I am eternally grateful to him and am honored to still call him my friend.

James Crowder and the Bettendorf Band

Four years later, I relocated to the Quad-Cities and a position at Alleman High School (yet another Catholic school!)  We were the dinky school on the Illinois side of the river and it always seemed as though we were looked down upon by the "big guns."  But somehow I managed to befriend another now long-time mentor James Crowder, who had been a local school band director and was then leading a community group in Bettendorf.  I joined the ensemble in the euphonium section and two years later became associate conductor of the group.  Jim--a former member of the West Point Band--has without a doubt forgotten more about the band repertoire than I will ever know.  He has truly been my mensch and I know that he cares for my welfare as much as anyone I know.

I made the decision to leave teaching for a bit and go back to school at the University of Northern Iowa.  I'm a life-long learner and my own preparation was inadequate for the direction my career was headed.  I was fortunate to work with some wonder people at UNI:

• to Ronald Ross, Director of the School, who entrusted me with leadership responsibilities in the program and showed me through actions how to face adversity.
• to Jeffrey Funderburk, my private euphonium instructor, who taught me probably more about pedagogy than performance.
• to the entire theory faculty, for having the faith in me to tutor students, cover classes, and take part in the jury process.
• to Robert Dean, a curmudgeon of the old school--still teaching in what must have been his 70s, for showing me what dedication to the profession truly was.
• to Jon Vallentine, who was then the "second band director" (now heads the school) who offered me more opportunities to conduct than my own principal teacher (probably another blog post, but that would turn into a rant).
• to Sharon Hansen, the "second choral director," just for being a friend and for treating me as a colleague.  (I even sat her house while she and her husband visited Europe one summer--that woman got more catalogs in the mail than anyone I've ever met!)

Thanks to a number of the people I have already mentioned, I landed in Dubuque, Iowa and a teaching position at Loras College.  Unfortunately I have no one at the college who truly influenced me as a musician, but rather, did gain a handful of trusted colleagues and friends.  The whole Loras experience could consume volumes in itself.

But my "Dubuque experience" includes a number of people outside the college who have forever changed my life:

• from the Dubuque Symphony:  Nick Palmer (conductor) who entrusted a non-string player with the leadership of the youth symphony and later named me Assistant Conductor of the parent organization, thus launching my career in yet another direction.  I also must include some of the wonderful and supportive players in the symphony who are too numerous to mention (because I know I would forget someone), but I must make special mention of Ann Duchow, aka "Duki Suzuki" with whom I would later have the pleasure of teaching at a later position.  I must especially mention Lori Meyer, nee Hamburg, who was my cello teacher when I decided (again as a lifelong learner) that I would be a much better orchestral conductor if I at least knew an up bow from a down.  These people and many more are responsible for whatever success I had in my early years as an orchestral conductor.
• to Micki Marolf and Sally Stulken, two amazing teachers who in 1995 somehow talked me into founding the Tri-State Wind Symphony.  Preparing to enter our 17th season, we're stronger than ever.

Because of my work in the orchestral world, I decided to enter several conducting symposia to refine my craft.  I was fortunate enough to spend a few days with Gustav Meier in Ann Arbor before branching out to have a go at Europe.  Jonathan Sternberg, one of the founding members of the Conductors' Guild and Professor Emeritus at Temple University led a conducting class in Marianske Lazne (Marienbad), Czech Republic in the late winter of 2000.  (This was after I had attended a similar event in Hradec Kralove, CZ the year before and won a return engagement.)  For some reason, Jonathan took a liking to me (maybe it was just my work ethic and the fact that I was approaching the symposium like a sponge.)  But, again, I learned so much from this septuagenarian about the craft of what I do; more about the great conductors of the past.  I didn't really realize that he was such an important figure in music until several years later, when hearing what was touted on public radio as the first recorded performance of the Rossini Stabat Mater, conducted by Jonathan no less.

The Rudolfinum, home of the Czech Philharmonic

These early experiences with European orchestras led to other engagements:  in the beautiful city of Karlovy Vary (Carlsbad) CZ, in Bucharest, in Walbrzych, Poland, and Pskov, Russia.  It seems though, that I'm always drawn back to Prague.

But I really have to admit that my decision to embark on a doctoral conducting program was a monumental choice.  I had applied for admission to the program at UW-Madison after being invited to a concert there by a former student of mine who was then there for her master's program.  I was so impressed with the conductor that I knew this was where I was meant to be.  But I received a nice "thanks, but we're full" letter and figured I wasn't meant to study any further.  The University of Iowa had the only other doctoral program nearby, and I had no desire to go there, even though a symposium there had allowed me to meet Marvin Rabin, another giant in string and youth orchestra pedagogy.

It was probably two years later that I suddenly received a phone call at my Loras office; it was David Becker, Director of Orchestral Studies at UW, telling me that he thought he might have an opening for the following fall (understand that it was May).  Well, I had to at least feign interest and said, "Sure."  His response?  "Can you come up for an interview and audition the day after tomorrow?"  Dropping everything, I went up for the most grueling "interview" I've ever had:  an hour of talk, an hour "audition" testing technical issues, ear training, keyboard facility, transpositions and even score study (of a totally unfamiliar work.)  Oh yes, and then another hour of talk about the expectations of the program.  I already knew that I was one of two candidates for the one spot.  By the time I left his office, I had been offered the position.  There were no TAs left in May so I'd have to go it on my own, but that I did.

David Becker, THE conductor

I cannot pay high enough praise to David.  He had the highest expectations of any teacher I've ever encountered.  He had a highly developed "curriculum" that not only made me a better conductor, but a better teacher of conducting as well.  He gave me everything he had and much more, entrusting me with the reins of the orchestras on nearly every program.  I had the opportunity to lead the "big work" (Schumann's Third Symphony) on what would prove to be his final concert at UW, for he decided to take a leave of absence to possibly pursue other opportunities.  Lawrence University in Appleton, WI is so fortunate to have him, but it was definitely UW-Madison's loss.

(My most favorite Becker story came as part of a weekly conducting lesson, which were scheduled for an hour, but never went less than 90 minutes.  One week we had to reschedule for some reason, so I assume that it must have been a Friday afternoon--a non-rehearsal day.  We were so engrossed in whatever we were working on--god only knows what it was now--that both of us lost track of the time and when we finally looked at the clock, three hours had passed!  David, ever the gentleman, was so apologetic as he knew that I had to drive back to Dubuque.  My reaction?  I'm paying the bill here; if you're going to give me an extra 90 minutes of instruction, I'll take it.)

There are, of course, many fine faculty members at Madison who affected my life in many positive ways, but I must single out David Crook, one of my history teachers (early music), who showed me that a musicologist can still really love the art of making music and not just talking about it.  And I must be eternally grateful to Director of Bands Michael Leckrone, who entrusted me with the leadership of one of the University Bands for three years (in fact, in year three, he asked me if I could conduct TWO of the ensembles, but my responsibilities did not allow it).  In that time I learned that one could make music with any kind of ensemble; those kids probably would have jumped off a cliff for me, AND they taught me the meaning of the term "the shit" (as I became to be known throughout the School of Music.)

And that basically brings us full circle to the present.  There are, without doubt, people I've forgotten, but it's easy to see that it takes a village to raise a child or to make a conductor.  I have had the opportunity to have these mentors and many friends (that will be MENSCHLICHKEIT, part 2, I am sure) who have been with me through the journey thus far.  And so, all of these and many other have been responsible for my accepting this challenge:  “I have a responsibility to pass on to the next generation what I learned from my teachers, ... It keeps me young and reminds me where I came from. Teaching young artists is like giving  water to a flower.”  Isaac Stern