My former high school choir teacher with several choirs, J. Michael Frasier responded humorously by injecting that he
was sorry, but he was still on my friend list.
And, in his mirth, he reminded me of something I want to share with my friends. It is about my choir teacher, Mr. Frasier.
First, Mike, I never expected you
would accept me as a friend on Facebook.
Yet, with your comment and smile, I admit I was hoping you would remain.
In truth, I cannot imagine how
many students discoverd how to sing under your direction.
You were Glee decades before Glee. You made it cool for football high school students and farm boys to join the choir. You had the cool and the geeks talking to each other rather than at each other. You taught harmony, but the real scare was that each would have to perform and depend on the other. Who can do that? Well, you.
One of the first introductions to you was in the late 70's and I was attending a May Music Week
festival in La Grande, Oregon. One of my babysitters from La Grande First Baptist Church was one of the May Music Week Courth and my sister (I am sure that picture is somewhere here) was attending as part of the Queen and Court, I believe.
My grandmother, with a critical evaluation, during intermission described
your conducting style as a maddening dancing little hen.
I laughed, stunned by her description, and found myself mesmerized by the way you kept a huge acapella choir focused. She just recognized you infused your entire body with musical direction. I'm also pretty sure she was simply distracted by your backside in black trousers, directing the sides of the choir from your discoteque dapper look and the gyrating to keep the tempo going. It was the 70's, after all.
I cannot imagine whether the
students appreciated your abilities, your intensity or your vast reserves of energy
and imagination. You taught me to
cherish harmony, blending of voices, pitch, the value of varying the tone and
volumes, and of course something I never felt comfortable doing, movement. Your vision even had me on stage singing "Hand Jive" in Grease. No one today could possibly think that would have been me. (Secretly, I can still do the entire song word for word, for fear you might challenge me to do it on stage, with none of the other kids, just to make sure I could do it, just sayin.)
I first sat in a choir under your
direction in 7th grade, one year.
You never commanded respect, you
simply held it in class. You taught us
to appreciate and expect something from chaos and with your help, we
delivered entertainment, confidence and even stage presence. You taught us focus and
appreciation for languages we would never understand and we spoke powerful
words of faith that today still give me goosebumps when I hear them.
In music, you examined all
sorts of emotions with us, you demonstrated emotions safely for us, you allowed
to express emotions safely in that large choir room. It became for some one of the rare rooms of
peace, safety, and hope.
Your interest in our voices,
something you craved for us to give you to mold, no matter how meek we were
challenged us. You demand that we get
beyond ourselves emboldened us. And,
many of us found our voices for the first time and some of us have never let
that value leave us. In a conservative
little town, a music teacher was teaching a Conservative Baptist teenager to
find his voice, move his feet, and care about his world – through songs,
languages, harmonies, varying styles, without supporting tunes, and sometimes
with intermittent changes simply to throw life at us. You were creating voices and filling the minds
with the possibilities of other cultures, other languages, other people, and
other ways. And, what is funny, is that
I didn’t know it at the time – and that is when I realized how great an
educator you truly are.
Others have heard me sing in
choirs for years, yet I rarely set aside time to share in those community
events. When someone in a church suggest
I sing in their choir, I simply say thank you, and you and my Aunt Wendy are
the two people I thank for the education and voice control.
I may very well continue to
sing until my last breath songs you taught us - some which gave me hope and a
smile since 7th grade. You taught the choir
a song, "Come along with me, I'll show you where the grass is
greener." And, from that point in
time, you gave me that song. It could
cheer me out of any cruel place and every situation that was
uncomfortable. Hopelessness has little
ground with me when I have songs from Church and songs you shared and helped us
to memorize.
You may have been the first
teacher who let me know through song what many in the LGBT Youth today crave to
hear desperatelly. In La Grande, Oregon,
you were teaching students that "It Gets Better". I realized when reading a Rolling Stones
article early last year that shared the awful devastation of LGBT Teen Suicide
in Rep Bachman's district. The
combination of events over the last 15
years in that district could have been in La Grande when I
attended. I, too, would have been one of
those horrible statistics. Then, I
remembered that in La Grande the school board at that time valued Orchestra,
Choir, and Bands. They maintained a music program that enhanced my soul, my
learning experience, and became a critical part of my education in the public
schools when I was there.
In those songs, you shared
words, rythmn and phrases that encouraged, drew me out, made me boisterous, and
even able to move - a little. What other
teachers taught me were facts and possibly how to arrive at a conclusion from
information, history and fact. What you
taught me was what I could do, who we could be, and what Truth could be for
anyone.
In the last 25 years I have
fought for equality for those in America who do not share all the benefits of
being American. I have worked in civil
rights movements, attended parades and rallies being picketed by others. I have advocated equality, peace, and
diversity for those years. And, while
doing that volunteer work in communities, I have worked in the financial
planning area.
Why do I mention this? Because if it was not for the many rythmns
and voices you managed into a cohesive presentation, my brain could not
possibly and so effortlessly provide powerful plans that include complex
economic issues with their competing personal interests. Your class taught my brain how to see a
multiple of competing voices, crafting them into areas of common strength, to
create a symphony of answers to an audience who craved a music with a message
of hope, solutions, and possibilities. I
may call it a financial plan, but more than one client has called it “music to
her ears” when I told him to go retire from work.
Today, while I would enjoy
being in a choir, I have no cause to blend more than I do, so that others might
more easily listen, even if it might bend their ears a little. And, frankly, sometimes, I do wonder whether
I could direct. My family may think that
I have always been opinionated. I will
let you know that you gave me a tune that encouraged those opinions out to
allow a scared kid to find his voice, find a path, and sing others onto it to a
better place. I’m just afraid that
someone might get distracted, because I might put my entire body into the
effort to direct that particular music, if given a chance.
I think it was time to again
say Thank You.
Your efforts at music in La
Grande High School leaves impressions on people in many places, facing many
issues, yet from songs you taught to teens growing up in Farm Country in
Eastern Oregon, they share those truths
every day, they multiply your energy, the continue the truths you shared, the
hope you dispensed, the comfort you had us explore, and the music that was
planted with all of it. Your value can
never be measured. Not even on
Facebook. But, it would be fun to know on
one ay how many voices still would come under the direction of your hands. And, what possibilities would flow from those
voices! It defies even my imagination.