LETTERS From CAMP Rehoboth |
CAMP Arts |
by Doug Yetter |
Music Is My Life
Readers of this column, and friends of the columnist, are aware that I have played piano and made my living as a musician for the majority of my life. I was one of those lucky guys who just knew what I wanted to do from a very young age and never really had to do anything else. My grandmother, who spent her career in retail, said that if I practiced my piano I might avoid having to ring a cash register for a living. She was right. Cole Porter wrote "Never, never be an artist Unless you want to have a wonderful life!" and how true that statement has been for me. I have had a wonderful life in the arts, and it ain't over yet. One of the frequent comments I hear from audience members is that they wish they had either taken piano lessons or had stayed with them. People always ask me how I got my start, so I tell them "the story." Over the years I've told "the story" so often, that I don't know if I've ever really thought about the entire back-story. What I've come to realize is that, even with whatever natural talent I had, there were people throughout my life that became invaluable mentors. Because I've had many who acted in this capacity over the course of my career, and I want the stories to be accurate, this may take more than a few columns to adequately recognize all of them. It makes sense to start with my family, since people always wonder if I came from a musical family. As we all know, "It's not where you start, it's where you finish" so, let's get started. My Mom was born in Huron, South Dakota but contracted polio in McPherson, Kansas at the age of six, changing her life forever. After years of experimental treatments to re-invigorate her nerves and muscles to no avail, it was suggested that she study voice to help rebuild her lungs. She was moved to Colorado for therapy at the Spears Chiropractic Hospital, and began her vocal studies at the "Rolling House of Music" with Maxine Miller in 1953. Mom not only built up her lungs, but built a nice repertoire of songs and gave performances for various groups, acting primarily as a singing poster girl for March of Dimes. I have a scrapbook filled with dozens of yellowed newspaper clippings with the same basic shotMom standing behind a microphone, braces on her legs, her Canadian-style crutches on each arm, singing "You'll Never Walk Alone" to groups throughout the west and mid-west. Along the way, she purchased a Martin ukulele as a way to accompany herself for more informal singing jobs and joined a group of performers who were all disabled in some way called "The Ramblin' Wrecks." Another scrapbook contains hundreds of pictures of this group having the time of their lives, despite the unfortunate circumstances which had brought them together. Two of the performers in the group were Lorna and Leon Kraft. Lorna hailed from Paxton, Nebraska and had developed polio as a teenager, and her husband Leon who was from Kansas and had become a paraplegic in the Korean War. Lorna played piano and Leon played guitar and sang a lot of Hank Williams songs. As a small child I remember asking Lorna if I could play her piano Friday nights after the "Ramblin' Wrecks" had finished their rehearsal and retired to the kitchen for an evening of beer and Canasta. For my fourth birthday I asked my folks for a piano. I was told that they wouldn't buy a piano unless I took lessons. "You can't just fool around like you do at Lorna's!" I was quite clear that I wouldn't have asked for a piano unless I wanted to learn to play. After a few weeks of talks between us to ensure that I was serious, an evaluation was held with Mom's old voice teacher, Maxine Miller. Mrs. Miller taught me to read music well enough in that hour that I could play two songs. Dad got a second job so that they could buy a $400 Cable Nelson spinet piano and pay for lessons. I've only recently found out what a sacrifice it was for my Dad on many levels. My parents' marriage wasn't going so well, so the second job afforded my mother the opportunity to spend evenings looking for his replacement. Dad is also the most completely tone-deaf individual I've ever met. He doesn't know the difference between "Jingle Bells" and "The Star-Spangled Banner" unless you sing the words, so to him my piano practicing sounded like little more than pounding on tin. In retrospect, I now understand the look on his face at my piano recitals. Mom's ukulele books were the way I learned to play chords. I spent hours with her uke, figuring out what notes made what chords and then transferred them to the piano. I learned hundreds of old standards from "Five Foot Two" and "Sweet Georgia Brown" to "Cold, Cold Heart" and "Sweet Leilani" out of these books. As a musician, it was a huge advantage to have the ability to play from a lead sheet (just the melody line with chords) as well as being able to read full piano scores. I also became Mom's accompanist for gigs from her grandparents' 50th anniversary to soloing at our church. The most fun we had was just singing around the piano and harmonizing on songs like "Sentimental Journey" and "Carolina in the Morning." Learning to sing harmony or even quod libet (where two songs can be sung simultaneously) was invaluable to me as a musician. So, ultimately I guess it was polio that started me playing piano. My family isn't particularly musical, and I'm not sure Mom would have developed an interest in music on her own. Heck, I'm not sure that I would have made the choice to be a musician if it wasn't for Mom and her group of musical friends. Mom passed away Labor Day weekend of 2002, while I was performing the opening number at the Sundance Auction at the Convention Center. 08/08/08 would have been her 71st birthday. I'm encouraging all of you to have music in your lives. Don't let that niece or grandson miss the chance to study clarinet or piano. Join a choir or chorus and sing. The Clear Space Chorus performs choral arrangements of popular music (ClearSpace Productions.org) and the Southern Delaware Choral Society performs classical music (sdchoralsociety.org). Both groups start rehearsals in a few weeks. Take that guitar out of the closet and see if you still remember "Proud Mary" or "Blowin' in the Wind" or just attend a concert and support the arts. It's good for the soul.Doug Yetter loves to hear from his readers. You may contact him at dyetter@ClearSpaceProductions.org. |
LETTERS From CAMP Rehoboth, Vol. 18, No. 12 August 22, 2008 |