Tuesday, August 24, 2021 My Mom, the Choir Director

I joined a small church choir in my junior year of high school at my mother’s behest when she was the choir director. Although I was a little apprehensive, I figured it might be a good experience. That first night with the choir was almost like a Garrison Keillor story come to life, only we weren’t “Luderans,” we were Methodists. Most of the choir members were over 60, a few were in their 40s and 50s and then there was me and one of the pastor’s sons, both in high school.

Mom put me with the sopranos, I think, and I found myself sitting with little Mary D., a delightful old German lady. As my mom led the choir, she would direct comments to specific people and I began to get to know this eclectic cast of characters. There was the other Mary, Mary R., who sat near me as well. She was a compulsive talker, the kind that makes you want desperately to look at your watch to see how much time is being stolen from you. I liked her, too, in spite of that. I liked everybody and since I was so young, they all treated me quite affectionately, not unlike a mascot. Charlotte G. was one of the altos and her husband George was a tenor. Charlotte was the outgoing sort, while George was shy, with large ears that turned red whenever he was embarrassed. Another couple in the choir was Shot and Francie P. Yes, everyone called him “Shot.” I’m not sure what his real name was. He was a real character though, often making jokes. I believe the oldest member of the choir (other than Mary D.) was probably Austin, one of the basses. My mom often said he must have had quite a lovely voice in his youth. He still sang well, but with the increased vibrato that often accompanies old age. Bev R., the pastor’s wife, was also in the choir. She was a good looking woman with a charming smile, a winning personality and a cheerful spirit. How I liked and admired her!

However, the star of the show was definitely none other than my mom, Mary B. My eyes were opened that night and for the first time, I felt a little awe about who my mom was and what she was able to do. She was absolutely brilliant with her handling of the choir. She kept a good sense of humor, but really expected the best that she could get out of this somewhat rag-tag group of singers. I still remember that we were doing a song called “Go and Tell John.” The notes for that phrase were all eighth notes, of equal value. In spite of that, a large contingent of the group kept singing it “Go and TELL JOHN, giving the last two notes twice as long a time as they were supposed to get. My mom kept stopping everybody and singing it herself so people could hear the difference, and then they’d sing it just as they had been before. (It reminds me now of when we tried to teach the twins how to say the word “spaghetti.” I’d have them repeat each syllable after me: “spa” “ghet” “ti,” which they could do perfectly, but every time I’d tell them “Okay, now say the whole word,” they’d say “bahsketti!”)

It took a long time for Mom to get through to everybody, but eventually everyone towed the line. She was patient, gracious, exacting, skilled, enthusiastic, and so good humored. I could tell she was extremely well liked among the choir members and for good reason. She made them sound good.

It’s funny how you don’t actually appreciate who your parents are until you get to a certain age. That was the day it happened for me, at least with my mom. How about for you?

I’ll probably delete this when the choir directing baton is pointed at me.