Monument School’s Spring Concert went well. Quite well. Actually, it was the most rewarding concert of which I have been a part. The kids were terrific. It has been almost a week since the concert, and I am sorry for not writing sooner. Immediately after the concert I drove to Fossil and Condon to work with my colleague out there. I was tired and just wanted to drink a beer, to take a deep breath. My computer also refuses to connect with his wi-fi, so I couldn’t post anything… These are the excuses I could give you, and they would be true. They would, however, not be the entire truth.

As the concert came to a close I thought about what I might say. There was the high school rock band that actually got a couple of people dancing. Fourth graders sang a cappella in three-part harmony and hammered out their own body percussion parts. Certainly, that was the most advanced thing I had ever seen any group of young boys perform. Perhaps I could tell you the story of the young man, sixth grader, that ran up to me with his parents and embraced me saying, “Thank you.” There was a music teacher that choked back tears as his kids sang “We Shall Overcome.” In the end there was a young student of music that stood back and watched a town come together.

These musings have gathered a dedicated following. At least, a following of more than just my parents. I fear that telling you simply how great the kids were is kind of anti-climatic. Did anybody think that they were going to fail? Certainly, I was nervous, but in their ability I had confidence and they in mine. All of the aforementioned happened, and more. Thus, in terms of during the concert, everything was exceptional. Many of them performed as they ought, many more performed greater than expected. Most of them want to know what’s next. Therein lies the lesson of the evening. The work is not finished.

A handful of children want to continue with lessons, and so we shall. The high school rock band has the inaugural Monument Music Festival on May 31st. Younger kids want to know if they can finally play music games and listen to all those pieces that I needed to set aside. Do not worry, they will become impatient with me if we do not continue with music. Indeed the concert went well, but the kids reminded this beleaguered conducting student that the great work of music is learning about it and sharing it with each other. A concert is like a palate cleanser at the end of a gourmet dinner. You did all this work to finally achieve one little goal, and the point of that goal is to prepare you for tomorrow.

So today I walked into my room, and started working again. As stands were raised, and instruments were tuned we took a moment to remember what had been. Abruptly, kids took a look at their charts and asked, “What do we start with?”

Back stage before a show there is always a peculiar red glow. All stage and house lights are black, but back stage a few red lights remain lit. They are dull and eerie, and they exude a sense of anticipation. The performers are anxious yet hopeful. Such was the mood in Monument this evening. With smoke to our north and storms to our south the sky shown a brilliant red for much of the afternoon and evening. There is no escape from the eagerness of my students and the community. Freedom from the manacles of my nerves will have to wait until tomorrow’s performance, for even as I climbed the hills out of the valley that red light followed me.

Tomorrow is the performance, and it is the end of my year. At least, it is a sort of false ending. Only one class has another performance, and school will end in three weeks! I am nervous for the kids. For many of them this is their last performance with me, and it should be perfect. They have worked hard for it. These worries shall wait until tomorrow. Today my students, instead, decided to celebrate National Teacher Appreciation Week.

One of my students baked me a cake. It was delicious and I was tickled by the thought. My favorite gift, however, came from a third grader. This particular third grader is one of my favorite students. She has a sister that is much older than her, so I think that she is used to conversing with adults. This precocious third grader is comfortable with everyone and is also quite caring.

This is the same third grader that picked daffodils for me and put them on my classroom windowsill. She is my confidant and sage. She has given me the gift of great wisdom, for this outspoken child decided that it was her responsibility to give Mr. Johnston some dating advice…

In the middle of a piano lesson she looked at me and said, “Mr. Johnston, you need to shave your beard. Girls don’t like beards. They smell funny and are scratchy.” I did my best to ignore her and urge her to continue playing, but she remained obstinate. Finally, we made a deal: If she could finish the piece and fix two measures, than we could sit and talk for five minutes. She succeeded, so I was forced to keep my end of the bargain. This is the synopsis of the conversation:

“Mr. Johnston, you really should shave your beard more. You need to trust me on these things.”

“What things?” I asked.

“Marriage advice.”

“Marriage advice!” I was perplexed. “What do I need marriage advice for? I don’t want to get married.”

“Yes, you do,” she informed me.

“Well, not now.”

“But someday you do, and I am worried it might not happen. So you need to take my advice, because you deserve it. First shave your beard. Also, don’t wear shorts. You have really hairy legs, and girls don’t like hairy legs.”

“But all guys have hairy legs,” I retorted. “Nothin’ I can do about it.”

“True. But they’re disgusting, so you need to hide ‘em. Always. Now, take off your glasses.” This is a girl who exhibits very strong leadership skills, as you can tell. I decided to acquiesce. “Hmm – I don’t know. Put ‘em back on. Wait! No. Well… No, take ‘em off. Yup! Just what I thought. Now, you need to go back to wearing contacts. Finally, you need to cut your hair. You look better with shorter hair. Trust me.” She was finished. It was all out of her system.

“Wait a second. Why should I take advice from you? I can do fine on my own.” That was a stupid thing for me to say. I completely deserved what happened next.

“Ugghhh! I was afraid you’d say that. I’m a girl. I know these things. You are a guy, so you will never understand. Just trust me, please.” She started playing piano again.

That all happened Monday. Last night, I do not know why, but I decided to shave my beard. Today, when the third graders walked into my classroom both of the guys looked at me like someone attempting to decipher an Ikea instruction booklet. “You look weird,” one of them said. “What did you do to yourself.”

“He shaved!” our heroine shouted. “There is hope for you, after all.”

Tonight was Long Creek’s concert, and so this chapter shall come to a close. This was the last event in Long Creek’s school year; so while there may still yet be a few days to teach, everything is done.

The concert went well. Much of the community came out to support the kids. In a town of 150 people it feels good when you get fifty of them to show up to anything. Suffice it to say there were more than fifty. All the kids played and sang well. Most importantly everybody did better at the concert than in rehearsal this morning.

These moments are the easiest to lean on when we are asked why we teach, but it is the small things we see that motivate us. I remember graduating from college and noticing that the president didn’t mingle after the ceremony. Instead he stood apart and smiled as he watched all his pupils spill forth their pride. After a while he started wondering in the crowd and would eavesdrop on students’ ambitions. I always thought that was weird, but now I understand.

What struck me most at the concert was seeing kids who were shaken by nerves stand in front of an audience calm and still. What I noticed was that those two kids who looked at their feet during rehearsals stood tall tonight. What I noticed was forty kids proud of the work they accomplished. They sung out and danced to the “Banana Boat Song.” They sung more fervently and held hands as they sang “We Shall Overcome” powerfully enough to remind us all of the story.

Now I get it. I understand why Dr. Eastman stood apart and simply reflected. It was their night tonight, and I was content to let them have all of it. That is why we teach.

When the hall was cleaning out one of my voice students came up to me… “Mr. Johnston, I don’t know if you are a hugging person but I am so-”

I am not a hugging person. Not at all. Especially with students. Quickly her arms wrapped around me. I was relieved to see her mom pointing and laughing at the situation, so I patted her on the back. “You did well,” I told her.

“Yeah. You really annoyed me. Ya know that. Working with you, well – you were always so picky. But I get why now. Thanks! Can we keep singing?”

“We can always do more.”

The Long Creek concert is this Wednesday. A week later is Monument’s, and after that – very little. For the most part I will be sitting in my trailer waiting for my contract to release me from the isolation of the wide open, desolate, East Oregon prairie. There will be some work to do. The high school will need to prepare for one last, short performance on May 30th. Also near the end of May will be a fundraising recital given by, well, me! In Long Creek, however, there will be nothing.

I am excited for the show on Wednesday. The kids will do well, and a few of them have come a long ways. Still I feel at times as though I have left Long Creek School behind me. For two months I did not teach there, while the music program suffered. Now I only teach in Long Creek every other week, so my relationships with the students suffered. This made it difficult to work. Perhaps I am looking forward to the concert not only so that I can hear my students, but also so that I may finally say that my work at Long Creek is done.

It will be a relief to have the work finished in one school. My classes in Long Creek will still likely meet, and I will be there, but there is no longer a goal on the horizon. Students are already beginning to tell me that they will be gone for a couple of days here and there. One of my middle schoolers marches through the door every morning and proclaims, “Well Mr. Johnston, sixteen days left.” The next morning, “Fifteen days left.” “Fourteen,” etc. As the numbers decrease her smile and volume increase.

This year has taught me that I enjoy teaching, and you become close with many of your students. When the end of year comes, no matter how great it has been, you are ready for it. While there may be three weeks left after the concert, in many ways the Long Creek concert will mark my goodbye. So I come to the end of my work with one school, and I trust that I have made a difference. There were many things that went wrong, but a few that went right.

My goal was to reach one student. On Wednesday night I trust that my students will send me off well, for while there I may not have converted any students in Long Creek to seek classical or folk music their ears have at least been opened. They now listen intently, and even the shyest now smile when they sing. All of the students heard the stories of our artistic identity and were encouraged to explore their own unique artistic values. No, I may not have convinced a student to someday go hear an orchestra, but all of them were reached. That, it may well be, is even better than changing one.

The concert in Long Creek is only one week away, and Monument’s two. A few weeks ago I wrote about how weary I am. I wrote that it is time to move on from these sleepy towns. Much of my stress was from kids just not getting it. It happens. Some things take time, and often more time than they should. Maybe it is the teacher; maybe it is the student. Maybe it is simply that Providence set stars in our courses to see if we truly are inspired educators.

I think that I speak for most teachers if I say that we can be idealistic. Teaching is something that requires a belief that you can make a difference in a child’s life. If you do not believe you can change the world, and that you are obliged to do so, the joy of teaching will quickly diminish. That is what teaching is about after all. It is not just spelling, math, or in my case music. Anybody, truly I tell you, can do that. Teaching is about realizing the potential in young people and demanding they exceed it. When your students continually fail to even meet their basic potentials you will lose faith.

“This is hopeless,” you are bound to say. We have all been there. Many, perhaps even your colleagues, will tell you that you push too much. Perhaps your expectations are just too high. If you are young like me, it is important to be stubborn at these points. Let me tell you why…

Three weeks since first believing that all was lost, my students got it. My kindergarteners are keeping steady beats and singing in tune. Third grade, all of them have their music memorized and can sing “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot” with passion. Partner songs and harmony? That’s easy. The fourth graders will tell you all about them, and they will probably want to demonstrate “Yonder Come Day” for you. Why hold off until middle school to sing such difficult rep? “Start ‘em young!” the adage goes. Grades five and six know their music well, and just started to understand the concept of healthy vocal tone.

The high schoolers in Monument may be the most inspired. One girl came in last week and asked me if she could play more complicated rhythms for one of the songs. “I practiced for a couple of hours last night, and got bored. Then I just thought, ‘Alright, I’ll make it harder.’” Today, was the best. We got through our set in twenty minutes. We went back to polish some lines then started talking about class after the concert.

“Can we keep playing?” one girl asked. Where inquiry was met with exuberance. We talked about what we were going to do, and what we would play for. They decided that we are going to have a second concert. It is going to be a fundraiser so that they can get a new drum set. Too hard? Definitely not.

An entire set, complete with stage lighting and props had been set on the gym floor. Truly, it was an impressive sight. The small town gymnasium had been transformed into a theater. The audience was seated and buzzing about what to expect. People had come from across the county to see the production. There was silence back stage and the pianist took his seat. There is a tension that hangs in the air while the orchestra waits for their cue to begin playing the overture. Even with just one lone player sitting at a piano, tuned like a used car, there is still that tension. The house lights go black, and the overture begins…

It is a rousing piece. Fanfare, glissandi, marches, cantabile ballads, and even a little calypso are included. The audience quiets down like a record player whose plug was pulled. A crashing chord brings the piece to the end. Entré the – wait! Where’s the cast? There is silence. Time crawls at a glacial pace. Do I play the overture again? I can’t do that. Maybe I can make something up. I look down at the keys and think of something to play, “Shit! My fly is open,” I say to myself. Now I’ve got two problems. No cast, and an open fly that I can’t fix because all of Monument is staring at me.

“Haha! That’s it. We need to get a new music teacher!” the chairman of school board shouts. Thank the Lord somebody broke the silence. People begin to laugh, and then I notice that there is nobody backstage. Turns out that it was just a power surge, which blew out the gym lights but not the stage lights. Five minutes later the kids arrive backstage. Five more minutes and the lights flick, again. This time it was for real, and the show begins.

The children did a fabulous job. No lines were forgotten and they sang wonderfully. The girl playing the Pied Piper even snuck some of the Lord of Rings Theme into her recorder playing, but sadly I think I am the only one that caught it. Nonetheless, is was a terrific evening. All of the kids were clearly very proud of themselves, and so many of them never get to experience the magic of theater out here.

Most fun to watch was how the high schoolers all came together. They stopped worrying about who was a nerd, and who was a jock. All of them smiled through the whole performance and even ended up writing a script this week. Now they hope to put together their own production. I have been told that it is for the silver screen. It is great to see young people so inspired. Certainly, they deserve going out on a creative limb after tonight.

It has been two full weeks. Last week I was teaching in both towns. While I had help this week in Long Creek, Missoula Children’s Theater is also in Monument to put on a production of the Pied Piper with all the kids. On top of that production, we have worked hard preparing for concerts in just two weeks! To think the year is almost over.

There is much to tell, but for now I will focus on the theater production and save the antics of children for later.

I walked into the gymnasium Monday morning to see how rehearsal was starting with the Missoula Children’s Theater. Assuming that many of you don’t know about “the little red trucks” of MCT, let me say this… The company sends two people out to a town to cast kids in a musical. They provide all the lighting, costumes, staging, etc. The town has to provide the cast and the pianist, that’s me.

The kids absolutely love the program. In Monument, all the K-6 graders must participate, but it is optional for grades 7-12. Of course, most of the high schoolers don’t want to take part. They are far too cool to prance around on stage with their younger siblings! (Let me take a moment to thank my older brothers for not being too cool. They came to all shows.) When I walked into rehearsal, however, I was proud to see that all of my high school students went out for the show. Naturally, they convinced most of their friends to join along.

Evidently the faculty at Monument have brought MCT to the school for years. A great foundation has been laid for the kids there. Having the show this week has re-inspired the kids to practice. It so much fun to sit at the piano and see kids do things they thought they couldn’t. Many of them have expressed to me how nervous they are. “But then I just remember how you always tell me to sing with more courage,” one girl said remarking about her nerves.

When I first came to Long Creek and Monument I wanted to teach kids great music. That is no longer my main goal. They have taught me that it is possible to teach young people courage, teamwork, creative and critical thinking skills. Those are the most fun to teach, and music is simply a great way to teach them. Yes, I came back from spring break worn, weary, and woebegone. My students have reminded me that I can still be ambitious and there is still a lot they have left to accomplish. This show with Missoula Children’s Theater will be a great example of that. Looking forward to tomorrows performance. Break a leg!

I returned, last week, from Spring Break to a body of students rested and relieved. For all of them the break was needed, and it was needed for their teacher too. This does not mean it was easy to come back from…

My break was nice, but that is not what made it difficult to return. It is now well into my eighth month out here on the range. During my time out here I have learned many things. To be honest, I enjoy working with children more than I thought I would. When it comes to private lessons, I am really good. Music appreciation, not bad. Often I am a little didactic, but good. When it comes to planning concerts and teaching the elementary aspects of music, that is not my strength.

Much patience is required of teachers. Especially teachers working with developmental musicians. Understand the older the child, the slower they are able to emulate basic music skills. These would be skills like matching a pitch or tone color with their voice. They also, generally, are less willing to engage their bodies, or dance, the older they get. This makes it difficult to teach rhythms and the music of other cultures. With the young ones patience is lost going over the minutia.

“No Megan, this is middle C,” you say for the third time. The lesson is thirty minutes long, and so far you have gotten through ten minutes. You try to remind yourself that last week you had already reminded her four times, thus improvement has been made. This has little affected on your overall sense of accomplishment. Ten minutes, three very gentle reminders, and many deep breaths later you begin to think that you would be better off trying to hammer nails into a brick wall. Coming back to this environment is tough, and it is time for my next adventure.

In the mean time, it is time to get my hands dirty and try to wring a concert out of these kids in the next four weeks. After that it is easy, for there is only month left of the school year. Two months until freedom. I never realized as a student that my teachers were probably even more excited for the year to end than I was.

The time has finally come. Spring break, at 7:30pm March 21st, arrived with a great sigh. It came in and overtook its weary passenger with mirth, and the prospect of both rest and adventure. Tomorrow I go back to Minnesota. It will be my first journey on a transcontinental train. The Empire Builder is a famous route and I am excited to see what its treasures are. It will only be a week of break, but it will suffice. Still, after such a troubled year I wonder what is going to make me get on the train and head west back out to this barren, frontier land.

My parents, at the end of my visit, will probably pin a twenty to my collar and wish me the best of luck if I choose not to return. I like to think the towns of Long Creek and Monument would also come and hunt me down if I ditched them. But what will put me back on the train is my kids. It is remarkable how close one comes to their pupils, however obstreperous they may be. I have learned there is a great appetite for good music out here. What more fitting way to celebrate Bach’s coming birthday than reflecting on how badly we need music that truly lifts the soul, strengthens the tender heart?

Today, one of my piano students started her first Bach two-part invention! “This is my first real song,” she said. This is not true. She has played dozens of other simple songs and etudes, but the “Two-Part Invention Nr. 1″ is the first stimulating song she has ever had. It is the first song she has been assigned that will intellectually stimulate her, and challenge her with communicating something in the abstract. It was this exuberant reaction that made me think about how starved children are for good music education.

In past posts I wrote a little about teaching the kids in Monument about Marion Anderson, and I am now going through the same curriculum in Long Creek. The kids love it! They are amazed by her rich, dynamic voice. Credit must be given to the music that she sings. The composers she picked are sublime, and her interpretations are original yet colloquial. No matter what you think of opera and negro spirituals, it cannot be denied they are great music. We are all still to far inside the cave to understand what is innate about her music that makes it superior, but we are all aware that it is there. This makes it easy and fun to teach.

One thing I do not shy from when teaching the kids about her is the accompanying civil rights story and history, but that is also what makes her music unique. This is also why the kids like her music so much. When you learn the story behind the singer, and the meaning of the songs, it means more to you. For our students it teaches them the value of dreaming and of perseverance. It also teach us, musicians, that good music is good. Forever and always. Amen. That may be bad rhetoric, a baroque use of words, but put it another way… Bach has been around for 300 years and he’ll be around for another 300. We just have to make sure to keep telling the story to young people.

Hordes gather round the town favorite to wish him and his “Rocinante” luck. Some even try their ability to saddle up.

“Why are writing about donkey basketball?!” the informed reader exclaims. This journal has become a joke. A Haydnesque, trite piece of filler. Such were the thoughts when writing about donkey basketball passed through my head. Nonetheless, this is an important subject, and it is one that has everything to do with music.

1. While they never go hand-in-hand, a good musician should explore athletic talents. it is important for us to be humbled and not sit on a piano bench for eight hours. I decided to sit on my ass and get a workout instead.

2. Teaching causes stress. A lot of stress. The chief cause of stress is parents followed closely by students. Few teachers in the world are provided with an opportunity where they are expected, encouraged even, to push students/parents off a donkey. I was provided this opportunity, and it relieved a great deal of angst.

3. It was school fundraiser. Was it not important for me to support other programs, such as FFA and Monument athletics? A good teacher and community member must humor his constituents. So I acquiesced to requests that Mr. Johnston ride a donkey and make an ass himself.

Like singing and piano, good posture is needed to reach a proper dynamic with the creature.

Teams needed to be picked for the game. Though I was late coming to the circle, the girls basketball coach still shouted out, “We get the music teacher!” It was the first time that this music nerd had ever been picked first. Would this bode well for the tournament? The chairman of the school board was on the other team. Donkey basketball is a contact sport, so how aggressively can go after him?

The first game was a sound victory for us. Without the capability to substitute players we still beat the other adult team by more than doubling their baskets. We would go on to the championship game against the students of Dayville, Monuments co-opting school.

We would go into the half down by a basket. The kids had been brutal and I fell off my ass bruising my shoulder. Don’t worry, I got right back on. Dan Patch, that’s what I named my steed, was beginning to fatigue. He was no longer hustling down the court, and was often running the opposite direction of the herd. We did climb out of the hole, and ended up winning soundly, 10-7.