After high school, I enrolled at Morris Harvey College in Charleston, supposedly to major in business administration. At about the same time I joined the 425th U.S. Army Reserve Band, stationed at South Charleston, West Virginia. I stayed in the military reserves for 10 years: before, during and after the Korean Conflict. That group was comprised of many fine local musicians, and I count that time as an important learning experience. I learned about some of the finer points of performance and playing as a real musician: execution, attention to dynamics, playing in tune, phrasing, knowing the overall effect of the piece, listening to others play their parts – thus becoming a ‘team’ player, and many more aspects of real musicianship. I also learned a little about soldiering, and the cost of war in human terms. And I count that as a very important experience, which shaped my attitude toward armed conflict, and the senseless sacrifice of human lives for the sake of politics. As actress Sally Fields said during the 2008 Presidential campaign, when the insane war in Iraq was at its brutal height, “If mothers were in charge of the world, there wouldn’t be any goddamn wars.”
Not that I’m a complete pacifist. As Barack Obama said, “I’m not opposed to war, just dumb war.” I may be just a little left of that. Speaking of the Korean Conflict, we were a Ready Reserve group, ready for instant call-up to active duty. The Korean conflict was bloody, bad, serious. And we were ready to go. Once, we were given all the Pacific Theatre inoculations, told to be packed and ready, and then the call went to another group. We heard later that group had gone to Korea, and been killed to a man — they had been stretcher bearers on the front line. Relieved that it wasn’t us? Yes. Jolted by the loss of those guys, total strangers but with a certain connection? You can’t believe how badly we felt.
At the end of my sophomore year I became an announced music major with no reservations. My interest in music pushed aside any thoughts of business administration, and I graduated in 1953 with a Bachelor of Music degree, with oboe as my performing medium. My college days were altogether happy. I lived at home, rode buses to and from classes, spent virtually all my school time engaged in music: band, choir, classes in theory, composition, and the rest. Morris Harvey was a tight-knit school, with only the athletes living on campus. All the classes were held in one building, and the enrollment was less than one thousand. Highlights of the year were the week-long choir tour and athletic events. I somehow was elected president of our junior class, an office that carried virtually no responsibilities. But I would lord it over my classmates from time to time. They never let me get by with it. Money was scarce — I paid my way with money from dance band work and weekend jobs. So like most other students, I got along as best I could, and there was little to spare for parties and the like.
I’ll say this: after all this time I am still persuaded that liberal arts education, while not terribly job-oriented, is a great way for young people to examine the world and their place in it.
Beginning in fall of 1953, I was employed as an instrumental music teacher in Kanawha County Schools in West Virginia. My first job was that of junior high school band director; I had two junior high bands and the beginner programs at ten elementary schools that fed those two bands. I was full of energy — full of myself. At the end of that year I was reassigned as band director at Sissonville High School, also in Kanawha County. During that time and later, I occasionally played oboe with the Charleston Symphony Orchestra, depending on the programmed music and the instrumentation it called for. I wasn’t really a well-schooled performer, having had only a few oboe lessons in college, and no other formal training whatever, at any time. In fact, my lack of training was a great hindrance as I never went through the regimen of practice, over and over; of spending hour after hour on mastery of the instrument: scales, arpeggios, intervals, long tones, low and high registers, embouchure, phrasing, tonguing, breath control, sight reading . . . what I learned about those skills was either by chance or by watching others. While my playing was certainly credible, it was never up to my personal standard.
I was also playing in dance bands then — mainly “big bands,” who performed 1940s -style music a la Glenn Miller, Tommy Dorsey, etc. I played in dance bands until we moved to Salem, VA in 1963. I played baritone and tenor sax, primarily. It was a great joy to play that music and to be in the local ballrooms on Saturday nights, watching people dance and have a good time.
In 1954 I added to my activities the directorship of the choir at St. George Orthodox Church in Charleston. The membership there was largely Syrian and Lebanese. I must say that arising early on Sunday mornings for church following a late dance job on Saturday night was sometimes a challenge. But worth every minute on both counts.
Our choir competed annually at the SOYA — Syrian Orthodox Youth Association — Convention, held annually in various cities with Orthodox Churches. We sang in Indianapolis, Grand Rapids, Charleston, and elsewhere. At the Charleston event we were first place winners; second place on other occasions. I could write a chapter about that experience, but in keeping with my promise of brevity I’ll just say it was an uplifting time, and the many friends I made there were a light in my life. They were and are wonderful people, and I value my continuing friendship of many of them.
By that time my activities included: my “day job” as teacher; the reserve band, the church choir, and the dance band. I was immersed in music. Two nights a week at rehearsal, two nights a week playing for dances, Sunday morning church, football halftime shows, and the rest. Had I not been young and energetic I could not have withstood the sheer physical strain of all that activity which was in addition to my 8 to 9 hour a day teaching job.
In the summer of 1956 I attended The Ohio State University, beginning a Master’s degree in Music. It turned out that that program would have taken several summers to complete due to the calendar conflicts with my teaching job (by then I had become band director at St. Albans High School), so the following summer I started over at Teachers College, Columbia University, where I took my Master’s Degree in 1959.
At Columbia, one could choose orchestral conducting as a performing medium, which I did. The program involved daily conducting instruction with a live orchestra — the students would take turns on the podium for a short time, giving way to the next student and then being critiqued by a faculty member. My buddy there was longtime friend Albert Mingrone from Logan, WV, with whom I had attended Morris Harvey. Like me, Albert was a conducting major, and we had absolutely great times at Columbia with serious music studies, as well as spending weekends at his folks’ home in White Plains, loafing downtown and going to movies, etc. I won the conducting competition once, the reward for which was conducting one movement of a symphony at the final concert in August. I won second place twice, and Albert was also a winner, so between us, the West Virginia Boys ran the board. It was there that I learned that the conductor’s baton is — or can be — in truth a musical instrument, conveying to performers much of what they need to know about how to approach a piece of symphonic music. That experience made me a far, far better teacher in the years to come.
On November 15, 1957, Carol and I were married. Most important day of my life, before or afterward. Fifty-seven years later, we still have a great time together, sharing everything a couple can and should share, and enjoying all of it. For me, it couldn’t have been a better life. To go beyond that here would be to write at length. And get this: Carol supported me unswervingly for my entire working life; never complaining about my crazy work schedule and taking on more than I should have, never fussing that I wouldn’t be home for supper, always ready with encouragement. She was in large part responsible for whatever successes I attained. It was never discussed between us; it was just a mutual understanding.
Spring of 1958: I began my time as music director with the Charleston Light Opera Guild, a volunteer organization dedicated to the production of musical shows for local presentation. The “Guild,” as we all called it, had wonderfully talented people, but was in financial difficulty at that time. Together with Tom Murphy, a South Charleston guy and high school classmate who was an enormously talented theatre person, we provided leadership for a production of Gilbert and Sullivan’s delightful “H.M.S. Pinafore.” The show was a great success, bringing the Guild back from the edge of financial failure. Following that, I was music director for several more shows, including “Oklahoma!,” “South Pacific,” “Annie Get Your Gun,” “Guys and Dolls,” “The King and I,” and several others I won’t name here. So that added two more evening rehearsals to my work calendar. I continued working with the Guild until we departed West Virginia.
My very busy music career continued, and in 1963, with our two-year-old son Patrick, we moved to Salem, Virginia, where I was named band director at Andrew Lewis High School in Salem, part of Roanoke County Schools. It was there that I finally came to full maturity as a teacher — I had been good; well, maybe better than good, before then. But it was at Andrew Lewis that my skills and my knowledge and my understanding of how young people interact with each other and with music all came together. I somehow knew deep inside (but never to say out loud) that I had finally become a really top-notch teacher, and that I would probably not get much better, nor would succeeding bands – rather; I would simply repeat the same experience year after year. And I wasn’t ready for that. Although I admire greatly those who devote an entire career to a single pursuit, I needed a new challenge. My fourteen years in the classroom had prompted questions about the lock-step manner in which students’ days were organized. I had for some time thought that I might be able to help schools become better for more students than just those I taught, and I was looking for a window.
In 1967, with great reluctance, I left the classroom to become project director for an innovative curriculum project funded by the Federal Government under the Elementary and Secondary Education Act of 1965. The project involved curriculum design for the high school (Andrew Lewis High School), using a computer to generate the master schedule. While at the time such use of computer technology was in its early childhood stage, it became old hat fairly quickly; today it seems as though it has never been any other way.
Those of us involved in the program – mainly me as director and a handful of teachers — started by adopting the idea that to develop a curriculum, one must first ask “Who are the learners?” “What classroom organizations would best foster learning?” “How can we organize time and space to accommodate more choices for kids?” The result was a school schedule that offered 130 different courses, with a broad range of elective topics. The schedule was built on 15-minute modules, “stacked” in different amounts of time depending on the course itself – the content, type of instruction, etc. Some courses met for only one hour per week; others – like lab programs — for five or so meetings per week. We went operational in September 1968, and it was one of a handful of such programs in the country. Our program evaluations, conducted by my colleague Gary Kelly, a great professional and lasting friend, showed that SAT scores improved, dropout rates were reduced, student ability for independent learning increased, and so on. Kids loved the program — they had more freedom, more interest in school. But the program was not easy for teachers . . . they had no classrooms of their own; rather, they taught in large lecture rooms, half-size rooms for small seminar groups, and labs — even for Language Arts and Social Studies. Their schedule cycles, like those of students, repeated on a weekly rather than daily basis. You can imagine the amount of data required to build the schedule for a thousand students, and the schedule itself was computer-generated.
I recognize that what we were doing cannot possible be described in one paragraph. But I can say that the program was highly successful, and later, I directed the implementation of the program in two more of our local high schools. Additionally, our computer guy, Tom Farrell, and I were called on to help other school systems with their schedules. We did that on our own time, of course, and worked with schools in Virginia, West Virginia, and New York. For more information regarding this innovative program, check my dissertation, entitled “Education Decision-Making and the Use of Computers in School Scheduling.” It’s on file in the Library of Congress.
After working with the modular scheduling program for four years, I was asked to take on another research project: year-round education. My long-time friend and fishing buddy Lloyd Parsell came on board as program evaluator, and we conducted a two-year study of year-round school for possible implementation in our system. It turned out that there was no verifiable evidence that such a program was better for learners, so the idea was dropped. Following that, I worked in other research and development projects as well as other general administrative duties as requested by the superintendent.
I must say here that while my new job was truly exciting, leaving my band kids and our music created a void in my life I never quite replaced. Especially leaving the kids — we were more a club, a brotherhood-sisterhood, a team — whatever. We were equals in many ways, and it was I who was the learner, in many ways. So there was sacrifice in going to my next adventure. Fifty years later, some of us still share phone talk, email, cards. My beloved kids, all. During that time when I first left the classroom, I entered and completed a doctoral program at Virginia Tech, located about an hour from Roanoke. I finished the program in 1975. I continued my administrative work, becoming involved in research, planning, finance and general administration. I also became an adjunct instructor for Tech, teaching graduate courses in research and statistics, and enjoyed that work for a few years.
My academic work at Virginia Tech was really exciting. The faculty with whom I worked were exceptionally smart, the courses I took were interesting, and my interactions with faculty and fellow students were highly stimulating. Aside from the writing of my dissertation, which was very enjoyable since my topic was about my current work — using computers for school scheduling, I was introduced to the world of statistics and research. I had never had much contact with math, I initially thought I’d have a hard time with statistics. It turned out that somehow it was a great match. I found both disciplines to be intuitive for me, and in class I was like a kid with a new toy. You know how your brain just naturally picks up on something, and that you “get it?” For some unknown reason, I got it. Probabilities, tests, formulas, figuring out which test to apply to a given problem, which questions to ask, how to report findings, and so on — I just got it. Don’t ask me about theoretical math; the deeper stuff – but I came to understand the basics very quickly.
I should say right here that there’s an awful lot of stuff I simply don’t “get” very well. Carol can tell you, there have been times when she — and the kids — rolled their eyes to the ceiling because whatever was being discussed simply sailed right over me.
While I have written of this person elsewhere in these pieces, I make special mention here of the guidance, mentoring and support of my major professor and committee chairman, Wayne “Dempsey” Worner. It was through his encouragement that I entered the program, and for three years he steered me through my program of studies, always helpful, always available. We became fast friends and today, forty-eight years later, we still get together occasionally, and correspond frequently. Dempsey Worner, one of my very favorite people.
By then — 1975 — all three of our children: Patrick, Leslie, and Amy, were in school, and we were a very busy and happy family. Carol literally kept the family going, taking care of, as they say, nurturing, food, clothing and shelter, organizing activities, taking kids to lessons and games, as well as being a budget and finance wizard. And that’s just for starters.
In 1980 we left Roanoke County for Greenbrier County, WV, where I had been appointed Superintendent of Schools. We were there for two years — I loved the job and my bosses said I was good at it, but concerns for our kids’ educations prompted us to move to Jamestown, North Carolina (greater Greensboro area), where I worked as Associate Superintendent of Guilford County Schools. During that time all three kids had finished high school and were at various stages of further education. Patrick left college for full-time culinary work (his first love) after two years, Leslie entered Marshall University in Huntington, WV in 1982, and Amy had begun early admission courses at the University of North Carolina – Greensboro. We lived there seven years, some good, some average, some not quite average, before my appointment as Superintendent of Schools in Spotsylvania County, VA, an area midway between Richmond and Washington D.C. Since that time, incidentally, Patrick became highly competent in all phases of the culinary arts while both Leslie and Amy finished college, and Leslie, who had worked for North Carolina State University while pursuing her Master’s degree, went on to complete a doctorate at that institution. No matter their levels of formal education, all three kids — I still think of them as “kids” — are exceedingly able, sensible, loving, principled, hard workers and fine parents who have made me proud beyond pride, and I hope they are equally proud of themselves.
After seven rewarding years in Spotsylvania County, I retired at age 65 and Carol and I moved to Pawleys Island, SC, where we now reside. This is a lovely, low-key place with a terrific climate and friendly neighborhood. I still work in my shop, camp and fish, read, bang on the piano and guitar, pester Carol, cook a bit, fix stuff around the house that needs fixing, and enjoy early morning coffee with Carol followed by a more-or-less schedule-free day. I enjoy undeserved good health — today, at least. And being a liberal and an optimist, I expect that to continue for a while. Most of the above simply describes where we lived and what I did job-wise. Needless to say, that was a small part of a much broader experience. From 1953 until now — 2012 — my life has been full of career work; parenting; sharing time with Carol and family; leisure activity — mostly camping and fishing, woodworking, reading, keeping up with music; spending time with parents and other relatives; and all those other activities that most people experience. Essentially, aside from high-pressure jobs, too many nights away from home for meetings, rehearsals, shows — all the higher degrees and professional career and arts-based background, you won’t find much here that is very different from the life of a regular, blue collar working-class person. In fact — watch this — emphatically, in fact — the resemblance is one in which I take pride. I am proud to be the product of a working class culture, and I’m very proud that I carried it into my own way of life. Somehow, I think the Hale and Farley farmers, coal miners, factory workers, who came before me would understand, and would say that was just the thing.