100 Treble Clefs

 It was 1980, if my calculations are correct. 
 
It was my first day of Young Singers of Callanwolde, and the dignified, white-haired, completely invested man in front of us gave us an assignment. Before our next rehearsal, we were to copy a treble clef 100 times. Something about Mr. Ortlip, Mr. O as we were to call him, instilled trust that such a task would be fruitful. And, of course, with his slightly intimidating demeanor that I sensed could veer into frustration if we didn’t work hard enough, I obliged. I went home, and sitting in our family room on the floor next to the brass daybed, I struggled through those treble clefs.

1. Draw one line straight down.
2. Starting again at the top, move right.
3. Cross over the line to the left, and without hesitation . . . 
4. Circle around the bottom of the line, back to the right
5. Make a few concentric swirls around the intersection between the vertical line and the second horizontal line from the bottom. 

 
They had to be precise. I struggled to circle the G with that final swirl. I tended to go too high or too low, and when I did get the G, it didn’t look as effortless as the sample. 
 
But I persisted. 98 . . . 99 . . . 100. 
 
They weren’t pretty, or easy, or elegant, but Mr. O was pleased.

Mr. O and I meet up back stage at Atlanta Symphony hall at Christmas with Robert Shaw. He was conducting Young Singers. I, as a proud alum, was singing in the Atlanta Symphony Chorus.

That was the beginning of a childhood of music-making dedicated to meeting Mr. O’s high expectations. In fact, I realize that everything I do still today goes back to those 100 treble clefs.
 
When he directed us to sit at the edge of our chair, I found the VERY edge. Still today, I take up more room at restaurants because of my chair training at Young Singers of Callanwolde.
 
When he told us to take out a piece of music, I wanted to be quick, so I made sure my music was precisely organized. Every year, I would beg my mother to purchase hole reinforcers. I would sit down in that same family room, on the floor next to the brass daybed, and reinforce all of my music, front and back. Then, on yellow legal paper, I would make two indexes: one of the pieces in library numerical order, and one in alphabetical order. I didn’t want to be the one to waste rehearsal time. My notebooks are still in order, but now in plastic sleeves. (And yes, I’m sorry to admit that some of the pieces are from Young Singers!)
 
When he told us to learn our skips to Do, I learned my skips to Re – just in case. 

~
There was something about him that I trusted completely. I knew that if did what he asked, that it would pay off. How? I wasn’t quite sure. But, I wasn’t concerned with the answer. I just worked hard. I remember struggling with my first melodic dictation, with learning skips to Fa, with disappointment in not getting THE solo (still a bit bitter about that one), with figuring out how to transcribe the rhythm to “Bah Bah Black Sheep, Have you Any Wool?” I worked regularly on my music outside of rehearsal and hoped to be the first one to raise my hand to answer every question in rehearsal – simply because he inspired me to. Yes, I got teased, but the teasing came from a place of love, so it was okay. Mr. O asked me to work hard, so I did.
 

Mr. and Mrs. O at my high school graduation.

As I sit here, watching a live feed Mr. O’s memorial service, I understand the payoff. He inspired me to persevere and work through the challenges, so that the music could become a part of me. With every skill he pushed me to learn, every challenge he directed me to face, and every harmony he inspired to perfect, he gave me the tool of life-long music. 
 
He gave me the will to struggle through 100 treble clefs so that those five steps would eventually become one natural, elegant swoop. He gave me the courage to push through all of the hard parts of music, so that music would eventually become a part of me. 
 
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In addition, he was always there for me – there at every Young Singers rehearsal to challenge me, there at my high school graduation, with me at my first performance with the Atlanta Symphony Chorus, and even a at my wedding. 
 
He also gave me friends, experiences, and music that have shaped who I am. And for that I am eternally grateful. 
 
But mostly, he gave me the joy of the struggle. ​