Riverland
Terrace School had a program that provided music lessons to students. Together with Leonard’s School of Music
students were able to rent instruments and take lessons during school
hours. This arrangement had been very
good for those musically inclined. All those who signed up were not necessarily
worthy.
One day in
1955 a representative from Leonard’s School of music entered our classroom. He
smiled and place several boxes on the teacher’s desk. We sat attentively eyes
forward with question marks reflected therein.
“Children,”
said our teacher. “Mr. Leonard is here to test your aptitude for music. Some of
you will enjoy this next half hour. I want you all to give him your devoted
attention.”
We sat
straighter in our desks swiveling our heads to smile at friends or, in my case,
with a look of perplexity. My only real
encounter with music during my short life had been my mother’s love of singing.
She was a member of the choir at church.
She had a lovely voice which I did not truly appreciate at that early
age of 9. I wasn’t a big fan of Mario Lanza whose works my mother loved. She
had several of his records which she played often.
Mr. Leonard
brought me back to class with his booming voice.
“All right,
children. I’m going to pass out some papers I want you to hold onto until I can
get my equipment to work. On these papers I will ask you to mark the questions
asked after each sound issues from my speaker here.”
He turned to
the black box on the desk. It was plugged into the wall. There was a click as
the pressed the switch. The speaker wailed a screechy noise.
“AAAH!” we
all screamed slamming our palms over our ears.
“Sorry.
Sorry.” He said adjusting the black box through knobs protruding from the top. “OK,
that should do it.”
He turned to
the class.
“If you will
look at the paper in your hands you will see questions one through ten. I am
going to issue some sounds through this amplifier and I want you to mark on the
sheet what you hear. The first question asks if the two sounds you are about to
hear sound the same to you. It’s a very
simple succession of such questions. With the answers we will see if you would
be good at taking music lessons. Those of you who score high would have a good
chance of learning to play an instrument quickly with a great deal of
enjoyment. Those who don’t do well probably wouldn’t have any interest in
playing an instrument and it would save you the trouble of learning the hard
way.”
The first
sounds came through the speaker.
“Let me play
those sounds again.” The two sounds issued from the speaker again.
“Mark yes or
no to the first question. Did those sounds seem the same to you.”
The next 9
questions were repeated in the same manner.
I could not
distinguish the sounds so well and my answers were questionable to me. So I
answered them with guesses each time.
When we had
answered number 10 Mr. Leonard asked us to pass the papers up front after we
placed our names at the top. While the rustling of papers proceeded to the
front he packed up his equipment. The teacher handed the stack of papers to
him.
“Al l right,
let’s see how we did.” He quickly looked
through them. He placed a mark at the top of several of them, then, looked at
the class.
“I see
several of you have very high marks. I would very much like to speak with those
children.”
Having
always achieved high marks on all my tests thus far, I sat expectantly for my
name to be called.
Four
classmates were called to the front of the room. I wasn’t one of them.
Those four
huddled around Mr. Leonard at the desk. Their talk was done in quiet tones.
When finished the four, all smiles, returned to their seats.
“Thank you,
children.” He said after which he picked up his boxes and left.
I was aghast
at not having been asked to the front to speak with him along with the other
four. I’d never failed a test. It was my first failure. I didn’t know how to
react. The rest of the day was a loss for me. I simply could not get over
receiving no recognition of making a good grade on a test.
The teacher
closed the door after he left.
“Well,
children, that was fun wasn’t it?”
The
classroom began to buzz with yeses and noes.
“Why did so
many fail?” The shout came out of my mouth without thought.
“What do you
mean, Rickey? That wasn’t a test.”
“It sure
seemed like one.” I shot back.
“I can see
where you might feel that way but it was just a means of seeing if anyone was
inclined toward music.”
“Do we get
to see our grades?” asked another student.
“There were
no grades.”
“Why did he
call them up to the front?” asked another pointing to the four.
“The
questions indicated that those particular students have an aptitude for music.
He wanted to see if any of them were interested in learning to play an
instrument.”
“What if we
wanted to play one? Does that mean we can’t?” another student asked.
“No, of
course not. The music program is for anyone who wants to learn. It just so
happens that this test provides information about a student’s ability to
distinguish sounds. It has been a very good guide for the music teachers to see
which children will have an easier time learning to play. All right, I think we’ve
given enough time to this. Let’s get out your readers.”
Her
explanation did nothing to ease the sense of failure in my mind. The day droned
on until the final bell. I walked across the golf course and across Maybank
Highway for home.
That weekend
my mother was concerned about my mood.
“Rickey,
what’s wrong?”
“Nuttin’,
Momma.”
“I know you
better than that. What’s wrong, honey?”
“We had to
take a test last week and I failed.”
“You don’t
fail tests. What subject was it?”
“It was
something to do with music. We had 10 questions and I didn’t pass.”
“Let me see
that test paper.”
“They didn’t
give it back to us. He kept them.”
“He? Who’s
he?” she asked.
“Some guy from
the music school on Maybank Highway.”
“You mean
Leonard’s School of Music?”
“Yes’m. It
was Mr. Leonard. He kept the test papers.”
“How do you
know you failed?”
“‘Cause he
called the four who passed up to the front of the room. He didn’t call me. So I
musta failed.”
“I don’t
remember you telling me you had to study for a music test.”
”I didn’t know about it. None of us did. He
said it would tell him who could take music lessons and who couldn’t.”
“I’m going
to call your teacher to find out about this.”
She went directly
to the phone.
I went into
my room. I knew my momma would straighten it out. She’d find out why they gave
a test without giving us time to study. She’d get it straight. I grabbed a
Mighty Mouse funny book and plopped on my bed.
Half way
through Mighty Mouse mom came into my room.
“That test
isn’t something you have to worry about, Rickey. It’s not part of your grades.
It’s only an aptitude test. They’re just trying to find out who would like to
be involved with music.”
“So, since I
failed I can’t take music?”
“No. Have
you ever wanted to play a musical instrument?”
“I don’t
know. I never thought about it.”
“What
instrument would you like to play?” She asked not expecting an answer.
“What is that
thing Harry James plays?” I asked with a new light in my eyes.
“He plays
trumpet. Do you want to play the trumpet?” My mother asked with a touch of
disbelief in her tone.
“Yes!” I
said with real enthusiasm. At that moment I wanted to play the trumpet with all
my heart.
“Why don’t
you ask your teacher what you need to do to learn. We’ll see after that.”
Monday
morning came and I was in the classroom at the teacher’s desk first thing.
“Teacher?”
“Yes,
Rickey. What do you need?”
“My mom
asked me to ask you what I need to do to learn how to play the trumpet.” My face
beamed with a huge smile.
“Do you want
to play the trumpet?” She asked with a touch of disbelief in her tone.
“Yes Ma’am!”
“If you feel
that strongly then take these papers home and have your parents fill them out
then bring them back to me. I’ll see
that Mr. Leonard gets them.”
The
following week Mr. Leonard came into the classroom. He requested the four
students already chosen to come with him. As they stepped out into the hall he
turned back and said, “Rickey Croucher, will you come with us too?”
With a huge
smile on my face I jumped up and ran to the door.
“Yes sir!” I
said.
We walked
down the hall to another classroom. It was here that the music lessons were
taught.
The five of
us sat down in respective desks.
Mr. Leonard
stood in front of us.
“Each of you
has signed up to learn how to play a musical instrument. I’ve brought each of
you the one you have requested. Your parents have agreed to the rental fees so
let’s not disappoint them.”
I squirmed
in my chair as he called each student by name. Up to the table in front they
marched. Mr. Leonard opened the case to each instrument and placed it in the
student’s hand. He gave a few minutes explanation about that particular piece.
He then closed the case and handed it to the pupil.
“Rickey,
come on up,” he said smiling.
I rushed to
the table. There sat my case with my very own trumpet. My excitement rose.
He opened
the case. He picked up the instrument in all its splotchy brass color and
handed it to me.
I held it in
my hand.
“Here, let
me show you how to hold it.”
Something
wasn’t quite right here, I thought. This didn’t look like any trumpet I’d seen
in pictures of Harry James.
“Are you sure
this is a trumpet?” I asked.
“No,
Rickey. This is a cornet.”
“What’s a
cornet?”
“It’s like a
trumpet.”
“But I want
a trumpet!”
“Your hands
are too small to play a trumpet so I got you the next best thing. Your hands
can hold this and work the valves much easier. With a trumpet your hands would
have problems.”
“But I want
a trumpet, a real trumpet.”
“You’ll have
to settle on the cornet until your hands have grown into a trumpet. Learning
the cornet is the best way to get yourself ready for that day.”
“But I want
a trumpet.”
“I’m sorry.
This will have to do for now. I promise, everything you learn to play on the
cornet will be the same as if it were a trumpet.”
My disappointment
was evident but I replaced the cornet in the case. I snapped the clasps, picked
it up and walked back to my desk.
I smoldered
while he gave out the books to study for our first class the next week.
When I got
home I slung the case onto my bed.
“What’s
wrong, Rickey?” asked my mother.
“He said I
couldn’t play the trumpet.”
“What’s in
that case you just threw across the room?”
“It’s a
crummy cornet.”
“That’s like
a trumpet isn’t it? Did they run out of
trumpets?”
“No ma’am.
He said my hands weren’t big enough to reach the buttons on a trumpet so I had
to settle for a crummy cornet.”
“It looks
like a trumpet to me,” mom said. She had retrieved the case and pulled the horn
from within.
“No it doesn’t.
See that bend in the tube here and it’s too short to be a real trumpet.”
“I bet if
you learn to play this you can easily pick up a trumpet one day when you have
grown and blast away with all the training you’ll pick up.” She was trying to
show me the benefit of the cornet.
Stubborn
cuss that I was I didn’t see it that way. I took the lessons for three, maybe
four weeks. My heart wasn’t in it because I wanted a trumpet and a crummy
cornet just wasn’t going to fulfill that desire.
I never put
my heart into practicing on that crummy cornet. My mother said if I wasn’t
going to practice there was no sense paying the rental for the horn. I had to
agree.
I turned it
in to Mr. Leonard the next week of class. He took it with a knowing smile. I
walked away from my musical career on that Friday in third grade.
It’s a shame
we look back on these decisions through old eyes. I have often regretted the
decision of that 9 year old brat. So in
1975 I went back to Leonard’s School of Music (yup, it was still there) and
bought a trumpet. My then wife bought a flute and we set up lessons for the
weekends. We lived in Florence. That arrangement did not work well right along
with the marriage, so, the lessons and the marriage were ended after a few years.
That trumpet
is still around. Added to that is a trumpet a friend of mine left to me in his
will. The desire is not so fired up as in my youth but I have begun to attempt
learning to play once more. Now I have time, lots of time, and the internet.
Perhaps in a few years I will be able to play a tune or two. We’ll see. And to
top it off, I’d really like to learn on a cornet.
