Summer 2009
The
reed kids were already at their table, making their duck calls and doodle
sounds. The lights were on, the
instructors were assigned rooms, and I was assigned a broom and mop. Blessed, blessed work without stress or fear
of being called once more on the carpet for errors or misjudgments. Mine, someone else’s, it was my mistake.
I had
been here before. Well, not here; not in
Thor Johnson Dorm, but on the campus of Interlochen in general, almost thirty
years ago, learning the power of ammonia and Lysol brown cleaner. Back then it seemed fruitless to talk to
anyone but the other housekeepers and maids.
The students or campers were from another world from us-the world of the
“haves” and we, well….
My
dream job was ending. I felt it long
before I admitted it, and felt the finality of it as well. It wasn’t going to be just me, leaving; it
would be the entire business closing like a book, The End. My hours had been cut more than half, so
Interlochen was an attempt to fill in the slack. All summer I fought the inevitable. I almost missed what was right in front of
me.
The
instructors, men in blue corduroy and joviality, were not what I expected. I was timid to approach them until the cheese
and the snippet of music. The cheese was
on Mike Davison’s door, a subtle hint at college days. The music was the WYSO piece of the year: Symphonie Fantastique. Da! Da! Da didi Da! Da!
Da! Da didi Da! Mike coached his students, emphasizing the
punch of each note. Powerful! Hmm,
familiar. What was it? I finally asked him. He told me, and told me the WYSO concert
date, and I made plans to attend. It is
a horrifying piece of music, based on depression, hallucination, death and
dying. Mike took ghoulish pleasure in
describing the piece of music that was a head rolling down the stairway, how it
was written so you could actually hear the head hit each tread. Brrrr!
And
suddenly, I had peers with amazing students and instructors. Wonderful
musicians with wicked senses of humor. Quirky kids who were devoted to their goals,
their instrument, their practice time, and even their reed-making.
What
amazed me is that the instructors, top of the line accomplished musicians,
practiced as much if not more than the students. They were always coming in
early to make funny noises on their mouth pieces or reeds. Working their lips,
keeping them.. um.. pliable? Flexible? Strong? They always did scales and
arpeggios. Always. As I swept and mopped
my way around these amazing people, I started noticing how much effort they put
in every day. It started seeping into me.
I had
band and choir in high school, but I was mediocre at best. I didn’t understand
discipline at all. Hardly had any drive to move up in chairs. If I did, it was
a happy surprise. I drew and experimented with art, and got pretty good, but
didn’t even try for excellent. What made these people different? I wanted to
know.
So,
after working within this amazing place for a summer, I started asking
questions. I interviewed my friends, the instructors. I asked the reed kids why
they worked so hard. I watched, listened, and got saturated in this environment
of discipline.
Then, I
went on with my life and tried a direction that was practical, but was not
really my passion. Now after all of
these years, I am revisiting the interviews with these men and women, and
hoping to find what I experienced while working at Interlochen. I am hoping to
find something to share, a treasure to encourage others who have been in my
shoes, and to maybe poke into wakefulness the dreams that we started out with
as children.
