Imagination--Pt. II

I had imagined my doctorate and had put the steps in place to make it happen, but I needed that extra spark, that electric charge, the dream that can become a reality, the mental elevator that moves easily to the top, the warp drive Scotty sets in motion to move the enterprise from one galaxy to another. I wanted to beam myself to the end but needed a transporter! That transporter came in the form of Dr. Scott Huston, my theory teacher at the University of Cincinnati, College-Conservatory of Music where I was working on my Master of Music.

As I was watching Star Trek, following Dr. Huston's stunning revelation that he had composed music for the show, I began to listen carefully. One show in particular had a beautiful, haunting musical theme, a theme of nostalgia and meditation, a gentle but poignant theme of purity. This particular music had that unusual quality of being personal yet collective in the way that magic seems to block out the rest of the world and resides in the mind of the observer. This theme was set in the phrygian mode, a mode often reserved for Spanish style music, but in fact, is a mode of pacifism and sweet beauty. A mode that is neither happy nor sad, nor powerful, nor weak, a mode that belongs in the hearts of the listener, a mode I memorized, a mode and a theme I can recreate even today. As I listened, I became convinced this was written by Dr. Huston.

The next day I ventured down the hallway where his office was located. Although the door was open, it was understood that a student did not go in unannounced. His office was unusually large with his desk near the back window and a grand piano occupying much of the space just inside the doorway. He sat at his desk working solemnly on grading papers and grunting harsh sounds probably intended for some poor unsuspecting student unaware of his disdain for poor work. I walked in softly, unlike Teddy Roosevelt I was without a big stick of any kind, and sat at the bench and began to play the theme I had heard the night before. As I played, Dr. Huston never looked up but he did stop writing. I finished the theme rather cautiously but also confident I was playing the notes correctly and Dr. Huston said, "Whoever that is, gets an A!" He then raised his head and asked me how I figured it out. I told him that I remembered his love of modes and how he had written for Star Trek.

We began an odd mentor-friend relationship that day that lasted until I moved from Cincinnati. We would stop each other in the halls and discuss perfect music, or the golden mean, or a new orchestration technique, or the worth of a particular composer. He was quite opinionated about music and felt free to criticize music he did not deem quality. At the same time, he would glow when talking about music that contained warmth, beauty, and expression. While he sometimes continued his irritating practice of meanness, which turned out to be a facade, I also knew he truly cared about me and wanted the best for all his students. He was a brilliant musician, intellectual, emotional, passionate, with a heart of gold for people.

As I finished my studies with Dr. Huston in that particular theory class, he gave me a gift that keeps on giving to the present time. He gave me a gift reserved for me. I know not whether I was one of many to receive the same gift or, as I like to think, the only one to ever receive it. In order to get our final test back, we had to give Dr. Huston a self-addressed stamped envelope. I went to his office and handed him my envelope. He looked at me and said, "NO" in that angry tone I had come to both dread and to love. It was a tone with a touch of humor, a roughness that could not mask the genuine compassion he felt. It was a tone of a gruff grandfather or of a father stopping the dangerous behavior of a child.

He said, "NO," gave it back to me and said, "Put Dr. in front of your name." I quickly disagreed stating that I had not even quite finished my Masters degree. He smiled, a smile of kindness, a smile of knowledge, a smile that spoke of wisdom and goodness, and looked at me directly in the eyes and said, "Put it on the envelope and one day it will be true." These few words spoken directly to me and for me entered my being and resided there, never to leave. These few words led to my placing Dr. in front of my name, and although at the time I may have questioned their validity, ultimately Dr. Huston's words became true.

I cannot complete this story without acknowledging my thanks to Dr. Huston. I feel the tears welling up in gratitude for the prophetic gift, a gift that kept on giving, and still gives today. To Dr. Huston I owe so much: for making me see music specifically and comprehensively, for teaching me to hear all that happens in music, for giving me tools in which to judge music, for helping me love music old and new, for showing me how to be demanding of myself and my students but at the same time to love them, and mostly for inspiring me to do my best and complete my task of getting my PhD. Thank you Dr. Huston for helping my imagination become a reality. Your music, your words, and your life continue to have a profound affect on thousands.