Today is the 45th Anniversary for wife Joan and me. Tomorrow is Father’s Day, which was mentioned in today’s podcast from Morning Wire. They mentioned the difficulty of those growing up without a father in the house, especially when it comes to later maintaining a marriage and family. I come from a broken home. So does Joan. We talked about that during college as we had heard the statistics of what sounded like our marriage would be doomed. And yet, here we are. I attribute our 45yr marriage success to three main things.
We were committed Christians and stayed active in the church, raising our family in the church.
Because we both experienced parents divorcing and the devastating effects that has on the children, we were committed to never letting that happen to our children. We were both at nearly every swim meet, baseball game, theater performance and concerts. There were a few times where we had to split because both boys would have something going on at the same time and sometimes in different cities. But we never just sent them off. We were there.
That we spent so much time working together in small office environments, the types of temptations that seem to creep into a lot of marriages were never present in ours. Neither of us ever considered anyone else. In our first three years of marriage, we taught at the same school and shared an office. Later, after John left education, we shared a business office for over two decades at QDP Corporation.
And we never let anyone tell us how to raise our children. We left education to start our family. Joan wanted to be a stay at home mom. My freedom of schedule allowed me to be at almost every t-ball, baseball, swim meet, and concert that either of our sons was in. I’ll never say we did everything right, but our sons are both successful in what they are doing. They have always, as have we, self-sufficient.
Are we experts? No. But ours has been a successful family for 45 years.
UPDATE: Be sure to read the parent comments at the end of this article.
Over a decade after high school graduation, he told his parents he was bullied as a high school freshman, not telling them at the time because he feared they’d make a big deal of it.
He DID go to a teacher who ignored or brushed aside his emotional plea. In his valedictorian speech at graduation three years later, when he listed the “Top 10 Things I Learned in High School”, one of them was…..
“….that my head really does fit in a gym locker.”
Still no response. This was before all the more recent publicity of the terribly negative lifetime impact that bullying can have….but
…there is no excuse for inaction. EVER!
Fortunately, this story doesn’t end tragically…. but that doesn’t make it right.
I was coming down the one-way street where we live. There is parking on both sides, but that doesn’t leave much room. Years ago, when I had a conversion van, I managed to take off someone’s mirror with mine. (Yes, I dealt with it.)
On this particular trip, in addition to normal cars parked, I encountered a lawn service truck, an Amazon van, a City Truck and one collecting trash…and I barely made it through with my car. I commented in a post that a fire truck wouldn’t make it and was reminded of a couple of Dad’s firetruck stories and events, one courtesy of my sister.
What happens when you block a fire truck?
Backdraft, a realistic presentation of real fire fighting
The movie, ‘Backdraft’ fascinated me. Dad was a 32-yr veteran firefighter in a full-time city department that had about ten “houses” around town. He was one of three “Chiefs”. He said “Backdraft” was pretty accurately done. I asked about the scene where there is a car parked in front of the hydrant and they break the windows and take the hose through the car.
“We would probably just use the truck to push the car out of the way. The car would be a wreck, but don’t put your car between my truck and our getting to a fire.”
Dad’s “Company 1” Fire House, @ 1975Problematic long driveway at Holmes High School.Entrance gate to Holmes High School. What you can’t see are the iron-works gates that matched the fencing to the right.
What happened when they blocked my Dad’s fire trucks?
Close to that in real life that involved Dad and his trucks happened at my high school around 1980 when my sister was a sophomore. There is a long driveway through the school and at times they would have problems with people speeding through there during school. On one particular day, someone chained shut the large ironworks gate. They weren’t supposed to do that, I’m sure, but those drivers and that long driveway could be disturbing and a safety concern.
There was a fire alarm and Dad was on duty.
When the trucks arrived at the school, they encountered the locked main gate. Guess what they did?
Dad never talked about that story, but sister tells me she remembers faculty talking about the Fire Department “busting the gates down”.
Just listened to a podcast interview https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/gaines-for-girls-with-riley-gaines/id1696360492?i=1000657133794 with four of the five middle school (M.I.D.D.L.E. S.C.H.O.O.L.) girls who stepped out rather than compete against a boy in their track meet’s shot put. The girls were punished and not allowed to compete at (at least) their next meet. The parents have taken the school board to court (in progress). The girls have subsequently been permitted to compete.
The boy has since been accused of sexual harassment. I’m not even going to quote the accusation of what he was going to do to a girl with his non girl body part. If you want to see, here is a link and article… https://x.com/ReduxxMag/status/1789013744812515708
Girls should not have to compete against boys in sports where sex matters. (Compete in band. That is ok.) They should not have to worry about boys in their restrooms and locker rooms. They should not have to endure what these girls described and to be scared in what should be safe spaces.
Why do middle school girls have to be the adults to try to protect themselves and their sport?
I learned late today that May 20th is National Band Director’s Day. I’ve had several directors who have impacted me different ways.
ROBERT CROWDER took over some of the elementary school bands when my initial teacher (more, in a moment) worked out to stay at the high school. Mr. Crowder was the first black teacher I had any extended contact with. He was so nice and soft spoken. He taught me at 10th District in grades 6-7. I was in 8th grade, at the huge, inner-city @2500 student Jr/Sr high when MLK was killed. Racial tensions were sky high for a while, including daily walk-outs 10 minutes before school end by hundreds of black students. I didn’t experience it directly, but apparently Mr. Crowder did a lot to help restore a calmer atmosphere in the school.
SAMUEL SANDERS was my Jr High director in 8th grade. I was 1st chair, but always goofing off in rehearsal. He pulled me aside one day and said something like, “You’ve got a lot of potential, but you’re going to throw it all away if you’re not careful.” That impacted me and I changed.
JAMES COPENHAVER taught me in his and my first years. I was in 5th grade and he just got the job. He didn’t like the way I held my horn. He sat down next to me, quietly explained hand position while patting me on the top of my head with his college ring turned around. I have great hand position still. Freshman year, he pulled me aside to say, “I understand you want to be a band director. That means you will have to go to college and I know your family can’t send you. You have four years to work on that clarinet, so that, by the time you graduate, you’ll be good enough that schools will pay for you to come.” He was right. I have so many stories about him. To say he was a strict taskmaster might be an understatement, but he did so many things to help me along. He got me scholarships to summer camps and connected me to the best clarinet teacher (below) in the area. He left after my sophomore year. He taught me to always strive, not only for excellence but for the top spot. I tried to pay him forward when I taught. It was hard because his tactics would be problematic today….but I get enough notes and feedback from students and parents that I know I impacted some lives.
RICHARD FOUST moved up from the Asst position for my last two years of high school. He was a great jazz musician. Overall, he kept the band strong through my graduation.
ROBERT RODEN was my clarinet teacher throughout high school. He was also a band director. He had the first chair clarinetists from two other area high schools in his studio. (Senior year he gave the three of us the same solo for festival). Mr. Copenhaver convinced him to give me an ‘audition’. After listening from his living room lounge chair, he offered me lessons with a condition. “You’re pretty good. I can help you get better, but you can’t afford me. I have a bad heart and am not supposed to do much hard work, so if you will mow my lawn, shovel my snow and do whatever else I need around the house, I will give you lessons UNTIL the day you show up here unprepared.” I have tried to pass that forward, but it is hard to find that level of commitment in the lives of super-busy teens. Mr. Roden died in the Beverly Hills Supper Club fire in 1976. There were @160 deaths. My dad was off duty, but at the fire helping fire fighters.
WM HARRY CLARKE was my college band director. The day I walked into the Fine Arts building for a visit, there was a music major at the door waiting for me, calling me by name and escorting me to meet Mr. Clarke. I learned a lot about conducting and rehearsal technique from him. One skill I never mastered was his ability to always remember names. We had a huge band and he knew everyone by name. That is powerful.
PHILLIP MILLER was my college orchestra director and clarinet professor. He was a good teacher, not such a good human. Other than telling me he had wasted four years of his life on me (when he found out I was an education vs performance major), the most memorable takeaway for me was that, just before I would walk on stage for a solo performance, his words to me were, “Make them stand up.”
Voila, the performance that got 50M views and kicked off her career at age 15.
Emma Kok,a 16-year-old singer from the Netherlands, has a chronic health condition – gastroparesis (paralyzed stomach), receiving nutrition through a feeding tube makingthis presentation even more emotionally powerful as she sings about her dream.
The original video got 50Mhits. This one (below) includes the English translation on screen.
btw …. get a box of tissues. Knowing her story and hearing her voice (and seeing audience and orchestra members reactions), well, as one reviewer said, “This broke me.”
Once you watch the video, you will have several options to hear others react. This reaction is from a professional opera singer:
In this video, she talks about being bullied because of her nutrition bag and because of her delayed growth.
She is currently on a World Tour with Andre Rieu and the Johann Strauss Orchestra.
Seattle Schools are closing its “Highly Capable Cohort” (Gifted & Talented) program because the claim is that too many of the participants are white or Asian…. “in an effort to make the program more equitable and to better serve all students, the district is phasing out highly capable cohort schools. In their place, SPS is offering a whole-classroom model where all students are in the same classroom and the teacher individualizes learning plans for each student.” Think about what that means for each classroom teacher.
Our local schools had a GT program called “Project Challenge”, involving our sons …. until the system abruptly ended the program, leaving stranded students who were taking classes 2+yrs ahead of grade level. We fought the repercussions until we found an advocate who enabled one son to commute daily from middle to high school for math, to skip multiple years of Spanish and to take advanced classes at the university. Those programs are more common now, but they were not at the time we were involved. I wrote about it here: https://www.virtualmusicoffice.com/the-system-worked-for…/
We wrestled with teachers who wanted to use our sons as tutors (noble and helpful, but does not address their “special needs”) or to do individual study in the back of the classroom (like what could happen in a discipline situation).
We are seeing some of the results of closing most mental institutions and “mainstreaming”. How many tragedies are blamed on “mental health” issues? If people need help, let’s help.
And here’s another problem I have with the “too many whites and Asians” racist argument….. Which pro sports teams, such as NFL, NBA, MLB “mainstream” players to ensure they have a balance of ethnicities and abilities? No! We want to win, right? Olympic teams are not balanced per quotas. We want to win, right?
I won’t argue that DEI (Diversity, Equity, Inclusion), which sounds wonderful is the new AA (Affirmative Action), but it all seems so similar, aka fad trend of the era.
Yes, let’s work to benefit those with “special needs”, but special needs at both ends. Let’s NOT label people ‘insane’, but also, let’s not ignore them. We NEED GT graduates coming into our society, even if they are white or Asian.
March is both “Women’s History” and “Disabilities Awareness” month. My hero, in both those categories, was my polio-inflicted mother.
Beulah McCormick was born in 1922 in a house (not a hospital) with an outside toilet. Her dad was a mean, verbally and physically abusive Irishman (McCormick) who was in the trenches of France during World War I. Growing up during the great depression, one of Mom’s journal entries stated, “There were no toys”.
At 12 yrs old, she was inflicted with one of the most cruel diseases ever…..polio.
In a 1935 pic taken 1 year after her infection, you can see that her legs are different sizes. She is likely bracing herself with her left arm (good arm).
Iron lungs enabling many polio survivors to breathe
She wasn’t as bad as some, who had to spend the rest of their lives in “iron lungs“, but her body was infected as if there were a vertical divide between left and right. Her right arm and leg were smaller, shorter, and weaker than her left. She had to buy two pairs of shoes because her feet were different sizes. She could write right-handed but picked things up with her left.
She refused to allow her disability to handicap life, evidenced by her high school class of 1940 1/2 voting her “most athletic”.
Hobbies included hunting, fishing, horseback riding, swimming, and gardening. She was a proficient typist and avid reader. She walked with a significant limp until her last four years when her back and knees just couldn’t do it anymore.
Her teenage friendship with Betty Swindler was so strong the Swindler family wanted to pay Mom’s way to go to college, but the proud papa wouldn’t allow it.
She thrived despite her parents.
Her childhood included going with parents (no choice) to area saloons to watch them drink and dance.
Somehow she got involved in a local church where she met her future husband. They had 5 children before divorcing affecting siblings from age 1 to 12.
So how does a divorced, polio survivor without a car, find a job and raise five children?
She was qualified, but never accepted welfare. Eventually, she took a job and spent about 25 yrs as an Activities Director at the Nursing Home she would retire from, move in to, and die in …. only two blocks from our house so she (and we) could walk to and from. I used to tease her for getting paid to play games all day.
My sisters had to experience daycare in a home nearby. Mom cried about that.
Life was plain, but she didn’t complain.
She paid her debts. Thankfully, the pediatrician allowed her to make $5/month payments.
We walked two blocks to a small neighborhood church my father’s parents helped start. She put a dollar in the plate and, when someone complained about the six of us for her dollar a week, swallowed her pride so we could have a better upbringing than she did. Kudos to the church for installing a handrail on the two steps going into the sanctuary. They did try.
She encouraged us to sell lemonade to the golfers at the course down the street. Those lemonade sales paid for a bicycle I wanted and then for my part of a new clarinet.
Sometimes she got some extra sugar for her lemonade. Mom’s Aunt Georgia passed away and I distinctly remember walking with her and her uncle to the kitchen door that went into their garage.
“Beulah. Georgia wanted you to have her car. Here are the keys.”
Chores were a reality. She organized us in rotations for dish washing, providing a step stool until we were each tall enough to reach into the sink. Until I left for college, it was mostly my job to push the non-motorized mower, and I was not always the compliant, cooperative teen.
There was one episode where she was following me back and forth over the lawn convincing me with her belt that I should continue.
Another job I loathed was cleaning the dog pen. Grass and hedge trimming, leaf raking, and garbage taking were regular chores. The Christmas decorations weren’t so bad and I liked putting the flag out….but had to take it down at night.
As much as we didn’t have, Mom always helped us understand that there were other people worse off and that they needed our help. At Christmastime, she would ask us to give up a toy to be donated to a “needy” family.
When someone would knock at our back door asking for food, she would fix a fried egg or peanut butter sandwich.
Both parents were hunters, and when dad left, she kept her little (she couldn’t hold a full-sized rifle) “over/under” gun; a combination 22 rifle and 410 shotgun. I got to watch her use it once. There was a bad flood and the water from the river about a mile away covered the golf course, came up over the 4-foot wall at the end of our street and stopped about two houses from ours. In the aftermath, there was a terrible, thankfully temporary neighborhood rat infestation. She instructed us to get into the house when she saw a huge rat on our side yard sidewalk. From the bedroom window, we heard the ‘pop’ and saw the rat briefly stand up on its hind legs before tottering over.
Good shot, Mom.
I’m not sure how I got started in 5th-grade band. With all the other bills, I have no idea how Mom managed to pay off that rent-to-own clarinet that I played at Tenth District School. Seems the band teacher, James Copenhaver, in his very first year of teaching, convinced her that my aural testing was so high that she really needed to get me involved in band.
Another of her favorite stories was during my high school band time. Watching the end of a rehearsal, she heard Mr. Copenhaver say, “Gardner, you march like a cow.” She went up to him afterward and went, “Moooooo” and then identified herself with, “I’m the cow’s mother.”
Mom who taught me to drive, to shave, to do my laundry (for college), to polish my shoes, and to type. She made me take piano lessons, allowed me to take clarinet lessons and somehow managed to be there for most major events. She taught me conservation techniques; the thermostat seldom went above 60 in the winter. There was no air conditioning and the summer window fan had to be turned off before bedtime.
I learned the difference between a need and a want. She took care of my needs.
She wasn’t able to buy many gifts. One year, I had asked for a clock-radio. To make the gift opening last longer, she hid it and placed clues all around the property to help me find it. Like most teens, I wanted a car….so on my 16th birthday, she gave me a little battery operated VW bug and made it clear that would be the only car she would ever buy me.
There was an extended episode where her back was really messed up from her years of walking with legs of different lengths. There was a really hard-core brace that she had to wear for a while and I had to help her get it on and off every day. By the grace of God, she improved and was able to get rid of it. She confessed years later that she was afraid she was losing her ability to walk, which would have cost her the job she had….and she feared not being able to raise us.
We didn’t wear the latest fashions, but always had something respectable to wear.
My brothers always got my hand-me-downs. Sorry. We were all in band and had instruments and everything we needed for that. Three of us used my beginning clarinet and the pro-level horn I bought in high school.
Grandpa McCormick moved in for several of his later years. After living alone for several years (Grandma Mamie died my high school freshman year), he married a lady who stole nearly everything he owned. Terrified and trounced, he came to live with Mom.
So after all the terrible things she had endured over the years, she would be his care-provider.
I was off to college and then away, so I didn’t have to deal with him much. On visits, at least, he seemed to have mellowed, although he could still unleash a verbal barrage on occasion. I hope he paid some rent to help with the finances, but I never heard and never asked.
Mom did well raising the five of us. No one is rich, but all five are self-sufficient and raising (or raised) a pretty good next generation.
Mom paid for all of her wedding because her parents would not.
In a 2001, handwritten letter, she wrote,
“my life has been very fulfilling and rewarding. Sometimes I am confined to “cell 423” (house number), but this week I went to the Reds ballgame (via radio) and “watched a horse race (TV) at Churchill Downs, tearing at the playing of ‘My Old Kentucky Home and ended in a “musical production in Branson, Missouri, where I had no parking hassels and had the best seat in the house.”
That was Mom, always finding the best in everybody, finding good in her situations and being thankful for what she did have instead of complaining about what she didn’t.
She used life’s sour lemons to make the best, sweetest lemonade.
Love you and miss you Mom…..and will see you soon.
PS Over the last several years, Mom always accused me of bringing the cold, nasty weather of Northern Indiana with me when I would come to visit. She would have said that again about her own funeral with the dismal driving rain that prevented the graveside ceremony.
“I know, Mom….. but I wanted you to know I was there.”
Beulah celebrating her 85th birthday, the last she would celebrate at her Baltimore Ave home.
I was working for the national fundraising company and in my first few years as a full-time product fundraiser. I spent most of my time calling on larger groups such as total elementary and middle schools, bands, choirs, leagues.
It was a time when you could still walk into an elementary school, go to the office and ask the secretary if you can see the principal — and have at least some chance that you might. No security cameras, buzzing in, showing id and such.
It was almost always okay to leave product samples. I would often leave something in the office for the secretary because everyone knows secretaries know everything about what is going on and have the power to get you (or prevent you from) the decision-makers. When I had chocolates available, those were especially appreciated. Principals and group decision-makers would usually accept chocolate samples.
Other gifts were sometimes problematic. There was a choir director I had worked with for several years. At the time, I was working with a prize vendor who offered novelty phones (land-line, of course). I especially liked the coke phone as a student/seller prize. But I wanted to give this director a piano phone and he wouldn’t accept it — until he was in his last year ready to retire. It wasn’t a matter of “buying” his business (the phone cost @$20) but of genuinely showing appreciation to a long-loyal customer.
Samples and small gifts were one thing. This story is about something else. I am not including the name of the town, school corporation, school, or individual. I want to emphasize that school teachers, sponsors and administrators are overwhelmingly highly-ethical people with a real desire to help students.
This visit was at a medium-sized elementary school with a principal I had yet to meet. He invited me into his office, closed the door, and sat behind his desk. He was an older guy who appeared to have put in enough time to retire.
I was immediately shocked when he started telling me how he hated children, hated his faculty and staff….and, well, everything about his job. As a former teacher, I was simultaneously uncomfortable and angry as he continued. But then it got worse.
After what was supposed to be ice-breaking information gathering prior to giving me details to include or address in my “sales presentation”, he asked me a bizarre question that caught me totally off guard;
“If I sign up to do a fundraiser with you, what is in it for me?”
He couldn’t be asking what I thought he was, and I didn’t want to assume, so I implemented my excellent sales training by asking questions.
“You mean what is in it for your school? [Immediately continuing]….your school should earn about $xxx which will help fund some of the needs you already mentioned.”
“Well, yes…..but what about ME? This is going to be a sizable sale with a good amount of commission for you and I want to know what you would provide me in appreciation.”
At that point, I started putting my materials away, stood up, thanked him for his time, and told him I couldn’t work with him.
As I made my way to open the office door, he mentioned something about confidentiality, and when I glanced back his facial expression was something in between anger and fear.
Summer Band went along the schedule of Summer School; 8am-noon daily. There was a 15 minute break in the middle of the day that you could buy pop or snacks, or just rest up, or do something stupid and get in trouble.
The new Science Building (which also housed the gymnasium and the band room) had been opened only a couple years earlier. It had a new type of light switch throughout — that required a key, but would also work with a properly inserted fingernail file.
One one of those mid morning breaks, a small group of us were going through the building with a fingernail file. If the light was on, we turned it off. If off, we turned it on. Nothing damaging.
I even remember exactly where the light switch was that I was operating the file. It had become stuck and I was trying to get it out. Someone behind me said, “Copenhaver’s coming”. Yeah, sure, right?
I finally got it out and, as I turned around, standing completely inside my comfort zone, was Mr. Copenhaver. No one else in sight.
“Go wait for me in my office”, he said calmly.
I hadn’t spent much time in his office. I could see his large Phi Mu Alpha paddle hanging next to his desk. He did use that. Sometimes in inspection practice (inspection was part of some competitions), he would carry that paddle as he walked in front of the line. If your instrument didn’t pass the white glove test or if you moved, he would say, “That’s one.” That meant that an eternity later when he was on the next line behind, he would whack you with that left-handed paddle. And if the paddle made you move — he’d do it again. For the record, I never got the paddle in inspection.
Sitting in his office, I fully expected at least one of those whacks.
He left me there for an uncomfortably long time — on purpose, I’m sure.
Eventually, he came into the office, closed the door, and sat in his desk chair facing me.
He looked at me and calmly said,
“I’m disappointed, John. That’s all. You can go.”
The paddle would have hurt me less than that.
I spent the rest of my high school career trying to make him proud. I think I did.
The original video got 50M
The new Science Building (which also housed the gymnasium and the band room) had been opened only a couple years earlier. It had a new type of light switch throughout — that required a key, but would also work with a properly inserted fingernail file.