MUSIC LESSONS

For some reason (perhaps from an article in Ladies Home Journal) my mother got the idea that for me to be a well-rounded and cultured person I should play a musical instrument.  I would have rather played baseball but there was no arguing.  She had made up my mind on this.

But what to play was the key question?  One thing for sure a piano was out of the question.

So on a Saturday in the 8^th year of my journey through the vale of tears we took the bus to look at musical instruments at the Millville Music Center.  A center it was – record shop, sheet music, an array of rent to own instruments and in the rear of the small High Street shop were four small windowed rooms a bit bigger than phone booths used for music lessons.

We peered at the window display of instruments.  The sun bounced off the highly polished brass as I scanned the music making machines.  I imagined myself playing each one.  The saxophone – too many keys that had to be hard to play.  The trombone no keys that had to be hard too.  The clarinet looked sinister and not fun.  Ah, the trumpet – that had to be an easy one to play, just three keys. 

I blurted, “I think I would like to play the trumpet!”

We inquired within and the owner indicated that I should take a horn test first before we decide.  We were led to one of the practice rooms and told to wait for the teacher who would finish a lesson in a few moments.  Mom and I sat and listened to what seemed like the wailing of a mortally wounded alley cat from the room next to us.  When the lesson ended I saw it was a classmate of mine toting here new clarinet.

Mr. Mirentz, the Center’s one size fits all music teacher. came in our booth with the gleaming trumpet from the window.  He showed me how to hold it – it was pretty heavy I discovered.  He explained that trumpet players needed “lip” to play this wonderful instrument.  I had a lip and checked that off my list.  But then he added, this “lip” was called the embouchure - some have a good one – some don’t.  Some can make beautiful music and others never do.  He urged me to try to play a note.  I blew as hard as I could – but just a lot of air came out.   “No Cal it’s not about blowing,” he said. “It sort of like humming – you’ve got to make your upper lip buzz into the mouth piece.”  I tried again.  A rasping blatt erupted from the thing. 

“AGAIN!” he ordered. 

I tried again and a ragged, ear piercing sound came out. “He’s a natural!” he exclaimed.  And the die was cast.  My mother beamed with pride with visions of a classical virtuoso dancing in her head. 

Mom signed a rental form which indicated that $5 dollars a week would go to the price of owning this proud and ancient instrument.  She bought a music stand, my beginner's lesson manual and booked me for my first lesson the following Saturday. 

And for the next 7 days I practiced the one note I could muster - as every dog in the neighborhood bayed a duet with me.