Unlocking Worlds:
Reflections on a Music Teacher

In 1976 the Cambridge High School music room was in the back corner of the building. It was a place I rushed to before, during, and after school – any free moment I had was spent there. To enter, one simply stepped down into the room surrounded by walls and layers of music.

Ms. Benjamin, tall and talented, spun a silk web of safety, a climate of inquiry, a landscape of discipline, a venue for continual engagement. She was always at her piano. Her cocoon of protection was at first disorienting. I had avoided this side of myself, but she turned it upside down, and in weeks music mattered as much as food.

I still see her in one of her turtleneck sweaters – colorful ribbons down her back – standing regal and independent. A sighting of her driving up Main Street for a chocolate donut at the bakery, a ritual defied by her figure and poise, garnered a celebrity shout out to my parents. She was beautiful and confident. Her fingers, long magic wands and her perfect pitch proved her super powers. Cambridge was lucky to have access to the mysteries of her mythology! She was our modern Athena, protectress and muse, destined to guide our transformations.

Of course she must have known that I was a terrified child; whether she knew the extent of the bullying was unclear. But she knew how to turn my fears and weaknesses into gifts. My high-pitched, effeminate voice became a resource under her leadership. Where I had seen only shame, I learned to hear beauty. By owning our talents the transformations begin.

Then she encouraged choir (swing choir too!), but the nuance of choral ensemble was never part of my wish as afraid and untrusting of people as I was. Torn, I reluctantly joined because I wanted to know about the worlds she was talking about in these songs – Beautiful City, God Save the People, Go Lovely Rose, Pippin, Nancy Hanks and so many others. Just entering the first phrase of each song, I was moved into curiosity. I longed to be in other places in those days and through music I could be almost anywhere else. Curiosity it turns out makes love with discipline and it was in this lovemaking that I learned to “read” the world through music:

“…the common fate of all things rare
May read in thee;
How small a part of time they share
That are so wondrous sweet and fair.”

I was front and center as she modeled scholarship: knowledge of and dedication to detail in her interpretation of the music. Even the most indifferent students couldn’t help but sit up and half listen to this warrior unleashing her spears of wisdom! Very few teachers since have met or exceeded her in this ability. I learned from her the art of analysis and came to love the poem, the song, and the painting, seeing them as part of a larger family of artistry. Discipline unlocks the heart and mind transforms perceptions forever.

Ms. Benjamin never used her talents to brag or dominate us; they were part of the invitation, more subtle, more humble. When she would sing or play it was for the sole purpose of getting us to join composition. I trusted her expertise and I wanted to strive for excellence I saw in her. All these years later I still want to try. When I falter, I hear the answers in the music first inspired by the muse who urged me to take risks.

But a good teacher also connects the real world to the classroom. There were times when her insights into music and life itself merged gracefully. While we never explored directly the issues of my identity she seem to honor the code words I was using to hide. This allowed me to listen to her advice and adapt without feeling ridiculed or naive. “Be more gentle with that note,” or, “Be bold, hit it and pull away without taking a breath.” Her respect for my boundaries allowed me to see her honesty and truthfulness. More importantly, it allowed her to challenge me to be a better singer and person. Respect is built when you are seen and heard. The individual melodies must know when to work in harmony with others. Trusting yourself unlocks the world and all its infinite possibilities.

Much later I came to know her as Betsy. A talented actress and singer in her own right; she sought out roles and musical opportunities. I remember the first time I saw her in a production in Madison and leaving the theater thinking, “Damn, no wonder she was such a motivating teacher!” We love to reduce our teachers to one-dimensional characters. Perhaps we think it will be easier to make sense of things this way. In fact, our greatest teachers are the ones who show us their complete selves, enlarged not diminished. Boundaries are necessary for sure, but not the annihilation of their humanity.

Having recently visited Betsy and her husband Bob, I was reminded of what is most important in our teaching. Learning to question is the key to a successful life because we begin to “live the questions.” More a necessary tool than a standard, it is how you survive as a life long learner. As I planned for our dinner visit, I wrote down all the things I wanted to ask her and then all the things I wanted to tell her. But I was really curious about what she was interested in musically. Throughout my 40 years of knowing her, I still crave what she knows, the as yet undiscovered songs that might unlock worlds and ideas I have not yet explored.

Teachers do unlock worlds for us. They help us find our own truths by “engineering the learning and getting out of the way. “

I was not disappointed either. Still tall and regal, often donning a helmet-like hat, an echoing of Athena, she is still full of wisdom. After confirming our mutual awe of Audra McDonald, Betsy (and Bob) said, “the person we are into right now is Karrin Allyson. Especially her album “From Paris to Rio.” I immediately ordered it. It felt as if I knew this singer whose sumptuous and stylish phrasing and intimate sensuality came streaming from the player. It transported me back to a small theater near Lake Geneva.

Betsy was in a production of Jacques Brel Is Alive and Well and Living in Paris. I remember a set with a rocking chair. I cannot tell you what she sang. Memory keeps conflating songs and scenes. I think Kenny Login’s ex-wife had something to do with the production, though. While the details run away from me, the moment that changed my life does not. I sat in that theater with clarity: no matter what I did in life, mine would be an artist’s life: my poems, my pictures, and my way of thinking mattered. Today, music and the woman are inseparable.

This atmosphere is what I try to create as a teacher and encourage in other teachers. It is true that gifts must be received, but it may also be true that you recognize a gift when you turn around knowing you must give it away. When my students first said, “Mr. Flaherty, you are a poem, fragments and phrases, no beginnings and endings, just pure essence,” I gave thanks to Ms. Benjamin.

Written November 2015 | Published April 28, 2017