My parents, along with my third grade teacher, Miss Wright, highly encouraged me to read as many books as I could during my “leisure time” (when I was not engaged in those other extracurricular activities that I have already mentioned), and encouraged my brother to do the same, equally supported by his teachers, during his freshman (and only) year at Anderson Valley High School. I suppose that this had a great deal to do not only with our voracious appetite for books, but also with our mutual passion for writing. In order to support us in this endeavor, as well as to contribute to our access to resource materials for completing school assignments, they purchased a set of Compton’s Encyclopedias, to assist both of us with our research; clearly, they had a strong stake in our academic and literary success. Their investment in my brother’s future eventually paid off, with all four of the books he authored on U.S. history being published to critical acclaim. My literary aspirations were another story altogether.
As an eight-year-old, what I loved the most about the Compton’s Encyclopedias was that incorporated into several of the volumes were the Just So Stories by Rudyard Kipling, complete with colored illustrations, that my father would read aloud to me until such point that I was able to read them for myself. The stories were presented in their entirety, and whisked me away to places and cultures vastly different from the one in which I lived, studied, and played. I loved hearing/reading about all of the exotic animals in these stories, which provided me with the inspiration for the characters in my own creative writing endeavors. My paternal uncle, my father’s younger brother, still living in their home state of KY, also did his part to contribute to stimulating my imagination, by sending me for Christmas a hardback copy of Hugh Lofting’s The Voyages of Doctor Dolittle, which largely inspired the 1967 film with Rex Harrison in the title role. I was fortunate enough to spend Christmas, 1999 with his family at his younger son’s home in New Haven, CT (where he was employed at the time with Yale University Press), and passed on both the book and a VHS copy of the film to his 2½-month-old grandson and 2½-year-old granddaughter — my own personal way of passing on the family literary legacy to the next generation.
Our parents’ commitment to instilling in us an appreciation for great literature was equaled by their efforts at exposing us to classical music, virtually the only music I recall hearing in our home during the entire three years we lived there. At roughly the same time that they purchased the set of Compton’s Encyclopedias, they also purchased a set of long-playing vinyl records/albums (the precursor to tapes and CD’s), which consisted of selections of some of the most popular works of the great classical masters. Just as my brother had done with reading the first page of the 1st grade reading text, my father would play each selection over and over, repeating the title and composer, just as his mother had done with him when he was my age, growing up on the farm in rural western Kentucky where he lived with his parents and younger brother and sister.
This instruction in classical music set the groundwork for my brother’s and my lifelong attendance at symphony concerts as adults. It also enabled me to identify the bridge between the melodies I heard on some of the recordings and the hymns we sang in church every Sunday. Although I never reached a level of proficiency with the piano sufficient for playing any classical pieces in their original form (my first attempt, with Beethoven’s Pathetique Sonata when I was in the 5th grade in Dixon, was a dismal failure), I did eventually play percussion in my high school orchestra, and spent many years after that singing classical pieces with several prominent choral groups in Sacra-mento, beginning with Handel’s Messiah during my sophomore year in college. I will forever remember with fondness the trip that my father and I made to San Francisco in December of 1982, a month before my younger son was born and almost seven months before my father died, to attend the Messiah sing-along at Davies Hall, sponsored by the San Francisco Conservatory of Music. It was reminiscent for both of us of the symphony concerts we attended at the Opera House just down the block during the time we lived in Boonville, one of which featured England’s Sir Thomas Beecham as guest conductor.
So although I opted to major in theatre in college, instead of music, it has always played a very major role in my life, beginning with that early instruction from my parents and my piano teacher. I actually became reasonably proficient at playing a number of hymns from the hymnal, which has assisted me throughout my life with the ability to spontaneously harmonize, once I began singing. I suppose that is something I inherited from my father; because of his own natural abilities in that arena, I grew up clinging fearlessly to the notion that being an accomplished singer was a prerequisite for being a successful minister, and that musical guidance was as essential as spiritual guidance.
My parents’ one musical tie to their Southern heritage was sustained through their love of square dancing, their favorite social activity as a couple all the way up to the time of my father’s death. For as long as I could remember, it was a weekly ritual, including the appropriate attire, and they were as proud of their collection of pants and shirts, skirts and blouses, and shoes and boots as they were of their skills on the dance floor. Over the years, they maintained a number of lifelong friendships through this lively outlet.
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