Music's Effect on Water

Here something that stuck me profoundly.  A Japanese scientist Dr, Emoto took pictures of water molecules while different music was being played.  Here some examples of when classical music was played

<----Beethoven's Pastorale

 Bach's " Air for the G string " ---->

Now here is what happened when heavy metal music was played,

knowing that, now think about it when I tell you that about 72% of your body is made up of water.  I think it tells us a lot about how music effects peoples minds and bodies.  Not only this, but the countless scientific studies on how music effects us.

Thank you Readers

Hello to readers, I am still learning how to work a blog and as I was looking around today,  I found that I could learn how many people have been viewing my blog.  I am so pleased that people are viewing this blog.  I hope I am helping people with it.  That is my whole purpose for this blog.  Please leave comments if you have any you wish to share, or any advice to help me to learn more about my blog, especially how to share it more.  I would also like to see what my readers think about my blog.  There is one thing that concerns me. I share info about how music is used for a variaty of things.  I know some people that would turn a deaf ear to my blog when they see that I have shared info about things they don't agree with and that is okay if they do not agree.  I respect your beliefs.  I don't agree with every thing I read either.  But please do not quit reading, I am certian that you will find something that can help or interest you.  I have over a hundred pages of info so far given to me by Michael Ballam PhD popsted on my blog.  If you find something that you like on my blog, Please fell free to share with others so they can learn about these things too.  I don't like asking favours much, but please tell others about my blog.  On facebook, twitter or however.  I know that people can be benefited by what I have to share.  Thank you again for view my blog.  I don't feel that I am not reaching people anymore. 
If you have read from the oldest posts and noticed that the first few post that are data that I recieved from Dr. Ballam(as indicated at the top of the posts) All posts from those to the post right before this one are also his info that he gave me.  unless otherwise indicated. 

THE THREE C’S

(this is some information that I received from Dr. Michael Ballam, this information is unedited notes of Dr. Ballam, hence there are the spelling error and typos. It is my intent to not edit them for the purpuse of not risking to change the meaning of the text. It is my desire to inform you of these errors so as to not take away any credibiliy from Dr. Ballam because of possible impressions that these mistakes may have on people to lower his credibility.)
THE THREE C’S
We could distill the report above to be the three C’s 1. Community - the ability to work with others. 2. Creativity - the ability to make something from nothing, and 3. Communication - the ability to convey meaning Where in today’s expanding curriculum are we making room for these abilities to be nurtured and developed? Do we learn community and creativity in the math class? Do we learn how to communicate in the science class? No we do not. That is not the objective of those courses. They hold a different purpose. The U.S. Department of Labor goes on in their report to characterize math and science and the basic “R’s” of reading, writing and arithmetic as tools or means not as ends unto themselves. They warn th

I AM MUSIC

I AM MUSIC
Servant and Master am I; Servant of those dead and Master of those living. Through me, spirits of immortals speak the message that makes the world weep and laugh, and wonder and worship. I tell the story of love, the story of hate, the story that saves, and the story that damns. I am the incense upon which prayers float to Heaven. I am the smoke which palls over the field of battle where men are dying with me on their lips. I am close to the marriage altar, and when the graves open, I stand nearby. I call the wanderer home, I rescue the soul from the depths, I open the lips of the lovers, and through the dead, whisper to the living. One I serve as I serve all, and the king I make my slave as easily as I subject his slave I speak through the birds of the air, the insects of the fields, the crash of water on rock-ribbed shores I am even heard by the soul that knows me in the clatter of wheels on city streets. I know no brother, yet all men are my brothers: I am the father of the best that is in them, and they are the father of the best that is in me. I am the instrument of God. I AM MUSIC.

OPERA FESTIVAL

OPERA FESTIVAL
Since 1998, the Utah Festival Opera has presented a festival of these original operas by children in a beautifully restored theatre in Logan, Utah each spring. Most recently the opera company completed and presented 44 original operas by children from the ages of kindergarten to middle school. The results have been astonishing on so many levels. Not only has it caused the children to want to attend school more regularly as a result of creating their own works, but their interest and proficiency in other academic areas have been enhanced. Teachers have remarked about the core curriculum being easier to present and better retained when the children are involved in creative activity. The atmosphere in the class room has improved, discipline problems have lessened and participation in all areas of school have been enhanced. Some truly remarkable things have occurred from autistic children, who for the first time have participated and communicated as well, to children in middle grades having no reading skills all of a sudden finding the means to catch up with their classmates in reading. We have seen self esteem grow causing painfully shy children to open up and communicate with their peers and teachers. Some children have broken through learning plateaus and subject phobias to find success and joy in learning. I’m not sure I can articulate all of the reasons such wonderful ansillary things have occured through this work, but surely some of the reasons are enhanced self esteem (confidence), the strength and understanding that comes from working and sharing together, the cognitive enhancement of using both hemispheres of the brain, the non-judgemental environment of the arts, the creative opportunities to communicate beyond verbal expression. What ever the reasons, the results are clear.

OPERA FOR CHILDREN BY CHILDREN

OPERA FOR CHILDREN BY CHILDREN
Believing the theses above to be true, the Utah Festival Opera in Logan, Utah launched a bold new program in 1996 to empower teachers to assist their students in developing their creative abilities and magnify their capacities in the areas of working in a community, communication skills and creativity. The opera company’s educational personnel work with elementary classrooms and teachers in several school districts to assist children in the creation of their own original operas. The children write their own libretto, compose their own music, and in most cases, create and build their own sets and costumes. Each class then has the opportunity to participate in the “Children’s Opera Festival” where each children’s opera is fully staged with assitance from a professional technical crew which provides lighting and sound support Teachers are guided through every step of the creative process. Interested teachers are given step-by-step instruction in the process of helping children to create opera in a workshop conducted by the opera company each year. Teachers are provided with a manual detailing the process of writing the story and the music, building sets, props, and costumes. In this forum, teachers also learn how to work as teams and how to incorporate the program into cross-curricular studies. They also learn how to step back and allow the children to be the creators and to take ownership of their own work. The Utah Festival Opera provides free professional artistic assistance to the teachers in their classrooms. Music and drama specialists, as well as piano accompanists, visit classrooms and assist teacher and students in the creative process. Costumes, instruments and art supplies are also made available. When we first developed this program, I volunteered to be one of the first mentors to go out into the schools. My first visit was to a combined 2nd grade classroom that contained over 75 students. The three teachers left me alone with the children for nearly two hours. Such a fate would be dreaded by most anyone fearing that the discipline challenges would be beyond control. In this case they were not, because it became immediately apparent that this project belonged to the children. I was simply there to facilitate their creative process, not to direct it. The story would be theirs, the words their own. As long as they were in control of their destiny with the project there was no need to impose discipline from me. They did it among themselves. Once they took ownership of the project, they also took ownership of the process, which included keeping order and discipline. We determined by majority vote, which they determined to be 38 votes (a math concept beyond their years), that the story should be about dinosaurs. I asked if they knew enough about the subject to present it in a musical drama. They soon showed me that they understood a great deal about the subject. We proceeded to set the stage. How do we inform the audience that our opera is about dinosaurs from an age past? One child proposed that a narrator come forward and tell the audience what we were about to portray. I noted that such a technique was a good one and proposed that perhaps there was a way of telling the story without words. There was a moment of silence as the children determined how they could communicate their story without the use of language. Soon a child said “we will create a Mesozoic forest!” I asked how they would do that. Wonderful, extravagant ideas flooded forward about trees, mountains, etc.. I explained that Art was a means of telling a story in as much economy as possible. The less said the better. How could we tell the audience that they were in a Mesozoic forest without actually creating one? One child proposed that we paint a few Mesozoic trees on a back-drop. The class determined that this was a good idea. Now to the process: on what material do we paint this forest. “On plywood!” came one response. We determined to budget that possibility. I explained that every material that we used would require that we “earn” the money to purchase it. Part of our creative idea is to help young children understand that “things” have value. I fear that we have taught an unrealistic if not untrue principle that “things” come from nowhere. On the first day of school texts, paper, pencils, rulers, markers all appear on their desks from nowhere. When they are destroyed, used or lost they magically reappear from nowhere. The opera company wishes to help children understand that this is not a realistic paradigm under which to operate. Everything has a value. “Does anyone know what a piece of plywood costs?” I asked. No one had any idea, neither had they ever thought about the fact that plywood had a cost. We “guesstimated” that they were valued at about $20.00 each and that we would need 10 to cover the back of our “stage”. I asked how much money we would then need to raise. In a matter of seconds the correct response of $200 came forth from the group. Our project was now taking on multiplication principles beyond their years. “Fine,” I said, “How will we earn the money. “We’ll bake cookies” was one response. “We’ll wash cars” was another. We voted and the washing of cars won out. I asked what we would charge for the service, and the response came back “one dollar per car!” We then determined how many cars would need to be washed to equal our need. With fallen voices and countenances they determined that 200 cars were too many to wash. Within a moment another idea was proposed. “My uncle has an appliance store and he has lots of big boxes. We can cut them up and make a backdrop from them.” We determined that this was a great idea. How would we stand the cardboard up. Interesting engineering ideas were postulated, but before we could decide on the best proposal, another idea come forth. Why don’t we keep the boxes intact and paint the scenery on one of the sides towards the audience. That brought forth another idea that we could turn the boxes and have the potential of four different scenes painted on the boxes. Now that is creative thought, community work and communication at it’s apex. I defy any science or math teacher to come up with better problem solving skills and more creative solutions. All of this took place within the first 20 minutes of our process. Why such high level creative thinking, because the children were all united in the creative process of the Arts. There is nothing passive about this process. This is not about watching a play or visiting a museum or listening to a concert. This is doing, not watching. We assigned a group of students to investigate the box solution to our scenery need. Within moments another idea came forth. “What about painting the scene on sheets?” “We could hang them on a wire and move them across to change the scene” came another response. We agreed that sheets were also a good idea. I asked if anyone knew the value of sheets. No one had any idea sheets cost money. Again we had led them to believe they appeared from no where. We determined a committee to take an after school visit to one of our local department stores and survey the costs and report back to the class. Another student said “what about the D.I.?” one of our local second hand stores equivalent to a Salvation Army thrift store. It was determined to be a great alternative plan. Another investigatory committee was established. Another child said, “we don’t need to buy sheets, my mother has a whole closet full of them she’d never miss!” I explained that theft was not part of our plan, but his comment prompted a little girl who had not made any comment throughout the morning to come forth with one of the best ideas of the day. She timidly said. “We send out a newsletter every week and we never know what to say in it. How about saying...We need your old sheets for our opera, please save them and donate them to us!” Now there is conservation, economy, community participation and creativity rolled up into one press release! Had we not done anything more that day it would have been sufficient! But there was more. Now that we felt we had materials upon which to paint our scene we had to determine where to get the paint. How many colors do we need? At first a multitude of colors came forward, then one of the children reminded them that with three colors, (red, yellow and blue) a rainbow of colors could be mixed. We determined that a quart of each of these colors could complete our project. How much would that cost? We determined that a local paint store might be willing to donate the paint. I asked what we could offer to the owner of the store that might cause him to want to help us out. I explained the principle of quid pro quo (???) which they understood immediately. One child suggested that we offer tickets to our opera in exchange for the paint. Another child suggested that we print a program and put an “ad” from the paint store in it. All this from 2nd graders! I don’t worry about the future of creative community work provided children have a regular creative opportunities of this nature. My next stop was at another school in our county where an anxious teacher awaited my arrival. Our standard formula is to have three acts or scenes. Act one is an introduction of the characters, act two is the conflict that develops from the traits of the characters and act three is a resolution of the conflict. We identify the characters by adjectives, which children of pre-school age can understand. We use five adjectives for each character. We have learned from experience that at least 3 of the 5 need to be positive adjectives. Children are more prone to find negative adjectives and need to be guided to balancing it with positive adjectives. Children learn that certain character types can create conflicts with other types, but that there is also means by which those conflicts can be resolved in a mutually beneficial fashion. We can a great deal about a character by the way they communicate. As we began to introduce one of our characters by allowing the students to submit dialogue out loud one of the students shot forth very “creative” language. All of the words consisted of four letters and many of them were compound words. His language was “blue” enough to make a sailor blush, and the teacher buried her shaking head into her hands. Much to her shock and that of the class, I wrote his words on the board. There was an audible gasp! I acknowledged that these were real words that some people use. I asked the young man who he wanted to come to our opera. He said “grandma.” He admitted that he loved his grandmother and wanted her to be there when the opera was performed. I asked him if he thought his mother knew what these words meant. He acknowledged that he believed she did. I asked if she used the words herself. He reluctantly said no. I asked if it might be possible that she might be offended by the words. He supposed that she might. I pressed him to see if she might leave our production. He acquiesced that it was a possibility. I asked him how he would feel if she left our production. He said that he would feel badly if she left. I explained that there are some strong words which can alienate or offend people and cause them not to hear our message. I asked him if words like that really have strength if our message is not received. He said no. I asked him if he could think of words which have the same amount of power but might not offend. He replaced each of his words with appropriate ones. When we took our break the teacher confessed to me that she had tried all year long to impress upon him that his language was not getting the response he really wanted, but to no avail. The more she objected to his language the more he used offensive words. In a matter of minutes we did more through the opera project than she had been able to do all year. The reason was two fold: the arts should create a “safe” environment for expression. We were examining character “A”’s language, not this young man. We were able to analyze the use of language without “attacking” the young man or causing him to “stonewall” his position. Secondly, from a position of detachment, he was able to hear, perhaps for the first time, that his colleagues in the class were not impressed by the language. Their reactions of shock were a result of repulsion not impression. One overriding rule in our program is that “no one gets hurt” in our operas. This means both physically and emotionally. We openly discuss the power of language to injure and offend. It helps children understand the importance of communication and respect language. Another class came up with a very interesting conflict for their opera. The plot was strongly led by the smallest child in the class. She led them to draft a plot that involved a very small girl who was not allowed to go into the Indiana Jones ride at Disneyland. She was too short to gain admittance. She sought revenge for being turned away. The third graders identified very well to the conflict. The little girl determined to blow up Disneyland by filling a school bus with explosives and driving it into the park. I allowed them to continue and wrote down all their ideas on the board. She girl succeeded in her project and Disneyland was destroyed. The class cheered! I asked them how the conflict was resolved. Who won? They purported that the little girl won. I asked how she won, did she get into the ride? Is revenge a real form of winning? Did anyone else win? No one could ever ride again. There was a thoughtful silence in the room. They all determined that no one won from this scenario, and they determined to abandon the plot and move to another. It would take a great deal of reading and discussion of the elements of revenge and terrorism to haveaccomplished the same understanding as working through this drama.

JOB MARKET JITTERS

JOB MARKET JITTERS
In a speech entitled “Today’s Job Market” given by U.S. Secretary of Education, Richard W. Riley he states that: “Extraordinary benefits, both tangible and intangible..that come from involvement in music and the arts and from the integration of arts education into the overall learning process. The intangibles are quite clear, as I know the students here understand. There is nothing that quite equals the satisfaction and joy that can come from involving yourself in the Act of painting, or of listening to, playing,` or composing a piece of music, or of being a part of a dance, a play or an orchestra. Very tangible and measurable benefits...higher on tests, better abstract reasoning, development of math, science and engineering skills. Drawing can help with writing. Songs and poetry can make facts more easily memorable. Drama can bring history to life. And creative movement can make other processes more understandable. There is also a clear relationship between increased use of the arts in teaching and learning and improved academic performance and test scores, increased attendance by students and teachers, and lower drop out rates. Sharing in learning about the arts also offers an important way to break down the barriers of all types–race, gender, economic. There is a great need for graphic designers, software producers, and other jobs that benefit from creative individuals with a background in the arts. As one CEO said”Today’s students need arts education now more than ever. Yes, they need the basics. But today, there are two sets of basics. The first - - reading, writing and math - - is simply the prerequisite for a second, more complex, equally vital collection of higher-level skills required to function well in today’s world. The arts provide an unparalleled opportunity to each of these high-level basics that are increasingly critical not only to tomorrow’s work force, but also today’s.” Speech by Richard W. Riley, U.S. Secretary of Education, Mar 19,` 1993, United States Department of Education Public Affairs The U.S. Department of Education concurred in a statement: “Children naturally sing, dance, draw and roleplay in an effort to understand the world around them and communicate their thoughts about it. A growing body of evidence demonstrates that when their caretakers engage them in these activities early in life on a regular basis, they are helping wire the children’s brains for successful learning.” U.S. Department of Education

FORTIFYING FOR THE FUTURE

FORTIFYING FOR THE FUTURE
With what we have addressed to this point, what are the tools we can gain to insure a bright and prosperous future? The U.S. Department of Labor issued a report in 1991 urging schools to teach for the future workplace. The skills recommended (working in teams, communication, self-esteem, creative thinking, imagination, and invention) are exactly those learned in school music and arts education programs 191 SCANS Report, U.S. Department of Commerce.

SONGS AND STROKES

SONGS AND STROKES
Earlier, I described the profound help that was given to me when I moved to New York City and was given the opportunity to practice on the piano of Joyce Gibson who lived on 112th ??? and Riverside Drive. I have undying love for that dear woman who made that available to me. It made the difference of success and failure in those early years. With that introduction you can understand my deep dismay when I heard that Joyce had suffered a massive stroke during the Thanksgiving holiday season and was hospitalized in New York’s ???? hospital. Her neighbor Peggy stayed at her side and tried to communicate with her to no avail. Miraculously during that holiday season a group of carolers came through the halls of the hospital and Peggy noticed Joyce’s interest in what they were doing. She invited them into Joyce’s room and saw clearly her delight in their being there. She even noticed Joyce trying to mouth some of the words. During the ensuing weeks Peggy sang the carols with Joyce and even caused Joyce to join in. Little by little Joyce was able to sing the carols, even when she was not able to talk at first. How is that possible? A stroke is a neurological dysfunction which simply put “messes up the circuitry” in the brain. The order that had existed there is scrambled and the brain function shuts down to varying degrees. Music has so much order as we learned with our discussion of Clive as to superimpose order on an “orderless” or at least “disordered” brain. Often times the order of the music can “re-pattern” or “re-circuit” the brain into effective function. In Joyce’s case, it worked and she regained a good quality of life. What if the music had not been present at that juncture?

GARDNER’S GUIDING LIGHT

GARDNER’S GUIDING LIGHT
Dr. Howard Gardner is an acclaimed Professor of Education at Harvard University. He determined his important theory in the early 1980's. His purpose was to “Determine a profile of an individual and determine a strategy on how to best teach them.” His landmark studies propose the idea that we all learn differently and have various (8) ways of acquiring and utilizing intelligence. He asserts that in our present day educational process, we tend to focus to a fault on the first two forms of human intelligence; linguistic and logical, or simply in America, English and Math. He believes in doing so we do not tap the potential of the majority of students who may find greater success utilizing the other 6 forms of human intelligence. Gardner goes so far as to say that “School matters, but only insofar as it yields something that can be used once students leave school”. That paradigm of thought is revolutionary, but gaining in acceptance. I for one, agree wholeheartedly! Let’s examine Gardner’s eight forms of intelligence: Linguistic: From the Latin root lingua: tongue. It is that intelligence with which we communicate. Those who flourish in this form of intelligence read well, like words, remember spellings, conjugations, in short, those who abound in their native tongue. It is one of the key forms of intelligence upon which we base our present systems of education. Unfortunately for those who don’t thrive in this form of learning, it becomes difficult for them to succeed in the system. Logical: These are those who love to play with numbers. They are those who delight in mathematical machinations and cavorting in calculations. If a student excels in the above two intelligences it is smooth sailing for them throughout their academic career. But what about those who don’t. Spatial: This is the form of intelligence that can reason and judge relationships of time and space. This is crucial for those who seek to become engineers and architects. This is the form of learning which we were warned as parents of a child with mobility challenges, that we should not hold high hopes. Kinesthetic: Those who do well with their hands. These are they who flourish in making beautiful furniture, crafting fine instruments, understanding by hand how things work. These people make great carpenters, artists, mechanics, and technicians. If you are like me, and have to think through a keypad to remember a phone number, chances are you function well with kinesthetic learning. How many opportunities do students of the 21st century have to improve in these skills? Musical: This one is rather self explanatory. Those who develop this type of learning use both hemispheres of the brain and enhance the other 7 forms of intelligence Interpersonal: A person who deals well with others and functions well in a society. These of those who prosper through association with others. Intrapersonal: A person with this skill knows his or her shortcomings and talents and are comfortable with the results. They are secure in their abilities and are not frustrated by the gifts of others or their lack thereof. Naturalist: The addition of this intelligence came a decade later. He added naturalist as an intelligence (recognition and naming of natural things, cultural artifacts (cars, plants, shoes, dinosaurs) Darwin would have been a prime example. Gardner’s plea to the world of education is to strive to make available to students all eight forms of intelligence, or at least try not to base the system on the first two. It is his belief, and I concur that the vast majority of students do not abound in linguistic-logical thought and could benefit immensely by utilizing the other 6. Let us examine what might take place in an early morning choir class in school. Which forms of human intelligence, by Gardner’s definition will be utilized? Linguistic? Yes, whether in their native tongue or in a foreign language. Music by it’s nature has it’s own “foreign language” or symbols and signs and Italian, Latin, German and French notations as well. Linguists recognize that the ability of learning a foreign language later in life is greatly enhanced by doing so as a child. Children who learn music have that advantage. Logical? Yes, music IS math at a very high level. It requires multiplication, division, addition and subtraction skills. It requires the highest form of number concepts and as Einstein put it: it is the “fun part” of math. Spatial? Music is one of the best ways to see relationships of time and space, and as I discussed earlier with our son Ben, it is a means whereby some children can function in this way when theyu cannot in the traditional means. Kinesthetic? For a singer to produce a sound he must create it with his body, his lungs, his vocal cords, his mouth and teeth. It is a very physical discipline with aerobic and calisthenic benefit. Musical? This one goes without saying. Interpersonal? To create harmony in a choir requires hearing and adjusting to other voices. To match pitch and synchronize rhythm requires working together with others and enjoying it. Intrapersonal? To develop as a singer or musician requires understanding ones capabilities and lack of skill as well. Determining which part to sing in the choir requires understanding one’s range and stamina. Naturalist? Musicians develop the ability to recognize patterns and similarities, the same skill used by a computer to function. In case you didn’t notice, ALL the intelligences proposed by Dr. Gardner are used in the choir class. Imagine if a student has that opportunity first thing in the morning how the rest of the day will improve in productivity. Is it any wonder why students who have access to creative classes at school are at the top of the academic curve? One needs only to attend a graduation exercise and witness where the valedictorians come from...the choir, the band and the orchestra. This is not to imply that students who are attracted to music are smarter. I am sure from personal experience that they are not. What they do have is the marked advantage of using more types of intelligences and the ability to use more of the brain more of the time. And yet, we continue to cut funding to the arts in education.

THE REAL RAINMAN

THE REAL RAINMAN
In 1980 my wife and I embarked upon an unusual adventure for us. We determined to enroll in a “brain symposium” in Cedar City, Utah. We had never done anything like that, but the lure of the renowned Utah Shakespearean Festival weighted the scale for our participation. During those days, exploration of the human brain was a new frontier, and the thesis that there were two hemispheres with different functions was revolutionary. We read voraciously and reported to each other on our findings. It was exhilarating and exciting. During that conference, I met Kim Peak?? For the first time. It is Kim’s life upon which, with some poetic license, The Rainman is based starring Dustin Hoffman. Kim’s devoted father Fran introduced us. I judged Kim to be about my age. Kim asked where we lived. I told him the upper west side of New York City. After a moment of looking at the ground and slightly rocking on his feet he said, “Your phone number is 212-580...” He was right! I was astonished and a bit unnerved. Fran chuckled and said, “don’t be alarmed, Kim likes numbers.” He went on to explain that Kim loves to look at phone books. He is drawn to the order with which they are laid out. Fran went on to explain why that is the reason Kim loves music. Music is the epitome of order. Our paths have crossed a number of times since then, I have never ceased to be amazed at how Kim’s profound genius in matters of music and order supercede his challenges in dealing with normal life. Those tasks which are second nature to us like tying shoes, dressing, and writing are very difficult and nigh unto impossible. Yet, the high level processing of music and ordering is in prodigy proportion. I have had fun playing “stump Kim” on the piano keyboard under the stress of doing it before hundreds of people, and have never found a piece of music of a serious nature (classical) music that Kim cannot recognize in a matter of a few bars. His ability to store and catagorize music is astonishing. Kim clearly possesses that 8th form of learning referred to by Dr. Howard Gardner in his “Theory of Multiple Intelligences” published in The Frame of Mind in 1985. It is the Naturalist ability to recognize and name natural things, cultural artifacts (cars, plants, shoes, dinosaurs, songs) I feel so honored to call Kim a friend and witness first hand the wondrous capacity of the human spirit.

MAY’S MIRACLE

MAY’S MIRACLE
In 1983 a television movie was made starring Clois Leachman called The Woman Who Willed a Miracle. It is based on the amazing true life account of Mae ??? and her adopted son Leslie. Leslie was born blind and abandoned with compound disabilities. An agency brought him to Mae to care for. They warned her that it was not likely that Leslie would survive, but May’s indomitable spirit not only saved little Leslie but taught him to swallow, and after years, to walk. He could not communicate in any functional way and required continual care from Mae and her husband. One night after Mae and her husband had gone to bed, she heard sound coming from the living room. She asked her husband if he had left the television running. He insisted that he had not. She ventured out through the dark house to discover that it was not the television at all, but Leslie was seated in the darkness at the piano playing songs by ear that he had heard from the radio. Leslie possessed the savant quality (profound genius in an otherwise disabled mind), which enabled him to play by ear anything that he heard. Later on he was able to mimic famous singers with remarkable accuracy. Mae did not have the benefit of today’s remarkable technology to see how music forces the brain into functioning at a higher level, but she did recognize a special power therein that created a “miracle.” She refers to the ingredient as “love” living in the music. Perhaps she is right.

FOREST FREELOADERS

FOREST FREELOADERS
Some time back, Alberta O’Brien sent me an interesting story about a neighbor in the great Northwest. It appears that her neighbor was a fine concert pianist who spent hours a day practicing. That goes without saying. He had discovered that his most productive hours were late into the evening. Living next to one of the many wooded areas of the Northwest, he had erected a studio with a large window looking into the woods. It was there that he placed his piano and spent many hours of contemplative practice looking into the woods and recreating some of the monuments of musical literature. Given that he had no neighbors on that side of the house, he often left the window open in good weather or at least uncovered with curtains. One evening as he was practicing well into the night he became aware of the fact that someone was listening to his pianistic musings from just outside the window. It was unnerving to him, and he walked to the window to see who was there. In doing so he frightened the interloper away. After a few consecutive nights when he was sure someone was out there listening, he determined to capture them on film by placing a camera at the window with a tripping device for the shutter at the piano keyboard. When he was certain the interloper was there, he tripped the shutter and captured the attached photo. ??? Racoons peering into the studio to hear his practice session. What were they listening to? Were they also attracted to the music of DWEMS (Dead Western European Males)? Had they developed a love for classical and romantic piano composers of the 18th and 19th century? I think not. Perhaps it was the unsurpassed order of the music. Perhaps it was the organization of harmonics and pitches relating to those of nature. Or perhaps it was that “spirit” again to which Mindy referred. Whatever it was, I am convinced that the creatures of the deep, the eagles that soar on mighty pinions and the fury creatures of the forest all respond to something out there. Is it nature? Is it supreme energy? Is it God? Man’s eternal quest through Art is to answer that question. We see the attempts in painting, architecture, dance, sculpture. We hear it is song and in symphony. It is man’s desire to explain the unexplainable.

NATURE’S NOCTURNE

NATURE’S NOCTURNE
In 1968 a group of Beluga Whales were trapped of the shore of the Bering Strait under a blanket of ice. The winter had been more severe than usual, and the ice had formed quickly to entrap these remarkable endangered creatures of the deep under an icy barrier. Being mammals, they needed to surface regularly to breath, and in doing so found themselves trapped under a solid wall with no ability to get oxygen. The whales faced the potential for annihilation. Scientists and wildlife conservationists from the Soviet Union and Great Britain sent mighty ice breaking machines to open the way for the whales to get oxygen. They were successful in their mission to break the ice, but in doing so the whales had become frightened and submerged to the bottom of the sea to get away from the horrible sound of the ice crusher. They stayed on the bottom until some began to die. The scientists and conservationists thought of a way to bring them to the surface. They concurred that whales sing to each other through miles of open sea. In fact water is a better conductor of sound waves than air. Whales can communicate by song for upwards of 200 miles. They determined to “pipe” sound into the water in the hopes that the whales would find it interesting and follow it. They began by playing gentle lute music which had little or no effect on the whales. They tried American Jazz thinking the more sophisticated rhythms might stimulate their interest. It had no effect. In desperation they determined to blast heavy metal rock music into the depths of the deep. In doing so, the whales submerged deeper into the icy abyss. Someone had the ingenuity to try some Beethoven. For some reason the whales came forth following the music to survival. What was the sound they heard. Is it possible that Beluga whales are afficionados of Viennese music of the early 19th century, or did they hear the sense the same ingredient that Mindy heard?

A CALL FROM CALIFORNIA

A CALL FROM CALIFORNIA
In 19?? I was seated a home during the Christmas Holiday season savoring every solitary moment in my easy chair. I bought the chair to while away my relaxing moments, but in the decade since it was purchased it has gotten very little use from me! My life is frantic and frenetic but on this night of December 27th I was enjoying being at home by the fair away from the madding crowd. As I was sitting there in blissful holiday peaceful repose the phone rang. I instructed no one to answer it. It could not be THAT important I thought out loud. However, the spirit of the season caused my sense of guilt to surface and I determined at least to look at the caller I.D. machine and determine who was on the other end. Much to my surprise an unknown name and location, Loma Linda, California peered up to me from it’s digital face. Who could this be, and better yet, how did they find me. With my high-profile existence it has become necessary to have an unlisted number to protect what privacy remains with my family. “How did they ever get my number?” I quarried, and the trouble they must have gone through was daunting. I picked up the phone to be greeted by Oscar Mink from Loma Linda, California. He was calling from a hospital there. He introduced himself and said he had a very important question he wanted to ask me. He continued, “Dr. Ballam, I heard a recording you made once called Music, the Divine Art, in which you said you sang for a man in a coma and he came out of it. Was that a true story?” It was with relief that I could respond to his question with affirmation. He went on to explain that his daughter Mindy had gotten sick just before Christmas Eve and had endured a very high fever which put her in a comatose state where she had remained, hospitalized for days. He and his wife had been told by the doctors there that Mindy had very little hope of recovery and it was proposed to them that they should remove all life support and let her move on. His question to me was “Dr. Ballam, should we do that?” Before I could respond to that most difficult of questions I asked if perhaps they had any indication that it was indeed her time to move on. Did he feel as her father that her work here on earth was completed? He thought only a moment then said “No.” I responded by saying “let’s try to bring her back!” I asked if he was aware of a song that held great meaning for Mindy. He said that he was certain that I am a Child of God was her favorite song. I told him to go to her side, hold her hand and sing the song again and again and watch for any sign of eye moment, muscle movement, respiration change. After doing this for an extended period I asked him to drop an occasional word and she if she will try to “fill it in.” He told me that he could not “carry a tune,” but that he was sure that his father who was flying in from Pennsylvania would be able to do that. I asked him if he would be so kind as to let me know what happened. Within a short few weeks I received a detailed description through the mail that told the following story. Mindy’s grandfather arrived and went to the hospital. He sat at her side throughout the night singing. At long last, he dropped out a word...I am a Child of ___. Mindy filled in the word God! He called for the nurses and family members who witnessed a repeat of the phenomena. Time passed and Mind filled in more lyrics until she could sing the song. It would be a difficult recovery, as Mindy would have to relearn to walk, talk, even swallow, but Oscar was certain that she had the fortitude and support to do that. The following August I was lecturing at a large University audience in the State of Utah when a note come to the lectern. It said there is a little girl named Mindy who would like to meet you. I knew instantly who it was and was directed ultimately to her seat on the front row of the auditorium. She was bright eyed and smiling as I knelt down to introduce myself. She thanked me for the influence I had been in helping her “come back.” I reminded her that it was nothing that I had done, but rather the love of her grandfather and the power of the music. I asked her if she remembered exactly what happened and she reported that she did. I asked her if she thought she would have the courage to stand before an audience of over 5,000 and tell them what she told me. She said she would if I could help her to the microphone. I did so, and this is what she reported. She said that she was in a “dark space” somewhere “close by but also far away”. She heard her grandfather’s voice and recognized the song. She said that the “spirit” through the music caused her to want to come back and be with her family, and she strove to come back until she was there. Mindy has made remarkable progress and has overcome monumental odds to regain her abilities with the help of her loving family. What is that power? That “spirit” to which Mindy referred. How often do we overlook the power music can have.

HEALER HEAL THYSELF

HEALER HEAL THYSELF
Throughout my lifetime I have been challenged with periods of melancholy or depression. Today, I have tools with which to deal with this adversity, principal of which is my determination to visit people in rest homes and hospitals. I have found that my own personal “pity parties” have less success when I am seeking out those who are in greater need of comfort. I cite this story not in any to aggrandize my own behavior, as it is a selfish motivation. I am the greater recipient of help than those I visit. In April of 1986 I was in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania singing the title role in The Tales of Hoffmann, with the Pennsylvania Opera Theatre. We were about to perform Offenbach’s immortal masterpiece in the oldest continually functional theater in America, the Walnut Street Theater. Though I was honored to be re-creating one of my favorite roles and in such an historic surrounding, I was feeling the pressure of the responsibility keenly. I was bemoaning the fact that Hoffmann never leaves the stage and is expected to sing more high notes and long sustained passages than surely God intended man to do. I was wallowing in self pity as I was walking home to my apartment from rehearsal one afternoon as I passed the Benjamin Franklin Institute of Health, one of the oldest hospitals in America. As I glanced up at the impressive red brick structure, the thought occurred to me that there was likely someone within those walls with greater trials than I was experiencing. Being a hospice volunteer, I went inside to seek out the hospice coordinator. I introduced myself and asked if there was anyone in the hospital who might enjoy a visit and maybe a song. She recognized my face from an article that had appeared in the newspaper and was concerned that I might sing an operatic aria and disturb the intensive care unit. I explained that when I sing for people at their bedside, I usually take requests and seldom raise my voice above a whisper. She said there was a gentleman on the second floor named Mr. Goldstein who was in the final stages of terminal cancer, but was also in heroic denial. She warned me that he had his bags packed and expecting to go home at any moment, but that in reality he could not do that. I found the room, which had two patients. It required passing by one bed in which a man in a coma laid motionless with his daughter, face in her hands weeping. I excused myself as I passed by and found Mr. Goldstein on the other side of a curtain, looking out of the window with his suitcase in hand. I introduced myself and asked if he could use a visit. He told me he had no time, since a cab was coming to take him home. He insisted that he was in perfect health and had no reason to be there. I played along and said perhaps I could sing him a song while he waited for the cab. He said “aaah you wouldn’t know anything I like!” I said “try me.” He said I love the music of Jerome Kern (which he pronounced as coin). I admitted to sharing his taste and began to think of which song to sing. Before I began, I thought it common courtesy to warn the young lady on the other side of the curtain that I would be singing for Mr. Goldstein. She responded by saying, “go ahead and open the curtain, I could use a song.” “Do you know what it is like sitting here day after day hoping dad will wake up. Hell can’t be worse than this!” I told her that I was sorry and perhaps a song could help. I began from Showboat, “We could make believe I loved you, only make believe that you loved me.” I concluded with “Might as well make believe I love you, for to tell the truth, I do.” When I finished, much to everyone’s surprise the man in the bed said “John McCormack”. His daughter literally leaped onto the bed to his side. “Dad, what is it?” she asked. “John McCormack”, he said again...”It’s John McCormack!” His daughter said “he’s delirious!” and called in the doctors. I said “maybe not” I explained to his daughter that John McCormack was a well known Irish American Tenor who lived at the beginning of the 20th Century. I asked the man if he knew John McCormack. He said “I love John McCormack, sing another one.” I did as he requested but was interrupted by a team of doctors coming in and trying to communicate with the man. As I tried to slip out of the room I felt a hand press mine, as the woman thanked me for “bringing back her father.” Though I thanked her for the kind words, I realize it was not me at all, but rather the music which was dwelling deep within his recollection. My bringing it to his attention had caused something in his brain to respond in an “awakening” fashion. A motion picture by that same title chronicles the heroic work of Dr. Oliver Saks in his pursuit to “awaken” patients in ???? from ????? commonly called “sleeping sickness.” Since that time Dr. Saks has devoted his life to the powerful influence of music therapy. He has pioneered many facets of this scientific endeavor and spends his time lecturing throughout the world on the remarkable potential music has to heal. As I tried to leave the hospital that day, I was met by the Hospice Coordinator again who had already heard about what had happened on the second floor. She asked me if I would go with her to the home of a couple the next day who needed a visit desperately. I felt I had done my service, and was about to have my nine year old son join me for a few days. She persisted that a Mr. Pasquale had been in a coma for many weeks and that his aged wife had worn herself almost out by keeping vigil at his bedside at home. She had not slept for weeks and was wasting away herself from the ordeal. Could she come and pick me up the next day and drive me out just for a moment. I consented to do so, being concerned about what my son would think of all of this. The next day, the Hospice Coordinator arrived and we sped through the streets of Philadelphia to the southern, Italian section. It was like being transported to a scene of Rocky, where the Bilboa family resided. The row houses had a similar theme of various kinds of Madonna’s in front of the houses as we stepped from the car to venture inside. Coming in the door I was greeted with a smiling picture of Pope Paul ??? and the wonderful smells of an Italian household. We were escorted into the living room, which looked like any other living room on the street except that instead of a coffee table in the middle of the room there was a hospital bed with a man lying in it looking very much like Marley’s Ghost. I looked at him as long as I could without appearing to stare, but could not see any signs of life. I began to worry that perhaps we had come to late. I pondered the irony of his name “Volare” which means to fly in Italian. He was doing anything but flying at the moment. We were asked to sit down, where the conversation turned to the weather and the opening of the Phillies’ baseball season. We talked of everything and nothing, but no mention was made of Pasquale until Mrs. Volare looked in his direction and began to weep. She said, “it is unbearable here. I wait, and wait hoping Pasquale will awaken. I do not expect him to recover and get well, but I want a chance to say good-bye. I am afraid to close my eyes in sleep in case I should miss that chance.” She explained how friends and family members had come by to spell her from the watch, but she would not leave his side. She regained her composure and asked if you could get us some cookies. That brightened my son’s face and she noticed. She asked us to follow her into the kitchen where she would get some Anise cookies and milk. My son hated the cookies but was polite, nonetheless. As we sat there in the kitchen I began to wonder why we had come. I blurted out... “could you use a song?” She shrugged and said “I no needa a song. It isa Pasquale who lovesa da music, and he would not hear you.” I persisted, but she continued; “you not knowa da songs I love, songsa froma my childhood.” I asked from whence she came and she proudly said “Napoli!” I smiled thinking any tenor worth his salt should have a lexicon of Neopolitan songs. I began “Quarda il mare come bello, spiro tanto sentimento” the strains of one of the most popular Neopolitan songs of history Come Back to Sorrento. I finished with “torna surriento, far me contar!” From the other room we heard the word “Surriento!” We rushed into the room to see Pasquale staring up into the ceiling. He had recognized the song. Mrs. Volare asked “Tu piace la contare?” (Did you like the singing?) He answered with “Si.” “Tu piace ancora?” (Would you like another?), she continued. He answered with “Si.” Mrs. Volare gestured for me to sing another. I moved closer to Mr. Volare and asked if he had a favorite song. He said “si.” I asked what the title was. I should have known even before he answered as it is the Everest of them all...O Sole Mio! Why not, a song about sunshine, peace, hope, home and love! It may well be one of the most “healing” songs ever created. Breaking from my tradition of singing sotto voce (half voice) at a bedside, I announced that I would sing it in the tradition of the Neapolitans, loud and high. I stood back as Pasquale smiled. I sang with all my heart and he and his wife looked into each other’s eyes. I knew the song well, having sung it in many of the great concert halls of the country as an encore. It always ensured an ovation. But this recitation met with a response which eclipsed all the others. Mr. Volare brought his tired, bony hands together to clap three times in gratitude for taking him back to his homeland where no one was ill, and where life was eternal. There was a miracle of healing that day, but not so much for the Volares as it was for me. At that moment I saw the greatest power music has, not to entertain, but to heal. It would cause me to set forth on a new quest in my life, one that I am still pursuing.

SAYING IT IN SONG

SAYING IT IN SONG
In 19?? I was performing a recital in St. George, Utah at an exquisite performance complex called Tuacahn. During intermission, word came back to me that a group of challenged adults from the community were present at the concert and would like to see me at the conclusion. When the recital was over, I made my way out to the lobby where I was greeted by a group of adults with various forms of disability. Having enjoyed similar opportunities like this one, I have discovered that there is a sweetness and joy than can come if one can get past the difficulty of conventional communication. One man, who appeared to be close to my age wanted very much to communicate something to me. His sponsor explained that he wanted to tell me something very important to me. He began with great difficulty, and though I struggled to understand what he had attempted to communicate, it was beyond my ability to do so. I could see through the earnest expression in his eyes that it was critical that I understand him. He took a deep breath and eloquent articulation he began to sing for me “I have a testimony, sacred and dear to me, Something that lies within my soul, something I cannot see...” He continued, uninterrupted through the entirety of this lengthy song. It was exact and clear and beautiful. I recognized the song from my childhood when the song was popular. I had not heard it since the 1960's. I suspect he had learned it at that time as well. There it lingered in his mind for over 30 years enabling him to communicate in fluency. There is a great deal of scientific data to explain this phenomena. Earlier we discussed the way with which music forces the brain to interface with both functioning hemispheres. In addition, music has an inherent order that in many cases can supercede the lack of order on the brain, forcing it to function at a higher level. In addition to the wealth of scientific data which supports these theses, it is incumbent upon us to not lose sight of the illusive if not spiritual dimension that music may possess.

HELPING HORACE HELP HIMSELF

HELPING HORACE HELP HIMSELF
Some Christmas season a few years ago, at the suggestion of Thad Carlson, who introduced me to visiting inmates in the jails and prisons, I went with a friend to visit some “shut-ins” in our neighborhood with a Poinsettia as a holiday offering. I had volunteered to visit the home of Horace Baugh and his wife. The Baugh family had been important in my formative years, as they were a very musical family. Horace’s brother Frank had come to my elementary school to excite us in the creative possibilities of music. He had asserted that music was not necessarily the stuffy art form where people wear “penguin suits” in dark concert halls and play on fancy instruments...he maintained that music was everywhere. He brought bells and whistles and noise makers and made with great delight from us, witty and charming music. He was great! It was my hope in visiting with Horace that I could repay in some small way the joy that the Baugh family had brought to me. When we arrived, Mrs. Baugh quietly confided in us that her husband was very weak and was reluctant to receive visitors. She sadly acknowledged that he was “slipping away” as she put it. We explained that we would only stay a moment, but hoped to bring some holiday cheer. He let us in and took us to the reclining chair where Horace was seated. He looked frail but pleased to see us. We sat down, presented the flower and prepared to leave. In doing so, I asked if perhaps I could leave them with a song that I thought they might enjoy. I went to the piano and began to play “Christmas makes you feel emotional. It may bring parties ???and thoughts devotional. Whatever happens or what may be, ??? here is what Christmastime means to me...City sidewalks, busy side walks dressed in holiday style in the air there’s a feeling of Christmas, Children laughing people passing meeting smile after smile, and on every street corner you’ll hear... During the verse I heard someone moving towards me from behind. When I began the refrain “Silver bells....” I was singing a duet. Horace had gotten out of his chair and was standing beside me singing in perfect harmony the refrain of that wonderful song. When we finished, I turned to see his wife whose eyes were filled with tears of joy. Horace said “have you got any more?” I said “about a million”. We sang a few more at which point Horace said “Dear, don’t we have something we could serve these good people” he went off into the kitchen to prepare a refreshment for us. In his absence, his wife confided that he had not shown this kind of energy for months. What was it? The music!!! I do not mean to presume to say that any form of music will create such an effect, but I wonder how many times we have missed an opportunity by not trying. Mrs. Baugh began to use music more often and the last months of Horace’s life was filled with joy and fraternity with his grandchildren and friends. Is this really such a new discovery? The Greeks used music for healing and energizing millennia ago.

SONG OF SURVIVAL

SONG OF SURVIVAL
In the spring of 1942 some English and American women were incarcerated in a prisoner of war camp in Sumatra held captive by the Japanese. The conditions were deplorable and the treatment inhumane. For 18 months, Margaret Driver kept thinking of creative projects to keep the morale of the camp up in order to repel despair and hopelessness from consuming the women. At the conclusion of that time, Nora Chambers approached Margaret with the idea of trying to sing well-known pieces of classical music without words. Having an extraordinary musical memory, Margaret was able to arrange works such as Bach’s Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring, O Danny Boy, Humeresque, and Dvorak’s New World Symphony in four-part female chorus. She had no staff paper, but somehow over a period of months wrote down 24 arrangements. Rehearsing the pieces drew the women together and unified them as they sat on boxes at night with one lamp to light the music. The women would try the pieces together at first, and then divide into sections to rehearse the more difficult sections. Due to the terrible conditions, the women were in a weakened state suffering from a myriad of physical maladies. It was difficult in this debilitated state to have the breath control to sing the long phrases, yet somehow they rose to the task. One survivor said the music allowed them “not to be in the dirty squalor of the POW camp, but there were transported somewhere else, beautiful and free.” They began their rehearsals in the fall of 1943 and on December 1st they had their first concert. As they gathered to sing, many were not strong enough to stand. As Margaret prepared to begin the concert, one of the Japanese guards came angrily to her shouting in a language that she could not comprehend, but the meaning was clear. He did not wish them to begin. Margaret payed him no notice and carried on anyway. When the mellifluous strains of the music began, he sat down entranced by the experience. Throughout the horrific experiences of the war, these women survived with their music. It enabled them to be transported out of the wretchedness of their condition to a place of beauty and nobility. A film entitled Paradise Road produced in ??? recounts this miraculous story. In 1983 I was preparing to perform on a gala fund raising event at the Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts in Washington D.C. The evening was to include some very well known performers including Jean Stapelton, Douglas Fairbanks Jr., Tammy Grimes, Jerome Hines, Mistlov Rostopovich???? and the headliner for the evening...Ethel Merman??? As the event approached, we read in the New York Times that Merman had checked in to the Roosevelt Hospital in New York City, due to some extraordinary pain in her leg. She had gone visiting to the hospital as she did weekly for years to visit the sick. Her father was cared for in that hospital to the end of his life, and she was very grateful for the care he received. As a result, she donated an afternoon a week for years to visit the sick and try to bring some cheer by chatting with or singing to those in the hospital. This particular visit, she met with her doctor who diagnosed her illness to be a pinched sciatic nerve. He was mistaken. In actuality she had suffered the first in a series of strokes, that would shortly terminate her life. All we knew was that Merman was “indisposed” and our audience would be vastly disappointed. Martin Feinstein??? of the Kennedy Center called Merman to inquire as to her health, and more particular the status of her performing at the gala. She assured him that she had never missed a performance, and she was not about to start now. He asked her about the dress rehearsal. She queried as to why she should have to rehearse, given she had been singing the number since 1946. Martin assured her that it was not for her that the rehearsal was scheduled but rather that the conductor would appreciate the rehearsal. She ended the conversation by saying “if he wants to rehearse, he knows where to find me”. And so, Bill Huckabee took the train from Washington to New York to have the rehearsal experience of his life. He returned to tell us that, though she was gracious enough to sing through the numbers from her hospital bed, he could not possibly see how she could be well enough to be with us on the week-end. The appointed day arrived and Miss Merman arrived with her agent Donald Sadler???? to find out the order of the bows (as if anyone would have the stupidity to try to bow after Merman!) She was obviously not feeling at all well, and asked to go directly to her dressing room to await her entrance. Mr. Sadler??? sensed my disappointment, as I had held a lifetime dream of meeting this Broadway legend. He beaconed me to her dressing room when she was settled there. I simply wanted to tell her it was a supreme honor to be sharing the stage with her, and how much I had admired her career, and her autobiography. She was gracious and I noticed her medications (demerol). She had the unmistakable look of someone in excruciating pain. I truly wondered, as I watched the difficulty with which she moved, whether she could make it through the performance. When my numbers were finished, I sneaked out into the house to observe her performance and also the reaction of the audience. The lights went out, and from the darkness, as she found her way to center stage, an announcement... “ladies and gentlemen...Ethel Merman! A pin spot hit her center stage as the crowd went wild. The upbeat introduction began to Irving Berlin’s 1946 hit Annie Get Your Gun, and Merman belted out like no one has before or since There’s No Business Like Show Business! I watched nearly 40 years drop away and witnessed her body rejuvenate and restore. The pain evaporated and in its place was the intensity and vitality of a teenager. Somehow, the music transported her back to a time when there was no pain, and there was a reservoir of unlimited energy. Demerol does not actually take the pain away, it causes the brain to “ignore” it by “numbing” part of the sensory perception. Music can do the same thing. Not all music, you understand, but music that has meaning to the person in pain. It would be her last performance, and I cannot imagine how, in spite of what she was suffering, it could be bettered. That experience was reinforced when a very dear friend of mine, Doris Heninger met me coming out of a local nursing home in tears. I asked what was wrong and she tearfully explained that her dear mother, Mrs. Wolford, was in terrible pain and no matter how hard the doctors seemed to try and relieve it, they were unsuccessful. It was awful for Doris to witness her mother in this condition and have no ability to help. She was having to leave for a moment of respite to regain her composure to go back and face the scene again. I asked if Doris knew what were her mother’s favorite songs. Both being musicians, it was an easy question. I suggested that she go home and put on tape a continuous play of her mother’s favorite songs. She did so and reported to me that the tape had the power to give her peace and remove the pain better than the morphine and demerol. She used this therapy to the end of her mother’s life. It was a sweet solution to a very difficult concern. Are you using music to help you? Would someone know the songs that would help if you were in similar trouble?

AN AIR OF ADIEU

AN AIR OF ADIEU
A dear friend of mine, Ezra Taft Benson, who had served as the Secretary of Agriculture under the post-war administration of Dwight D. Eisenhower, developed a serious challenge with his ability to communicate late in his life. It became difficult for him to articulate in speech, particularly in large groups since the stress factor rendered it far more difficult. His wife, Flora, who was born in my hometown, and who was a very dear companion to him throughout their long married life was failing in health. The family was at her bedside when the final moments came. The attending physician spoke to their eldest son, Reed explaining that if Ezra wished to say goodbye to Flora, now was the time. Reed informed his father that the time was at hand to say goodbye. Ezra tried with all his might to sum up a lifetime of their very special union. Though no doubt the thoughts came flooding forth, the words would not. The more the stress of the moment rose, the less he could form tidings of farewell. His family ached with him and wished somehow they could do for who that which he alone could do. When the moment seemed excruciating, in a clear, articulate voice, Ezra began: Let me call you sweetheart, I’m in love with you Let me hear you whisper that you love me too Keep the love light glowing in your eyes so true Let me call you sweetheart, I’m in love with you. I’m not sure if Ezra had been able to call up all the vast vocabulary that had once made him a world famous orator, he could have spoken with greater eloquence.

ST. FRANCIS AND SURGEONS

ST. FRANCIS AND SURGEONS
Some years ago, I was asked to address the Oregon Medical Association during a crucial time when legislature was being presented to change the course of health care in the U.S. An agreement between insurance companies and health care providers determining whether to cover health conditions which were “not cost efficient” was being proposed. The legislature would have allowed providers and insurance companies to deny care to those whose condition cost them too much. It was a juncture in history which would have altered health care as we have come to know it. I was asked to address the power of music as a means of assisting the healing process. A few days before I was to appear in Portland, I received a call from the woman in charge. She was reluctant to address her concern to me. She said that a number of her group were very concerned about the proposals coming forth and it was the opinion of many of those in charge of the event that the meeting should be opened with a prayer. They were harkening back to the founding of the nation when Benjamin Franklin asserted that prayer was needed at the Continental Congress as they were making such important decisions that would effect countless generations in the future. She was very concerned that if they prayed openly in the meeting, it was likely that representatives from the ACLU would likely close down the meeting. Still, the committee felt it was important. She asked if there was such a thing as a prayer set to music. I assured her that there were many. I told her I would be happy to comply with her wishes. When the moment came, I was announced to sing an opening song. I moved to the piano and sang the famous prayer of St. Francis of Assisi set to music by Olive Dungan as Eternal Life Lord, make me an instrument of Thy peace Where there is hatred, let me sow love Where there is injury, pardon Where there is doubt, faith Where there is despair, hope Where there is darkness, light Where there is sadness, joy O divine master, grant that I may not so much seek, To be consoled, as to console To be understood, as to understand To be loved, as to love For it is in giving that we receive It is in pardoning that we are pardoned It is in dying that we are born to eternal life When I finished thousands of participants said, “Amen.” The music provided a means of meditation and invocation without offense. Music has the power to bypass religious, social, political differences and speak to the heart. It has no boundaries or language misunderstanding becoming a universal communication.

A SONG SAVES SEPARATION

A SONG SAVES SEPARATION
Some years later a song would perform an important function as well. In the middle of my performing career, I spent the majority of time on the road. Some people believe that absence makes the heart grow fonder. That may be true in the short term, but in my experience, too much absence creates problems. Such was the case in our marriage. In my naive way, I determined that flying home for a day would solve all our problems wherein we could discuss our challenges and move on to resolution. I soon discovered that the more I talked the worse things got. The more I tried to “fix” things, the greater the malfunction. At a certain point the thought came into my head: “Shut up! You’re making it worse.” I took that advice and with resignation, I walked toward the door. In doing so I passed the piano. I determined to sit down and sing a song that I thought might make a difference. It is the song for which she was named: Annie Laurie by Lady John Scott. Maxwelton’s braes are bonnie, where early fa’s the dew And twas there that Annie Laurie, gave me her promise true. Gave me her promise true, which ne’er forgot may be, And for bonnie Annie Laurie, I’d lay me doon and dee The music allowed me to convey the reality of my feelings that spoke to her heart which was crucial at the moment. The music allowed her to know the sincerity of my heart where words alone failed. Special songs between people are important as tokens for important bonding times. It can be very decisive in the maintenance of a strong relationship. Music has the power to communicate beyond verbal means.

PROPOSALS AND POETRY

PROPOSALS AND POETRY
As a painfully shy teenager, I struggled with how to communicate my feelings, perhaps that is why I was drawn to the stage, where it was easier for me. When I finally realized that the extraordinary young lady I had met at a piano lesson and dated for some time was the one with whom I wanted to share my life, I agonized over the words to convey my intentions. I tried practicing the phrases in front of the mirror to improve my delivery, but the more I tried the worse it seemed to get. I began to worry that if I didn’t express my deep feelings soon, one of a multitude of fond admirers surely would, and I would be left with a shattered dream. I determined to call upon the help of a friend, Oscar Hammerstein II whose words had touched my own heart so many times before. Though I never met Mr. Hammerstein, his lyrics were part of my being. I asked Laurie to come to my parent’s home and I sat her by the piano prefacing the following song I sang with: “Though these may be Oscar Hammerstein’s words, they are how I feel.” I make up things to say, on my way to you On my way to you, I write things to say I can write poems too, when I’m far away When I’m far away, I write poems too. But when you draw near, my lips go dry When you are near, I only sigh, oh dear! I’ve told every little star, just how sweet I think you are Why haven’t I told you? I’ve told ripples in a brook, made my heart an open book Why haven’t I told you? Friends ask me, am I in love, I always answer yes, Might as well confess. If I don’t they’ll guess. Maybe you may know it too. Oh my darling, if you do, Why haven’t you told me? The song did the trick, and it is a good thing, because Laurie became the mother of my 6 children.

CONCILIATION AND COMPOSITION

CONCILIATION AND COMPOSITION
The great Irish author, poet and motivational speaker Thomas Moore (1779-1852) Returned from a long trip to discover his wife had contracted small pox. Due to the ravaging disfigurement the disease exacted on her, she sought to have her husband leave her alone in the house and never return. She was sure he could not love her since her physical beauty had been destroyed by the pox. He tried to entreat her to allow him access to her, but to no avail. In despair he turned to his deepest friend, his pen and composed a beautiful lyric for a song which he implored her to read. The song helped her understand his intense love for her which transcended physical beauty. They were reconciled and the world was left with an elegant explanation of deep love. Believe Me, If All Those Endearing Young Charms Believe me, if all those endearing young charms, Which I gaze on so fondly today Were to change by tomorrow and fleet in my arms, Like fairy gifts fading away, Thou wouldst still be adored, as this moment thou art, Let thy lovliness fade as it will And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart Would entwine itself fervantly still It is not while beauty and youth are thine own, And thy cheeks unprofaned by a tear That the fervor and faith of a soul can be known, To which time doth but make thee more dear No, the heart that has truly loved, never forgets But as truly runs on to it’s close As the sunflower turns on her god when he sets The same look which she turned when he rose.

MALFUNCTION AND THE MERRY WIDOW

MALFUNCTION AND THE MERRY WIDOW
There are a myriad of means with which to communicate. Only one of them is verbal. My grandmother in the story above communicated with touch (caress) and with song, two very power means of communication. In 1997, as the Utah Festival Opera was rehearsing Lehar’s The Merry Widow, I was walking through the hallway of the rehearsal space when I heard someone singing some very complex lines from Act II. I assumed someone had left the rehearsal, hence I followed the sound to investigate. I came upon a young man who was mopping the floors in an adjacent room. I tried to speak with him but could elicit no response. I went to the office to inquire about the young man, and found that he was a severely disabled student who was helping out in the care of the building. According to the secretary in the office, he was unable to communicate on any level. I thought deeply about his profound gift (savant nature) relating to melodic understanding and replication. He could only have heard those portions of the opera for about a day, and yet he was able to store them in memory and repeat them with astounding accuracy. I recounted my fascination with his skill to one of his counselors who did not seem to be impressed by it at all. It is an extremely complex mind that can codify, replicate and remember such complex melodic patterns. I wonder if that area of skill in the brain could be transferred to other parts of the brain and enhance his ability to function in normal society.

COMMUNICATION

COMMUNICATION
RHAPSODY IN RICHMOND
I would like to take you back in time a few decades and tell you a story that I know well, because I am the principal character in this story. I was just about two years of age, when my parents allowed me to stay over night for the first time at my grandmother’s home in a little town in Northern Utah called Richmond, a town not more than a few hundred people, but a very remarkable place because my grandmother lived there, and she was an extraordinary woman. She was magic. In particular, she had magic fingers. Through her fingers magical things could happen. She could take old pieces of rags my grandfather would bring home and turn them into beautiful pieces of rugs and tapestries. She could take yarn and turn it into beautiful afghans and quilts. She could take powdered sugar and water and turn it into little kittens, angels, clowns, beautiful flowers...anything to make a cake that would delight a child on his birthday. She had magical hands, and in this house she had a magical couch that, by the movement of certain levers, would transform itself into a bed. Being a two-year old, when it came time for bed I was not interested in sleeping in a traditional kind of bed. I wanted to sleep on the magic couch with my grandmother (wouldn’t you?) She was very tired, and soon I could tell from the rhythm of her breathing that she was falling asleep. As we were lying there in her living room in Richmond, Utah, many decades ago, with cars running along the Highway 89-91 with their headlights coming through the curtains on the front of her house, a new experience began for me. I could see eery patterns on the wall, things that go “bump in the night.” instantly becoming dragons, monsters, and devouring creatures that would eat me up! I remember lying there, becoming increasingly more concerned, stressful, and frightened, and feeling my grandmother becoming increasingly more asleep; I had three words I wanted to say...three words that were difficult for a two-year old to say — three words that are difficult for a grown-up to say. Those three words were, “Grandma, I’m scared.” When I uttered those three words, my grandmother had a multitude of responses she could have drawn upon to take away my fears. She could have told me about the safety of their home or explained the principle of light refraction through curtains upon the walls, but she didn’t use any words to calm my troubled heart. She used magic. She slid over a little closer to me and put her arm around me (the first form of magic) and began to sing the following song. It would be the first song I remember hearing, the first song I ever learned and performed, and I am about to inflict it upon you: Oh, do you remember a long time ago, There were two little babes, their names I don’t know They strayed far away on a bright summer’s day And were lost in the woods, I heard people say. Within that period of time, what we refer to in musical terms as the first complete statement, a miracle had occurred. My fear was gone, and in its place was security, calm, but more important than that, was the knowledge that I was loved by my grandmother. The song continues: And when it was night, how great was their fright The bright sun went down and the moon gave no light They sighed and they sighed and they bitterly cried, And the poor little babes, they laid down and died And when they were dead, the robins so red, Brought strawberry leaves and over them spread. And all the night long they sang their sweet song, Poor babes in the woods, poor babes in the woods.” My grandmother was a remarkable lady, and the music that she taught me had great power in it, and it still has the power to bring the memories of her back to me. When I have told some of my friends about this experience, some have said; “Your grandma was kind of strange wasn’t she?” They don’t understand that my grandmother was not only teaching me that love conquers fear, but also that death is part of life. It may be because she had brushed with death many times in her life, that she had such deep understanding, but whatever the reason, she was telling me that it was okay. I have leaned on her understanding of death throughout my life, and now that she is gone I still hearken to that moment of learning. She is alive for me in that song.

SAM’S SILENCE

SAM’S SILENCE
Since my childhood, I have been visiting rest homes to serenade the residents there. Recently I made an appointment to sing some favorites at our local facility, the Sunshine Terrace. Not being blessed with the ability to play by ear, I asked the nurses to ask the residents to identify their favorite songs. One of my special friends, Eva Knoulten, was conspicuously missing from the list. I inquired of the head nurse why that was the case, and she informed me that Eva had told her that the songs that meant the most to her were from her homeland and sung in German. I decided to surprise Eva at the end of the recital with a song just for her. When I arrived I was warned by a number of the nurses about Sam Johnson. Sam was suffering from the inability to communicate in acceptable means. They knew that he enjoyed music because he would navigate himself in his wheelchair to the organ, piano and radio to look and listen to music. They felt sure that he would enjoy my singing, though they were afraid that he might begin to make some inappropriate disturbance in the middle of the proceeding. I reminded them that I had been coming since my childhood, and that it was very unlikely that Sam could do anything I had not experienced before and break my concentration. I was, however, very aware of Sam in the back of the room, seeming to be some place else, staring at some unseen vision. When I got to the last song, I said to the group that I had a special song for Eva as a surprise and I began to sing Brahms’ Wiegenlied or Lullaby: Guten abend, Gut’ nacht, mit rosen bedacht Mit englein besteckt stupt unter di deckt When I got that far, I was aware of someone singing with me in perfect harmony...it was Sam.. Morgen früh wenn Gott will, wie im traum’s paradis. When we finished, Sam began to clap loudly. The nurses became alarmed and went to him to stop him. I compelled them to let him continue. With tears streaming down his face, I asked him how he knew Brahms’ Lullaby. He said “I served a mission for my church at the age of 19 in Vienna, Austria.” I don’t know how old Sam was, but I assume he was speaking of an experience which must have happened nearly 60 years before. Words and feelings “locked up” in his memory bank, which were allowed to come flooding out due to the musical genius of Johannes Brahms.

CAROL IN A CELL

CAROL IN A CELL
Have you ever heard a speech so well conceived and delivered as to cause you to make irrational commitments to service. Such was a speech I heard some years ago given by Thad Carlson, the CEO of our reigning local telephone service. The speech centered around serving that segment of our populace who is almost completely forgotten - those in our penal institutions. He cited the central Christian ethic of feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, and visiting those who are in prison. The combination of his eloquent honesty and fervent commitment to this principle, caused me to remark “the next time you go there, let me know.” Little did I know that he would take me up on it. Early the following Christmas morning, I received a cheery and brief call from Mr. Carlson saying, “I’ll see you down there in 30 minutes!” At first I could not cognate his meaning, then my recollection bore out my previous verbal commitment. I didn’t know what to do except to explain to my wife what I was about to do. Having never discussed this matter with her before she was, needless to say, surprised. She reminded of the day it was and asked me to be as brief as possible and sent me off with a plate of sugar cookies made by our children. I am ashamed to admit that I did not know where the county jail was, and had to look up the address in the phone book. I arrived there just as a fluttering of snowflakes cascaded down to the ground creating a skiff of diamonds on the sidewalk from the cold but bright sunlight. I walked up the steps to the jail and tried the door. To my surprise, and relief I found the double glass doors to be soundly locked. As I turned to leave I heard “a voice from on high” from a speaker above the doors asking who I was and what I was doing there. The first question was easy to answer, but I had no real idea what I was doing there. I explained that I had come to join Thad Carlson. That answer struck an understanding chord with the formless voice, who then asked what I had in my hands. I explained that they were cookies made by my children. The voice sharply informed me that I would need to leave them outside to proceed into the jail. I countered that they were harmless and that my children would be disappointed if I were not to carry out the mission they had entrusted to me. The voice relented and told me that when the doors unlocked, to proceed to the next set of locked doors. I did as I was commanded and found myself in the interior of the jail at another set of glass doors, this time with a surveillance camera peering at me. I was again interrogated about my reason for being there, and upon a satisfactory response the doors opened to me. I was instructed to follow the yellow line on the floor to the “vestibule”. I did so. The vestibule was an extravagant name for a very small hallway with room enough for a folding chair on each wall facing each other, leaving sufficient space for a person to pass between the chairs side-ways. At the end of the vestibule was Thad Carlson sporting his characteristic smile and friendly hand shake. He greeted me and said there are 13 inmates here today who were deemed incorrigible and unable to gain leave for the day from the jail. He explained that within a few minutes they would be released to come out of their cells to hear “us” speak. When he used the plural form of the pronoun, I began to become very concerned. I had come to be an observer, NOT a participant. Just as he had explained, we heard the automatic opening of the cell doors and I expected to hear the anxious pattering of 26 feet coming toward us, but I heard nothing. It was completely silent. Frankly, I was relieved and feigned disappointment and thanked him for having me come down as I prepared to leave. Just then, the first in-mate rounded the corned and sauntered towards us. I was astonished by what I saw. Somehow I had expected to see someone like Humphrey Bogart or Edward G. Robinson in one of their grisly prison movies, and instead I saw a handsome young man looking very much like the boy next door approaching us in his bright orange institutional overalls. His gaze was fixed on the floor and he was in no hurry to approach us. When he finally arrived at Thad Carlson’s outstretched hand, which he ignored, he was greeted with a sincere and friendly “Merry Christmas”! That seemed the appropriate salutation for the morning, but it was met with irritation and disrespect. He hurled the phrase back at Thad and asked in a sneering voice, “just what’s so merry about it”? “For one thing”, responded Thad, the weather is beautiful outside”. “That’s great!” said the young man. “You come in here and tell me it’s beautiful outside, when I’m in here! You’ve got a lot of nerve”! Thad Carlson walked nearer to him and put his hand on his shoulder and pointed his towards a slit of a window where he could peer through and see the snowflakes falling like diamonds from the heavens. In doing so his feet came to rest right next to mine and I could see from close proximity the expressions on his face. The first emotion registered on his face was that of longing...longing to be outside. That was followed by irritation, anger and rage. He then started in on a litany of reasons for his being where he was peppered with compound four letter words. It was a laundry list of people whose fault it was for his predicament. It was his stupid lawyer’s fault, the incompetent judge’s fault, his lousy parole officer’s fault, etc., etc., etc.. There was one salient lack in the list and that was the listing of his own name, but at this point I was not going to bring that to his attention. At that moment the second and last inmate rounded the corner to see us, and Thad Carlson led us to the seats and asked us to sit down. In doing so, since I was seated across from the first young man, our knees bumped in an uncomfortable moment. We glanced into each other’s eyes then both looked at the floor. I don’t know which of us was the less comfortable. Thad welcomed them and thanked them for coming to hear us speak. He then said, “and now Michael Ballam would like to say a few words”. I was stunned! This was not part of the plan. I had not come prepared to say anything, and given the tense circumstances I would had to have prepared for many months to say anything worth hearing in these surroundings. I was for one of the few times in my life, totally speechless! NOTHING came to my mind. I raised my gaze from the floor to the eyes of the young man across from me, and in doing so noticed a delicate gold cross hanging on a gold chain from his neck. For some reason I asked “are you Catholic?” He responded with a terse “yes”. I followed that with “I met the Pope once”. He said “THE Pope”. I responded to the affirmative. He asked how, and I explained that I had sung for him once. He asked where and I said at his residence in the Vatican. The young man was interested if not incredulous. He then said “what happened”. The ice was broken or at least slightly chipped and I recounted to him what was for me a very interesting experience. I had gone with a group called “America’s Youth in Concert” to the Vatican for a private audience with Pope Paul ???? prepared to perform Schubert’s immortal Mass in C. We had assumed the Pope would love it, given his association with the text. He greeted is in 8 languages and thanked us for our attendance and asked what we had prepared to sing. When we told him of our choice, he thanked us with supreme grace, but inquired as to the possibility that we might know any “Negro Spirituals” as he put it. We did have some wonderful Spirituals that we had prepared, and the conductor beaconed me to come forward and begin as soloist the words: “Lord, I keep so busy praisin’ my Jesus, ain’t got time to die” Given my proximity to the Pope I could see his response better than others in the audience. He sat back in his regal chair and smiled. But I could see through his smiling countenance tears course down his cheeks as he sat with his eyes closed and his hands clasped in front of him. I did not know at the time that the Pope was battling with cancer, and knew his days of service were numbered. He was living out what the song was depicting, not having time to die in the service of his Lord. I went on to say that the music of the black American in the deep south during the 19th century is filled with profound feeling and spirit. Singing in the cotton fields under the yoke of slavery was one of the few ways in which there noble souls could be released in thought from the tyranny of oppression. Their songs transported them out of their chains to a better place. I then said I would like to conclude with one such song, written for the Christmas season. I began: Sweet Little Jesus Boy, ...... When I finished my cheeks were wet with tears as were those of the young man seated across from me. Through glistening eyes he said, choking back the tears, “I wish I was home...with my kid” I asked where was home. He told me Santa Fe. I remarked about how beautiful and unique that city is. I then asked what he did there. He told me he was a painter there and how inspiring the landscape was for his work. He then went on to say that he wanted to change his life and go back. He committed to us that he would do just that. I inquired after that young man over then next year and was pleased to know that he did just what he had committed to do. I’ve thought many times back upon that moment and what happened there. I could have prepared a speech for months if not years to try to touch the heart of that young man that morning, and I don’t believe anything I could have said with words alone could have taken residence in his heart as did the simple words of that inspired song. Inspiration in music and art comes a variety of shapes and forms, sometimes in the form of magnificent symphonies and cathedrals, and sometimes in simple utterances such as this. If you have not tapped this source of power you need to. Due to my experience in the County Jail, I accepted an invitation to visit on of our state’s federal penitentiary. I had never done so before, and recognized the severity of the experience when I was frisked to enter the facility. I had to remove any metal in the form of rings and tie clips. In fact, my shoes were even held “hostage” as they had wires in the souls. I was unaware of that fact, but the surveillance equipment showed me. I had worked long and hard on an address for the prison inmates. I was very concerned about their accepting my “outsider” view of their condition and believing me when I said that hope springs eternal, that change can be made and lives adjusted to a better. I stood to the pulpit to begin and explained that I am a musician and would feel better if we could start with a song. As I rummaged through my music to sing them a song, someone from the audience called out. We know a song, let us sing it for you. I was astonished by the suggestion and said I would be happy to hear them. They began first as a solo, then as a duet, trio, quartet and finally a mighty chorus to sing. “I am a Child of God.” Within measures the atmosphere in the hall changed and the countenances of the prisoners lightened. Through tears and hope they sang of their innate knowledge that they are loved by a powerful force greater than us all. What more could I say? I struggled for my words, and as I think back, I’m not sure anything I said could have come close to the profound message that came forth from that song. Music has the power to bypass socio-economic barriers, it cuts through the conflict of language and politics and speaks directly to the heart.

TONAL TOGETHERNESS

TONAL TOGETHERNESS
Singing together has a very important function. When a group sings an anthem or a school song together there is a bonding that cannot be found in any other articulation. I will never forget a moment as I was attending the Tattoo in Edinburgh, Scotland when everyone stood and sang God Save the Queen. I recognized that within the 30,000 people attending were English, Scottish, Irish and Welsh audience members all of whom had strongly divergent opinions, political affiliations and religious beliefs. Nevertheless, the obvious tears of patriotism and the fervor with which they sang the anthem brought about immediacy and mutual aspiration relating to their joint homeland...Great Britain. Speeches could not do that.