Harold Lister
3102 Jules Street
Saint Joseph, MO 64501
February 2, 2011
Mr. Harold Lister,
I hope this letter finds you well, in both spirits and health. As many miles as you traveled, as many kids you taught, as many people you met, as much time on this planet you’ve spent, I don’t expect you to remember me. This letter isn’t about you remembering any person in particular. It is about your lasting effect on some of the people whose lives you came into.
I often think back to my formative years and those who likely impacted me the most. There are some faces that jump right out of my memories, and others I struggle to put a face to. Some people have all but disappeared completely. Last month I took a trip back to Wabaunsee County and thought it would be interesting to visit the Alma Museum for the first time. Much to my surprise, I found you there. OK, it wasn’t exactly you, but more a part of your contribution to that little corner of rural Kansas. In the weeks following, I’ve taken the time to reflect back over the last 25 years. You are one of those people who were thoughtful enough to be so impressionable.
Long ago in a land not too very far away you were a band teacher for several rural Kansas towns. I was a new 6th grade student in the district. I imagine the year to be around 1988. The school was Paxico Jr. High. One day early in the school year you learned of a new kid in the school and thought it a good idea to include him in your band. You found me as a lone student in a study hall in the library and arranged with Mr. Wagner to visit with me about joining your band. We chatted about the possibility of playing the baritone, you providing the musical instrument, and the 1-on-1 lessons for an hour a couple days a week before band class.
You always set a good example. You were (almost) always cool, calm, and collected even in the face of misbehaving school kids. You were mentally stronger than most, if not all of the sports coaches. There was only one time I can recall the kids in the junior high band class got the better of you. You excused yourself for a few moments, gathered your thoughts and returned unruffled. The same couldn’t be said for many of the coaches who interacted with the same kids. Remember, these were small schools and even smaller classes. If all the kids didn’t participate, there wasn’t enough to make a club work.
My family was the traditional broken American family. You made a commitment to me that I probably hadn’t experienced before from a masculine figure before. I know I fought both it and you. The commitment was as foreign to me as making music. Even though I never felt musically inclined, you showed me it was possible for a fumbling farm kid whose family couldn’t afford to buy an instrument. I played baritone for you the first year, and for reasons I don’t recall, switched to drums the second. I think it was probably a drummer girl who found my crackling pre-pubescent voice appealing. I didn’t play for you a third year. I didn’t know it or understand it at the time, but my lack of ability in creating music changed to a profound and lifelong appreciation for those with the talent and discipline. I contend it is you who is responsible.
Even though I fell into more of a dumb jock stereotype and role, I remember going through Wabaunsee High School and observing the band, instructor, and performances. At one point early in my high school career, there was an opening for the position of music director. I thought the school should ask you to take on the position and shared the idea with friends and faculty. In my mind there wasn’t anyone better qualified for the spot. I was disappointed it never came to pass, but I still held you in very high regard. In looking back, I imagine it probably looked about as odd for a jock to have a second thought about the welfare of the music department as a football player sprouting a second head. Thank you for that, Mr. Lister.
I look back at my musical preferences over the years and see a long and consistent pattern. The roots of that pattern go back to the 1-on-1 lessons where you taught me to play my first band instrument. Those roots are also in the band class in the garden level classroom in the basement of Paxico Jr. High, and the district wide school performances. You gave me my start in the appreciation for performance arts. To this day, it almost doesn’t matter what kind of music it is. If it is being performed live, I stop and take it in. It might be music in a park, an amphitheater, a house band, or a lone musician in a quiet restaurant playing for tips. They all stop me. If I’m out on a Saturday night on a date or with friends and I hear music coming from down the street, I’ll convince my companions to go see it. I will not want to leave which usually makes us late for another engagement. Thank you for that, Mr. Lister.
When I travel I make it a point to try to take in the local flavor whenever possible. It usually includes asking some innocent passerby where the local music scene can be found and if any good performances might be playing. Inevitably, there is. Invariably I go. Consistently I leave with a smile, an extra skip in my step, a new CD with no radio time, and no cash leftover for a cab. Thank you for that, Mr. Lister.
Grandpa used to always say, ‘If you’re not early, you’re late.” From time to time I’ve caught myself sitting in the car, engine idling and a music story from NPR captivating my attention on the radio. Of course, the end of the story and performances almost always end right at the top of the hour, when I’m supposed to be meeting with someone or at an appointment. NPR never ends the performances early enough for me to write down the information, stuff it in my pocket and run inside and still be on time. I’ve learned there aren’t many people who find that to be an acceptable reason for tardiness. Thank you for that, Mr. Lister.
This appreciation for the performance arts doesn’t stop there. I finally decided getting a college degree would be a good idea and enrolled at Washburn University in Topeka. It was there I took an intro to theatre class. I learned plays are very similar to live musical performances in that each and every live performance is a unique experience and can never be duplicated. I went on to take another fine arts class called Movies and Music. I learned a new appreciation for the art of composition and placement in film. I don’t watch movies often, but when watching movies with others, I sometimes forget to pay attention to the plot and instead focus on the score. Occasionally I’ll make an unconscious comment about the music, its composition, emphasis or contribution to the plot. People turn and look at me like a football player that just sprouted a second head. Thank you for that, Mr. Lister.
The town of Alma might last another few hundred years. It’s museum exhibits will likely change with time. I may personally never make it into a museum exhibit; and at some point your contribution may eventually be replaced. But one thing that will last much longer in humanity than in any town or museum is the love and appreciation for the performance arts you taught me. I will pass that love and appreciation along whenever I have the opportunity. Enclosed you will find some physical evidence of your positive contribution to the small rural communities of Kansas. Hopefully this letter will attest to the timeless and intangible evidence of your contribution you made to the love an appreciation of humanity. Thank you for that, Mr. Lister.
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