It Was Never About the Trumpet

I taught trumpet for more than 42 years. I lost track of the number of private lessons many years ago. After teaching at the same university for 37 years, I was “retired” in a time of “financial exigency.” Three of my music colleagues were likewise “retired” that same year. In my case, the reason given was that they were ending the “music performance” program and didn’t need someone with a doctorate in trumpet performance anymore. The irony was not lost on me. I earned the doctorate to reinforce job security, because colleges were increasingly demanding a doctorate as proof of accomplishment. In fact, I had auditioned for an opening at another university before starting my doctoral studies, only to be told, “well, you play better than anyone we’ve heard, but between you and me, the first person to apply who has decent ability and a doctorate will probably get the job.” “Even if they don’t play as well as I do?” “Yes. Sorry.” A doctorate was then becoming a requirement for university teaching. So, I went back to graduate school.

The doctorate did earn me some respect, and a pay raise, so over the years it was worth it. Yet, my job was certainly not about being a “professor of trumpet.” I taught thousands of hours in other areas – ensembles, recording technology, jazz history, music appreciation, music literature, music business, critical thinking, musical acoustics – and trumpet teaching was only one part of my responsibilities. At most I worked with 9 trumpet students one year, hardly the 20 to 25 student “trumpet studio” common in most conservatories. I probably averaged 4-5 students each semester. The model when I entered higher education was that music professors at my university were expected to teach in three main areas: studio lessons, ensemble directing, and classroom teaching. I did all three and then some.

Another bit of irony was that in 37 years, I only taught one student who considered himself a “performance” major. The others were majoring in music education, music business, church music or simply elective students who were majoring in other disciplines. So, I was being “retired” from a cancelled major in which I taught no students. This after I had volunteered to teach over 20 different courses over the years and was then teaching 6 trumpet students as 25% of my “load.” The kicker was that the music performance program was reinstated the next year. Another layer of irony.

For some time, I’ve felt the committee that evaluated me had no idea what I was teaching or why it was important. Perhaps they were only there to provide a necessary rationale for cutting a certain number of professors (that year there were 12) because this needed to be done to keep the university solvent. Tenure, seniority, and contribution to the life of the institution and life of the students were apparently not major considerations. On one level, I understand. The financial health of the university must be paramount. Yet, the process, the metrics, still seem to lack integrity from my perspective. There is a line in a recent movie, “Late Night,” that sums up my academic career at this point. As an Emeritus Professor, I appreciated the retired professor saying, “Emeritus is what they call you when they don’t want you to come in anymore.” So, I’m a professor, with nothing to profess except what someone might read on my web pages.

If I could tell the reviewing committee what I was professing for all those years, it would be something like this. I taught weekly private lessons, ostensibly one-hour in length. If you ask my wife, she will tell you I often taught longer than the specified time, especially when a student was preparing for a recital, audition, or jury, or just because I loved what I was doing. While academically speaking I was there to help students develop their ability to play my favorite instrument, lessons were always about more than this. If someone had said I was to limit my instruction strictly to “how to play the trumpet,” I would have quit teaching. You see, for most people, the trumpet – any instrument really – is an excellent way to confront personal challenges and develop life skills. Most students will not become professional players. There simply aren’t enough jobs for that. But many will be able to use what they learned by studying an instrument to become more successful in other areas.

My dad played the trumpet in high school and college. He often told me how playing trumpet instills the importance of a work ethic, preparation, patience, perseverance, showing up on time, doing your best, working well with others, dealing with failure, and so on. It also helps build confidence. He said after playing trumpet in public and dealing with nerves, giving a speech in front of hundreds of people or a corporate board of directors was not so intimidating. There have been a surprising number of leaders who have played instruments. Playing an instrument can build character. Even if a person plays just for fun, or if college turns out to be the last time they played, I would argue studying an instrument changes them. My children had years of lessons and played in educational ensembles. I believe they owe part of their professional success to that experience.

I often told students a piece or an etude they were working on was a “character builder,” meaning it was difficult in a good way. JFK said “we choose to go to the moon in this decade and do the other things, not because they are easy, but because they are hard, because that goal will serve to organize and measure the best of our energies and skills…” I believe this on a personal level. If I did not, I would not have devoted decades to trumpet teaching. Playing a musical instrument well is hard. It takes “the best of our energies and skills.” It also takes a teacher who continues to encourage students to keep working, to press on, to give it their best, even in the face of mistakes or failure. I tried to give non-majors a lot of credit for sticking to it, even when it would have been easier to quit, especially when playing the trumpet had nothing to do with their proposed career.

I can still vividly recall my audition for a brass concerto competition during my first semester of graduate school. I played the Tartini Concerto – badly. I had a debilitating case of stage fright and it seemed all my hard work and long hours of practice went up in smoke. My teacher said, “Let’s face it, Mark. You didn’t sound like yourself today. I could hardly recognize your playing. You just weren’t ready to play the piccolo trumpet in front of the committee.” Truth. So, I persisted. I successfully performed the Tartini several times after that. A few years later, I won the brass concerto competition playing an even more difficult piece. The lesson was the same one I taught for 40 years: don’t give up. Don’t let a bad day define you. Find out what to do to improve and work on it. Performance conditions are never perfect, and nerves will always take their toll, so be as prepared as possible, take a deep breath, and do your best.

Much of what I taught in trumpet lessons was not about the trumpet, and not unique to the trumpet. If you’re an athlete reading this, you could say many of the same things about sports. I was coaching trumpet players as one might coach athletes. My comments and conversations were not confined to the best way to play a piece or passage. We talked about “life, the universe, and everything,” as Douglas Adams might say. Everything is related to everything. The trumpet is a microcosm of life. Why would you play one if it wasn’t a perennial challenge, and perennially rewarding when things went well? Why would you play in a band or an orchestra if there was no joy in making music together? And why would you struggle and practice if not to learn more about yourself? All knowledge – even trumpet knowledge – turns out to be self-knowledge. The trumpet is a way of taking the measure of yourself.

So, “trumpet performance” is about much more than learning to play an instrument well enough to pass a senior jury or play a decent senior recital. My students and I talked about music in general, about teaching and learning, and becoming a good person. One of my colleagues at another university used to say, “Become the best person you can be and the best musician you can be. If you fail at the second of these, you can always fall back on the first.” This has been one of my guiding principles. Many students needed to talk about other things than playing the trumpet – about not being too hard on themselves, about keeping at it, about time management and setting goals, about the importance of tiny improvements over a long time, about balancing work and life, about how their faith and learning might intersect in the world beyond trumpet lessons. No subject was off limits.

A brief example. I once had a student confess to me, she was having an affair with a married man, and asked me what I thought she should do. Now, I’m not a therapist, but I think it’s important to listen and offer honest, non-judgmental ideas. Not long before Doctor Phil made the phrase famous, I asked her something like, “well, how is that working out for you?” I listened to her story. I also told her it was highly unlikely a man who had children would leave his wife, no matter what he says. “Pay attention to what he says and how he says it, and especially to how he acts.” In a few weeks, she told me she decided to end the relationship. All the while I continued to teach her how to improve on the trumpet.

Dear readers, the way to improve on the trumpet is the same as the way to improve at life. Pay attention. Make good decisions. Develop your mind. Work on your weaknesses. Stop doing things that aren’t helpful. Keep trying – don’t give up. Find inner motivation. Be kind to yourself. Play well with others. Stay optimistic. In a way, what I was teaching was never about the trumpet. It was not just about “performance.” It was certainly not about fulfilling the requirements of an academic major. It was about encouraging people. It was about helping my trumpet students become the best people they could be.