It makes me so happy to see that in only 24 hours over 2000 people have viewed the clip I posted of the Jerry and Mary Ann Helton singing/playing “When Peace Like A River.” This goes to show how loved and treasured they are. Perhaps one of the greatest blessings we can have amid the many emotions that come with the death of a loved one is the reminder that we humans are capable of loving THAT MUCH. Tomorrow, many people I know will gather to celebrate the life of Jerry Helton. The singing that will ensue will be amazing, no doubt. I will miss seeing folks who, like me, will miss Mr. Helton. There will be many stories shared…and being someone who loves to tell stories, I’d like to share mine here. This is quite lengthy. Please indulge me. I met him on the stage of Byrnes Auditorium at Winthrop University in August, 1992, a few days before I began my first year of college. “I’m looking for Dr. Edgerton,” I said. “You’re in the wrong place…” he let out a one-syllable chuckle and said, “but people confuse the two of us all the time…because we look so much alike.” Having met Dr. Edgerton the day before I was sure of two things: 1) they looked nothing alike; and 2) if this was his sense of humor, it was entirely unique to him. The next day, at Convocation, in that same auditorium, I was surprised to see him on the stage. It was a big day. It was the first convocation Winthrop had as a university. It was no longer Winthrop College. He was serious and focused. The organ began an introduction and then we heard him sing… “To dream the Impossible dream…to fight the unbeatable foe…” …holy smoke…how can anyone sing like that?…so powerfully…filling a 3500 seat auditorium…and doing so with so little effort? His voice had a focus like a laser and, at the same time, a boom that filled the entire auditorium. I must admit that I was somewhat starstruck by Jerry Helton. I started studying voice the second semester of my sophomore year. Because I was not on the Vocal Performance track, he groomed me for the classroom and rehearsal hall. He did not expect me to become a professional singer, but he wanted me to know vocal technique well enough to teach it. Don’t get me wrong, he expected me to hold my own when I performed, but to the Met, I was certainly not bound. In the Lutheran confirmation classes of my youth, I learned, “We are to fear and love God above all things,” …Well, I feared and loved lessons. There is a wonderful bond that can be formed between teachers and students of music...and I am not sure it is akin to any other. When you see your teacher for 30 minutes twice a week in a private lesson, in a very real way, these times become sacred. Your teacher invests in you during that time and they want the best for…and from…you. Of them all, the voice is the most unique instrument, and learning how to use it takes much concentration, dedication, and thick skin. Besides the fact that there are no buttons and keys to press, when someone criticizes your voice, you take it personally. It isn’t like someone saying something about your shoes or your hair…you can change those…but you’re stuck with your voice and, like the name you have, it is a key part of your identity. One could easily be intimidated by his voice. When he would demonstrate a high C in a lesson, it would make my hair stand on end, as well as cause serious case of voice envy, not to mention temporary hearing loss. But then amazingly, he would explain the mechanics, or trick me into singing just as high. A private teacher knows the struggles you face as you learn your craft. They understand and are unfazed when a 4-letter word, or two, suddenly and shockingly slips out of someone who is usually angelic…especially after messing up the runs in “Every Valley” that you spent all week trying to master—which really did work in the practice room, by the way. Helton would follow that with, “well, that’s one way to sing it”…or so I’ve heard. Nothing like that EVER happened to me. Let’s get it out on the table, there is no hiding this fact, after all: he was the Simon Cowell of the music department. If he felt like you had the talent, he could take you far. If you didn’t, he’d tell you. Some years after college, I was interviewed by either the school or the local paper about Mr. Helton. They wanted to know what he was like and they knew the he had a reputation of being very blunt. That was a bit awkward for me, but I told it like it was (I need to find that article to see what I said). Listen, when you’ve been told that you can become anything you want, and when mom and dad, and all 20 members of your back-woods baptist church have told you how “pretty” your voice is all your life, it is hard to hear the words that you’re not cut out for this. On more than one occasion, there were upset students who had been told by Helton to change their major. Helton was right. If you can’t sing in tune by the time you reach college, perhaps being a Vocal Performance major is not for you. While these students may not have understood this at the time, Helton was doing them a favor…saving them a lot of money and heartache. Some people might think this is mean, but I’ve been in his shoes and it is not easy to be that forthright with people, and no matter what you say, or how you say it, it will hurt and the person will leave upset and angry. “You ought to sing jazz,” he once said to me. “You remind me of someone…who is it?…Mel Tormé. You could be called “The Velvet Smog.” He had nicknames for some of us, and, “Oh look, it’s the Velvet Smog,” was his greeting to me when I walked into his studio. This moment of levity was needed before 30 minutes of what would essentially be vocal water-boarding. His office had a distinct smell, too…a combination of old sheet music, Vick’s VapoRub, and birdseed. The walls had photos of him singing along with head shots of former students who had gone on to make a name for themselves. At the end of 30 minutes (that could sometimes feel like three minutes, or three days), he’d say, “Shalom,” or, “Later Gator,” or, “Go in pieces.” I will never forget one lesson in which I was learning “Ach So Fromm.” He was at the piano and my attention was being drawn to a squirrel on the ledge of the window immediately behind him (side note: he liked animals and fed them from his studio window - thus the smell of birdseed). I was doing poorly that day and we both knew why; I was unprepared. The lesson was grueling and the octave he was rumbling in his left hand was getting louder and more agitato…“When are you going to get serious and start practicing, you dumb sh*t?” Now, before your eyes bug out, you must understand that there are some people who can say things like that in a way that is both funny and endearing. Quite honestly, in that moment, something needed to happen to break the tension. There was no malice involved…it was quite the opposite. In some strange way, I swelled with pride because I knew at that moment that he really liked me and he knew I could do better. He cared enough to be aggravated because I was not meeting my potential. This blunt comment got a laugh, it made a point, and that was the last time I came to a voice lesson unprepared. Perhaps the most meaningful moment with him came when I was working on “Danny Boy” before singing it at a funeral. I was not connecting with the lyrics, so he asked me to summarize the song… ‘A father is bidding farewell to his son who is going off to war. The father will stay and await his son’s return. If, upon the son’s return, the father is no longer living, Danny is to find his grave, sing a prayer, tell his father that he loves him, and his father will sleep in peace until Danny joins him in heaven.’ He then asked me about my relationship with my dad. After I explained that, while my dad fully supported me and my pursuit of music, we didn’t have a lot in common. He advised me to get to know my father better. This conversation gave me a new appreciation for my father. After college, I remained in the Rock Hill area for another 10+ years, seeing him frequently...aside from taking lessons with him as I did my Masters. There was a group of us from Winthrop that got together quite often; Helton, Don Rogers, Zeb, Kevin, and Me. We often had others join us, too. It was great spending time with such great people. In many ways, they felt like my family. Fortunately, we’ve been able to maintain this tradition when I’ve traveled back to the east coast. Ive treasured those opportunities to reconnect. When it comes to the bonds we form with our teachers, it is easy to feel like youre the only one that could possibly have that type of bond…and that is true…but amazingly, there are many others who feel the same. And while the word Love may never be spoken between you, you know it is there all the same. Helton and I talked about faith quite a number of times as it was one of his favorite topics. Upon meeting him, you might not know that he was a person of deep faith, and if you weren’t his student, you might not know that beneath the sarcasm was a tender heart, and behind the large voice was a silence. Yes, he had a great voice, but the joy he had performing was ephemeral. He found joy teaching others how to do what he loved, and I think his proudest moments involved seeing his students sing well. Hearing Helton sing, ‘It is well with my soul’ in that brief clip brought peace to me because I know that that song was not just a combination of rhythms, notes, and words to him…he believed them. Thank you for taking time to read this tribute to a person who has meant so much to so many. Join me in continuing to lift Mary Ann up in our thoughts and prayers over the next days and weeks. There much more that could be said and I wish I could hear the stories that will be told tomorrow. I will close with the words I first heard him sing over 20 years ago… “The Impossible Dream” …As a freshmen about to start college, they had one meaning then. They have another meaning now. To dream the impossible dream To fight the unbeatable foe To bear with unbearable sorrow To run where the brave dare not go To right the unrightable wrong To love pure and chaste from afar To try when your arms are too weary To reach the unreachable star This is my quest To follow that star No matter how hopeless No matter how far To fight for the right Without question or pause To be willing to march into Hell For a heavenly cause And I know if Ill only be true To this glorious quest That my heart will lie peaceful and calm When Im laid to my rest And the world will be better for this That one man, scorned and covered with scars Still strove with his last ounce of courage To reach the unreachable star “Shalom, Later Gator, Go in pieces.”
Posted on: Wed, 22 Oct 2014 20:20:51 +0000
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