Church Music

 

Wednesday, June 29, 2016

Church Music---Contemporary or Traditional

Bellefontaine Methodist Children's Choir

As a non-choir person, I love the contemporary hymns and tend to roll my eyes at the old-time religion hymns, usually hearing the squeaky, squawking voice of my children's choir director from 60 years ago, Mrs. Sheets.  She wore her hair in braids wrapped into two cinnamon rolls just over her ears (long before Star Wars), wore orthopedic shoes, wire-rimmed glasses and sang with fervor!  Honestly her voice was like finger nails on a chalk board.  Did I mention she sang loudly?  " Little Church in the Wildwood" was one of her favorites (and I liked the drum-like "Oh, Come, Come, Come, Come, Come"--- that was an alternate chorus I took advantage of which helped drown out the squawks)

Then, there were my mother and grandmothers always singing an octave below everyone else.  In order to see, I stood on the church pew with them singing in my ear. Their occasional flat singing drowned out any hope of ever hearing the hymn as it was written.  So, my experiences with traditional church hymns is not so rosy through my cracked and critical childhood lenses.

The contemporary hymns have several advantages:  I don't have to read music, and they are in my key!  I don't have to strain my voice to hit the high notes, nor go an octave lower as my family did.  These hymns may not be rich in tradition nor scripture, but I can sing them!

Several weeks ago in worship, I was singing the "Gloria Patri" and instantly went into the alto harmony as I always do.  And then it hit me: I have been singing this almost weekly in Methodist and Presbyterian churches in St. Louis and Pittsburgh----like a thread connecting all of my church experiences for 70 years.  If I took nothing else away from Mrs. Sheets' church choir, I'd learned the harmony to "Gloria Patri" which was in my key and didn't strain my voice.

I looked down at my "supportive" shoes with my wire-rimmed glasses and was flooded with other memories besides squawking voices and voices singing an octave down.  I now see the smiling face of Mrs. Sheets singing with such passion, the arms of my grandmothers around me to keep me from falling off the pew (where I was standing). And, the memories of being in the children's choir with friends and family learning the alto part to "Gloria Patri".

Glory be to the Father, and to the Son and to the Holy Ghost; as it was in the beginning, is now and ever shall be, World without end.  Amen, Amen

Jaclyn Morgan

Taking Flight

Libby asked me a year ago to tell her about my German boy friend.  All of the “letters” before this were a way of introducing you to my 20 year old me.

Although I dated a lot, I never had a boy friend until Tony Edwards, the English boy that I met when I was 19.  I realized I liked having a boyfriend who wasn’t an American:  someone who was more intelligent than I was, someone who was interesting, someone I could talk with for hours, someone who wasn’t interested in a long-term relationship because I had too much that I wanted to do, that I wanted to learn. 

Following Tony’s example, I applied to be an exchange student in Germany.  Before I was chosen, the other students had been males who had graduated from college.  I was the first female undergraduate. I contacted Dennis McClellan who had been the exchange student before to get information on what to expect.  He was eager to share his experiences and offered to introduce me to his closest friend in Memmingen, Reinhard.

I confidently got on that air plane in St. Louis on August 28, 1966 at 5 PM:  a 20 year old wearing a light weight 3 piece suit, heels, a hat and white gloves with a few small suitcases. (my trunk with most of my clothes had been sent earlier). My first flight was exciting.  I landed in New York City at 8PM, but had to get transportation to JFK Airport for my flight to Europe on Icelandic Air Lines at 1 AM.  I sat alone in a cafe sipping coffee and wondering if this was the cafe Tony had called me from a year ago.

Icelandic was the most inexpensive way so the flight had many students and young people like myself. We had to land in Iceland to refuel before taking off for Luxembourg. We boarded Icelandic but I no sooner closed by eyes than the sun rose and we were over a tree less land.  I thought we were going to crash because without trees, I couldn’t judge our height.  We landed safely in Reykjavik to refuel and were allowed to get off the plane.  Iceland looked no better on the ground than it did in the air.   I went to the hanger that had refreshments (not a real terminal). So, my first foreign country to visit was Iceland.

Landing in Luxembourg, at 8 PM, we boarded a bus that took us to Germany.  That was quite the rollicking bus ride with singing, laughter, jokes which even the bus driver got in on.  One girl shouted to him, “Ich bin heiss”.  He pulled off the road, slammed on the breaks and headed to the back of the bus with an exaggerated lear on his face.  Then, she realized her mistake.  She’d said, “I am hot” which has a more sexual connotation in German.  “Mir ist heiss” is more appropriate for someone who wants the heater turned down.

We arrived in Mannheim at 2 AM and joined several other American passengers for a train  to Munich where we arrived at 7 AM. I was exhausted from sleeplessness and yet I needed to see when a train left for Memmingen and I needed to find my hotel.

Unfortunately I was attracting too much attention. American girl, alone with white gloves and maps…. Men were everywhere offering help (???). I couldn’t understand a word they were saying and I just smiled which encouraged them.  Not wishing to appear unfriendly, I kept nodding and smiling which only made things worse—-one even grabbed my arm and tried to pull me into a building. 

Finally, I found my voice and said, “NEIN” (no).  I could speak only a few phrases fluently:  “Can you tell me where I can wash my hands”, “I don’t know why I’m so sad” and ”a girl without freckles is like the sky without stars.” The first phrase was fairly useful because I could change that last part of the phrase to the hotel I was looking for: “Can you tell me where Hotel Garni is?”  

Once at the hotel, I called my German benefactor who had set up the exchange program, Herr Doktor Maximillian Dietrich.  He was a grandfatherly man who owned the local newspaper. He met me the next day at the train station in Memmingen, introduced me around and filled up my “dance card” with several evenings of activities with some of Memmingen’s bachelors: the head master’s son and two former  exchange students I’d met in Cape when they lived there.  

All Peter wanted to do was go to his parents’ house to watch TV.  All Helmut wanted was to stay out partying until 3AM at the local disco. All Georg wanted was a relationship.  After several weeks of forced joviality and friendliness,  my anxiety level was building. Although I like a good party and I like to watch TV, day after day, week after week was not me. And I wasn't ready for a relationship.

And, then I got a phone call from Dennis’s friend Reinhard… ….

Love, 

Grandma

Travelling with Three Young Daughters

Visiting wax museums, a medieval feast, Hadrian's Wall, Stonehenge, ice cream treats, castle mazes, Beatrix Potter’s home, sleeping on a farm with cute kittens before. .. .

Cartwheeling at Canterbury Cathedral.

Sleeping on a slow boat to Holland, amusement parks, miniature villages, windmills before departing on a night train through Germany, visiting Memmingen, Munich and Mad Ludwig's castles.

While taking a carriage ride up to Neuschwanstein Castle with an elderly man from England, 

He looked at the girls, smiled  and said:

"Did I see you cartwheeling at Canterbury Cathedral?"

June 1986

Upon reading The Only Woman in the Room

 Book Club here at McCrite read and discussed two similar books:  Fast Girls about the 1936 Women's Olympic Track team and The Only Woman in the Room about Hedy Lamarr, movie star and inventor.  The theme was similar---women struggling to break through that "glass ceiling" allowing them to be successful in a male dominated world.

The discussion here was a little like a therapy session---many of us giving examples of hitting that "glass ceiling" and with some of us breaking it.  The most disturbing story was from Marsha who told us she was a twin.He was always put ahead of her:  she got used to taking a back seat.  Marsha celebrated her 90th birthday that same week with a party.  Her daughter filled us in on more details.  When the twins were born, they only weighted about 5 lbs together.  Marsha was literally pushed aside with all care and attention going to her brother to ensure his survival----not hers.

Anita told of several generations of men in her family who encouraged her, her grandmother and her daughter to compete in a "men's world".  Her daughter as a child said she wanted to go to Harvard Law School like her father, and they never discouraged her despite Harvard not allowing women to attend school there.  By the time her daughter was old enough to apply, they were accepting females students.

My story was somewhere in between Marsha's and Anita's.  First I wanted to be a farmer, but my grandmother said, "how about a farmer's wife?"  Then in high school "career day", I signed up to learn about the FBI, walked in the room and was told, "there are no females in the FBI."  I felt belittled, embarassed and angry.  It wasn't about the FBI, but being told I couldn't do something.  So, instead I chipped away at that glass ceiling trying to prove I could compete equally.  By my senior year, I was president of International Club, Museum Club and Church Youth Group.  I tied my friend Randy for the number of organizations we were president of and that felt good.

I started college wanting to be a pastor.  I majored in English, German and minored in history to prepare myself for seminary.  I knew women went to seminary---one of our youth directors was Judith Craig, a student at Eden Seminary.  What I didn't know was, women could go to seminary, take classes, but they were "ordained" as Christian Educators and not pastors.  I'd led the youth group at church, been on the Board, preached sermons, taught Bible School but that wasn't enough because I was a female.  So, I shut that door and decided to be a public school English/German teacher. 

I've always been pretty good at making lemonade when life handed me lemons.   I couldn't go to seminary, but how about trying out for that exchange program my college had with Memmingen, Germany. In the past, the candidates had only been male college graduates but I was a female undergraduate.  The exchange student sent that year had been a brilliant student of German, but socially he had failed miserably in Germany. They were looking for someone more social and out-going---not someone who sat in his room, studied and read.  Would I interact with my students? Would I be willing to speak before groups of adults? Would I try to make my lessons interesting for the students?  Yes, yes, yes. If I was an undergraduate, then I couldn't go to the University in Munich and I couldn't have a Fulbright Scholarship as the previous recipients had.  I was OK with all of that.  So, off I went:  the first female and the first undergraduate exchange student to Memmingen. Chipping away at that glass ceiling.

Later I married, had three lovely daughters but others were also chipping away at the glass ceiling, too.  Doors and careers were opening up.  Women could be lawyers, Presbyterian pastors, business women not just teachers, nurses, stewardesses and secretaries.  I'd been very active at church, chaired a pastor search committee, been Sunday School Superintendent, written curriculum, given workshops, but then I was asked to be an elder on Session.  I loved teaching not ruling.  Yes, I'd had leadership positions but it was no longer something I craved.  I looked at my three daughters, stood up straight and became an elder so they could see women could do this.  After a year on session, I was elected Clerk of Session (the lay leader), a job I really did not want, but felt like I needed to take on.  I was the first female Clerk of Session at St. Mark Presbyterian.  Others had been asked and turned it down, but I didn't think I would be a very good role model for my daughters if I turned my back on being the lay leader of our church.   Chipping away.

After serving as an elder on Session, my daughters were getting older so I needed to start thinking about going back to work but felt like I needed to go back to college to brush up my skills.  A mom that I volunteered with at Henry School was talking about going to Eden Seminary.  I perked up thinking maybe I could be that pastor after all.  I prayed, I thought, I made lists of pros and cons and decided to keep that door shut.  My family and my daughters meant a lot to me.  If I became a pastor, they would suffer----the timing was not right.  I wanted us to continue worshipping as a family and not have them go to St. Mark (where their friends were) while I pastored another church.  I knew I could do it, but did I really want to do that to my family?

There comes a time when focused goals become less important than the big picture.  I did go back to school to brush up on my skills and got a master's in reading.  I started subbing in the schools where my daughters attended which was a pretty easy transition (basically I was being paid to do things I'd been volunteering to do before). The extra money helped pay for my tuition.  I eventually was hired as a part-time teacher, part-time aide in reading and English as Second Language:  the transitions were smooth with hardly a ripple in our family time. By the time I was finished with graduate school, Rebecca was off to college and I applied for full-time teaching positions:  German, Reading, English as Second Language.  I don't regret any of my decisions:  I'd helped other women, helped my family and was able to grow.

Recently, I was cleaning out some files and found my passport from 1972.  Remember, I'd been to Germany for a year on a passport issued in 1967.  But this 1972 passport really made me sit back and take a deep breath.  I hadn't fully realized how far we've come until I saw it.  Grandpa has his full name, birthdate, birthplace, a description of how he looked and I had "Jaclyn"  that's all--not even my full name.  Anyone seeing that passport would have thought, I had been nothing more than a spouse tagging along like a dutiful little woman. I'd planned the trip (Grandpa had never been to Europe), I spoke the language and had to do all of the speaking, translating, purchasing.  I had been in charge of the entire trip but my passport said I was "Jaclyn".

THAT is the reason for this message to my granddaughters----Marsha, Anita, thousands of women and I have worked very hard to give you your life, your choices, your freedom.  PLEASE, do not forget that glass ceiling was chipped away by some very determined women.  Don't forget.

The fight is not over---the Glass Ceiling still exists.  Caitlin Clark, basketball phenom.  She is expected to earn $76,000 as #1 female rookie in professional basketball compared to her male counterpart who will earn between 7 and 11 million dollars.  The NCAA women's tournament had more viewers than the men's tournament and yet, the women's programs got far less money. (click here)

Lessons:  Don't be afraid to stretch yourself but also don't be afraid to step back and say, "this is not the right time, the right place for me right now." 

Pray for help and guidance.  Listen for answers.

Encourage other women---don't tear them down.  Even if you disagree with them and don't like them. If they are working to make a better world for you, your children and grandchildren, thank them. 

Hearing Louise

"I’m wearing pastels, now—my skin tones have changed."

"I’m feeling a little weak this morning."

"I hold on when going up and down the stairs."

"My mouth is just so dry."

"I watch what I eat, but I’m being tested for diabetes."

"If my knee didn’t hurt, I’d exercise more."

"I want to hear my granddaughters’ voices again."

"Your dad isn’t strong enough for her graduation."

"Your dad is sleeping a lot."

"Don’t worry about Mother’s Day—you’re a mother, too.."

Words meant to inform me that they were getting older, 

      but now remind me of my own aging.

Words spoken one on one,
     not at a family gathering

Words said in face to face conversation, 

     not in a text.

Words I thought were to re-assure me,

    but were they cries for help?

How We Met: Narrative

 I was about 14 or 15, and I remember meeting my friend Tom’s older brothers Dave and Harry  at church.  I was with my friend Hilda who was infatuated with Dave.  They went to high school together and she undoubtedly knew that he was Senior Class President, but all I saw was a very good looking young man who looked right through us as if we were beneath him.  The oldest brother, Harry, made eye contact and didn’t seem as unapproachable.

Going to the same church, our paths crossed many times.  I even picked Tom up at his home several times to go to MYF (Methodist Youth Fellowship).  But, Dave only remembers my car—a Studebaker that my dad had bought from a neighbor who had totaled it. In retrospect, it was a car that would grab a car-lover’s attention and Dave (like a couple of grandsons) is a car-lover.  

It was about a 1956 Studebaker President that my dad made drivable by wiring  the hood down.  Back in the 1960’s, a trip to the gas station, meant the attendant also opened the hood to check your water and oil.  I was always a little embarrassed but also a little amused when the attendant would try to open it, realize it was held down with a wire and had to try to unwind the wire to get to the engine.  (as another aside, the wire on the hood snapped while I was driving it from my grandparent’s house with the hood folding  over the windshield, making driving hazardous—so I had to move on to another used car, but back to the story. . . .)

Dave went away to college; I went away to college.  Our paths didn’t cross again until we had graduated,  were working and living in the same apartment complex, Whisper Lake.  My sister’s husband was in Viet Nam, so she and I decided to rent an apartment together at Whisper Lake. We lived across the hall from my high school and college friends Margie and Kathy.   I was teaching at McCluer High School with Mary,  Mary along with Arlene were also living at Whisper Lake. Arlene and Mary started having parties inviting many of the single people living there. 

Dave was also living at Whisper Lake apartments and knew Mary and Arlene from high school .  Our paths crossed again at Whisper Lake parties.   I knew who he was, but he never remembered having met before even when, Mary and Dave doubled with me and a date!   In addition to the Whisper Lake group, I belonged to the University Club—a social club of college graduates who partied together at various locations around St. Louis.  Several of us were going to University Club one Friday night.  I had  asked Mary if she wanted to go, but she said she thought she and Dave were going to do something.

I was shocked later that evening to see Dave at the University Club with a friend—I was very angry that he was standing Mary up. His arrogance was more than I could tolerate.  It was one thing to never recognize me, but quite another to have so little regard for Mary.  His friend Elliott must have noticed me looking in their direction because before I knew it, Dave was asking me to dance.  

Stunned, I agreed to dance with him.  I could tell by the conversation he was trying to have with me that he did not remember ever meeting me before: not when we were teenagers, not when we went to the same apartment parties, not when we doubled together.  After the dance was over, he escorted me back to my table and I angrily confronted him with his having stood Mary up that night.  His eyes looked at me, possibly in recognition but more likely stunned that I knew him. “Do me a favor and don’t tell Mary you saw me.”  I responded with, “Maybe I will, maybe I won’t.” He never forgot me after that night.

That Whisper Lake group evolved into a wonderful group of friends who travelled together, went to the theater and concerts together, partied on the houseboat belonging to Arlene’s parents, skied, camped and went on canoe trips together.  Gradually i warmed up to Dave, realizing he wasn’t being “stuck up”, but was just an introvert who didn’t recall people’s faces or names as well as I do.

I was late arriving at one of our canoe trips in September.  They had already been out canoeing and one group was drying off by the fire on that crisp evening. Apparently Dave’s canoe with several of the females had tipped over getting them all wet.  For some reason, the ladies all seemed to be shunning him—my heart cracked open seeing him so forlorn.  So, the next day, when all of the others refused to get in a canoe with him, I volunteered.  That canoe float was the beginning. . . . 

Breathe in, Breathe out

My tooth is being pulled today.

So many lost teeth.

Breathe in.

6 years old

A brief tug from my grandpa.

A popsicle and

A quarter from the tooth fairy:

Reward replaced anxiety.

Breathe out.

14 years old

Four teeth pulled for braces:

Sitting in a reclining chair at a dental school.

Dental student sweated, grumbled, tugged.

Panic in his eyes.

Did he know what he was doing?

Breathe in.

20 years old

Four impacted wisdom teeth:

Chipped and chiseled and broken,

Pulled out piece by piece.

Sitting in a  dental chair with tubes in my mouth.

Family dentist sweated, needed a break.

I went home but. .. 

Still bleeding 3 days later.

Gums packed and re-packed.

Breathe out.

73 years old.

A tooth worn out and broken.

Memories of past extractions

Heighten anxieties,

Emotions tumbling out.

Tooth is worn out. . .I’m worn out.

Age and anxiety, chipping away at me piece by piece:

Tonsils, gall bladder, ovaries, appendix.

Soon a ninth tooth.

Breathe out.

Sitting in a dental chair,

Blood pressure is too high.

The oral surgeon comes in with a smile

Dismissing my concerns with 

“That was 50 years ago!”

“How about some laughing gas?”

I can use a smile, a laugh, a buzz.

“Take deep breaths.  

Breathe in. 

Breathe out.”

Reward replaces anxiety.

More Northland and North County Shopping Memories

While I was getting all nostalgic about Northland, I shared these memories with some friends and family, who also had wonderful memories of Northland Shopping Center in Jennings, Mo. in the 1960's and 1970's.

Photo made at Northland's Vincent Price Studio
Jim, Me, Jane 1964 (?)

First, my brother Jim:

OK where do I start....

• Eating onion soup in the Pickwick located in the basement of Famous Barr.
• Working in the stock room of Famous Barr.
• Mom taking me to the men's department every year to buy me 5 shirts, 5 pairs of pants, 5 pairs of socks, 5 pairs of underwear and one year an orange Nehru Jacket ( not sure I ever wore out the house)
• Buying (Joe Namath style) Dingo boots
• Buying my 74 class ring at Wehmueller Jewlers. ($38 and way cooler than the catalog rings hawked at the high school)
• Buying my James Bond novels and Peanuts books in SS Kresge.
• Going out for luxury dinner at Popes Cafeteria
• Every summer when the Carnival arrived on the upper lot....The carneys swindling me out of $20 bucks with 25 cent chances at winning  stuffed toy on the quarter plate toss.
• Watching the fireworks on the hill above the Cinema.
• Getting my Senior yearbook class pictures taken at Boyd's
• Watching Bonnie & Clyde at the Cinema with Dada...and being really embarrassed when the opening seen was a naked Faye Dunaway

Oh and driving just down West Florissant  to have Jason Pancakes (where I worked) or......a little bit further to Peaches Records (where I spent a boat load of money filling my Peaches Crate with records)..... and little bit further to Tipton Appliance ( where I worked) PS - I got my "turtles" (caramel -pecan clusters) at Famous Barr at often 2 for 1 prices because my Dad was the store Electrician!!

Speaking of carnivals at Northland, my friend Terry confesses: 

One summer (I was maybe 17) when summer work was hard to get, I worked briefly at one of those traveling carnivals that was set up in the Northland parking lot.  Not an especially good job, eventually I got a position working at the Ponticello's on Goodfellows.

Carol recalls:  Loved the Mavrakos Candy store!  And Famous had a great candy counter, too---bought nonpareils there! 

My brother-in-law Tom:

Jaci, you can put a couple of my memories in there:-Mavrakos Candy store:  Dad would buy chocolates at their downtown store on rare occasions, but I don't think he dared take any of us into the Northland store.-Thom McAnn shoes:  Dad took me once and simply told the male clerk he wanted "service shoes" for me.  I had never heard the term before, but the clerk knew exactly what he meant----black, plain-toe oxfords.  When I got my first issue of uniforms, boots and shoes in basic training 20 years later, I was able to put that shoe-shopping trip and Dad's brief statement to the clerk into a much larger context:  I guess most men in the late 1950's had had some connection with military duty, and understood common military uniform terminology.

It amazes me how many people remember the candy and food.  My friend Jane recalled:

• I had forgotten about the candles on the roof at Christmas.  I loved the Heavenly Hash and Bridge Mix from the candy counter. Also loved the French Onion Soup with croutons and wonderful cheese on top.
• Bob and I walked to Northland and back before he had a car.
• I also remember painting the windows at Northland around Halloween

Margie responded to Jane's memories:

Yes, Jane.  The Heavenly Hash was out of this world.  I think on certain days they had it for half price per pound.  I remember on paydays going to Northland, depositing my pay check and then treating myself to Heavenly Hash.  All good memories.

My sister, Jane summed up our feelings:

 When you lose the historical sites you keep the memories, but you can't say, that is where I bought my prom dress, that is where I bought my wedding dress, you can't look at the candy counter and say this is where my dad would get his sweet fix, or climb up on a stool at the dime store and say to your grandchildren, "I used to always get hot fudge sundaes here.  When I was a teen I would shop for my shoes at this store."  Let's just say Target doesn't always hit the target.