I've always been lousy at transitions. I was probably the only kid in Elyria who was sad each and every last day of school. As an adult, I didn't get any better at making transitions. I'm so terrible at transitions, I can't even handle them when they belong to someone else. Case in point: Kathy Wainwright's farewell concert.
Kathleen Olear Wainwright is the most senior music educator in the Elyria City Schools. She is also Director of the Elyria High School Orchestra. A talented cellist who grew up in Parma, Kathy earned both her undergraduate and graduate degrees at Bowling Green State University. She has been a member of numerous ensembles and community orchestras of distinction.
She once told me about the day she interviewed for a position in the music department at the Elyria City Schools. She and her mother, Helen, went to Friendly's Restaurant to discuss the opportunity. "I'm going to accept this offer," she decided, "because I really think I can make a difference here." I admire that kind of idealism.
It's hard to believe that more than 32 years have passed since that definitive conversation. In that period of time, Kathy has gifted Elyria with her vision and her tenacity, and has brought elegance to our community and confidence to our kids. She most certainly made a difference in the lives of many, many young people.
She also made a huge difference in the life of someone else I hold dear to me: Mark Wainwright, my friend from high school days. Mark had returned to our alma mater as a music educator and band director, adding his expertise to EHS's hallowed music tradition. Kathy and Mark met. They fell in love. They married. And the history of the world as I know it was changed.
In the interest of full disclosure, you should know that Kathy is so dear to me, she deserves a category of friendship that is uniquely hers. I'm not even going to make a pretense of objectivity in this Blog. We have held each other's newborns. We have shared zillions of cookouts and dinner parties. For 18 years we have lived only one half of a mile from one another. No matter whose birthday cake was being sliced, we sliced it together. It wouldn't be Christmas without her and her family. When I started a book club many years ago, she was a charter member. We have shared more cups of tea and uncorked more bottles of wine than we could count. I love her kids; she loves mine. We even babysit one another's dogs, for Pete's sake.
At any rate, the concert was incredible. Kathy had challenged her students to perform some very ambitious music. It was thrilling to hear a full orchestral performance of Fanfare for the Common Man (Copland); the Centennial Overture (Hofeldt); and Beethoven's Finale from Symphony No. 9. She is a delight to watch, for she knows what she is about. Her students are attentive, relaxed, and well-rehearsed. When the students have come to the point of a concert performance, she believes that their experience is more important than ours, and so she focuses on communicating what I would call 'performance joy'. I could hear the joy in their music.
Kathy's professionalism ensured that she had her emotions well under control for this transitional life event. Not me. Oh no. I took it upon myself to emote for the both of us. That is why, when she prepared to mount the conductor's podium for the last piece and I saw my friend Mark slide out from backstage to assume a stance at the microphone, I was officially approaching train-wreck status.
The house lights were brought up. And there stood Mark, the heir apparent. Having been named the next Orchestra Director, Mark's job was to convey gratitude for three decades of devotion. Somehow, he was to honor 32 years of grit, determination, patience, poise, and grace.
Rotsa ruck, kid.
That he was able to get through a gracious presentation without the total breakdown to which he was entitled is to Mark's everlasting credit.
First, he introduced School Superintendent Paul Rigda, who spoke admiringly of Kathy's career. Then, Mark presented Kathy with certification that a paver chiseled with her name will appear in the high school's new construction. Student representatives placed a bouquet of red roses in her arms.
Together, audience and performers gave a long and lusty standing ovation.
I had settled into a vibe in which I was feeling proud of and happy for my two friends. But the last composition would prove to be my undoing. The dramatic, hauntingly beautiful tradition in honor of the outgoing seniors was to blame.
The combined Chamber and Symphonic Orchestras played the Ashoken Farewell by Paul Unger. The mood that was established was reflective and somber, like a hymn . . . and like a spiritual . . . and like an ode. Right in the middle of a phrase, one musician, a senior, stopped playing, rose from her chair, and, carrying her instrument, quietly walked off stage. As the student departed, the stage lights were dimmed. As soon as she was gone, another senior musician stopped bowing, rose from his chair, and left the orchestra, disappearing into the wings. Again, the lights were dimmed. One by one, the seniors moved on, thereby delegating the playing of the music to their younger constituents. The stage lights were successively dimmed with each departure.
I was mesmerized. What a beautiful way to give tribute to the seniors. What a wonderful way to help the members of the orchestra transition into its new entity. I was so totally enchanted, so completely in the present moment, I never anticipated what happened next.
Now playing in semi-darkness, the musicians continued to follow the baton in Kathy's graceful right hand until, as if delivered on a cloud, the shadowy silhouette of their new director was suddenly standing beside the conductor's podium. And then he reached up and she reached down and this amazing couple wrapped their arms around one another for half a measure. I emitted a little cry of pain, so moved was I by the fragile beauty of the moment.
There was a heart-stopping passing of the baton.
For one brief instant two figures melted into one as Kathy stepped down and Mark ascended the podium. Then, without a backward glance, Kathy vanished while the new Elyria High School Orchestra Director helped his students finish the Farewell.
I thought alchemy went the way of the unicorn. I was wrong. What I had just witnessed was alchemical.
My life with Kathy and Mark and their children, Lauren and Elliot, raced through my entire being and I feared that my knees would buckle. Tears were flowing freely down my face.
And then I realized that my friend and I are jointly undergoing a seminal transition. I understand now that Kathy and I are no longer raising our families together. What we are doing is growing old together.