Dulcimers And Drill Bits

[In today’s post I desperately avoid politics with some reminiscences. Boring? Perhaps. But it’s my blog and I’ll swim against the current if I want to. (I’ll also end sentences with prepositions. Who’s gonna’ stop me?) If you’re looking for articles where folks hyperventilate that the end times are near because the less desirable of two parties is in power, look at literally any mainstream press site. I’m going a different way. ]

Of the several dozen teachers involved in my American public school indoctrination education there were a handful I admired. (The rest were interchangeable cogs; an undifferentiated herd of human meat-grinders that drive the mediocrity industry. Since I’m trying to keep my blog vaguely positive I’ll leave visceral rants about their malfeasance in the able hands of old Pink Floyd lyrics. Today I want to acknowledge a good teacher.)

I’m talking about a teacher that was absolutely nothing like this image.

He was a bear of a man that never stopped smiling. He had the hopeless task of teaching music to middle-school nimrods. Whats worse, he wasn’t teaching band or orchestra. For reasons I’ve never understood, there’s an immense build up cultural momentum behind cellos and trombones. This guy had none of that. He had a shoestring budget, patience, and little else.

We’ve got bullshit… right here in River City!

He taught one of those touchy-feely not-quite elective classes that are completely pointless. He focused on folk instruments; guitars, banjos, penny whistles, and the like. Because nothing says “wise use of tax dollars” like teaching thirteen year olds how to play the dulcimer:

Future employer: “It says on your resume that you’ve got six degrees, cured cancer, and built a particle accelerator in your garage. Impressive but it’s just not enough.”

Me: “I also know how to play ‘Go Tell Aunt Rhody, The Old Grey Goose Is Dead.”

Future employer: “No shit!”

Me: “Yep. On guitar and dulcimer.”

Future employer: “What an excellent education you got in public school. You’re hired!”

Useless or not, I enjoyed his class. Also, it occurs to me that I had a mandatory class that included banjos?

It’s lucky I can read.

Anyway, the guy had superhuman optimism and patience. No matter how horribly we hacked simple traditional bluegrass tunes to death he just kept smiling. Like monkeys trying to play chess, we mishandled battered instruments creating a cacophony of off tune, randomly timed, notes. He seemed happy we were trying to make music. He didn’t worry that we sucked at it.

Teachers were randomly assigned to monitor the halls during the between class melee at every bell. (Back then class times were divided into “periods”. Nothing says “improved educational pedagogy” like changing the vocabulary of “first class” to “first period”. I’m sure it’s now “first session” or “first standardized time increment” and I’m sure there are teachers who think that’s better.

His job during those 8-10 minute breaks was to make sure nobody wound up stabbed or pregnant. The kids (self included I’m sure) were just animals moving from one trough to the next but he changed the environment. Whenever he drew the short straw he’d stand there and play. In the midst of the hourly chaotic hormonal malestrom this guy would wander about with an old-timey concertina playing merrily. It impressed me. He was Cicero orating before a flock of pigeons. He seemed above the fray. I wanted to be like that.

One day he decided we should build dulcimers. (Probably a decision based on the fact that nobody would fund new instruments.) An Appalachian dulcimer is a gorgeous instrument, with feminine curves and an almost medieval look. I was aghast. We, were going to build something like that? We were middle-schoolers. The males barely managed to eat without biting each other and the females were catty emotional torrents that burst into tears over Tamagotchi. None of us had the slightest ability to be a luthier. I explained to him that we were fucking imbeciles and the sooner he accepted that the better.

Look at those curves!

I remember his response. “This is for bluegrass. They were made by men who plowed the field all day. They were played by those same men. People used to do this. You are people. You can do what they did.”

The project was voluntary. So I ran from it. I’d have nothing to do with whatever atrocity would ensue. I predicted utter failure when he showed up one day with “necks” that looked like they were hacked from an old 2″x4″ stud with a bandsaw. The frets were to be made from nails he’d cut the heads off with a hacksaw. The strings and tuning pegs were purchased but the rest was scavenged. The body… was going to be cardboard.

CARDBOARD!

Disgusting! While he and a few others tinkered away I played an old battered guitar (badly) and eyed what I figured would be the end of civilization. Cardboard!

Then, a short time later he started tuning up these crude devices. He explained that the music we were studying was from poor agrarian hill folk. They obviously didn’t buy a Stradivarius with proceeds from a turnip harvest. Plus, music was music no matter how it was played.

I was skeptical. Then he hit a few notes. They sounded just about the same as the commercially built dulcimers in his pile of instruments. Maybe a bit better.

Holy shit!

I never made a dulcimer. Nor can I play one well. For that matter, I spent years playing on a handful of different guitars (electric and acoustic) and never got good at it. But I always wished I’d gotten in on the dulcimer project. They looked crude but they functioned fine.

I learned the important lesson.

People used to do this. You are people. You can do what they did.

This weekend I was reminded of that teacher. I went to the hardware store and purchased a single cheap drill bit. It was to continue my progress on the PAWIRNEATT (Project About Which I’d Rather Not Elaborate At This Time). What I’m creating is crude, simple, and utilitarian. A real carpenter would scoff at me. It might as well be a dulcimer hacked from an old wall stud and a cardboard resonance box. Yet it’ll work. My novice and simplified work is good enough… and it’s making me happy.

People used to build things. I am doing what they did.

Well taught sir!