Madam Speaker, the St. Louis Post Dispatch recently published a series of articles to shed light on music education in the St. Louis Public Schools. The significant benefits conveyed by music education are immeasurable. Studies have found…
Madam Speaker, the St. Louis Post Dispatch recently published a series of articles to shed light on music education in the St. Louis Public Schools. The significant benefits conveyed by music education are immeasurable. Studies have found that education in the arts leads to success in society, school and life. I applaud the St. Louis Public Schools for recognizing the value of music education. I also commend Mr. Bob Dorries, the instrumental music teacher at McKinley Junior Classical Academy, a St. Louis magnet school, for his commitment to cultivating the gift of music in our children. I was especially impressed with the article's coverage of sixth-grader Sydney Everett's intense desire to master playing the clarinet.
In reading Steve Giegerich's articles, it is obvious that Sydney is an exceptional student who is dedicated to conquering new objectives and realizing her full potential. Sydney's love for music was instilled by her parents Sean and Deirdre Everett. They have always made music a part of Sydney's life. Her father, having taught himself to play the trumpet, shared his love for music with his children. Sydney exhibits that same drive and frequently takes the initiative to teach herself lessons before the class covers them.
Madam Speaker, it is with great privilege that I recognize Sydney Everett today before Congress. I encourage Sydney to continue her studies and remain committed to exploring new horizons.
The two articles from the St. Louis Post Dispatch chronicling Sydney's journey to master playing the clarinet follow this tribute.
[From the St. Louis Post-Dispatch, Sept. 30, 2006]
Learning To Play: Will Sydney Make the Band?
(By Steve Giegerich)
It's no accident that a poster of Miles Davis is in the
sight line of Bob Dorries' students as he stands at the
blackboard to review scales, time signatures and other
rudiments of music education at McKinley Classical Junior
Academy.
Dorries put it there as a constant reminder of the link
between the East St. Louis jazz icon and the potential heirs
to his legacy who pass through Dorries' classroom each day.
The connection is pretty much lost on the majority of
sixth-graders enrolled in the instrumental music program at
the St. Louis magnet middle school.
Most don't know Miles Davis from Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.
The exception is an intense young girl in Dorries' seventh-
period band class. Sydney Everett required no introduction to
Davis, the man who provided much of the soundtrack for her
childhood.
As parents, Sean and Deirdre Everett's priorities were
established far in advance of Sydney's arrival on March 30,
1995. ``Education has been the goal since her birth,'' said
Deirdre.
The motivation came in part by the failure to realize their
own potential. Both Sean and Deirdre had left college without
a degree.
``I always felt I didn't take full advantage of all I
had,'' said Sean. ``Now I look at the way the world is going,
and you have to have that degree.''
From the moment she was born, music danced on the periphery
of Sydney's life.
Her father had developed an eclectic taste in music as his
family moved from one military base to another across the
country.
``I listen to it all,'' he said. And the Everetts made sure
their children did the same. Sydney and her brother, Sean
Michael, their father said, ``have an open mind toward music
and life, too. I want them to experience everything
possible.''
Between the birth of his first and second children, Sean
bought a used trumpet at a secondhand store.
Though he'd dabbled with the guitar in high school, he'd
never learned to read music. He still can't. But he taught
himself to play that trumpet by emulating chords and riffs of
the musician he admires above all others: Miles Davis.
When Sean Everett's daughter took a seat in Dorries' band
room a month ago, her own experience as a musician was
limited to a month of piano lessons, family Karaoke sing-
alongs at Christmastime and a class at Kennard Elementary
School that taught the 12-tone musical scale.
Over the summer, Sydney toyed with the idea of enrolling in
McKinley's vocal music program, a notion she ultimately
rejected. ``I knew I couldn't sing,'' she said.
On the day she walked into Dorries' class for the first
time, Sydney was just as sure she knew which instrument she
wanted to play: the trumpet, like her dad.
``Just to hear music in the house will be nice,'' said Sean
Everett. ``Music opens up so many horizons. She'll meet so
many characters playing music, and it's such a release. Who
knows? She could wind up joining an orchestra, seeing the
world.''
Before that can happen, Sydney must learn an instrument.
Learning the notes
Impish and sarcastic, music teacher Dorries often plays the
theme from ``Final Jeopardy!'' on the classroom synthesizer
as students ponder a question. Dorries, 43, has a firm set of
rules and little tolerance for those who break them.
Rule No.1 for sixth-graders: Before receiving an
instrument, they must score an 80 or above on a 60-question
exam that tests their knowledge of the categories of band
instruments, musical history and, critically, the l2-tone
notation scale.
The payoff for those who obey the rules, practice and stay
the course is a chair in one of McKinley's four bands, which
perform two concerts a year.
The students get as many opportunities as necessary to pass
the exam. Most need it. Rare is the student who hits the
magic score of 80 the first time.
Summoning lessons learned at elementary school, Sydney
scored an 89.
The following week, Dorries asked the students who had
fallen short of a passing grade to review their tests and
prepare to retake the exam. Then he summoned Sydney to his
desk.
``Let's see what you can blow,'' the teacher said,
producing an array of sanitized mouthpieces for brass and
woodwinds.
``I come from the theory of music that every person's mouth
determines what instrument they should play,'' he explained.
``It has nothing to do with intelligence, where you've
come from, what school you attended or your ability. It's
something you come to naturally. It's the shape of your
mouth.''
The fourth generation in a family of musicians, Dorries'
philosophy was born of personal experience, a childhood dream
of playing the trumpet shattered by the inability to make a
single sound through a cornet mouthpiece. It wasn't until his
teacher handed him the mouthpiece for a saxophone that he
achieved the desired result. He was 5 and has played the sax
ever since.
Dorries turned to Sydney: ``The lesson here is that what we
think we want to play, nine times out of 10, is not the
instrument we wind up with. And looking at your overbite, I'd
say there's a real good chance you'll be good at a wind
instrument.''
First, however, Sydney needed to learn the same lesson
instilled in Dorries.
She blew into a trombone mouthpiece. Nothing. Same with the
mouthpiece for a cornet. All hope of following in the
footsteps of her dad and Miles Davis vanished, she slumped a
bit in her chair.
Dorries handed her a mouthpiece and a clarinet reed and
demonstrated how to moisten it. ``Blow,'' he instructed.
A duck call broke the quiet of the room.
``It's called a squawk, that's what we're after,'' said
Dorries. Sydney sat straighter, blew into the mouthpiece.
Squawk.
All eyes on their classmate, the rest of the students
stopped studying. Dorries held Sydney's cheeks to prevent
them from puffing out. ``Roll the mouthpiece over in your
mouth,'' he said gently.
Sydney blew. Squawk.
Her classmates applauded and whooped. Sydney smiled.
After auditioning two more mouthpieces, she ruled out the
saxophone and flute and chose the instrument her mother had
played, long ago, at O'Fallon Technical High.
``I want the clarinet,'' Sydney told her teacher. ``I like
the way it sounds.''
``I think that's a wise choice, either that or the flute,''
he responded. ``With your mouth structure, you belong on a
wind instrument. You have lovely cheeks.''
Dorries excused himself and retreated to an adjoining
supply room, emerging a moment later with a small black case.
Eyes wide, Sydney watched as Dorries slowly revealed the
contents of the black case: a coal-black Yamaha clarinet
nestled unassembled on a bed of molded velvet.
He handed her a form. The clarinet, he explained, belongs
to the St. Louis Public Schools. After her parents gave
written assurance that it would receive proper care, the
instrument would be hers to take home.
Sydney slipped the piece of paper into a notebook just as
the bell rang. Hefting her books, she headed for the door,
her next class and the next phase of the journey envisioned
by Sean and Deirdre Everett, long before their daughter was
born.