Don’t Wait
Today I’m writing about something a bit more personal. This has been on my mind a lot lately as I started to working with schools quite a bit more, and the recent 12-year anniversary of my first premiere. It is also the driving inspiration behind my grant application for PROJECT PLAYBACK—which if funded will provide sheet music (score and parts) as free PDFs for six new works aimed at middle school through early college ensembles. Today, I’m writing about a man named Gene Power.
Behold! My first ever composition, the 12-year anniversary for which was just a few days ago.
One of the most influential people in my musical life was my high school band director, Gene Power. He was the first person to not only encourage my writing, but to program it and conduct it—allowing a first-time writer to compose for a substantially-sized orchestra, and later on for our school jazz combo and the wind ensemble. He made sure I had access to Finale after school and stayed late so I could work on the school computer to engrave the music I couldn’t work on at home. After my first piece premiered, he encouraged me to keep writing and to pursue composition in college.
He taught me how to read lead sheets and work out voicings for piano for jazz band. He showed me how to fix up marching equipment and plot out marching shows. He taught me how to read a concert score and do some basic conducting—even awarding me with my first real conducting experience (“The Great Gate of Kiev,” as performed by our youth symphony). He even made sure I understood the importance of the non-musical aspects of running an ensemble—explaining how the music library was catalogued, how to manage load-ins and strikes, how to run a lightboard and sound mixer, and even a bit of insight on how to program a season within a small budget. Believe me when I tell you: I wouldn’t have even considered pursuing music or music administration without his encouragement and tutoring.
And I certainly wasn’t the only person whose life he changed. One year he provided free lessons for students after school who couldn’t afford private lessons. Multiple times I saw him arrange rides for kids who couldn’t get to our pep games and competitions. He worked to get some of the more serious players from school into local gigs (like the theatre pit orchestras) so they could build up their resumes for college.
Mr. Power was kind enough to grill a bunch of brats for us after a gig, and one of our students was kind enough to thank him by smooshing a cupcake on his face…
He could be pretty intense at times and didn’t always get along with everyone, but he was capable of such incredible kindness, gentleness, patience, and warmth. There wasn’t a day in band we didn’t all end up busting a gut laughing at least once (at times he was as much a kid as the rest of us). As musicians he reminded us all the most important thing was the musical impact we could leave on a listener, and that the music could only happen by working together.
By the time my class graduated, his contract was not renewed (in part budget, in part collateral damage from local politics); in his three years there, the band program had grown exponentially and the level of performance had substantially improved. Despite being rather underfunded compared to the school across town, we were doing basketball and hockey games, marching shows and parades, show band for the show choir, orchestra wind collaborative performances, jazz festivals, wind ensemble, stomp percussion—our music program was flourishing. He had even (finally!!) managed to secure new marching band uniforms, and continually fought for funding and recognition of the music program. A huge number of our graduating class went on to pursue a career in music performance, education, or administration. In our community he conducted the local youth symphony, played sax for groups around the region, and did arrangements. When my class graduated, he—along with all the talent, drive, advocacy, and knowledge he had in him—went out of state to pursue a masters in orchestral conducting.
Gene Power passed away unexpectedly in 2015 at the age of 35, and it sent an absolute shockwave through the communities he had inhabited. In the wake of his death came an outpouring of love and grief and old stories and blurry photos and jokes about his coffee habit. He had become involved with a non-profit that provided professional music training to underserved youth, and his impact was palpable in the posts that past participants shared.
My own blurry photo - taken at our last concert (spring 2010) when he gave me the “Director’s Award.”
A few months before his death, I had reached out to him to let him know about an opera premiere, and to briefly let him know how his impact had led me to that moment. He replied back to thank me for the message, and offered to meet back up when I was next in Eau Claire, as he was moving back to the area that year. Our meeting never happened, but believe me when I tell you that I’m grateful every day I got the chance to thank him even a little.
There are still days—days like today—when it all hits me again at once. It’s hard knowing I will never be able to give back to him even an ounce of anything that he gave me. I can’t give his ensemble a free masterclass or write them a new piece. I can’t do an arrangement for his pep band or take him to coffee when I’m back in town. I can’t send him notices of summer festivals and composition or concerto competitions his students might benefit from. I can’t share my latest successes with him or tell him, even one more time, how he set me on the path to be where I am now.
But if you can’t pay it back, pay it forward instead.
So whenever I want to reach out to him, I reach out to others. I email one of my composition professors to tell them how much their mentorship has meant to me, and what I’m doing now. I contact one of the schools I’ve worked with to offer a free workshop or let them know about competition opportunities for their students. I work up free arrangements for groups from back home. I offer lower prices to schools I know are struggling financially. I try to pour all of these big feelings into small actions, hoping that he knows, somehow, that I intend to honor him and his lessons as long as I can.
Taken during a band outing at the Duluth Jazz Festival
Project PLAYBACK is part of how I hope to pay forward some of the kindnesses and sacrifices Mr. Power gave to so many, and with the letters of support I’ve received in the last few weeks I have high hopes the series will be funded. One of the three band works will be dedicated to him.
So I say to anyone reading this: if you have someone to thank for where you are today, someone who was there for you in a difficult moment, a loved one you haven’t talked to in awhile, or someone who just makes you smile, tell them today. Tell them now. Don’t wait.
