So why did you decide to teach music at the college level?
It’s a question I never asked any of my professors when I was making one of the countless decisions that would land me on a path doing exactly that. But if I had asked, I believe their answer would have been the same as mine. If you had asked me when I graduated high school what my goal was career wise, right about now I would be going into year nine of teaching high school band. I learned during my student teaching placement however that I was very happy working with younger students as well, and that I could have a very fulfilling and rewarding career doing exactly that. The reason I decided I wanted to teach at the college level, is because I was inspired by all of my music teachers I had the good fortune of meeting at Mansfield University. They each helped me grow into a young musician, who in the grand scheme of things really didn’t know much at all about music when he enrolled in college. The man who had the biggest impact on me during my tenure at Mansfield University, was of course my mentor and studio professor, Mr. Stephen McEuen. If I had to boil it down to one reason that I am where I am today, it’s because that man changed the way I thought about music forever. It’s my hope that once my career in music is finished, I will be able to look back and say I have done the same for my students. Without a doubt I can say I wouldn’t be where I am today without the guidance and tutelage of that man.
“You know, I was really on the fence about accepting you. And for the first half of this semester, I thought I made a mistake. But you’ve made so much improvement in such a short amount of time, and things are really starting to click for you. Now I know that the only mistake would have been saying no to you, and the great career you’re going to have one day if you keep working hard like you did this semester.”
Mr. McEuen was a straight shooter. I always took pride in the fact that he said what he meant, and if you received a compliment from McEuen it was genuine. Even today, I choose my words very carefully – I feel like we sometimes say “ok that was good” as a placeholder because we don’t know what else to say. So Basketball Band members, when I tell you the theme from Rocky sounds good, I mean it! (When you get your own basketball band to direct, you can force them to play music that represents your hometown too. PHILLY PHILLY!) It’s also a way I can honor Mr. McEuen every day, by living in the example he set forth as a professional musician.
That conversation happened in December of 2006 after I had just completed my first semester at Mansfield University. We were discussing my jury, and some of my successes that semester after a less than stellar start. My first trombone lesson of the semester was my first trombone lesson ever. In high school I took guitar lessons and singing lessons, but as one of the “top trombone players” at my high school, I foolishly didn’t think I needed lessons. Being a good trombone player just isn’t as effective as being a good singer or guitar player at impressing high school girls, which seemed to be my only goal at the time. This isn’t something I would advise for those considering music as a major, but as I said it was only when I arrived at college that I realized how much I didn’t know. So when I say this man taught me everything I know about the trombone, it’s not much of an exaggeration. Getting into a daily practice routine, and finding time to do those pesky weekly assignments Mr. McEuen gave us wasn’t something I really figured out until the second half of the semester, hence his very straightforward and very accurate statement from earlier.
I did have a light bulb moment where I started to realize that those things our teachers were telling us to do, were actually the things we needed to do to be successful (go figure). I was given some scales, a Rochut, and a Kopprasch etude to do for my weekly lesson. We had been progressing in our lessons, so Mr. McEuen said “if you feel comfortable with Rochut #6, go on to #7.” Something came up and our lesson was cancelled that week, so the next week I came in prepared to play my assignments. I finished playing my first Rochut etude, and he asked me to play the second one. I let him know that I only prepared the first one (despite having an EXTRA week) and he just stared at me. “You didn’t do the second one?” I could tell this was the wrong answer on my part. I believe it was the great philosopher Plato who said, “it sucks to suck” and quite frankly I was tired of disappointing my teacher. I started practicing more and more, and vowed never to come unprepared to another lesson. The result: I got better, and better, and we never had to have one of those conversations ever again.
I always thought it was funny that some people were intimidated by Mr. McEuen. Even when he was telling me that I should have done the work that was expected, he was right and I was wrong. He and Dr. Galloway shared the same mindset (the saying was even on their doors): “Failure to plan on your part does not constitute an emergency on mine.” The only people who were ever afraid of those “old school, tough” teachers, were the ones who didn’t like being told that they didn’t do the work they should have. That’s how it works in the real world, and the sooner you start holding yourself accountable, the sooner you’ll start being successful. The transition from high school to college is a big one, and I’ve always appreciated the teachers who helped me understand my role as a freshman: I was responsible for my own success or failure. No one was going to do the work for me, and I couldn’t blame anyone else for the work I didn’t do. My ability to succeed in college was in large part to the teachers I had who shot straight with me right from the beginning, and made me understand that important life lesson.
Mr. McEuen had an amazing sense of humor that was contagious. I think all of the low brass students developed some McEuenisms during their time of study at Mansfield. I have a thousand memories that make me smile, but I wanted to share a few.
One time during a lesson we were looking for a piece of music in his office. He searched everywhere, found the music and then rummaged through a few more piles. He sat down and told me, “most people will tell you that they found what they were looking for in the last place that they looked. I want you to notice that I continued searching, even after I found the music, so it was not in the last place that I looked.” I think my sarcasm and dry sense of humor reached a new level with his guidance.
He would never give up on a joke. I have definitely carried this trait with me. It didn’t matter how many times you heard the same punch line - you were going to hear it again. Even if you didn’t laugh, Mr. McEuen always did (at least internally). I still think about that when I address my classroom students. We can learn and have a good time. Even if they don’t think I’m funny, I’m going to do my best to keep it light. Music is supposed to be fun - so let’s keep it that way.
First impressions are important and Mr. McEuen made sure we knew how to make a memorable first impression. During one of my first studio classes (ever), Mr. McEuen gave a speech about how when you first meet someone, you set a standard of expectations that they will associate with you forever. He pointed out that he was “dressed for success” in his suit, and how people would assume from his attire that he was a very professional man. Something along those lines. I don’t remember all of the details because as he was giving this speech, without ever cracking a smile, he started slowly taking off his suit jacket. After that he loosened his tie, started unbuttoning his shirt and before you knew it he was standing in front of the class wearing a full on cowboy outfit. The man wore a complete, second outfit under his suit (jeans, shirt, bolo tie) so that when he finally finished his speech he would be standing in front of his studio wearing (I repeat) a cowboy outfit. He really did make a statement that day - expect the unexpected, and we have fun in my studio.
Mr. McEuen and Dr. Laib (double-reed professor) hosted the Low Brass/Double Reed Christmas party at their home each year. We ate chili (with various degrees of beans and spice levels) and had a white elephant gift exchange. You also had to write a poem to go along with your gift. Prizes were given out for the most creative gifts and poems, and there was also a “prize” for worst gift. My freshman year I drew Roxanne’s name and promptly read the lyrics from Sting’s Roxanne. That was my only victory over the years. The professors participated too, and one year Mr. McEuen drew my name. He read a very long poem, and at the end it said “you are the relief of the world.” He handed me a box of “Alka-Seltzer” with the L crossed out. He then pointed out that it says “Alka-Setzer” not “Alka-Seltzer” – as if I was unfamiliar with this constant mispronunciation or butchering of my last name. I laughed. I thought I got off easy, considering the year before, he gave another studio member, Theo, a completely filled out “change of major” form. There was a lot of good natured ribbing in that studio, but it was all in good fun.
There are a million stories like that I could tell. I think the most memorable concert I ever took part in was our performance of the 12 Days of Christmas. The consummate showman, he dressed up in a ridiculous suit and presented the “Cartridge in a Bare Tree” every time we sang it. There were references to swine flu, French Horn players trying to play the right notes (they finally got it the last time), “soupies” sleeping, and a slightly disturbed man destroyed a trombone on stage (it wasn’t me). Do yourself a favor and check out our video – it’s worth it. Also note the stylish outfits of the trombone quartet, tasked with playing all 12 days of Christmas in the back.
Mansfield University Epic Trombone 12 Days of Christmas
Needless to say, I laughed a lot while I discovered my true love of music at Mansfield. Mr. McEuen was the reason behind more laughs than I can count.
So why am I writing this now? I’m Italian, Irish, and German so I’m stubborn times three. I don’t like to talk about my feelings and the line from Talladega Nights where Cal says “I’ll just bury it deep down. It’s painful. I’ll just bury it and never talk about it again,” has pretty much been my approach to dealing with loss. But last November I, along with everyone who had the pleasure of knowing him, lost my teacher, Mr. McEuen.
I had a really surreal moment while presenting at IMEA last month where I couldn’t help but stop and think of Mr. McEuen. A large portion of my clinic involved a rather intense discussion on breathing in regards to low brass pedagogy. For the first time in years I used the following acronym: “BSBMO – Breathe Sooner, Breathe More Often.” That phrase was literally STAMPED onto my music in undergrad (yes Mr. McEuen had a BSBMO stamp) and has become an integral part of the way I approach playing music on low brass instruments. It has been such a part of my playing for so long that I don’t think I’ve actually used the phrase in quite some time. We all know that air is sound, and I joke that the answer to just about any problem on a brass instrument for “how do we make that better?” is something related to how we use our air. But in that moment, I had to pause for a moment and mentally pay homage to the man who gave me my start in this career. In the same presentation I talked about the “Anatomy of the Airstream” – something I learned from my teacher Mark Lusk at Penn State, and I talked about the simplistic approach to making sound, “blow the pipe” – something I learned from my teacher Tim Anderson at CCM. As I reflect on that experience, I realize that my teachers live on in me, and as I pass their knowledge to the next generation, their impact will always be a part of the trombone community.
I’ve had four great teachers in my career: Mr. McEuen, Mark Lusk, Tim Anderson, and Pete Norton. Each one of them changed the way I think about playing and teaching music for the better. But the reason I am where I am today, started with one great man. And while I’m sad to say I won’t see him again, I know he’ll always be with me, helping me remind the next generation of students that “air is free, so why don’t we take a breath right there” together.