Ode to My College Band Director

I have had many music teachers. Band, choir, church, professional and non professional, private piano, class piano, private voice, class voice, master classes, singer dancers, dancer singers, strings, woodwinds, brass ensemble... and really, that's not all. Among them are some favorites. Among them are some true idiots. (You probably don't have the sense to know who you are...) But a few stand out, right now one in particular. He has the intuition of a mother, the sense of fun of a rambunctious kid, the risk taking fearlessness of a father, the quiet wisdom of a philosopher, and the kind heart of a friend.

When I first arrived on the campus of Wallace State Community College in the sprawling metropolis of Hanceville, Alabama, in the fall of 1992, I was like most kids fresh out of public high school... I didn't have a single clue. I had some friends that I liked to cut up with, my favorite bleached out Guess jeans that looked like they had survived some sort of jean world war, and a music scholarship. It didn't take Mr. Bean long to invite me into his office, sit me down in his chair, and begin my education in earnest. He saw through my "too cool for school" facade and he, first: understood that I was a talented musician that needed to focus, second, was prepared to help me do it, and third, came to see me at a horse show... of all things. My college professor came to see me sing the National Anthem at a horse show. That got my attention. He really cared.

Soon after that, I found myself donning a full studded Elvis jumpsuit, (with black wig and sideburns,) closing out the big school showcase with his smokin' hot jazz ensemble in front of what seemed to me like thousands of college kids including the Dean of students. Now the closest thing I had ever done to that in my short life was maybe performing an extended version of "Because He Lives" for the offertory at the Baptist church where I grew up, or maybe dancing along to the theme of "Dallas" in some crazy get up I put together for my Mammaw and Papaw on a Friday night sleepover. I had NEVER done anything like that before, but for some reason he let me, and for me, it was like music meth. There was a small snag, however; that night I fell and hurt my knee right in the middle of the big "American Trilogy" finish, but he gamely handed me back the mike and made me finish the song from the ground! True.

I say he had the quiet wisdom of a philosopher. Some students mistook that quiet wisdom for being slightly spacey. I say this with the kindest respect that I can muster, because I didn't realise at the time that I had found a kindred spirit. He related big ideas to small minds. Like "too much music or art and not enough physical activity makes you flaky" I am paraphrasing, but that's pretty much how I remember it. Or "Sometimes you need to stop talking and really listen in order to know what is really going on." Or "It is OK, even important, to have a life outside of a practice room."

He has the kind heart of a friend. When my Papaw Harold died, he drove to another town and stood in line for a good forty-five minutes to hug my neck and tell me he was sorry.

There are sooo many more wonderful things I could say about Mr. Bean, and if you've never had a teacher who affected you in such a profound way, I am truly sorry. If you did, take the time to tell them in some way. What profession has more power than that of a teacher who, on a daily basis has the opportunity to effect so many at such an impressionable time? Thanks Mr. Bean. I should be standing in line to shake your hand.

Robert Bean lives in Cullman, Alabama with his wife, Linda, also a band director, and his two children, Maria and little Robert. He continues to teach at Wallace State College and in addition to that, directs a community band and regularly calls to keep up with Amanda and me, among many other cool things.