Bell Voix

I'll bet most of you don't know this story. I don't really tell it that often, probably because it makes me look, in the end, human (greatly diminishing my "sitting on an ivory tower" kind of mentality.)

When I was 18, I was an exchange student in Brussels, Belgium. I went to the Royal Conservatory of Music there and studied with a very famous Bass named Jules Bastin. I hob-knobbed with some pretty amazing people and spent most of my time with my fellow classmates, all of whom were over 30. I was originally supposed to study in a high school there, but hearing my singing, the higher ups in the Rotary Club that were sponsoring me arranged a hearing with a local conductor. He then arranged for me to be heard by the late Jules Bastin.

I was just some back-woods kid, and didn't know the importance of all that was happening. I sang for an opera star that day, "La donna è mobile", at 18. He told the Rotary Members, who came and picked me up in their black suits and Mercedes, whisking me off to my audition for him, that my talent was one which would be a shame to waste and that I should audition for the Royal Conservatory where I could study with him on a weekly basis. (It's about now that you're wondering what about this story paints me in an off-color light. Ha ha) I auditioned, not knowing, perhaps luckily, how difficult the audition cycle would be.

(I remember being ushered into a huge hall full of people, all of them seated, fearfully looking at the 9-foot grand on the stage. You could have cut the tension in the room with a butter knife. The eyes suddenly focusing on me as I entered. You know, it was one of those situations where you enter a small side door and are suddenly before a giant crowd, all of whom looked as though they had to claw their way in just to get their seat, let alone the audition in general. You can hear them laughing with scorn at the obvious late-comer, 'Good luck finding a seat, chump, let alone passing this test.' I stumbled to find a seat, not even aware, really, of what I was doing there. I had only been in Belgium about a month by that time. I asked someone in a horribly broken French what exactly this audition was all about. I quickly surmised that it was an aural exam--that someone was going to come in, play a few things on the piano, and that we were supposed to notate, musically what he had played. Huh? I was supposed to write down what he had played? At this point, I had studied no music theory at all, had taken lots of piano lessons and some voice lessons. This was beyond my abilities, plain and simple. I had to beg someone for a piece of staff paper, as I had only come equipped with a pencil. The fear had infected me to my very core by the time the professor approached the keys. I still have a hard time believing that I really passed that exam. I just know there was some Rotarian behind the scenes, exchanging money.)

So, here I was, a country boy spending a year abroad, studying at some hoity-toity institution with some famous star that I had never heard of. Already inclined to thinking highly of myself, I was on cloud nine, and I don't think that anyone could have knocked that chip off my shoulder. But, being young, and poor, I was always running out of money. My parents would occasionally send me a little and I received an allowance from the Rotary, but Brussels is expensive, what can I say…and I was bad with money through much of my youth, it is true.

The end of the year came rather quickly, and it was practically time to go home; I had no money. (There is an amazing story about me going to see a friend in far-away Germany near the end of my stay and not having enough money for the kind of train I was on. The conductor was going to throw me off at the next stop until a couple of old, German ladies sitting in my cabin took pity on my and paid him the extra fee so that I could stay on the train. I didn't have ANY money at all with me. I had just gotten on a train, filled out my Eurail pass and went. Those were the days of "adventure" and living by the seat of my pants. I will never forget those old ladies and how much their generosity meant. God always has had a way of sending his angels in at just the right moment in my life.) At any rate, back in Brussels, I had about a week before my year would come to an end and I didn't have a single gift for anyone in my family and no means to get any. So, I went to the city center, put out a hat and started singing songs and arias that I had learned at the Conservatory.

This story comes up because Joshua Bell, the famous virtuosos violinist, recently participated in an experiment. He played in the NY subway for an hour, and practically no one even noticed him. He only made $32 playing some of the most difficult music of his repertory. (http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2007/04/04/AR2007040401721.html?hpid=topnews) My story about Brussels came into my mind, because, in that week before I left, I ended up making a killing. I would come home every day and count the money that I had made, amazed (and thinking, 'now why didn't I do this the whole year long…') I made enough money that week to get my whole family gifts from Belgium, even having enough to buy my mother a doily of hand-made Belgian lace which now hangs, framed, in my parent's home.

I know that I did not play a Stradivarius and am in no way as talented as Joshua Bell, but I am certain that I made at least the 1991 equivalent of $32 a day in Brussels, which makes me somehow strangely proud of myself. No, I am not proud that I had to stand on the street and sing for money because I was so poor. But I am proud that I did not think too highly of myself to do what I had to in order to do what I thought was right.