30 Years Late – Part 3 of 4

Home. I did not return to Mars Hill. I started doing many things I should not have been doing. Poor choices on top of poor choices multiplied by bad ideas.

I promised my mother, and everybody else, I was just “taking a year off” and would return to school. I had no interest in going to class anywhere. I was done.

I spent the next three years doing all kinds of things nobody should do. There was, and is, every reason to be ashamed.

I went to Forsyth Tech and registered for a few classes. More “F’s.” Withdrawls with no credit. I managed a few “C’s.” Pitiful.

Somebody suggested I audition at the School Of the Arts.

“I did. It was terrible. I didn’t get in.”

“You should try again. In music.”

So, I did. I got in. I was surprised. Really.

My voice teacher was Bill Beck. A few well-meaning people were less than impressed.

“You should get somebody else. He was good, but he’s old. He is way past his prime.”

I asked my mother what she thought. “Jeffrey, Bill is older. We used to sing together. He also knows a lot more than you do. I think you should go and keep your mouth shut.”

Off I went. UNCSA is a different kind of place. The School Of the Arts is one of the finest performing arts conservatories in the world.

I didn’t live on campus. I was older than most of my classmates. I felt a little bit out of place, but it worked.

I found Chris Ralph. He was my best friend during my time with the Fighting Pickles.

The girls were unbelievable. My gracious. Talented. Beautiful. There was every reason to be on campus as often and as long as possible.

Performances were everywhere. I loved it. I loved Bill Beck. We got along like two peas in a pod.

There were others, of course. My second-year piano teacher was Bang-Won Hon. (I have no idea about the spelling and Google was of no help.) She didn’t speak English and I didn’t speak whatever she spoke. It didn’t go well.

Doug Buys. He was mean. He threw me out of class when I challenged him for bullying a classmate. I went to the Dean. The Dean told me to take off for the weekend and to come back Monday morning.

I fell in love with our Italian teacher. She was ridiculously hot. Ridiculous. Chris Ralph and I sang O SOLE MIO to her for our final exam.

It was a different kind of school.

Martha Ruskai tried to teach us how to do makeup and hair. That was a fun class. Martha was incredibly patient. I still struggle when I try to line my eyes. For the record, it’s not as easy as it looks.

And Gyula Pandi. All voice majors were required to take a year of dance. I LOVED dance class. Pandi was one of the finest teachers I have ever known. He came to all of our performances. He challenged us. He loved us. Pandi was the best.

It would be completely self-serving and not entirely accurate to say I was THE chosen one. I was not. But… I was one of the favorites.

The School Of the Arts campus is full of super-talented performers. The teachers are world-class performers. It’s not an ordinary school.

Bill Beck retired after my second year. I cried and cried. My time with Bill was magical.

The work continued. The rehearsals were non-stop. I wasn’t surprised, but I was tired. I was spending about 18 hours a day on campus.

My junior year. Halloween. I don’t recall much about the day. I drove to school and headed for class. The next thing I remember is waking up in the Emergency Room.

I was told “they” found me unconscious in the parking lot. I spent the next two weeks in the hospital.

Chris Ralph came to visit. Bill Beck checked on me. That was it.

I always thought college should be about more than classes. Isn’t it about, or shouldn’t it be about, becoming a good person? Doing the right thing. Getting ready to contribute to the world.

I was enormously disappointed.

Lying in a hospital bed while trying to rebound from extreme exhaustion and an unending migraine, my relationship with, and my role at, UNCSA became clear. As long as I was getting good reviews and selling tickets, I was worthwhile. If I was just a person occupying a seat… not so much.

I did not return to school. I couldn’t. My feelings were hurt. I stayed at home. I was weak. My grandmother was sick. We took care of each other as best we could.

School was an afterthought. Again.