I began teaching 50 years ago, in 1972. Back then, I was an eager nineteen-year-old, with aspirations of musical stardom, visions of recording contracts, and an addiction to the wonderful world of sound called "music".
Today, the addiction continues, however, my desire for personal adulation has been replaced with much appreciation for the thousands of students I have had the privilege to work with, and a deep gratitude for all they have taught me.
Following is my small way of paying homage to all who graced my life with their creativity, dedication, friendship, loyalty, and often, "really good excuses".
My musical education was deeply rooted in the traditional values of the day. Back then, things were different - we wore uniforms in school, the "strap" was an accepted tool to help teachers keep us inline, we had to say "please and thank you", and we were told not to speak until we were spoken to.
I began piano lessons at age six. There was no parental involvement - just me and my teacher, Mrs. "R", a master multi-tasker, who managed to teach me while simultaneously preparing supper for her family. I can still smell the fried liver and onions, she was perpetually preparing. I can also feel the sting of the wooden ruler she brandished, as she took time out from her chef duties to smack me for making a mistake.
Needless to say, I did not enjoy my piano lessons. I was pretty certain my dear mother, Olive had some degree of affection for me, so I thought if she saw Mrs. "R" attacking me with that ruler, she would come to my aid and the evil lessons would be terminated. After much pleading, mom watched a lesson. Imagine my shock when she did not react to the finger whacking.
My in-home practice sessions were solitary ones, consisting with me in the bassment, with the piano. More shock was in order, when, the next day, my mother, armed with her own ruler, vigorously attacked my mistakes with her own whacks!
I grew up in a small town in northern Quebec, the only boy in town who studied piano, until I was ten years old, when my little brother started.
Much teasing from my peers brought much stress and tears, adding to my profound distaste for this torture. When I begged my parents to allow me to quit, they refused, telling me that I had to pass a Royal Conservatory Grade VIII examination, before they would consider granting me my wish. I found out later in life that the "Get your Grade VIII" axiom was not peculiar to me - indeed, it was a popular mantra. chanted by parents across Canada.
Back then, to most people, there was only one "real" kind of music and that was classical. Pop and jazz were viewed upon as invalid, insignificant, and most-often, taboo. There was also on old wive's tale, that, if one completed a Royal Conservatory Grade VIII, one could teach. Nothing could be further from the truth.
What I find ironic, is that today, in 2022, many people, including music educators continue to use the "Get you Grade VIII" axiom as their standard of musical education.
Jump forward to 1972. Having moved to Saskatoon in 1968, I was pursuing advanced piano studies with a local teacher, whose strengths were sitting in his kitchen sipping on a coffee while I struggled through scales in an adjoining studio, continuously lecturing me, and bathing me in negative energy. This was nothing new to me, as these practices were common amongst other teachers I had studied with. In fact, at the time, I admired this man so much, I gladly paid him for five hours of lessons each week. This was a huge financial burden for a nineteen-year-old, with a new wife, and a family on the way.
One day at lessons, my teacher, Mr. "T", announced to me that he felt I was ready to begin my teaching career under his tutelage. I was so thrilled, so empowered, so overjoyed! The Master had given "grasshopper" the go-ahead! Could I ever snatch that pebble from his hands?
And so it began.....
I ran a small ad in the newspaper and eagerly accepted my first couple of students in my own studio. I wanted so much to be the best teacher possible, and made a concerted effort to channel my Master's teaching methods through me to my students.
My teacher, Mr. "T", gave me a book about the utilization of negative reinforcement in motivating students and told me to read it. It was chalked full of great ideas like making students crave compliments by offering minimal praise every few weeks. Then came the "Jesus" lecture.
At my next lesson, in a hushed voice, Mr. "T" divulged his secret, making him one of the best teachers he knew. His key? It was simply elevating his status to that of a powerful "Jesus" figure in the eyes of his students. His goal was to make them crave praise, to cower in his presence, to revel in his words, and above all, to worship him like a god. I was slightly confused by this, as this man was certainly not a "Jesus" figure to me, nor to any of other students of his I was familiar with. This was when I began experiencing a twinge of doubt about his teaching philosophy.
It was a Thursday. My teacher, Mr. "T", had changed my lesson to noon hour that day. There was a lesson in progress when I arrived, so I sat quietly in the waiting room. There was no music drifting out of the studio, rather loud shouting. I listened with glee as Mr. "T" tore a verbal strip up and down whoever was in there with him. I wondered if it was one of the senior students I knew. I could hardly wait to see who the victim was!
The barrage continued for another ten minutes or so - then silence. When the door finally opened, a sweet little girl, aged six or seven, with cute little pigtails emerged. She was crying her eyes out. My heart sank.
At that moment, I knew this was not for me. I left this man's studio shortly thereafter. There had to be a better way to teach.
So there I was.....
The ego is a funny thing. In my mind, I was an "artist", a "free-spirited bohemian", a "creative force to be reckoned with"..... until.....
I had an interest in jazz and was invited to jam with some very good musicians I knew. They were self-schooled, and illiterate when it came to reading music. I had training and technique. I entered that jam session exuding confidence - I left, feeling utterly humiliated and deflated. These "musical heathens" played circles around me. They were prolific improvisors, completely at ease in a musical world based on spontaneity, interaction and reaction. I was a "putz" who could play Beethoven, if the music was placed in front of me and I practiced it for six months.
The realization that I still had a very long way to go to become the musician and teacher I wanted to be soon set in. In fact, I was so depressed about my musical capabilities, that I came very close to quitting it all and pursuing a career in potash mining.
I soon realized I that after decades of lessons and practicing, I still had much to learn. My years of study had provided me with strong technique, an appreciation for the works of the Masters, and the ability to interpret a score, but I still couldn't play the piano.
Way back then, I had what I consider to be my "Musical Epiphany". It was a simple one. When learning any language, one must learn the vocabulary, then to speak it, and read it and finally, to write it. Music is often referred to as the "Language of Sound". If this is true, then the same axiom must apply to it. Like so many others, my studies provided me with a vocabulary limited in scope, the ability to read it, sort of write it, and to "recite" rather than speak it.
And so what I consider to be my true musical education began..... ..
I purchased a tunable cassette deck, allowing me to synchronize the speed of the playback with the tuning of my piano, and the sasa began. I spent countless hours in my studio playing song excerpts repeatedly, sometime merely a bar or two at a time, until I could come close to what the performer was playing. My first attempt was a song called "lucky Southern", by Keith Jarrett. This first attempt at ear development took months.
At the same time, I began working with a group of excellent musicians, all prolific improvisors. When we weren't performing in local night clubs, we were jamming in my studio, using something called the "Real Book", full of hundreds of charts as our bible.
Slowly, but surely, I started feeling more comfortable when being called upon to improvise, but my hands still shook and butterflies danced a frenzied tango in my stomach.
Saturday mornings, at 9:00 am, I taught the cutest little blond haired eight-year old girl. She was demure, extremely polite, and a wonderful student.
One Saturday, I awoke very late, coming home very late from performing in a night club the night before. I bounded out of the sack, at about 8:50 am, and bounded downstairs, clad only in my "skivvies', to open up my studio for this little girl. I ran through the hallway, connecting the back door to my studio entrance, into the studio, turned on the lights, and exited with the intention of quickly getting dressed.
A HUGE OOPS!!!!!!
To my surprise, when I opened the door to exit the studio, there she was! Someone had left the back door unlocked, and that little princess had the ill fortune of seeing me, standing in front of her, in my blue briefs.
I Continued to teach, employing a combination of my traditional training, as well as searching for new ways to overcome what I perceived to be the limitations of the "old school" music education practices. At that time, I really had no idea of how to proceed. I just knew that there had to be a way to provide my students with the skills to be able to create their own music, as well as "recite" pieces from the printed score.
I was teaching a family of three sisters, whose mother had been instrumental in starting the Suzuki string program in Saskatoon. This lady was familiar with my experiments, and suggested I explore Dr. Suzuki's new, somewhat controversial, and very revolutionary ideas about early childhood musical education. I began reading anything an everything I could find about this man and his teaching. The more I explored his philosophy, the more convinced I became it was something worth looking into further.
This method was based on the premise that contrary to existing traditional views, it was possible and desirable for musical education to begin at a very early age, hence the title of one of his books "Ability Development from Age Zero". Also, vital to its success, was the involvement of parents, both at the lesson and in the at-home practice sessions. Most importantly, (for me), it encouraged the building of a strong, POSITIVE, learning environment, treating each child as an individual. Much different than how I, and so many other people had been taught.
I knew that just reading about Dr. Suzuki's philosophies would not provide me with the tools to work with my students. The only answer was to actually study with people well-versed in this radical new method. Being a broke musician, with a new family, there was no way I could go to the source in Japan. I discovered that there was going to be a Suzuki "Institute", hosted by the University of Alberta, in Edmonton, Alberta, Canada, offering lessons for teachers with Suzuki Master Teachers. So, off to Edmonton I went, to partake in this two week learning opportunity.
The campus was alive, with students and teachers from across North America, who had gathered to play, learn and grow together. Children, decked out in their finest headphones, listening to recordings of their repertoire were everywhere. All of the string instruments, as well as the piano were represented. I had registered for classes focusing on Books One and Two Suzuki Piano.
The first week centered primarily around the study of the "Twinkles", four little exercises, with a ton of substance. Through these, students as young as three are provided with the elements of concentration, body balance, posture, proper use of the hand, finger strength, dexterity, tone, building of the ear, and much more. Those not comprehending the full value, importance and intricacies of these seemingly simple little ditties could easily underestimate their power.
That first Suzuki Institute in Edmonton, was the beginning of a long journey of musical self-discovery, not only from a performance and teaching perspective, but most-importantly, from a philosophical stand point. It soon became clear to me that the Suzuki Method was truly not merely a "method". Rather, It was centered around a powerful new philosophy of musical education, based on development of the individual, a strong bond between student, parent and teacher, positive reinforcement, a nurturing environment, and natural learning through something Dr. Suzuki called "Mother Tongue Learning.
In order to teach in this way, a deep understanding of the philosophy was paramount, and the only way to attain this was to go to the source, which was Dr. Suzuki, and for pianists. Mrs. Haruko Kataoka, creator of the Suzuki Piano Method. Both came to North America from time to time and I did my best to travel to learn from them whenever they were teaching in Canada.
Musical education in Canada, (particularly the piano), had been enshrined in the Conservatory system for decades. Canada was so entrenched in this approach, that even considering this somewhat controversial Mother Tongue Method could be viewed a musically sacrilegious. Traditional Musical Education and Mother Tongue were exact opposites, "Yin and Yang", an eastern "upstart" philosophy versus the status quo. East meets west.
There was much yet to be learned.
When it comes to completely understanding the ins and outs of the Suzuki Method, North Americans faced one major barrier, and that was language. Dr. Suzuki, Mrs. Kataoka, and their Master Teachers spoke very little English. Granted, there was much to be learned just by observing them teach. When working with students, they spoke more with their instruments rather than words, but when it came to answering questions or giving lectures, there was definitely a problem.
Dr. Suzuki's books on his philosophy were translated into English. They provided much insight into the origin and foundation of the method, but there had been no literature created pertaining to exactly how to implement it from a practical perspective. Therefore, the best way to gain deeper insight into this new way of teaching was through observation.
Like so many other teachers from across North America, I spent countless hours watching Suzuki Master Teachers working with students of all ages. Often, no sooner than I thought I had a revelation, things would once again be as clear as mud. It was frustrating back then, but now, I realize how valuable it actually was.
I don't anymore, but back then, I smoked cigarettes. So did Dr. Suzuki. The majority of people at those Suzuki gatherings did not. Dr. Suzuki and I would often frequent the same designated smoking areas. At first we would just nod our heads to each other, as we puffed away. Soon, verbal greetings replaced the nods, finally evolving into actual conversations. Dr. Suzuki's English was not good, but we did manage to share our thoughts to some degree.
I can still recall the extreme exhilaration I experienced the first time Dr. Suzuki walked over to me and began to speak, and I vividly remember the first thing he said to me.
"It says on my cigarette package that smoking is dangerous to your health. I have been smoking since I was a young boy and now I am an old man, who has smoked many cigarettes. I think they are mistaken. Smoking is good for your health!"
And so it we continued to puff away.....
The last time Dr. Suzuki and I "lit up" together, I asked him this question.
"How did you come up with all the new ways of approaching the way we teach children?"
Dr. Suzuki exhaled a large puff of smoke from his smelly Japanese cigarette and replied, "Each morning, when I wake up, I try to think of new ways to approach different teaching issues I have recognized. When I get an idea, I try it out on my students. If it works, I keep it. If it fails, it is rejected. Music is a living thing, always progressing, continually changing, mirroring life. Our teaching also must live. If we don't recognize what is good and what is bad in the way we teach, then we will never become better teachers, and our students will suffer."
These words have remained with me for years, and I have done my utmost to follow them. They have become my "mantra".
Dr. Suzuki has to be one of the most warm, gentle, caring people I have been fortunate enough to encounter in my years on this planet. His energy was infectious, punctuated by a perpetual radiant smile, and a genuine interest in all he met.
Dr. Suzuki's deep love and respect for children was always obvious. His face would light up when he saw all children and he always took the time to greet them, and give them a loving pat on the head. He taught in a very gentle way, always praising the good, never dwelling on the bad.
His love of life, belief in mankind's potential, recognition of the true abilities of young children, and deep humility translated into a wonderful new and innovative approach to teaching, based on something unique to musical education - a strong, powerful philosophy. Die hard traditionalists were quick to reject these new ideas, but those who were open and objective enough to embrace them soon discovered how powerful they really are.
Starting lessons at a vert young age, teaching to the child, (not filling time), teaching in small, attainable steps, involving parents in the lesson and in-home studies, maintaining a strong learning environment, positive reinforcement, and individual growth are just a sampling of Dr. Suzuki's approach.
A couple of years after my last encounter with Dr. Suzuki, a family I taught accompanied their father on a business trip to Japan. They decided to travel to Matsomuto, Japan, to observe Dr. Suzuki teaching in his home studio. The Master taught in a large room, filled with mothers, babies, children and prospective teachers. During a break, he approached the visitors from Canada, to welcome them. He inquired as to where they were from and asked who their teacher was. When they replied with my name, he told them he remembered me and asked if it was possible to return to the studio the next day, as he wanted to give them something to deliver to me.
The next afternoon, he presented them with a simply gorgeous drawing on elegant rice paper of his view of the mountains from his bedroom window, accompanied by hand-drawn Japanese calligraphy, and English translation. It read, "Man is the product of his environment". He asked them to deliver it to me.
What an amazing man! To remember a few fleeting conversations with some crazy Canadian a few years ago, and to take the time out of a very busy schedule to create that amazing image, is truly a testament to this giant of a man.
In Japan, Teacher Training in Suzuki Method was through the ancient Sensei/Student tradition. So, if you went to the Suzuki Institute in Matsomuto, Japan to study, there was no curriculum, no "how-to" texts, no set class hours, no written exams, and no defined length of time until graduation. Instead, prospective teachers were required to observe their Master Teacher, have lessons at the Master's discretion, practice, and work on individual growth. Graduation would only take place when the Sensei felt the student was ready.
The Sensei/Student relationship is probably the most comprehensive and effective way to produce the best results. Not based on "book learning", rather self-reflection, and personal development, optimal growth is achieved. However, understandably, this type of learning did pose many obstacles for westerners. So, good Master Teachers were few and far-between. To address this problem in North America, someone, somewhere arbitrarily bestowed the status of Master Teacher on a number of North American teachers who had not studied in Japan. Many added there own "twists" to the philosophy, thus creating inconsistencies and often, confusion.
In my mind, it was vital to find a Master Teacher who best adhered to Dr. Suzuki's values and principles in their purest sense.
In the 1970's, I taught a trio of sisters, some of the cutest, sweetest, most polite students I have ever worked with. They came for lessons on Saturday mornings.
One day, out of the blue, the second oldest little girl asked me a question. I can't recall what the question was, but I do vividly recall that before she asked it, she addressed me as "Mrs. Pianowitch". This was her best attempt at "Mr. Hrynewich". Cute, eh?
In the ensuing weeks, her slightly embarrassed mother valiantly tried to teach her daughter how to say my name, but to no avail. Mrs. Pianowitch did not mind. She thought it was awesome!
The things we remember!
In the early days of my teaching career, each Friday, I traveled to a small town about an hour away from Saskatoon, where I taught students during school hours, on a "rinky-tinky" piano, in the library.
There was one particular little girl who had me completely perplexed. She was very bright, and at the lesson, learned with relative ease, but when she returned the following week, she would never be able to play anything. She assured me she practiced every day, and even came to tears, as I gently queried her about her home studies. She insisted the school piano was the problem. It was a clunker, but other students did not have the same difficulty, so I was perplexed.
I did not want to get this little girls into trouble, but finally, I decided to address the situation with her mother. What I learned, brought me to tears. The family could not afford to buy their daughter a piano, but they desperately wanted her to have piano lessons. So mom lovingly crafted a full sized keyboard out of cardboard, hoping it would suffice. When I informed her it wasn't working, she broke down.
It was a long shot, but the only option I could think of was to see if we could find a piano she could use in town. Fortunately, we did locate one. In fact, the kind lady owner generously gave the little girl the piano, saying she no longer needed it. I can still see the delight on that cute little face when we told her!
Some of my early student recitals were held at the old Saskatoon Public Library auditorium, which featured comfortable seating, a beautiful Yamaha C6 grand, and a very high stage, accessed by stairs on either side.
I would remain on the stage, to make appropriate adjustments to the chair and footstool for each performer. While they played, I would stand quietly to the side, making sure they were able to get down from the bench easily after their performance.
One little four year old gentleman was very "energetic" by nature. When it was his turn to perform, he ran down the isle like an Olympic sprinter and bounded up the stairs, heading straight for that piano. I stopped him, reminded him to bow to the audience, and tried to get him to focus before he began to play. His fingers flew through the song, and before I could reach him to help him get off the high bench, he bounded towards the front of the stage where there were no stairs. I did some bounding as well, reaching him just as he was about to step into the abyss in front of the stage. He was almost in mid-air when I managed to grab him, to the delight of the audience.
As I made the transition from being a traditional music teacher into a practitioner of the Suzuki philosophy, it became more and more apparent that studying with those more knowledgeable than I in this new way of teaching was paramount. Finances and family commitments prohibited me from going to Japan to study at the source. Although Dr. Suzuki and Mrs. Kataoka did travel to North America from time to time, it was obvious, I needed to find a mentor from North America. My criteria was simple - to find a Master Teacher who best embodied the philosophy, but most importantly, Dr. Suzuki's positivity, respect and love for children, and gentle, reassuring teaching etiquette.
Each summer, I traveled to various Suzuki Institutes across North America, studying with a number of Master Teachers. I also started the Saskatoon Suzuki Piano Teachers Association, as well as the Saskatoon Suzuki Piano Parents Association. Through these, we began bringing Master Teachers to Saskatoon to work with local teachers and students. The majority of these teachers, although great musicians, and experience with the method, strayed somewhat from the teachings of the source. Eventually, however, I was fortunate enough to begin find a teacher from the United States who was true to the philosophy.
For reasons I will divulge in a subsequent post, I will not refer to this Master Teacher by name.
Starting lessons at a vert young age, teaching to the child, (not filling time), teaching in small, attainable steps, involving parents in the lesson and in-home studies, maintaining a strong learning environment, positive reinforcement, and individual growth are just a sampling of Dr. Suzuki's approach.
My mentor was a fantastic teacher! She had spent extensive time in Japan, studying both with Dr. Suzuki and Mrs. Kataoka and was a firm believer in staying true to the source. More importantly, she had such a gentle, positive, respectful, loving approach when working with students and parents. She provided me with much inspiration and motivation.
Initially, I followed my mentor, as she taught at various Suzuki Institutes. Eventually, I managed to persuade her to come to Saskatoon to work with me and my students on a regular basis. This "grandmotherly", nurturing, perpetually positive lady quickly captured the hearts of my students and parents. Her visits were always eagerly anticipated.
Life was good! I felt so blessed to be able to work with my mentor, and studied with her for over half a decade.
Then it happened.....
My mentor was a devout member of a worldwide religious denomination I had heard of, but was unfamiliar with. In the years I studied with her, this was never an issue, as she rarely referred to her affiliation. However, this changed.
The last time she was in Saskatoon, she initiated a conversation about my religious beliefs. Coming as a complete surprise, I clumsily attempted to answer her questions, all the while feeling very uncomfortable and somewhat intimidated. The theological "grilling" ended with her giving me a video to watch with my wife and a local phone number to call after we had viewed it.
I went home, and sat down with Velda, my spouse to view the video. After jus a few minutes, it was obvious the doctrine presented in it was not for us. It began with an in-depth narrative on how women should be subservient to their husbands. The video was shelved.
A few weeks later, I received a phone call from my mentor. Her usual warm, motherly demeanor was replaced by a chilling, business-like coldness. She was furious that we had not watched the video or contacted the person whose number she had provided. After hearing my explanation, she abruptly informed me that she could not work with me or my students anymore and terminated our conversation.
I was heart-broken.....
After being so bluntly rejected by my mentor, I was deeply hurt, demoralized, disenchanted, and extremely disillusioned. I held her in such high regard and respected her work so much, losing her as a friend and mentor was almost like losing a mother. Digesting her actions was not easy, and even now, decades later, reflecting on it still brings much sorrow.
Attempting to process this took much time, countless sleepless nights, and deep reflection. Ultimately, I came to a realization. This lady was a wonderful teacher, and had taught me much about Mother Tongue teaching. Like Dr. Suzuki, she had a deep respect for children, believed strongly in their potential, and taught them with patience, clarity, and gentleness. These were things I could use.
As for the failed attempt to convert Velda and myself, it would ultimately become water under the bridge, and a lesson well-learned.
I continued my Suzuki Piano teaching efforts, and began the search for a new Master Teacher to mentor me. I traveled to Suzuki Workshops and Institutes throughout western Canada and the United States, as well as organizing workshops locally. I also served as a member of the executive of the Suzuki Association of the Americas. This involvement opened my eyes to new insights, some good and some bad.
I soon discovered there were many discrepancies in the way the Suzuki philosophy was interpreted locally, in Canada, and across North America. It started with the Master Teachers. If you could afford to study in Japan with Dr. Suzuki and Mrs. Kataoka, (the originator of the Suzuki Piano School), you had to commit to stay for an unspecified amount of time, until your skills met the standards of Dr. Suzuki. Only then, were you given the title of Master Teacher.
Obviously, very few teachers could make this journey, creating a problem, as the interest in this new, ingenious teaching philosophy was exploding world wide. Master Teachers to train new teachers were in short supply.
As a solution, on their almost yearly trips to North America, Dr. Suzuki and Mrs. Kataoka granted Master Teacher status to North American who did not have the extensive training they would would receive in Japan, but who showed potential to rise to the occasion.
There was much confusion within the Suzuki Piano movement tin North America. There didn't seem to be a consistent interpretation and application of Dr. Suzuki's philosophy amongst Master Teachers, which filtered down to the teachers.
The information we were getting from the Master Teachers varied radically, contributing to division, and radical inconsistencies from studio to studio.
I began having deep reservations, based on what I was observing.
Saskatoon teachers held a workshop, bringing in a Master Teacher to work with teachers, students, and parents. One of my families, as single mom and her daughter were having a lesson with this teacher. The mom, was studying medicine and had just finished a twenty-four hour shift at the hospital, so she was looking a little haggard. The Master Teacher asked her why she looked so tired. After the mom explained, the Master Teacher chastised her for being a selfish person. She also asked what activities this girl was involved in. The answer was ballet, violin, and piano. Once again, mom was lectured about the need to dedicate efforts to only one thing, as the girl was spread too thin. There was no instruction an the girl's piano playing. They quit taking lessons from me shortly thereafter.
The ironic thing was this Master Teacher had three children of her own, and admitted to us in a teacher's session that due to her pursuit of a career as a Master Teacher, there was no time to work with her kids.
This was one of many events which planted seeds of doubt in my mind.
I was teaching 125 students per week in group group lessons, and still working as a performing musician in night clubs, concerts and recording studios. I had always suffered from extreme pain in my neck and right arm when performing, beginning in my early twenties, when I was practicing technique for four hours a day. Years later, my mentor noticed that I was playing with extreme tension in my neck and shoulders, and I had begun to try to rectify this. The problem was that when I was performing, I reverted back to my old habits.
One Monday morning, I woke up with a right arm that was completely "dead". I could not lift it and the entire arm and fingers were completely numb. It would not go away.
Thus began months of doctor and emergency room visits, a barrage of tests, ranging from cardiac to neurological, to psychological, and much anxiety. There was no definitive diagnosis, but the general consensus was I had permanently injured my arm. I was told to quit playing the piano.
Music was my life! It was the only thing I knew how to do, and the sole source of support for my family. The darkness had arrived.
It was obvious I had to give up my career as a performer, as my arm was perpetually numb and would give out without warning as I attempted to play, obviously not ideal for concert situations. Medicine had no answers, so I had to come to grips with the reality of having to quit, so very reluctantly, I did.
So much pain, so much sorrow, so much depression, so much uncertainty! I was lost. I did not know what to do. I continued teaching, while resting my arm as much as I could. I loved working with kids and thoroughly enjoyed teaching, so I came up with a plan.
I did not teach in the summer, so I decided stop playing the piano until the fall and determine if I could effectively teach then.
The following teaching year was filled with much apprehension, but over time, I realized I could still be a productive and effective teacher. I taught myself to play again, and work through the perpetual numbness in my hand.
Over the years, the arm had its good moments and its bad moments. I continued seeking medical solutions unsuccessfully, tried physiotherapy, cupping, acupuncture, Tai Chi, massage therapy and more. Believe it or not, in 2022, my message therapist suggested I try chiropractic treatment and it has worked! Although I still experience some numbness and pain, it has diminished greatly. Go figure! In over three decades of struggling with this affliction, no one suggested this as a possibility!
Duh!
Very early in my career as a Suzuki Piano teacher, in a group lesson, I was kneeling next to the cutest little three-year-old boy, with golden, curly locks at the piano, when I heard a little "phfffft", followed by a telltale odor.
The little fellow looked down at me, with a very serious look on his face and declared, "Mr. Hrynewich, I have to defalcate!"
I was speechless!
I taught a family of three girls, who were my first students on Saturday mornings. Each week, they struggled with their pieces, in spite of their mother's insistence that they practiced every day, and performed flawlessly at home. She stated she could prove it to me, if I would allow her to come to class early the next week. She said she needed a little time to prepare the girls before I entered the room.
The following Saturday, I opened my studio door to be greeted by a piano with its keys covered in multi-coloured stickers, one colour for each song.
Wow!
It happened on October 15, but I can't remember the year. A massive snow storm hit Saskatoon. It was a wet, heavy snow, toppling trees and causing many power failures. It began early in the morning and by noon, there was at least a foot of snow on the ground, with the snow continuing for the rest of the day and into the night.
Our phone was out, so I was forced to walk two blocks down to the corner store, to use the phone booth there to try and contact students to inform them lessons would be cancelled. I reached some in person, and left messages for others.
My last students of the day, (the three sticker sisters), were scheduled for 8:00 pm. I had left a message for them and assumed, since they lived clear across the city, they definitely would not be coming. 8:00 pm rolled around, and my intuition was correct. They were a no show.
Shortly after 10:00 pm, there was a knock on my studio door. It was them! They had left their house at 7:30! The roads were that bad! In an effort to not getting stuck, their dad slowed down just enough for them to jump out of the car at my house, planning to drive around until their lesson was over.
In the studio, mom informed me they had not practiced much that week, so there was not much for us to do. To make a long story short, dad got stuck somewhere, finally picking them up after midnight. You just can't make these things up!
The first Suzuki Institute I intended was in Edmonton, Alberta, at the University of Alberta. I was in my early twenties. I arrived on campus early in the morning on the day before it was to begin and checked into my room in the coed dorms. I was worried that they were coed, but discovered after I found my room, that I seemed to be the only occupant of that floor.
"Ah," I thought. "The organizers really have their ducks in a row! Being this was a gathering of Suzuki teachers of all ages from across North America, they have probably decided to segregate the males and females on different floors".
I woke up very early the next morning and headed off to the bathrooms to shower and shave. The room was empty. I enjoyed a long, relaxing hot shower. I stepped out to reach for my towel, only to be surprised by a room full of screaming females. A great way to start my day!
I had the pleasure of teaching a very nice boy from a fantastic family from the age of three into his teens. Over the years, this family and myself had become very close. When the young man was about ten years old, his mother was diagnosed with breast cancer. Needless to say, it was a very tense and trying time for mom, dad, and son, but they persevered.
When the boy was in his early teens, mom's cancer had gone into remission, and there was even an article about her triumph over this horrible disease in the Star Phoenix. Sadly, a year later, it returned.
Her diagnosis was not positive, and she suffered greatly, but even so, she took the time to make the most beautiful decoupaged plate for me, detailing her son's time with me right from his first lesson until that time. She passed shortly after giving it to me.
I was deeply moved and treasured that plate. Unfortunately, it was stolen when my house was broken into a few years later. I miss that plate, but the memory of it, and that beautiful family will stay with me forever.
Back in the days when I was teaching 125 students a week, holding recitals truly a logistical challenge. Students often, not only performed solo pieces, but many were involved in duets , so the total number of performances would often reach 200. This makes for an extremely long recital!
I thought I found a solution at a local church, who were kind enough to rent me their sanctuary on Sundays, after the morning service, as long as my programs were completed before the evening worship. The morning service ended at noon. I would have a group of parents present to help me lift the grand piano out of the orchestra onto the main stage and move the pulpit as set up procedures. I then, would hold a series of three recitals; 12:30 pm - 2:00 pm; 2:30 pm - 4:00 pm; 4:30 pm - 6:00 pm, giving us a half hour to ready the church for the evening service.
This system made for a very long day for me. As one recital finished, people were already arriving for the next one, and so on. Three years previous, this arrangement had worked flawlessly, until....
On this occasion, things had been progressing relatively smoothly, but we were running about ten minutes late, by the time the final program began. The third from last performance was a girl playing an eight-page piece by Beethoven. At her lessons, she had continually experienced problems starting the fourth page. I had been working very hard to convince her to study in sections, giving her "safety" points where she could start if she experienced difficulty, as well as to place extra focus on that fourth page, but to no avail.
As soon as she reached page four, she stopped. Without a "safety" point, her answer was to start all over again. This happened three more times. On the fifth, I joined her on stage in at attempt to help her continue beyond page four, but she couldn't, so I was forced to end her performance inj order to allow the final two performers to play.
It was now 6:45 pm, with a hallway full of worshippers waiting to get into the 6:30 service. By the time the grand piano was moved and the stage renewed to its original state, it was 7:00 pm. The next morning, I received a call from the church administration, politely asking me to never come back.
It was a Thursday evening, just three days away from my studio's year-end recitals. I was rehearsing a two-piano piece with two of my senior students, a young lady and a young man, both in university. Although gifted pianists, they were having difficulty with their performance. It was late and they were tired. I suggested they return the next morning, (Friday), for another rehearsal. The young lady consented to forgo classes in order to attend. The young man did not have classes, but was an avid competitive sailor, and had planned to sail that morning. He was not happy about missing the activity, and after much negotiation, convinced us to reschedule for a last minute practice the night before the recital.
The next day, (Saturday), was a very busy teaching day for me, with classes beginning early morning and running late into the evening. When I was part way through my first class, my wife knocked on the door to inform me I had an urgent phone call. It was the young girl. She was sobbing, bordering on hysterical, as she told me the young man had been electrocuted while taking his sailboat out of the water, and had lost his life.
My eyes were full of tears and I shook as I returned to my students. It was a very long, almost surreal morning.
Around noon that day, I received another phone call, this time from the young man's sister, who I also taught. Fortunately, he had not passed away, but was very badly injured. She told me there was a distinct possibility he could lose both of arms and legs, as they were badly burned.
The next day's recitals were dedicated to this young man, and they were shrouded in a somberness I haven't experienced since.
That evening, I made use of a service I had designed for the Saskatoon Health Region, (I also did internet consulting), allowing people to send email messages to patients. I Googled the dumbest jokes I could find, and sent some to him two or three times a day
This was one of the years that my student enrollment was around 125 per week, and since the majority were performing a solos, as well as two-piano works, it was necessary to have five recitals, running Sunday through Thursday.
That Thursday, when I arrived home after the final recital, I received a phone call from the young man. They had amputated hi right arm that day! Fortunately, they were able top save his left arm and both legs.
I was astounded! He was high-spirited, jovial, alert and completely accepting of his misfortune.
We chatted for quite some time. He joked about having "ghost arm", the feeling that his arm was still there. He also described the horrible ordeal he experienced with his accident.
All hell broke loose when the mast of his sailboat came in contact with electrical lines. He was touching the mast and received a massive electrical shock, the force of which catapulted him into a nearby ditch. His sailing companion received a lesser shock, but hit his head rendering him unconscious. A very long time passed before the accident was noticed and even longer before a volunteer emergency response team to arrive. They had no pain killers and little training for such an accident, but they did their best to make the two comfortable.
An ambulance was dispatched from Saskatoon, but resources were spread so thin that day, that they did not have enough time to re-stock their medications before being dispatched, to Blackstrap Lake, arriving with only Tylenol. After hours excruciating pain the young man finally arrived at RUH.
The spirit and character of this young man was truly remarkable! As soon as he was released from hospital, he returned to almost all the activities he pursued before the accident. He was an avid bicyclist, who loved the outdoors, and after he was fitted with a prosthetic arm, took up para snowboarding, (snowboarding while hanging onto a kite).
He also returned to piano for a while, but became frustrated with the lack of repertoire for left hand alone. He also tried to learn the violin.
I haven't had contact with him for many years now, Rumor has it he moved out of the province, but I will never forget his bravery, positive attitude, mental strength, and courage. Lessons we all could benefit from!
I had the occasion to teach two energetic brothers, so energetic that other families refused to be in the same class as them. Their mom was a single parent, who spoiled them to no end. She was always very pleasant, and seemed oblivious to their antics.
One Friday afternoon at 4:00 pm, they arrived for lessons with submarine sandwiches in hand. I had a "no food" policy in the studio, so an argument ensued as to who would stay in the hallway and eat and who would enter the studio for a lesson. After much screaming and shouting, mom convinced the eldest (12), to go first.
He was not happy and elevated his usual antics of banging his head on the piano, refusing to follow instructions, and crying, his, mom, all the while sitting with a smile on her face, as if all was fine. Suddenly, the studio door crashed open and the youngest (10), flew into the room, jumping on his brother, arms flailing away, Mom and I managed to separate them, and the youngest began to exit the studio. The eldest jumped up and pounced on his brother with mom in between. As the youngest tried to reach around his mother to attack his brother, ne inadvertently grabbed her blouse and pulled. All the buttons popped, as he tore it from her body.
I, heading across the room with the intention of helping her out, made an immediate about face and needless to say, the lesson ended there. Just another day at the office!
I had a student who came to me at a young age, initially making excellent progress, until hitting a wall at the age of eight, showing little interest in the repertoire and very little interest the piano at all. Undaunted, his parents continued to encourage and support him, and provide him with a strong musical environment in the home. He continued studying with me through high school.
Because I could not motivate him to play the standard Suzuki repertoire, I began encouraging him to improvise, providing him with the necessary theoretical elements to encourage creativity. Although he did not seem overly excited by it, he did make an effort.
It was the first lesson after Christmas Holidays. He was in Grade Twelve, typically very soft-spoken and quiet. As I entered the studio, he told me he needed to talk to me about something. I immediately assumed he was going to inform me he was quitting. What followed will be etched into my memory until I pass.
He thanked me for my dedication to him and patience with him over the years. I was then completely taken by surprise when he indicates he wanted to make music his career. He asked me to help him prepare four advanced pieces for an audition to the U of S College of Music in May, just five months away!
It was a Thursday evening, just three days away from my studio's year-end recitals. I was rehearsing a two-piano piece with two of my senior students, a young lady and a young man, both in university. Although gifted pianists, they were having difficulty with their performance. It was late and they were tired. I suggested they return the next morning, (Friday), for another rehearsal. The young lady consented to forgo classes in order to attend. The young man did not have classes, but was an avid competitive sailor, and had planned to sail that morning. He was not happy about missing the activity, and after much negotiation, convinced us to reschedule for a last minute practice the night before the recital.
The next day, (Saturday), was a very busy teaching day for me, with classes beginning early morning and running late into the evening. When I was part way through my first class, my wife knocked on the door to inform me I had an urgent phone call. It was the young girl. She was sobbing, bordering on hysterical, as she told me the young man had been electrocuted while taking his sailboat out of the water, and had lost his life.
My eyes were full of tears and I shook as I returned to my students. It was a very long, almost surreal morning.
Around noon that day, I received another phone call, this time from the young man's sister, who I also taught. Fortunately, he had not passed away, but was very badly injured. She told me there was a distinct possibility he could lose both of arms and legs, as they were badly burned.
The next day's recitals were dedicated to this young man, and they were shrouded in a somberness I haven't experienced since.
That evening, I made use of a service I had designed for the Saskatoon Health Region, (I also did internet consulting), allowing people to send email messages to patients. I Googled the dumbest jokes I could find, and sent some to him two or three times a day
This was one of the years that my student enrollment was around 125 per week, and since the majority were performing a solos, as well as two-piano works, it was necessary to have five recitals, running Sunday through Thursday.
That Thursday, when I arrived home after the final recital, I received a phone call from the young man. They had amputated hi right arm that day! Fortunately, they were able top save his left arm and both legs.
I was astounded! He was high-spirited, jovial, alert and completely accepting of his misfortune.
We chatted for quite some time. He joked about having "ghost arm", the feeling that his arm was still there. He also described the horrible ordeal he experienced with his accident.
All hell broke loose when the mast of his sailboat came in contact with electrical lines. He was touching the mast and received a massive electrical shock, the force of which catapulted him into a nearby ditch. His sailing companion received a lesser shock, but hit his head rendering him unconscious. A very long time passed before the accident was noticed and even longer before a volunteer emergency response team to arrive. They had no pain killers and little training for such an accident, but they did their best to make the two comfortable.
An ambulance was dispatched from Saskatoon, but resources were spread so thin that day, that they did not have enough time to re-stock their medications before being dispatched, to Blackstrap Lake, arriving with only Tylenol. After hours excruciating pain the young man finally arrived at RUH.
The spirit and character of this young man was truly remarkable! As soon as he was released from hospital, he returned to almost all the activities he pursued before the accident. He was an avid bicyclist, who loved the outdoors, and after he was fitted with a prosthetic arm, took up para snowboarding, (snowboarding while hanging onto a kite).
He also returned to piano for a while, but became frustrated with the lack of repertoire for left hand alone. He also tried to learn the violin.
I haven't had contact with him for many years now, Rumor has it he moved out of the province, but I will never forget his bravery, positive attitude, mental strength, and courage. Lessons we all could benefit from!
I had the occasion to teach two energetic brothers, so energetic that other families refused to be in the same class as them. Their mom was a single parent, who spoiled them to no end. She was always very pleasant, and seemed oblivious to their antics.
One Friday afternoon at 4:00 pm, they arrived for lessons with submarine sandwiches in hand. I had a "no food" policy in the studio, so an argument ensued as to who would stay in the hallway and eat and who would enter the studio for a lesson. After much screaming and shouting, mom convinced the eldest (12), to go first.
He was not happy and elevated his usual antics of banging his head on the piano, refusing to follow instructions, and crying, his, mom, all the while sitting with a smile on her face, as if all was fine. Suddenly, the studio door crashed open and the youngest (10), flew into the room, jumping on his brother, arms flailing away, Mom and I managed to separate them, and the youngest began to exit the studio. The eldest jumped up and pounced on his brother with mom in between. As the youngest tried to reach around his mother to attack his brother, ne inadvertently grabbed her blouse and pulled. All the buttons popped, as he tore it from her body.
I, heading across the room with the intention of helping her out, made an immediate about face and needless to say, the lesson ended there. Just another day at the office!
I had a student who came to me at a young age, initially making excellent progress, until hitting a wall at the age of eight, showing little interest in the repertoire and very little interest the piano at all. Undaunted, his parents continued to encourage and support him, and provide him with a strong musical environment in the home. He continued studying with me through high school.
Because I could not motivate him to play the standard Suzuki repertoire, I began encouraging him to improvise, providing him with the necessary theoretical elements to encourage creativity. Although he did not seem overly excited by it, he did make an effort.
It was the first lesson after Christmas Holidays. He was in Grade Twelve, typically very soft-spoken and quiet. As I entered the studio, he told me he needed to talk to me about something. I immediately assumed he was going to inform me he was quitting. What followed will be etched into my memory until I pass.
He thanked me for my dedication to him and patience with him over the years. I was then completely taken by surprise when he indicates he wanted to make music his career. He asked me to help him prepare four advanced pieces for an audition to the U of S College of Music in May, just five months away!
II was speechless! The last piece this young man had learned was a Bach minuet, at a Grade Four level. In order to audition, his pieces should be at least at a Grade Nine level of difficulty, a tall order! He also was required to write a theory test. He had been in the same beginners theory book for over two years.
I explained this to him, but he was undaunted, stating that his mind was made up and he was ready to put in the necessary effort, so we began.
We had four one hour lessons each week, and he worked very hard, and although much progress was made, he had not attained the level of performance I felt was necessary to be accepted. I was asked to provide a letter of recommendation. In it, I did my best to celebrate his dedication and effort, pointing out the massive amount of progress he had made in five short months. This was an indication of his genuine desire to be accepted to the college and a testament to his strong work ethic. I prayed the admissions panel would be objective, and recognize his potential. They didn't. They did give him permission to audit Theory 101 and Music History 101.
Undaunted and determined, this young man asked if I would help him prepare for next year's audition.
I consented, with one condition. He was a capable improvisor. In addition for the U of S audition, revolving around classical music, I would also prepare him for one at Grant MacEwan University, in Edmonton, where the preferred genre was jazz.
We saw each other many times a week for nine months until it was time for the U of S audition. They rejected him yet again, and he was absolutely devastated! He talked about quitting music altogether, and did not want to audition in Edmonton, for fear of failure once more.
At the last possible moment, his parents and I were able to convince him to go. He was accepted, and completed a degree in performance, with very high marks. After, he attended Humber College and the University of Toronto.
Since, he has performed across western Canada, in various groups at festivals and in concerts. I am extremely proud of him, and thankful so many people didn't give up on him.
A mother enrolled her eight-year-old daughter for lessons with me. She informed me they had been studying traditionally with another teacher. Apparently, the little girl was a little energetic, and a large part of her lesson time was spent sitting on a time-out bench in her teacher's studio. Mom was told her little girl did not have any musical potential.
This young lady was indeed bright-eyed, energetic, and full of life. I soon realized she did not need time-outs, she needed to be taught how to focus.
Dr. Suzuki believed that things like concentration and focus were abilities that could be nurtured. Part of a teacher's responsibility is to assess these skills, and work to develop them if necessary, not to punish their absence.
Most of my first year with this little girl was spent teaching her to control her energy and channel it into her performance. By the age of ten, she began writing her own music, taught herself guitar, started singing, and formed her own band. Her song writing was mature beyond her years. By the age of sixteen, she and I had recorded several of her pieces in my digital recording studio. Her first public solo concert had me in tears, as she touched the audience with the beauty of her music.
She is married now, with a new little baby girl. She chose not to pursue a career in music, but easily could have. Thank goodness her mother did not believe her old teacher and that time-out bench!
It is an amazing thing to witness Mother Tongue Learning in action. It is, of course the way children learn from birth. Through hearing, repeating, imitating, touching, feeling and improvising much knowledge is gained, including the ability to speak complex languages.
Music also is a language, so why do we reach it in reverse? We would never teach a child to speak by waiting them wait until they were six or seven years old, and begin by teaching them to read and write before allowing them to actual speak. Somewhat illogical? Unfortunately, it is the way of traditional musical education.
The inherent goal of traditional musical education is also to produce performers, rather than creators of music. The great composers were accomplished improvisors. Many believe this is a gift bestowed upon a select few at birth. It is not. It is an ability that can be developed in the same way children learn their language. I have witnessed it.
I began experimenting with the application of Mother Tongue learning to the art of improvisation over three decades ago. I began developing exercises around the blues scale, pentatonic, scales and various modes for senior students. If these exercises produced results, they were kept. If not, they were eliminated.
Over the years, I gradually applied the same techniques to younger students, until today, where all students, from three to 65+ study a carefully prepared curriculum, studying assignments in all keys, designed to build a working knowledge of the elements of improvisation. Today, improvisation is a standard part of my curriculum, along with the standard repertoire, the study of notation, performance and technique.
Creating students who can read music, interpret music, perform all genres of music, and create spontaneous improvisations has been a long-time goal. I am so thankful to be able to now witness
wonderful results in all students. I am beyond grateful!
July 15, 2022
I woke up with a sore throat, slight fever, and a headache. I remember thinking to myself, "It can't be Covid! I've had four vaccinations and always been so careful!"
Well, it was Covid, and as I write this on August 31, 2023, I still have it. They call it Long Covid. Fatigue, brain fog, coughing fits, and confusion have part of everyday life for me. I do feel myself slowly becoming stronger. A few months ago, extreme fatigue forced me to nap several times a day, for hours at a time. Finally, (knock on wood), I am able to navigate my day without the necessity of extra sleep. Some symptoms have weakened, while others remain unchanged.
The pandemic made it necessary to re-think studio policy, and to re-tool my studio to allow for efficient online teaching. In-studio, student safety became a priority. When it came to online instruction, without the necessary audio and video equipment to allow for the best possible streaming, it would be useless.
I have the absolute deepest admiration for the way kids weathered this terrifying, and often-confusing disruption to their lives. May their lives now be "normal" again!
When I was a young boy, life was so simple. Go to school, ride your bike, hang out with friends, watch "Razzle Dazzle" on your one black and white channel on tv, play ball in the back alley..... and just be a kid.
In my over fifty years of working with generations of children, I have witnessed countless changes, proportional to the evolution of technology, additional demands placed on parents, and changes in educational philosophy. All of this has led me to reach one simple conclusion. I would have a very difficult time being a kid today!
If everyday "normal" pressures were not enough, they were faced with the specter of the pandemic. Masking, isolation, social distancing, confusion, and all the other Covid "baggage"...... so much to process and deal with. They truly amazed me with their malleability, courage and sprit. I will never forget it!
I have been so fortunate! Over the last fifty plus years, I have had the pleasure of working with literally thousands of students and parents. There have been good times and bad times, happy times and sad times, much satisfaction, and some regrets. There were quiet kids, and not so quiet kids, shy kids and outgoing kids, much laughter and a few tears. I remember so many faces, experiences, and friendships.
Through them, I learned so much! I cannot express just how grateful to all of them for enriching my life so much!