Abdill Career College And the Orchestra Played On Questions

Read “And the Orchestra Played On,” pp. 407-411

page 407-411

Prize-winning journalist and editor Joanne
Lipman was born in 1961 in New Brunswick,
New Jersey. She graduated from Yale University
in 1983 with a major in history. An intern-
ship at the Wall Street Journal while she was
a student at Yale landed her a job as a staff
reporter after graduation. At the Journal,
Lipman worked her way through the ranks,
first as a reporter covering insurance, real
estate, and advertising, then as a page one editor, and later as the editor-in-chief of the popular Weekend Journal. In 2000, she was named a deputy managing editor, the first woman to serve in that capacity at the newspaper. In 2005, Lipman went to Condé Nast, where she became the founding editor-in-chief of Condé Nast Portfolio and Portfolio.com, a business magazine and Web site. She appears regularly on CNN, CNBC, and CBS, comment- ing on business issue and trends. She also contributes to the New York Times.

In the following essay, which first appeared in the New York Times on February 28, 2010, Lipman pays tribute to her childhood music teacher, Jerry Kupchynsky. As you read Lipman’s tribute to Kupchynsky, notice the descriptive details she selects to create the dominant impression of the man and his legacy to the students of East Brunswick, New Jersey.

Reflecting on What You Know

Did you participate in the music program at your elementary or high school? If so, in what capacity—did you sing or play an instrument? Has music been a valuable part of your education to date? If so, explain how. If you didn’t participate, what are your impressions or memories of the program and those who participated in it?

407

408 CHAPTER 15–DESCRIPTION

The other day, I found myself rummaging through a closet, search- 1 ing for my old viola. This wasn’t how I’d planned to spend the afternoon. I hadn’t given a thought to the instrument in years. I barely remembered where it was, much less how to play it. But I had just gotten word that my childhood music teacher, Jerry Kupchynsky— “Mr. K.” to his students—had died.

In East Brunswick, N.J., where I grew up, nobody was feared 2 more than Mr. K. He ran the town’s music department with a ferocity never before seen in our quiet corner of suburbia. In his impenetrably thick Ukrainian accent, he would berate us for being out of tune, our elbows in the wrong position, our counting out of sync.

“Cellos sound like hippopotamus rising from bottom of river,” 3 he would yell during orchestra rehearsals. Wayward violinists played “like mahnyiak,” while hapless gum chewers “look like cow chewing cud.” He would rehearse us until our fingers were callused, then in- terrupt us with “Stop that cheekin plocking!”

Mr. K. pushed us harder than our parents, harder than our other 4 teachers, and through sheer force of will made us better than we had any right to be. He scared the daylight out of us.

I doubt any of us realized how much we loved him for it. 5

Which is why, decades later, I was frantically searching for an 6 instrument whose case still bore the address of my college dorm. After almost a half-century of teaching, at the age of 81, Mr. K. had died of Parkinson’s disease. And across the generations, through Facebook and e-mail messages and Web sites, came the call: it was time for one last concert for Mr. K.—performed by us, his old stu- dents and friends.

Now, I used to be a serious student. I played for years in a 7 string quartet with Mr. K.’s violin-prodigy daughters, Melanie and Stephanie. One of my first stories as a Wall Street Journal reporter was a first-person account of being a street musician.

But I had given it up 20 years ago. Work and motherhood inter- 8 vened; with two children and long hours as an editor, there wasn’t time for music any more. It seemed kind of frivolous. Besides, I wasn’t even sure I would know how.

The hinges creaked when I opened the decrepit case. I was 9 greeted by a cascade of loose horsehair—my bow a victim of mites,
the repairman later explained. It was pure agony to twist my fingers into position. But to my astonishment and that of my teenage chil- dren—who had never heard me play—I could still manage a sound.

Lipman / And the Orchestra Played On 409

It turned out, a few days later, that there were 100 people just 10 like me. When I showed up at a local school for rehearsal, there they were: five decades worth of former students. There were doctors and accountants, engineers and college professors. There were people who hadn’t played in decades, sitting alongside professionals like Mr. K.’s daughter Melanie, now a violinist with the Chicago Symphony Orchestra. There were generations of music teachers.

They flew in from California and Oregon, from Virginia and 11 Boston. They came with siblings and children; our old quartet’s cel- list, Miriam, took her seat with 13 other family members.

They came because Mr. K. understood better than anyone the 12 bond music creates among people who play it together. Behind his bluster—and behind his wicked sense of humor and taste for Black Russians—that was his lesson all along.

He certainly learned it the hard way. As a teenager during World 13 War II, he endured two years in a German internment camp. His wife died after a long battle with multiple sclerosis. All those years while
we whined that he was riding us too hard, he was raising his daugh- ters and caring for his sick wife on his own. Then his younger daugh-
ter Stephanie, a violin teacher, was murdered. After she vanished in 1991, he spent seven years searching for her, never giving up hope until the day her remains were found.

Yet the legacy he had left behind was pure joy. You could see it 14 in the faces of the audience when the curtain rose for the performance that afternoon. You could hear it as his older daughter Melanie, her husband and their violinist children performed as a family. You could feel it when the full orchestra, led by one of Mr. K.’s protégés, poured itself into Tchaikovsky and Bach. It powered us through the lost years, the lack of rehearsal time — less than two hours — and the stray notes from us rustier alums.

Afterward, Melanie took the stage to describe the proud father 15 who waved like a maniac from a balcony in Carnegie Hall the first time she played there. At the end of his life, when he was too ill to talk, she would bring her violin to his bedside and play for hours, let- ting the melodies speak for them both. The bonds of music were as strong as ever.

In a way, this was Mr. K.’s most enduring lesson—and one he 16 had been teaching us since we were children. Back when we were in high school, Mr. K. had arranged for Melanie and our quartet to play
at the funeral of a classmate killed in a horrific car crash. The boy

410 CHAPTER 15–DESCRIPTION

had doted on his little sister, a violinist. We were a reminder of how much he loved to listen to her play.

As the far-flung orchestra members arrived for Mr. K.’s final 17 concert, suddenly we saw her, that little girl, now grown, a profes- sional musician herself. She had never stopped thinking about her brother’s funeral, she told me, and when she heard about this con- cert, she flew from Denver in the hope that she might find the musi- cians who played in his honor. For 30 years, she had just wanted the chance to say, “Thank you.”

As did we all. 18

Thinking Critically about This Reading

Although Lipman never tells us directly that Mr. K. was a great teacher, it is clear that she believes that he was. How does Lipman show us how she feels about her beloved teacher? Did she convince you that he was a teacher to be remembered? Why or why not?

Questions for Study and Discussion

1. What dominant impression of Mr. K. did Lipman give you? What descriptive details helped create this impression?
2. In paragraph 3, Lipman provides several examples of Mr. K. berating his students during orchestra rehearsals. What would have been lost had she not quoted him directly? Explain.
3. Why do you suppose Lipman chose to make paragraph 5 a one- sentence paragraph? What do think would have been lost had she simply added it to the end of paragraph 4?
4. In paragraphs 10 and 11, we learn of the occupations of some of Kupchynsky’s former students and the distances they traveled to be at the memorial concert. Why do you suppose Lipman gives us this information? What does this information tell us about Mr. K.?
5. According to Lipman, what was Mr. K.’s “most enduring lesson” (paragraph 16)?
6. What’s the point of Lipman’s story about the little girl in para- graphs 16 and 17?
7. How effective did you find Lipman’s ending? In what ways is it tied to her opening paragraph? (Glossary: Beginnings and Endings)

Lipman / And the Orchestra Played On 411 Classroom Activity Using Description

One of the best ways to make a description of a person memorable is to use a simile (making a comparison using like or as, such as “Her feet floated like a feather in a breeze”) or a metaphor (making a compari- son without the use of like or as, such as “His fists were iron”). Think of a time when you were one of a group of people assembled to do something most or all of you didn’t really want to do. People in such a situation behave in various ways, showing their discomfort. One might stare steadily at the ground, for example. A writer describing the scene could use a metaphor to make it more vivid for the reader: “With his gaze he drilled a hole in the ground between his feet.” Other people in an uncomfortable situation might fidget, lace their fingers together, breathe rapidly, squirm, or tap an object, such as a pen or key. Create a simile or a metaphor to describe each of these behaviors. Compare your metaphors and similes with those of your classmates. Discuss which ones work best for each behavior.

Suggested Writing Assignments

1. In paragraph 4, Lipman reveals that “Mr. K. pushed us harder than our parents, harder than our other teachers, and through sheer force of will made us better than we had any right to be.” He was a teacher who had higher expectations for his students than they had for themselves. Have you ever had any teachers or coaches like that? If so, how did you respond to this type of teacher? If not, would you have liked to have such a teacher? What happens when a teacher or coach has higher expectations for you than you have for yourself? Write an essay in which you describe your experiences with just such a teacher or coach, or an essay about why you would have or not have liked such a teacher.
2. Like Lipman, we often do not take the opportunity to thank people who have made a difference in our lives while they are still alive. Think of several people who have made a difference in your life, and then write a letter to one of them in which you explain just how much that person has meant to you. After sharing your letter with your teacher and classmates, send your letter to the person who made a difference for you. You may find it helpful to read Thomas L. Friedman’s essay “My Favorite Teacher” on pages 103–105 before starting to write your letter.