Mr. Wo — a story
Or, Why I Quit the Band
When I was in fifth grade, I learned to play the French horn for the school band. The high school band leader, Mr. Wo (shorted from an unpronounceable long name) was our grade school band teacher.
Things were going well up until the spring concert. When I went to get my horn out of the case there was no tension in the keys. I brought my horn for Mr. Wo to inspect. Every string had snapped, and there was no way to play. Disgusted, he told me I must have cut the strings myself and that I’d just have “fake it” for the concert. I was mystified by his reaction, as I wasn’t even aware of the strings until they broke.
That summer, I was still interested in band, so my mom signed me up for private lessons with Mr. Wo a couple of times a week. I was pretty excited to learn some “fun” songs for a change. I had learned how to convert piano music to music for the horn. I’d been playing piano for several years at this time, and had taught myself some popular music by playing by ear.
I took one of the songs I’d learned and written down, again, playing by ear and transcribed it for the French Horn. It was Suicide is Painless, the M*A*S*H theme. (I watched M*A*S*H almost every night in 1982). I practiced and practiced the music I’d scribbled down on a piece of paper.
At the next lesson, I asked Mr. Wo if I could play Suicide is Painless for him and he agreed. This lesson marks the last time I played French Horn. After I finished a nearly perfect rendition, Mr. Wo took the paper and said, simply, “You copied this from somewhere. There’s no way you could have done this by ear.”
Mr. Wo, you suck.
That’s why I love my son’s band leader, the kind of guy who would never, ever discourage a kid or let them give up learning to play an instrument, even if they can’t afford it, even if no one else in their life takes an interest, even if they have no natural talent.
Mr. Opperman, you rock.