It was August 1980, and as was the case every year, I dreaded the start of school, not because I wasn’t a good student, but because with the beginning of each new grade came the realization that I lived in my own world... a world that reminded me of the Island of Misfit Toys from the old Rudolph cartoon. I didn’t have many friends; after all, I lived in a town where football and FFA were the popular places to be, and I could say with absolute certainly that I connected with neither of those activities. I was a choir kid.
I remember a couple of years before when, as 6th graders we were allowed to choose our first elective class. Mrs. Imogene Cummings was the choir teacher, and when she heard me sing she exclaimed, “Well! We’re gonna make a singer out of you!” She liked having me in her class and I liked being there. It was a great arrangement. In our small-town music program I was advanced enough that as a 7th grader Mrs. Cummings gave me the opportunity to sing with the High School Mixed and Mens Choirs at the Sandy Lake Music Festival in Dallas. That trip holds many memories for me... the youngest kid on the trip, being acknowledged, and to some degree accepted, by the “big kids” in high school. I remember going to the Magic Time Machine for a dress-up dinner and dancing (not a normal occurrence for kids from Santa Fe, Texas!), and that trip gave me my first exposure to the grandest theme park I’d ever seen, Six Flags Over Texas.
At the end of the trip, Mrs, Cummings told me that she wanted to place me in the High School Mixed choir for the coming year... AS AN 8th GRADER! I was on top of the world. Then it happened: Mrs. Cummings retired and when I returned to school in 1980 we had a new teacher, Mrs. MJ Milford.
On the first day of class I explained to my new teacher that I had been assigned to the wrong class; that I was supposed to be in the High School Mixed Chorus. I remember her dismissing me, and I remember walking away from that conversation hating her. Obviously she couldn’t be as good a teacher as Mrs. Cummings because she didn’t understand how things were supposed to be... Singing was my only outlet, and I felt as though she had taken from me something I was destined to have. And as if that wasn’t enough, this new teacher had a seemingly abnormal aversion to letting ANYONE sit in her office chair... What was up with that?!
How could I have known 31 years ago this month that MJ Milford would become one of the most influential persons ever to touch my life?
As the school year progressed, I stayed in choir and worked hard. After all, if I was anything it was compliant. Mrs. Milford had unusual methods of teaching. We flapped our arms and stood on our toes and rocked on our heels. We sang with numbers and made old-fashioned windshield wiper motions with our arms. We talked about resting tones and moving tones, and unbeknownst to any of us, we were learning at the very deepest level how to internalize music. Our little choir program continued to struggle our way through state contests, making very average scores, but it rarely seemed to bother Mrs. Milford. What we didn’t understand was that she had a much more important agenda than getting great competition scores-- her goal was to teach us MUSIC.
Within the course of that year my disdain for this “mean teacher” had been abated and I liked her just fine. At some point in our association, I’d even come to learn that she was a woman of faith, and that fact endeared her to me. Even though I wasn’t a believer yet, I was a regular church attender and somehow knowing that she loved Jesus gave us a kinship beyond the classroom.
The following year, now that I was back in the High School Choir, all became right with my world. I even had a few friends.. other choir kids, of course... and I’d found a place where being a misfit was okay. I soaked in from Mrs. Milford all my little freshman brain could learn, and I even agreed to try out for the All-Region Choir at her suggestion. Interestingly, that audition never came to fruition... there was only so much culture that this 13 year-old boy could take in learning classic choral literature. Giggling as I type this, I remember my own “translations” of the songs we sang, the most vivid being a piece entitled “Super Flumina Babylonis,” which I quickly dubbed “The Super Flamingos from Babylon (with flared nostrils).”
After-school rehearsals always paused for the arrival of her elementary-aged son, Michael, who quickly became one of us... He felt right at home joining in the fun, crafting jokes of his own:
Q: “Mom, do you know where chocolate milk comes from?”
A: “The milk of the BLACK goat!” (a reference to another one of our region choir pieces)
With my level of maturity, or lack thereof, I opted not to try out for the region choir that year. I did, however, sing a level 1 solo for our region’s Solo and Ensemble competition and was one of only a couple from our school to qualify for the state-level competition. I don’t remember the specific song, but I remember the critique sheet from my judge, Elizabeth Mannion. Her comments began, “A rather fuzzy, unfocused, unsupported, sometimes nasal tenor voice...” It went downhill from there, and I received a rating of 4, with 5 being the worst score possible. I was crushed and MJ was livid. That was a turning point for both of us. You see, she’d figured out by then that there were a few of us in her program who lived, breathed and bled music. It wasn’t until the spring of my senior year that she would even consider taking any of her students back to the State Solo and Ensemble Competition... and even then I’m not convinced it wasn’t to prove a point to us-- that we could succeed. And we did. There were several Division 1 ratings that summer for our soloists and ensembles, and we all passed the state Music Theory Exam with the flying colors. This became the new norm for her program, but I’ve jumped ahead of myself...
Always the innovator and never afraid of a challenge, she started investing herself into our lives in ways that were far beyond a formal teacher/student relationship. Such investments were never at the expense of her own son, but more in way that made us an extended part of her family. She took us to see the grand Christmas Pageants at the First Baptist Church in Houston, she introduced us to her amazing parents, Mr & Mrs. Ross, and brought us to their home on a couple of occasions. (I remember being MESMERIZED by all the clocks in the house and by the basket shaped shrubs that lined the front sidewalk.) She introduced traditions associated with our road trips for competitions... including the obligatory Chinese food meal that celebrated milestone accomplishments for those who had made it to that level.
Little by little, Mrs. Milford became MJ. She played the piano at church and spoke freely of her faith in Jesus, yet never pushed it on anyone. She gave us all freedom to become the best people we could be, and yet she held us accountable. She loved her students and expected the best of each one... and she always wanted us to know that there was a life beyond the things we could see and know, both physically and spiritually. If it was our goal to stay in Santa Fe, then we would be great contributors to the community. If we desired to fly the proverbial nest, we would be prepared to do so in the best way possible.
When I was a junior in high school, MJ had seen enough of a spark in several of us that she forged a new path in the school’s curriculum by offering a Music Theory class. Of course, I took the class, and therein found my closest friends, friends for life. And there began a new phase of my relationship to MJ. Out of that theory class came my introduction to her alma mater, The University of Mary Hardin-Baylor, to which she took a few of us for a prospective student visit. Three of us started school there at MJs influence, and I graduated from UMHB in 1989 with a bachelor’s degree in Music. (Interestingly, this was the same day on which MJs mother received a 50-year golden diploma from the same school in our commencement ceremony. i was so proud to share the day with her family.)
It was this same class of students she took to see the movie “Amadeus,” which impacted us profoundly. The quote from that movie that still flies between us: “Well... there it is.”
This was the class where she conceived the idea to perform “You’re a Good Man, Charlie Brown,” the linchpin that birthed an insatiable love of theatre for those of us involved... David Elder, Renay Presley, Mike Ryan, Lauri Andrews, Morgan Gilliam and myself.
Years followed... decades in fact. In those years MJ retired, served as a missionary in Ukraine, wrote books, dreamed, composed, taught, accompanied, gave away music, talked of Jesus, and she laughed... Oh, her laugh. Unmistakable.
Every time we talked, which was always several times a year, she would challenge me and uplift me... just like a good teacher... and a good friend. With the exception of a couple of short emails last week, our final conversation was on August 14, 2011, her birthday. As I’ve grown older, I’ve come to understand that life is about seizing moments ...probably a lesson I learned from MJ... And to that end, I took that conversation as an opportunity to tell her that of all the people in my life who had ever influenced me both as a musician and as a follower of Jesus she was at the top of the list. I could hear her smile in the reply.
I’ve cried about her death (I’m crying now, in fact), not because of her passing, nor because of regrets for things I wish I’d said or done in regards to my relationship with her, but rather because there is nothing I do in my life or profession that lacks MJ’s influence. My philosophy of teaching, my ability to read music, my love of theatre, the way I talk to my children, and many significant aspects of my love for God; all these are present in my life every day, and all these things carry her mark.
As a follower of Jesus, I know MJ lives on in a very real way in the presence of God... And if you’ve read this far into my note, I would be remiss if I didn’t tell you that MJ would want you to live in absolute certainty about your own relationship to God as well. The following quote from her free church music website expresses her faith best:
All are sinners in the sight of God
in desperate need of a Savior.
Through Jesus, God’s Son,
all can be pardoned,
not by works, but by faith
in His shed blood on the cross.
He is the only Way to the Father.
I am happy to talk with you about that if you wish, but today, more than ever before, I’ve come to understand how the legacy one leaves in life casts a forever shadow on those left behind.
Mary Jean Ross Milford was a treasure. Her death, though sudden to us, was no shock to the God who created her and who called her to Himself. In my mind right now I can hear a musical setting she composed that says, “Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of His saints.” As precious as MJ has been to you and me, she is infinitely more precious to her heavenly Father. Our best tribute to her life and memory will be the lives we each choose to lead. And so to you I would say in her behalf, “Lead them well.”
jph