Musical memories

Choir director made hearts sing

The words I read online still don’t seem real. Carrie Taylor, longtime choir director at Dover High School, should just now be unwinding enough to enjoy her summer. But she’s not. I should take solace in the eternal peace she’s found, but it’s not coming easily right now.

When I heard Mrs. Taylor passed away, I said a few things you’re not allowed to print in the newspaper. It doesn’t seem right. Some have a youthful spirit about them that makes it seem like they’ll never get old. She was one of them.

In 2000, I walked into her music room, a nervous fifth-grader. But when she sat behind the piano and taught us, she dissolved my nerves. She even managed to teach me all 50 states with a song called “Fifty Nifty United States.”

Mrs. Taylor also taught us a silly tongue-twister as a warm-up. It went, “One slimy slug slid up the slide, while the other slimy slug slid down.”

I learned so much from Buccaneer choir on up through high school choir. And though I was just trying to be a rowdy class clown, she convinced me to stand on the risers and sing with everyone else.

When she stood before us and raised her hands, she controlled not just a room of teens, but the universe itself.

The best part of singing under the direction of Carrie Taylor was watching her expressions. She made the most excited faces trying to pull the best possible performance from her students.

If she wanted your section to sing louder, her eyes would widen, and she’d motion with her hand for more crescendo. It was hysterical.

Mrs. Taylor pushed me to audition for and place in the All Region Choir every year. She was kind, but knew when to push folks to achieve more.

Sometimes, I frustrated her. When we sang at Disney World, it was so hot, and I snuck a bottle of Powerade in my concert clothes. While we were still on stage, I took a drink, and she caught me, pointing furiously. I was dead meat.

One day in class, she asked who would attend a coming Friday night rehearsal. I informed her I would be

OPINION

out of town. When she asked if I intended to be back the next day for the All Regional Choir concert, I told her I wouldn’t. She asked why, and I said I had tickets to an anime convention that weekend. She scolded me in front of the whole choir.

Mrs. Taylor had the most cramped office. It made changing her screensaver for pranks such a pain in the rear. Her desk was always littered with sheet music and blank CDs.

During my final concert, the choir’s barbershop quartet built her a kissing booth to sit in while they sang “Hello Mary Lou.” I think she was torn that day between overwhelming love from her students and pure embarrassment.

I always griped about having to give up a Saturday each year to sing at Ozark Memories Day. But now I think I’d give anything to gather once more under a tent on a hot September day to sing “To Make You Feel My Love.”

I’m fairly certain the last time I saw Carrie Taylor was in her office. I was at Dover High School to watch my little brother’s concert. My wife was with me, and I remember taking her to meet one of the most influential women in my life.

She hugged me tight and was just as excited to see me as I was to see her. I’ve no doubt she remembered each and every student she taught right up until the end, because that’s who she was.

Thanks for the memories, Mrs. Taylor, from annual rummage sales to endless Branson trips. I’ll carry each song you taught me in my heart, from “Jabberwocky” to “Draw Up The Water From The Well.”

Maggie, it was an honor to sing with you in choir, and I know you’ll carry your mother’s torch going forward. Mollie, you seemed like a little sister to the entire choir growing up. Your mom told so many great stories about you in class. Al Ray, thanks for welcoming me into your home for senior steak night. When she talked about you, the whole choir knew you were her rock.

Godspeed.