REGRETS AND TRIUMPHS

By Dr. Robert E. Plucker

 

High School Commencement addresses tend to be of the ilk: “Anything is possible; all you have to do is your very best at anything you try. Success is bound to happen, and yes, you will be able to save the world. There will be a few minor and temporary setbacks – there could even be a few regrets about things done and not done in your exciting new lives, but you will have success!”

Here are a few regrets that I have; most are my own fault; a couple of them are not.

I wish that I had known how to spell “eleemosynary” when I was a seventh grader at the South Dakota State Spelling contest. That word put me down.*

I wish that instrumental music had been continued in 1941 when I was in high school and the United States entered the Second World War My ability to figure out rhythmic notation suffered. Piano study did not seem to help much. I should have had a much more distinguished academic record in college. I spent too much time goofing off and playing table tennis.

Looking back I can’t think that there were truly compelling reasons for me missing so many of Ginny and Dot’s musical activities at Everett High School. Sure, I had night classes, night rehearsals of various kinds, other projects to do with my teaching, but I should have made time. Even if it had meant taking time off from my several jobs. 

All the above is mostly serious but less so is the fact that I never got out of sheltered water and into the real ocean with the sailboat “Greta.” I regret that I made several trips across the International Date Line (on troop ships) but never crossed the Equator. 

I did some fairly serious jogging and running (30 miles per week) for a number of years but never entered a marathon or half-marathon.

I’d like to have met both Susan Butcher and Dee-dee Jonroe, the famous women dog-mushers in the Iditarod. It irks me that son John (age 16?) was able to fly a single-engine plane from Juneau to Haines (except for take-off and landing) and the one chance I had to try flying I was hopeless at straight level flight. 

Because Margaret uses our big shiny kettle for a lot of wonderful soups, breads, cakes, I truly wish that I had not lost its lid off the dock one day when we were living on the boat in LaConner. It may still be there, buried in mud but otherwise OK. Stainless steel, you know. 

On the fanciful/ridiculous side, I could regret that I never played the classy prep-school sype games like lacrosse, hand-ball, chess, bridge, and not poker, but billiards. Even golf is considered a high-class game. Many years ago I was able to watch once or twice, real polo being played in a field just south of Brookings, South Dakota. There were real balls, long-handled mallets, and horses. Talk about class! Fishing of any sort is further down the class ladder, and I can be glad I have no regrets about that. 

How about a few silly regrets?  

I never had a teddy bear or a tricycle when I was little. When my sister and I finally got a two-wheeler, it was a hand-me-down from our rich cousins and it was a girl’s bicycle. I disgrace for me (in the eyes of my friends) but I couldn’t stand not riding it. 

I used to think I’d like to climb mountains. What stopped me was a difficult and unsuccessful climb at the Hakone Park in Japan. Then years later when daughter Dot dropped off a cliff at Mount Baker, miraculously falling onto a tiny outcropping, I was truly stopped. No Denali, no K2, no Everest, no high peaks in the Andes. 

I sometimes think wistfully, that returning the umlaut to the Plucker name would add some class. Plücker. After all, it is there on my great-grandfather’s gravestone in the Germantown Cemetery. I didn’t. 

And if you want real class, collect expensive works of art from some place like Sotheby’s – I didn’t.

Cruising on the big commercial cruise ships might be OK, but certainly not comparable to three-month vacations in the Bahamas, the Adriatic, or the entire Mediterranean on a chartered yacht with skipper and the crew. But I didn’t. 

I’ll stop with a few triumphs, which I most emphatically do not regret. 

Perhaps at the top of the list would be a concert at the First Baptist Church of Mount Vernon, Washington when the Skagit Valley Community Choir sang Hayden’s B Flat Mass – the “wind band” mass. I had prepared them carefully and we had hit the right psychological moment to perform. I was almost afraid to stand in front of them to conduct. What if they were to jump up and start without me? They didn’t. 

Another musical triumph was at a choir festival in the University Presbyterian Church in Seattle. When our turn came to sing, the seven members of my madrigal choir at Skagit Valley Community College sang a group of Italian madrigals that was impressive. Two-year mostly vocational colleges were not expected to sing difficult polyphonic pieces like this. There were no rankings given to the dozen or so participating choirs, but when we resumed our seats in the audience, we could overhear the surprised and respectful comments being exchanged. 

In Stanwood, Washington, the same sort of choir concert took place at St. Cecelia’s Catholic Church. The choirs were all local church choirs many of whom had adopted “contemporary” music practice. Too many of these choirs required lots of microphones, amplifiers, huge speakers, drums, guitars and electric basses. When my Lutheran church choir came up for their turn, I had them stand with the microphones behind them. Then I made sure they were all turned off. Since we had some truly outstanding singers, particularly in bass and soprano, we chose a Russian piece by Tchesnokov “Salvation is Created,” a wonderful piece that calls for extreme contrasting dynamics. That sort of contrast is far less possible when all the electronic gadgets are in play. We received appreciative comments from the Stanwood townspeople who had been there. It is fun to be soppped at the Post Office or the grocery store and hear complimentary words. 

Just two more and I’ll stop bragging... 

The Haines “Men of Note” sang “Eternal Father, Strong to Save,” creating remarkable quiet from the crowd of over 250 people who had been gathered outside for the Dick Boyce Memorial service. They had been listening to some very loud amplified music up to that point. The Men of Note sang without amplification. 

I arranged an original organ accompaniment to a hymn “King of Glory” which I was to sing at my granddaughter’s wedding. People did not pay much attention to the soloist (me) as they were all focused on the beautiful bride, Claire. My triumph came when the organist at the large Episcopal Church asked me if he could keep a copy of the music so he could use it again. I don’t know if he ever used it, but I was pleased that he even thought about it. 

Any other triumphs? Well, yes. 

I replaced the broken handle of a wheelbarrow with a piece of 2 x 2 scrap lumber about two weeks ago.

 

*By the way, the term eleemosynary means relating to charity or the giving of alms.