10. Mr. Olson

Each week I’d stand in the hall outside Mr. Olson’s studio and wait for the previous student to finish, then I’d get out my little, crumply notebook where he’d written my weekly assignment scrawled in his scraggly hand. Then dig out the music and put my flute together and off we’d go.

I was in college, and Mr. Olson was my studio professor. And this was my weekly one-hour private flute lesson.

Mr. Olson was a gentle guy. A bit rumpled looking with curly hair that flopped around when he got excited. He was nearing retirement age, and even though he’d been at this music teaching business for decades, each lesson seemed like a brand-new chance to do something great.

Mr. Olson is the only flute teacher I’ve ever had where we really worked on the music together. Instead of me “performing” for him each week to see how much I’d practiced, we would work it out together. I would play a bit and he’d comment and give me pointers and ideas and advice. “Try attacking this note a little more.” “Give it some support here” “See if you can make this section a little more delicate.”

We’d spend an hour together each week wrestling the pieces into shape. He never commented on how much I had (or had not!) practiced. Or how good or bad I was sounding. He’d just step into wherever I was and offer what advice he had. Molding and shaping the music as we went. Turning it into something a little better than it had been before.

Then I’d clean out my flute and pack up. He’d scribble some more assignments in my little crumply notebook, and I’d head out into the world. Leaving a little better than when I’d started.