The only drawback was I only saw her once a week, for music, for an hour. But what an hour it was! She radiated warmth and fun in a building that knew precious little of either. Within moments of entering her space, we would be up, moving, clapping, and singing at the top of our lungs. It was 1970. The folk revival may have been waning, but not in Miss Beaver�s 5th Grade Music Class. Songs like, �This Land is Your Land,� �Goodnight, Irene,� and �Blowing in the Wind� roared from our lungs and throats, and left the fluorescent lights buzzing when she would signal us to a rest.

When she told us one day she was forming a glee club, I was far too smitten to do anything but volunteer to audition. I may not have learned higher math yet, but this formula was simple to me�glee club meant more time with Miss Beaver. Imagine my surprise and anxiety when I looked at the list later and realized that precious few other boys had volunteered. And the ones who had volunteered�beside myself of course�were all hopelessly out of step. Nerds! I realized. Not a hockey or baseball player among them. This was trouble.

To make matters triply worse, word came down that auditions would take place in none other than music class. In front of the whole fifth grade! The indignity I was facing�the sheer horror of it all.

With D-Day approaching, I quickly thought through and just as quickly eliminated every conceivable scheme to back out. I was too chicken to play hooky, and even if I had deluded myself into thinking I had a singing voice (at least one good enough for a glee club), I knew that I wasn�t enough of an actor to feign illness. The next thing I knew it was Wednesday afternoon, and I was slumped in the back of Miss Beaver�s class, feverishly praying she would somehow forget me.

But I was the tallest boy in the class, and the son of her teaching colleague. I knew she had already told my mother I was auditioning. She wasn�t going to forget me. And even if by some miracle she had forgotten me, the three girls in front of me weren�t about to let me or her forget. After virtually everyone else had auditioned and she called out, �Who�s next?� I felt her eyes alight on me as my three persecutors chirped, �Billy Trippe hasn�t gone yet.�
I was in front of the room now. Miss Beaver facing me, her pretty face radiating warmth and encouragement. But behind her, 100 flavors of torment�every fifth grade boy and girl in the school. I could see the sneers already, here the giggles of looming disappointment. Even the most encouraging faces�my best friends, a goodhearted neighborhood girl�were reflecting my alarm.

Miss Beaver sat at the piano, hands poised. �I�ll lead you in,� she said. �Shenandoah, the first two verses.� She led me in, sang the first few bars with me, and left me dangling out there. When I heard my own frail note, alone, out there, I choked. Is that the right word? Choked? Croaked? Chirped? Whirtled? In truth, all of the above, in a space where only a middle C should have appeared.

Disaster! Worse than disaster! Abject and total humiliation! A rout! A wipeout! The laughter exploded out of my classmates with such force I winced in pain. My mind spun with humiliation�a blur of confusion and white noise all at once. I had this sudden, specific fear I would lose control of my bladder and bowels. But then just as suddenly, Miss Beaver was up, on her feet, her warm face in front of mine.

To this day, I have no recollection of the next few moments. I have no idea what she said or how she said it, what technique she offered or what reassurances. I have no idea how she calmed me and quieted the room all in an instant. But she did. The following facts are indisputable�a matter of record. She was back at the piano. I was standing up straight, shoulders back, looking at her and only her, awaiting her cue to start again.

It is amazing how much emotion and information and understanding can pass between two people in a moment�indeed, perhaps without any time passing at all. But all at once I knew what Miss Beaver expected of me�to follow her cue, to sing well, to reach the far note I needed to reach. The other boys hadn�t sung well. She needed me. She led me in. I drew a deep, full breath, looked into Miss Beaver�s smiling face, and belted it out.