But did it happen?

"We do not remember days. We remember moments."  Cesare Pavese

Maybe this is how anyone who has retired from a meaningful vocation feels.  I can’t answer for anyone else, but it’s at least the way I feel about this one aspect of my life.   As my wife and I drove across Louisville, Kentucky in a downpour last Sunday night, I reflected on what happened there in  1977 through 1979 and I wondered if it really had ever happened. I’m fairly certain it happened, but other than a diploma there’s no evidence that anything happened at all.

I knew I wanted to attend seminary even before  I transferred to my senior college from my junior college.  For those three years I was very much looking forward  to my seminary years.  For that matter, I had already decided that I wanted to attend the Southern Baptist Theological Seminary in Louisville. This seminary was referred to as SBTS, Southern  Seminary or quite often as just “Southern.” At the time there were six seminaries in the Southern Baptist Convention and I was very proud to be accepted as a student there.

For the record, I am no longer a Southern Baptist and have little to no respect for the convention or its institutions.  I can't blame you if you do not share my enthusiasm for what this institution meant to me. But at the time, "Southern" was one of the most respected divinity schools in the world and its music school was one of the best schools of music in the country. This music school was not only one of the best schools in the Southern Baptist Convention, but one of the best schools of music anywhere.  Regardless of what I thought I would do during my tenure at "Southern" before I enrolled, someone said, "David, you'll be there to earn a master's degree and they don't give them away". Upon enrollment I was at the height of my academic and musical ability.  At my age I was the musical equivalent of a fighter pilot. I could fly in formation with the best of  them.

The faculty of  the Southern Baptist Theological Seminary's music school was incredible. The faculty was decorated with doctorate and post-doctorate degrees and brought with them years of performance and teaching experience.  I felt fortunate to be associated with all of them. Dr. Wilkey,  my voice professor, approached his craft scientifically. He expected no less than perfect effort from his students in everything to do with the production of song. Drs. Landgrave and Turner, my composition professors, encouraged me to push the boundaries of my ability to compose original music. I became quite adept,  for example,  at composing using Arnold Schoenberg's highly complex twelve tone system. Dr Turner said, "You're a lot better at it than I am." Dr. Lin,  my conducting professor, had me look at every note of every measure and pushed me to conduct each one as a separate unit. In his broken Chinese-English he would ask, "How are you going to do with that beat?"  He meant, each one. "How are you going to conduct that particular beat?"  I studied hard and I practiced hard. I showed up early and stayed late.  Dr. Turner thought enough of one of my compositions for voice and piano that he encouraged me to ask Dr.. Wilkey if I could include my original song cycle on my graduate voice recital.  Dr. Wilkey, this scientist-musician,  said "Yes" so that's what I did. My music was  in a program along with the music of the masters. For my graduate conducting recital I recruited and rehearsed thirty seminarians. After just six rehearsals, my choir performed flawlessly a contemporary work by Halsey Stevens.for choir and pipe organ, It was stunning, if I may say so myself.. As a singer I was a highly sought after baritone soloist.  I not only sang for churches, but sang with the Louisville Symphony and Opera Association. Dr. Landgrave honored me by asking me to sing the baritone solos for a major work he had composed for his church choir.

When the dust settled on my two years at "Southern", at graduation I had earned The Outstanding Conducting Student Award and was runner up to the Outstanding Music Student Award. The thing that meant the most to me was that I had earned the admiration and  respect of my professors and my peers.

 A long time ago I removed any reference to my being at SBTS. I realized that someone might mistake the current seminary for the one I graduated from.  After the hostile takeover of the Southern Baptist Convention by fundamentalists in the eighties, my incredible institution of theological and music education has become little more than a Calvanist Bible college. Furthermore, the music school doesn't even exist any more. I never refer to "seminary," but to graduate school. Why would I want you to think I earned my degree at a Bible college? Is there any honor in that?

But driving through Louisville on I-65 I felt something about that city and something about me.  In spite of the fact that my school doesn't exist anymore, I was very proud of who I was and of who I am. I'm very proud of what I accomplished for myself during those two eventful years. And I have much more than a piece of paper to show that I was there. Driving across town, I didn't have it all in my head, but I had it all in my heart. All of it was there. And besides all that, the girl sitting beside me in the car Sunday night was the same girl who put me through school back then. While I was doing what I was doing, she was typing away at 140 words per minute at office services and for Xerox. None of it would have been possible without her effort and support.

One other thing about driving through Louisville, Kentucky.  The speed limit is 55mph and if you speed you'll get a ticket.  I have a piece of paper to prove this, as well.