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Editor's Note: March 28, 2005, marks the one hundredth anniversary of the birth of Frances Clark. As a special tribute to her, in this column, we are featuring the following guest editorial written by her colleague and friend, Louise Goss. Remembering Frances Clarkby Louise Goss It's hard to believe that in March 2005 Frances Clark would have turned 100. For me, it's even harder to believe that for over half those years she was my teacher, mentor, colleague and treasured friend. Following her death, Warner Brothers devoted the back page of their weekly newsletter, to a simple memorial tribute: Frances Clark 1905-1998
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Why did her publisher wish to remember her so eloquently? What were the qualities that made her the first and greatest piano pedagogue of the 20th century?
During her undergraduate years she also pursued piano study at a nearby University, and as a sophomore was made teaching assistant to her well-respected teacher. Later at The Juilliard School, the American Academy at Fontainebleau and the Paris Conservatory, she was exposed to the full gamut of conservatory experiences - intense concentration on technical development (especially in her study with Isidore Philipp), vast exposure to repertoire, and the entire smorgasbord of keyboard skills, including sight-reading with Nadia Boulanger. Perhaps the most special aspect of her education was her practice teaching in English with a superior teacher in a local high school. Some of you may have heard the story of her first practice teaching experience with Ms. Bender. Frances was to present "The Lady of The Lake" and she came to her pre-class conference full of enthusiasm and equipped with a lengthy and detailed outline for her presentation. Part way through the conference, Ms. Bender asked for the lesson plan and dropped it into the wastebasket. Then she said, "Frances, do you like this poem?" "Oh, yes, I love it!" "Then why don't you find a way to make your students love it?" Sixty years later Frances still saw this experience as seminal in her own development as a teacher: "Make them love it!" In early 1960, when the New School for Music Study (in Princeton, NJ) was still on the drawing board, Frances and I were discussing its name. Frances suggested, "Let's call it the New School." I said, "That's a fine name for now, but in five years it won't be new any longer." Without losing a beat, Frances replied, "Well if it isn't, I won't want anything to do with it." This was typical of Frances. With her, things were always changing, always growing, always evolving into something fresh and new. I learned this about her on many occasions and in many ways. It was my privilege to be in the first piano pedagogy class Frances gave. In the first semester, she lectured on teaching and learning as they applied to music education at the piano. She also invited us to observe her teaching of children. It was magical - joyous, intense, earnest, fun and always exquisitely musical. Offsetting the intensity, the perseverance, and relentless demands of her teaching, were the joy, the wit, the laughter and just plain fun. She came to be known as "America's First Lady of Piano Pedagogy." What were the measures of her greatness?
Over against these high pedagogical purposes, were some simple and practical maxims:
Frances really did know how to meet students where they were. I remember her teaching a whole afternoon wearing a boy scout hat because its little owner had asked her to. Of course, that was the day the dean dropped in to visit, but Frances went right on teaching and she didn't take off the hat! I also remember a team of high-spirited high school boys - four of them who didn't practice much, didn't play very well, but loved music, loved their lessons, and loved a good time. To insure a recital success, Frances created an 8-hands team for them, gave them lots of extra help and lots of practice time in her home studio. Because of who they were and their comfort level with her, at the end of each practice period they left behind a practical joke - turning the pictures to the wall, replacing piano benches with sofa pillows, etc. When they came for their next lesson, there was always a practical joke awaiting them - once a note on the front door said "Go around to the back." On the back door they found a note, "You fools, go around to the front." No comment was ever made on either side. The night of the recital, all four of them came in overalls. After their prank had had its full effect, they took off their overalls, and, voil¦! Underneath was appropriate recital attire. No one enjoyed it more than Frances!
Frances grew very impatient with students who weren't really trying. I recall a college sophomore who came unprepared for a lesson, so filled with excuses that thinking and learning were impossible. After 5 minutes, the studio door opened, and Frances emerged, tossing over her shoulder, "I'll be in my office. Call me when you're ready to think." I also remember a graduate pedagogy student excusing himself for the poor performance of one of his students in a repertoire class. Frances said, "I think it's important for you to admit that you chose the wrong piece for that child." More excuses. "All that may be true," Frances persisted, "but the point is, you chose the wrong piece." More excuses. "Why don't you just admit you made a mistake?" "All right," he yelled," I made a mistake!" "Well," Frances declared, "don't dwell on it!"
This was never more true than in our work together on the first edition of Time To Begin. When it was finally finished, we were in Kalamazoo, and Summy-Birchard, our publisher, was in Chicago. The engravers and typesetters were standing ready, and the book was to go off on the 5:00 a.m. milk train. At midnight, I jubilantly wrapped the book. Frances seemed quiet but finally said, "Let's go for a ride." We rode a long time in silence, and then she began to talk - slowly, cautiously, painfully questioning all the work we had done. Two hours later we returned to the studio, unwrapped the book and started over. And two years later, Time To Begin appeared!
I remember Frances at a master class in Denver. She was teaching a Bach Invention and the student wasn't "living it up" at all. Suddenly Frances began to dance - up and down the aisles she went, pulling people out of their seats, until a whole roomful of surprised piano teachers found themselves moving, breathing, dancing, laughing - living it up!
In this, as in so many things, Frances was our best model. She could be, and loved to be, the grand dame. But there was a real down-home side to her, too, that would have surprised those who knew her only professionally. She liked to eat her 5:45 a.m. breakfast at our local diner where the waitress hugged her and the truckers called her Fran. She liked to walk barefoot in the grass. And she loved to dress like a bum. Shortly after the New School moved from Princeton to Kingston (NJ), our secretary was in the friendly little post office, getting acquainted with the postmistress and straightening out who we all were. The discussion turned to Frances, and the postmistress said, in amazed disbelief, "You mean the lady in the gray knee socks is the President of the New School?" Yes, she was. And what did this lady in the gray knee socks accomplish?
A hundred years have passed, and a new millennium has dawned. But it's not too late to sing, "Happy birthday, dear Frances." Who she was and what she did lives on in us, and in all those we teach, and in all those they teach, and on and on and on. About Our Cover Art We wish to thank Louise Goss for providing the pictures of Frances Clark that appear on the magazine's cover. To see a larger image of our cover art, please visit our Art Gallery.
Adult Piano Study Department
Teacher/Student/Parent Department
Rhythm Department
Table of Contents fromSpring 2005, Volume 16, Number 1
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