Instead of actually writing an ode,
I thought I would write a birthday tribute to my dear Tracy...
about all the things I owe to her.When I was 18, and a very green freshman at BYU, my assigned mentor was none other than
the man himself,
Mack Wilberg.
I didn't know much about this man back then. But what I did know was that he was very, very busy and seemingly very important. In the literal few moments he had to spend with 3 BYU newbies, he made it clear that academic pursuits should not be our only focus. If any of us had other talents, this was the place to help them grow. As he briskly walked us out of his office and down toward the HFAC's doors he stopped and showed us where to sign up for auditions. There were several sheets of paper stuck to the wall and he suggested that we start our college experience by trying out for a choir.
I took a leap of literal faith and decided to experiment on his word. I chose to follow his suggestion to try out for BYU's Women's Chorus. I signed my name and hoped for the best. I'd never had to audition for anything before. Sure, I had just been in a high school production of Once Upon a Mattress (as Queen Aggravain), but it had been a class and I'd have gotten a part one way or another.
When the day and time came for my audition, I excitedly and nervously entered the building looking for the assigned room. I figured I was getting close as I began to see lots of young women lining the hallway floors singing to themselves. Some were holding massive books of music which I now know were operatic libretti. My heart began to sink. How in the world could
I possibly compete with such talent? Clearly these girls had years of training. And I didn't even have a song picked out, much less a book in hand.
The door opened and my name was called. I gulped and tried to enter with a smile or at least a pleasant face so as to not show just how frightened I was.
And in this small room, sat a piano... and Tracy.
She asked what I was going to sing. The only song I could muster out of my brain was Hymn #30,
Come Come Ye Saints since I'd recently returned from an incredible life-changing pioneer trek to Martin's Cove. She asked what part I sang and I replied alto. I don't remember much of what she had me sing. I'm sure there was some melody, some harmony, and an exercise or two. And with a smile and a nod she thanked me and sent me on my way.
Phew. That was done. I hoped for a call back, but I certainly didn't hold my breath. I did, however, race back up to campus when the results were to be posted. I scanned the page a time or two scouring for my name.
And it was there.
How in the world did my simple hymn compare to the divas in the hallway? Why was I chosen?
I still don't know the answers to those questions, but I do know that I anticipated with great excitement my next round of auditions.
I showed up to the designated room in the HFAC and found myself on stage with a piano, pianist, and several altos. Tracy was there to listen to all of us together. Over and over... and over and over again we sang
The Lord is My Shepherd. Tracy came up on the stage and began to move us around. I had little idea of what was going on, but I did my best and stayed where she put me. Some people were moved around a couple of times.
When we were done, I went back to the dorms and awaited the final roll of callbacks. They seemed to take forever. My heart was desperate to do well.
I remember heading up to the HFAC with 4 girls from Chipman Hall. They were certainly more talented than I. And yet I was the only one of us to make it into the choir.
And thus began my 2-year love affair with the singing, tutelage, and experience that Tracy--our beloved director--provided for me.
I still can't read or think of the
23rd Psalm without crying. I remember singing that song so vividly. I hated it; we all hated it when we began the piece. It was dark, looming, and dissonant. And then, there came a day where we got to the transition which just exploded in beautiful notes as if it were a firecracker of joy and hope. That day, Tracy had explained to us what we were singing about. And we got it. And we cried.
We also made fun memories with
This Old Man and
The Battle of Jericho. A warmth enters my heart when I think of the beautiful Christmas music we sang (minus the trumpeter who refused to show up for practice and then stunk during the live performance...), the collaborations with Mack and the other choirs (especially
Shane who Tracy is now married to), the friendships, the laughter, the tears, the teal tablecloths--I mean the dresses, and performing with the Philharmonic when they needed behind-the-curtains vocals for Holst's Mars. We sang in the Salt Lake Tabernacle and I can still tell you where I sat. The music was incredible. The experience was work, and it was incredible--Think of Thomas Jefferson's words put to music "The God who gave us life, gave us liberty..."
I shared the music with my mother. I shared the music with Grandma Schriever. She told me I had a talent and that I should always sing if a choir was available. I shared the music with my soon-to-be father-in-law.
And it's all because of Tracy.
Tracy is a tall, blonde dynamic woman. She is a taskmaster and your sister in the same breath. She is a lot of fun and she knows her stuff. I remember her struggling with a few beat patterns, but that's because she was challenging us--and herself. She accepted chocolate openly, and she's a woman after my own heart. There's no way in the world I would have ever attempted to sing a D-flat below middle C on my own. You've stretched me, and you've taught me that I can succeed by trying something new.
Happy birthday, dear Tracy.
Thank you for changing my life--for the better.
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