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A DO Christmas Caroler’s Story By Vicki Pierce Stroeher Delta Nu, ‘78 Chapter Adviser, Delta Kappa, Marshall University |
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Particularly around the time of year—finals week in academia, it becomes difficult to think of music as being something special and transcendent. Indeed, after having heard seemingly thousands of juries or grading what must be thousands of research papers, music has become a chore, a nuisance even. This was my mindset as I headed out to join the Delta Kappa collegiate chapter in what will become our annual December musicale, caroling at the Woodlands Retirement Center here in Huntington, WV. Even the prospect of having a dear friend and Delta Kappa alumna, Beverly Miller, join us did not cheer me up to the duty. Our first “performance” was rather formal: residents from the cottages and more self-sufficient wings of the center gathered to hear us in a room specially equipped for such presentations. We are predominantly a chapter of instrumentalists, so the whole thing seemed rather awkward—until we finally convinced them to sing along. Then it happened. From the back of the room came a tiny voice, “I was a charter member of this group in 1945.” Janice Edward Chandler Gold, a well-respected member of the Huntington musical community stood up. Although I had met her on a number of occasions, I had no idea that she was a DO. Of course, she had to join us at the front. Her voice clear and her enthusiasm brimming, she donned a Santa hat and sang with us—a DO again. As we left to carol in the health wings, Ms. Gold promised that she would help us recapture some of our lost history. As I watched her interact with the college students, I realized that DO knows no generational boundaries. We are all bound by the same promise, by the same love of music, no matter when or where we were initiated. My foul mood toward music was beginning to lift. Our second “performance” was mercifully less formal: we were to stroll the halls of the health wings and just sing. As we found people sitting in common areas, we would stop and serenade them for a couple of songs, and then move on. The nurses often retrieved people out of their rooms so they could hear us better. After a while, we came to a secure area. One woman saw us through the door and met us there repeating: “Hey, hey, hey” with the biggest smile on her face. She was clutching a pillow and dancing excitedly. She greeted each of us personally, coming as close as she dared, repeating “hey.” When we began to sing, miraculously, she sang along, matching pitch and remembering more of the words than I did. Here was a woman whose mind had been completely ravished by either Alzheimers or dementia, and she was singing. Somehow, though all else was gone—even language—music had lived. I had never witnessed the power of music as I witnessed it that day. As I came to the end of my arduous tasks of finals week, I realized that I am incredibly lucky, for I get to teach this powerful thing we call music. I have my disposal ready-made forums for it in the classroom and through the campus DO chapter. Contrary to what my tired soul was feeling, music is not a chore or a nuisance, but an incredible gift. And, as we have been given this gift, to share it is our sacred duty. |
