In Memoriam
FRANCES CLARK
1905 - 1998
|
The following are excerpts from the obituary that
appeared in the Princeton Packet (Princeton, New Jersey):
Frances Clark, whose name is synonymous
with piano instruction in musical circles, died Friday (April 17) at the
Medical Center at Princeton at the age of 93.
Dr. Clark co-founded The New School for
Music Study in Princeton in 1960 with Louise Goss. A former student of Dr.
Clark, Ms. Goss described her mentor as "a dynamo" whose reputation
as a piano educator was internationally acclaimed.
"She had endless energy, endless good
humor," said Ms. Goss, whose friendship with Dr. Clark dates 54 years.
"She was absolutely demanding in her teaching, but she always made
it good fun."
Before launching her work as an educator,
Dr. Clark received an AB degree from Kalamazoo College in 1928 and completed
graduate study in music at the University of Michigan, the Juilliard School,
the Paris Conservatory, and the American Academy at Fontainebleau.
She served as director of piano pedagogy
at Kalamazoo College from 1945 to 1955, when she joined the faculty at Westminster
Choir College in Princeton as head of the piano department. In 1960, she
co-founded The New School for Music Study.
She received an honorary doctorate from
Kalamazoo College, the first lifetime achievement award from The National
Conference on Piano Pedagogy, the distinguished achievement award from the
Music Teachers National Association, the Women of Distinction Award from
Rutgers University, an honorary doctorate from Westminster Choir College,
and most recently, the Irving S. Gilmore International Keyboard Festival
dedicated its master class program to Dr. Clark.
Despite failing health, Dr. Clark continued
to play an active role in The New School for Music Study just weeks before
her death. "It seemed to me," said Ms. Goss, "that no matter
how much her physical health diminished, her mind continued to be as sharp
as ever."
A memorial service will be held at the
Nassau Presbyterian Church in Princeton on May 24. Many of her former students
and colleagues will participate in the service. Contributions may be made
to the Endowment Fund of The New School for Music Study, Box 360, Kingston,
NJ 08528.
Were You There When Frances Clark
Made History?
by Richard Chronister, Editor
talked to many people in the days following the death of Frances
Clark, and sometime during the conversation it was often mentioned that
this marked the end of an era. This idea was brought beautifully
into focus for all who attended her memorial service in Princeton on May
24. Planned with great care by Louise Goss, it was at once a traditional
religious ceremony of prayers, scriptures, hymns, anthems, and organ music
that marks the passing of a beloved family member, a professional-level
concert by several of her former students playing the music that represents
Frances' lifetime pursuit of the highest artistic standards, and a few spoken
tributes that not only served the purpose of defining her unique and commanding
place in the history of music education, but gave the attending congregation
of family, friends, students, associates, and colleagues a taste of the
less-documented human side of Frances Clark.
As I took my place to offer one of the spoken tributes and
looked out over the several hundred people present, it occurred to me that
probably everyone sitting in that church could tell similar stories to the
ones shared by the four speakers. There wasn't time that day, and there
isn't room in this section of Keyboard Companion to provide all the memories
that define the work and life of Frances Clark, but we have asked a few
of those who knew her well to share an important memory.
The first two, by Sam Holland and me, are taken from the remarks we made
during the memorial service.
by Sam Holland
istorians will remember Frances Clark as a great teacher of
teachers and a great organizer of materials. Everyone here knows
that story. In fact, most of us count her as the original-the inventor of
American piano pedagogy. There is no current method, no piano pedagogy course,
no independent teacher in this country that has not been touched by her
thinking.
But, today, I'd like to remember her from the perspective of two very
personal recollections. My first one-on-one encounter with Frances was a
shock. We had rolled in from Texas and I imagined that I was a good piano
student. I played in Thursday repertoire class. Later we received a call
that Frances wanted to give me a private lesson. I didn't know much (I was
14), but I knew that she was famous and I thought this was some type of
honor.
The repertoire classes met in large, impressive classrooms on the top
floor of the school where there were nice grands and large windows. I knew
something was wrong when she met me there but we went down.
Down.
Down three flights of stairs to a tiny room in the basement. No windows.
Only a Hamilton upright. It was the piano woodshed.
Frances raked me up one side and down the other. I didn't know how to
practice. I didn't pay attention to fingering. I ignored markings that the
composer specifically provided. There was fire in her eyes, hot steel in
her voice. Many are those who have known this wrath. I sweated. I don't
know how long the lesson lasted. It seemed like a week. But in that moment,
between the time she closed the door and opened it again, she took over
my mind and poured the music into me. I was never, ever the same. Frances
Clark took me apart, but, before it was over, she put me back together again-just
as we had taken that piece apart and put it back together. (It was not the
last time that Frances Clark would take me apart.)
There were only two of us in my pedagogy class in 1975. What an incredible
richness! Just two of us with Frances Clark all to ourselves. We often met
around the picnic table outside the New School on sunny, fall afternoons-Frances,
Jill, and me along with the greatest minds of all time. What we learned
was so much more than what most would call pedagogy. And, yet it is the
very heart of the subject.
We didn't read piano pedagogy books. We read Socrates. And then we learned
how Socrates made us better piano teachers through good questioning technique.
It changed our teaching that very afternoon! We didn't read about music
education. We read Comenius-and learned that natural law tells us how to
sequence materials in piano study. We didn't read Clavier magazine. We read
the parables of Jesus of Nazareth-and learned the power of image, metaphor
and, above all, to put the lesson into terms that our student can understand.
We read John Dewey and learned that telling somebody something does not
mean we have taught it. Our teaching only becomes real when we create experience.
We studied Whitehead and the "rhythm of education," William James
on the laws of habit and much, much more.
At the center of it all, we learned to study the child. And, from that
study, we learned that there is indeed music in every child. From Frances,
we learned that "Those who can . . . teach. Those who can't go into
some less significant line of work."
Sam Holland is an associate professor and Head
of Piano Pedagogy at Southern Methodist University in Dallas, Texas.
by Richard Chronister
remember the fall of 1956. Frances was beginning her
second year as chair of the piano department at Westminster Choir College,
and I was new on the faculty. My most vivid recollection of that time is
the first staff meeting of the year. We had all gathered at 32 Vandeventer-Frances
was in her green chair surrounded by Louise, Doris, Martha, Elvina, Larry,
and me. My task, in preparation for this meeting, was to sort through the
schedules of all the incoming freshmen who were to be assigned to beginning
piano classes, place them in small groups, and then decide what day and
hour they could meet for a lesson. During this staff meeting, we were to
match their schedules with our schedules, and teachers would be assigned.
I took my stack of papers over to a side table, and as I put them down,
I said, "Well, all I know is that I don't want that eight a.m. class."
As I was returning to my seat, Frances bolted out of that green chair,
sort of stomped over to the table, found the eight a.m. class, came to where
I was sitting, and threw it in my lap. That was the first inkling I had
that staff meeting was just another term for pedagogy class. And that the
words faculty member were not words to get too puffed up about. Frances
was always teaching, and in this instance, she was demonstrating one of
her basic teaching principles: Teaching is not telling;
teaching is creating a situation in which the student experiences what you
want him to learn. That was the day I experienced and learned that
smart teachers know when to keep their mouths shut.
I have often thought that those of us who worked with Frances in the
fifties and sixties were the lucky ones. This was the time she was developing
what were then-and still are today-the most comprehensive piano teacher
training programs in the United States-first at Kalamazoo College, then
at Westminster, and later at The New School. This led her to do some deep
thinking about what was behind her celebrated teaching success during the
preceding 25 years. Her lectures during that time, and the opportunities
to watch her teach, and to teach under her direction made more impact on
our lives as musicians and educators than anything else in our entire education.
During those years, when I found myself at a social function and saw
that Frances was also there, I was never surprised if she sought me out
sometime during the event and asked me if I was there alone. If I told her
I was, she would ask if she could ride home with me. She would say, "I
am just exhausted; I don't want to talk anymore and I know I won't have
to talk if I'm with you." Of course, we talked all the way home. But
not small talk, not social-event talk. I don't think I have ever known anyone
who spent as little time at small talk as Frances did. She wanted to talk
about ideas. And it was never a one-way monologue, as is so often the case
with intelligent and strong-minded people like Frances. She wanted a dialogue,
and you were expected to hold up your end of the conversation. There were
always surprises in a conversation with Frances. It kept you on your toes
and in a constant state of apprehension. I realize now that through the
more than 40 years that I knew Frances, I never got over that feeling. Even
when I talked to her on the phone during these last few years, when her
health was failing but her mind was sharp, I knew that I had to be ready
to react to ideas and throw a few of my own into the conversation. In these
later years, she did love to reminisce with us about the past, but she was
always more interested in the present and the future. She would never mention
her physical condition unless you asked her a direct question, and her brief
answer often ended with, "But I still have my mind."
And so do we. The legacy of Frances Clark is her insistence that we develop
our own ability to be better at what we do tomorrow than we were today.
I think she would be horrified if she thought that we would sit around now
and say, "What would Frances do?" "What would Frances say?"
"What would Frances write?" Whatever Frances would do, say, or
write today, it is not likely it would be the same tomorrow. Once, when
I showed some impatience over a change that had been made after something
had been declared final, Frances said, with some fever, "Final does
not necessarily mean final."
Our job is not to be like Frances, or to think like Frances, or to teach
like Frances. Our job is make sure that neither we nor the piano teaching
world lose sight of the basic principles we learned from Frances. She believed
that it was those basic principles that would allow us to tell ourselves
how to be, how to think, how to teach. If we do that, the magnificent life
and work of Frances Clark will live forever.
Richard Chronister is editor of Keyboard Companion.
