First for God. Second for the Composer. Third for yourself. Then for anyone else who wants to hear. These were our instructions for singing in the S.H. Rider A-Cappella Choir directed by Donald Cowan. It may have been a high school choir, but Mr. C, as we called him, pushed us well beyond what we thought we could do. Singing the words and pitches were only a small part of being in A-CAP. For over 30 years our teacher taught how to aspire to excellence and how in giving one becomes truly satisfied.
It didn't matter if a concert had five or five-hundred in the audience, we were taught that they were merely observers, who gleaned and benefited from an experience that we had on the risers. We held hands for all concerts, not only as tradition, but because we benefited from knowing that we were one in mind, in heart, and in voice. Mr. Cowan didn't just lead a choir - he led an army of young people who were looking for purpose.
No one stood out at a concert. Girls wore black dresses with black dress shoes. Boys wore black slacks, white shirts, and black ties. But I loved putting on my black robe and golden stole most of all, in anticipation of filing out onto the risers. As we passed from the dim halls and curtains, identities fell into distant oblivion, and we became "The Choir". Voices of the past, some of which were silent for years, were heard in perfect pitch and timber. Countless hours of training were shared with one voice from youth who truly did not know what a special thing they had, even though it meant the world to us even then.
Mr. C set up many concerts, but one in particular will never be forgotten by the choir of '93. The place did not look very exciting and even seemed a little strange. Not many were in attendance at the School for the Mentally Retarded in Austin, TX, as we stood in our places looking into the hap-hazard crowd. As we sang a familiar song, one particular young man from the school stood behind Mr. Cowan just to where he couldn't be seen. As Mr. Cowan's arms and hands rolled in direction, and his body swayed, he spotted the shadow of this aspiring director and they made eye contact. Mr. C, knowing that this was a once in a life-time moment for this special man, bowed to him, stepping away to let him finish directing us. I don't know how we sang with all the tears that rolled down our cheeks, but we sang like we never sang before. And the life and joy that beamed from the face of our "new director" will forever be etched in my mind. He waved his arms with passion and staccato. It was one of those heaven moments, where you know that something big is happening, even though you're not quite sure how.
I thank my God for what I learned in that choir. I thank Mr. Cowan, for the positive influence he had on me when I needed it the most. Thirdly, I thank the composers who had the gift of putting passion and energy into the songs we sang. And last of all, I thank the people that shared with us by listening.
To God be glory.
--Johnie
It didn't matter if a concert had five or five-hundred in the audience, we were taught that they were merely observers, who gleaned and benefited from an experience that we had on the risers. We held hands for all concerts, not only as tradition, but because we benefited from knowing that we were one in mind, in heart, and in voice. Mr. Cowan didn't just lead a choir - he led an army of young people who were looking for purpose.
No one stood out at a concert. Girls wore black dresses with black dress shoes. Boys wore black slacks, white shirts, and black ties. But I loved putting on my black robe and golden stole most of all, in anticipation of filing out onto the risers. As we passed from the dim halls and curtains, identities fell into distant oblivion, and we became "The Choir". Voices of the past, some of which were silent for years, were heard in perfect pitch and timber. Countless hours of training were shared with one voice from youth who truly did not know what a special thing they had, even though it meant the world to us even then.
Mr. C set up many concerts, but one in particular will never be forgotten by the choir of '93. The place did not look very exciting and even seemed a little strange. Not many were in attendance at the School for the Mentally Retarded in Austin, TX, as we stood in our places looking into the hap-hazard crowd. As we sang a familiar song, one particular young man from the school stood behind Mr. Cowan just to where he couldn't be seen. As Mr. Cowan's arms and hands rolled in direction, and his body swayed, he spotted the shadow of this aspiring director and they made eye contact. Mr. C, knowing that this was a once in a life-time moment for this special man, bowed to him, stepping away to let him finish directing us. I don't know how we sang with all the tears that rolled down our cheeks, but we sang like we never sang before. And the life and joy that beamed from the face of our "new director" will forever be etched in my mind. He waved his arms with passion and staccato. It was one of those heaven moments, where you know that something big is happening, even though you're not quite sure how.
I thank my God for what I learned in that choir. I thank Mr. Cowan, for the positive influence he had on me when I needed it the most. Thirdly, I thank the composers who had the gift of putting passion and energy into the songs we sang. And last of all, I thank the people that shared with us by listening.
To God be glory.
--Johnie
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