"I would not like nights so bright you could not see the stars." -- Akira Kurosawa

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Atlanta
I grew up in a family of Southern storytellers. Back in 2004, I started Whole Bean to continue the tradition in a new medium. Over the years, I've written about families and friends, peculiar situations, extended road trips, recalcitrant home appliances, and many things for which I'm truly grateful. I hope you enjoy your time here.
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Carrie Mae


"Carrie Mae, Carrie Mae!!!"  I'll never forget that afternoon as my venerable piano teacher brazenly pulled out into the busy street, crossed over the center median, and headed toward the oncoming traffic.  Realizing her mistake, she was able to swerve out of the way just in time, but not before instilling a notable degree of fear in her fellow teacher, who was riding in the passenger seat, and me.  Having just learned to drive, I witnessed this whole episode from the back seat, the safest part of Mrs. Sims' car, because as you may have gathered, she was a far better piano teacher than a driver.

That day, the three of us had attended the Greater Memphis Music Teachers Association meeting, where I had been asked to perform Aram Khachaturian's 1959 sonatina as a demonstration of contemporary musical instruction.  I played at the scheduled time, not knowing that only an hour or so later, I would be treated to a joy ride.  Ah, Mrs. Sims, once again, you surprised us all.

From the time I can remember, music has been part of my life.  My mother used to play piano at home and sing random little songs while doing house work, and occasionally, she would stop whatever she was doing and sit down at the piano to play "The Glow-Worm".  When she did this, she was transformed, bouncing her feet up and down on the pedals, smiling and laughing, and sometimes, even singing along with her playing.  Every now and then, she might drift off into another song, but she always seemed to come back to The Worm.  I guess that something about growing up around things like that made me want to play music from a fairly early age, so when I was eight years old, I began piano lessons with Mrs. Sims.

Carrie Mae Sims stood about four feet ten inches tall, but she ran a tight ship.  Her husband had passed away years before, and she lived alone in an immaculate little house on North Prescott Street, just off Walnut Grove Road.  She had arthritis and often had trouble walking, so a lady came to her house several days a week to help with routine chores.  Her beautifully decorated living room, replete with oriental rugs and sculptures of famous composers, was home to the upright "training" piano and a gorgeous black Steinway baby grand with matte finish ivory keys.  Piano recitals were held twice a year, during the winter at Mrs. Sims' house, and in the spring at the Beethoven Club, a midtown performing arts venue housed in a beautiful restored home on Peabody Avenue.

I remember that one day, not too long after I'd started lessons, I decided I'd had enough and told my parents that I wanted to quit playing piano.  My mother, having done all the legwork to get me started, told me that I would have to call Mrs. Sims myself to resign, so that evening, with my stomach in knots, I called her.  She was understanding, and she told me that ultimately, quitting would have to be my decision.  I told her that it was, and then a week later, having experienced severe musical withdrawal, I called her and asked humbly if I could start again.  I never looked back.

Preparing for a recital was a big deal -- it required months of practice in order not only to perform the piece accurately, but as we got older, to add a level of interpretation in order to produce a more finished, polished work.  Mrs. Sims could be tough, yet she was always encouraging, especially when we played our best and added those special touches.  She might chastise me for using too much damper pedal, falling behind the pace of the metronome, or not curving my fingers enough, but she would also compliment me on my interpretation of Chopin.  Sometimes, during a late afternoon lesson, I would catch her drifting off to sleep as I played some prelude or nocturne.

Each year, eight to ten of Mrs. Sims' students were expected to participate in "The Guild", an organization formally known as the National Fraternity of Student Musicians.  During the course of a year, we had to memorize ten pieces, be able to transpose a piece (change it from one key to another), and be able to sight read, that is, play a piece that we had never seen before.  Each year in May, we performed our pieces from memory, produced our transpositions, and sight read a piece one-on-one for a judge, who then scored us on a 100-point scale.  Mrs. Sims had to have a certain percentage of students reach above 95% in order to maintain professional accreditation with the Guild's parent organization, so the pressure was always on.  I did this for approximately five or six years, up until the time I was a senior in high school.  I remember the relief when the judging was complete and how that always gave me a ticket to enjoy the rest of the summer.

As the years progressed, I picked up more instruments, and having a background in piano definitely helped in that regard.  My first foray outside piano was the guitar, which I started playing when I was eleven.  My Aunt Ruth came through town from California with her guitar at Thanksgiving, and on the first evening of her visit, I asked her to show me a few chords.  I was instantly hooked.  My parents gave me my own guitar for Christmas that year, with the understanding that I was to keep up with piano, and several days later, I bought a Mel Bay guitar book and started teaching myself to play.  Before long, I found myself in my first band, a group of sixth graders known as the Fantastic Four.  Junior high brought the trumpet, and in high school, I picked up the French horn.  I was always playing something, and when I was sixteen, I started playing guitar in a band that accompanied a group at my church known as the One Way Singers.  That period was to become one of the happiest times of my life.

When I eventually headed off to college at Northwestern, I knew I would be missing home, so I packed my "portable friend", my acoustic guitar.  On the afternoon that I moved into my dorm, a tall guy with a red afro in the room across the hall saw me walking in and said, "Hey, man...you wanna pick some tunes?"  That broke the ice, and pick tunes we did.  Clay and I spent countless hours playing the likes of B.W. Stevenson and Dan Fogelberg, and before long, we'd found a few other musicians who would stop by and jam with us after we'd finished studying (or sometimes before we'd started).

I am so thankful for music.  Over the years, it has brought me self-confidence, inspiration, camaraderie, and some of the deepest feelings I have ever experienced.  It has been one of the most important influences in my life, and I think that truly, I owe much of that to those early days with Mrs. Sims.  Her dedication to the appreciation of music and to performing it well set an example which I have always tried to follow.

The second movement of that Khachaturian 1959 sonatina ends with an ethereal, pianissimo F sharp, played up toward the end of the keyboard, an octave above the staff.  I can still hear that note echoing in my memory, and it is supremely beautiful.  Every time it comes back to me, I think of Carrie Mae and the house on Prescott.  And if I sit very still, it seems that I can even hear the tick-tock of the metronome, sitting on the corner of that old upright piano.