Lift every voice and sing! That’s what the program said about this recital of spirituals given by students to honor a voice teacher. What could be simpler than that?
Forget simple! It’s a good thing we had our seatbelts on and had plenty of Kleenex.
Prof. Barbara Hill MooreBedecked with sequins and crisp in tuxedos, the students of Professor Barbara Hill Moore took the stage, one by one. With nary a moment in between (despite thunderous applause), each delivered a rousing or tender piece of American sacred music in the most virtuosic manner you can imagine. But that was just the first part of the story.
When we could applaud no more, a video flashed on the screen (out with the Kleenex). Her former students from all over the world expressed gratitude to “Prof” (as she is affectionately called) for her forty-two years of teaching and mentoring. Yes, you read that right: forty-two. And what did they say? Essentially this: “Prof, you changed my life; you are daily with me in my heart. You are the reason I am who I am, and do what I do.”
This gorgeous woman, whose own life was shaped by her impossible challenges, finds students everywhere—from the streets of St. Louis to the townships of South Africa. These are gifted kids whose dreams are financially impossible for them. So she created a scholarship program, the Bruce Foote Foundation, to honor her own long-ago voice teacher. She tends this program like an orchid and works tirelessly to cultivate the private resources needed to bring these students to Southern Methodist University.
With her intrepid, kind husband, Le Moore, by her side, she then goes to every measure to reassure the students’ families, meet the students at the airport, buy them the towels, blankets, and frying pans that they’ll need in their new lives, teach them the intricacies of university bureaucracy, and do whatever it takes to make it all work. That may mean that she, or Le, will take a young man into Men’s Warehouse and buy him his first real suit. Or open their home to students in need of a loving place to be.
But back to the concert. The singing and video tributes weren’t the end of the story. Suddenly, onto the stage walked John Holiday. Today a budding star of Baroque opera, Holiday not that long ago was a shy tenor in my sophomore music history classes. He was butting up against the realities of being a singer with very few resources and little background. How could he possibly succeed?
Prof knew he had the voice, so she helped him find it—not, as a tenor, but as a counter-tenor—a rare voice type which cultivates the full range of falsetto, or soprano register. This is the voice type used today to recreate the heroic roles in Baroque operas by composers like Telemann and Handel.
How well I remember the day when John came very late to Music History class. Apologizing afterwards, he told me he’d torn himself away from a life-changing lesson with Prof. Why life-changing? Because she had opened up his voice for the first time to the counter-tenor range! Suddenly, he’d stepped into a new life musically.
John had flown in secretly from New York to give his tribute. First he told stories about Prof (and, yes, he was one of the kids taken by her to get that landmark first suit). Then he sang. Until you hear a Spiritual sung by an operatic counter-tenor, well, there’s no point in trying to describe it with words, so I won’t.
We were just recovering from that thrill, when a titian-haired beauty walked onto the stage. It was Laura Claycomb who’d flown in from Italy. This gracious soprano has forged a career of dreams, starting with her victory at the 1994 Tchaikovsky Competition in Moscow. A shy Texas high-schooler when she began, Laura learned from Prof how to build the “complete package”: impeccable vocal technique, presence on stage, gracious bearing, an exacting sense of fashion, commercial savvy, and, always, a generous heart.
Laura sang “St. Ita’s Vision” from Samuel Barber’s The Hermit Songs (devastatingly beautiful). And then, she closed with The Lord’s Prayer. Out came the Kleenex again. And despite days passing, I cannot stop thinking about what one teacher can do in this life, when love of beauty and music is coupled with resolve, dedication, and courage.
We can’t all be Prof, can we? But we can daily take up the call to encourage or inspire another person. We can find moments of glory in the midst of a dark storm. Plus, we can use our humor, as John Holiday reminded us when he recalled how Prof would come up to her anxious students right before their recitals. She’d say: “Baby you’re not nervous. You’re excited. Now go out and sing!”
Thank you, Barbara Hill Moore, for helping so many go out and sing.