Music has played a large part in my life, and my strongest memories of high school revolved around my music activities. At William Lyon Mackenzie Collegiate Institute, I performed in four different ensembles: junior band, senior band, junior orchestra, and senior orchestra. Band rehearsals were at 7:30 in the morning each week day, and orchestra rehearsals were at 3:30 each afternoon except Friday. I wasn’t really a morning person, but I enjoyed playing the french horn so much that I didn’t mind those early rehearsals too much. I never really wanted to play french horn, but it was thrust upon me in grade 7.

My music teacher at Dufferin Heights Junior High was a wonderful man named Stan Cook who I believe, many years later, became a superintendent at the Board of Education. Well, that first day in grade 7 music class we were given a piece of paper and, after Mr. Cook demonstrated the various instruments, we were asked to rank three of which we thought we’d like to play. My good friend at the time, Peter, opted for saxophone and drums - I’m not sure he had a third choice. I opted for saxophone, drums and trumpet - I usually did what Peter did because I thought he was quite musical and maybe he knew more about this sort of thing than I did. Well, Mr. Cook looked at my list, then looked at my face and said, "Ian, you have the lips of a french horn player", and I played the french horn ever since. At first I didn’t care for it too much - it was bulky and heavy to carry home for practice. But after a while, it grew on me, and by the end of grade 7, I wouldn’t have traded it for any other instrument.

There were two music teachers whom I remember reasonably well from my days at Mackenzie: Hans Lussenberg and Michael Cole. Mr. Lussenberg was the orchestra director - a towering, stocky man of mid-European background. He would thunder away at us while he was conducting and, rather than gently lead us, would bellow at us to play this phrase correctly or get that rhythm more precise. I remember one afternoon, just before the regular rehearsal. I approached him and begged permission to be excused because I had a headache and didn’t feel as though I could focus enough to play. He suggested it was more or less in my mind and that if I blew very loudly on my horn while playing, that the headache would disappear. I felt he was being a bit tyrannical, but I was so sufficiently intimidated that I followed his instructions. I must admit, somewhat sheepishly, that he was right - after the rehearsal was over, I no longer had a headache. Now, I wouldn’t necessarily recommend this as a form of healing but it sure surprised me!

It was Mr. Lussenberg’s suggestion that the orchestra should plan an exchange trip with another school orchestra - we’d spend four or five days there, and they’d spend four or five days with us. It was a great idea made more exciting, because I’d had very little exposure to people beyond my own neighborhood. After a few days, he said that he had arranged for an exchange with a group from Ottawa - Canada’s capital city. I don’t think I’d ever been to Ottawa, so this was fine news. But, it wasn’t going to be cheap, and so we had to do some fundraising in order to raise enough cash to get us there, with a bit left over for pocket change. That was the year that I discovered that I really liked to eat chocolate covered almonds. I sold ten cases of chocolate covered almonds, mostly to my folks and their friends - ten bars in each box, and ten boxes in each case. I sold a lot of chocolate covered almonds - I bought two boxes just for myself.

The Ottawa trip was a complete success. I met a lot of new people and developed a crush on one girl in particular. I don’t remember her name, but I do remember that she was Catholic. She must have been very religious, because she kept counting her rosary and reciting the Apostle’s Creed every time I tried to kiss her. I guess Mr. Lussenberg liked the Ottawa trip also, because the next year he wasn’t at Mackenzie and it took a while before we learned that he had accepted a position as the music teacher at the very school with which we had the exchange. I felt a bit betrayed by that, and I was angry that he had abandoned us so quickly in favor of this new school. I never saw him again. I felt that he didn’t care about any of us if he could pack up and leave just like that. Well, I guess that wasn’t the last time I felt that way.

Michael Cole was the band director - a humorous man who enjoyed smoking a pipe while he conducted. Those were the days when teachers could smoke in their classrooms, although the students were forbidden to smoke except in a small designated area outside. You’d really want to hold your breath when you were asked to go to the teacher’s lounge - the smoke was overwhelming at times. However, I really liked the smell of his pipe tobacco and after a while, just the smell would remind me of all the good times in his music class. Mr. Cole was Jewish. Although probably not the only Jewish teacher I’d ever had, he was the first to admit it, and proudly at that. Mr. Cole was my vision of the ideal teacher - he was kind, generous, very giving of his time, helpful, respectful and human. When he made a mistake, he was always the first to admit it and I think that went over quite well with the band members. Most teachers wanted the students to think that they were right all the time, but not Mr. Cole - he’d rather have the students know that he wasn’t perfect, that he made mistakes, but that he took responsibility for those mistakes. I learned a lot from him in that respect.

Mr. Cole would gently lead the band, encouraging us to play to the best of our ability - and we did just that. He gave us difficult music to play, and we did our best to show him that we were up to the task. There wasn’t a student in the group who didn’t feel as though Mr. Cole was very much a surrogate father. The band also had exchange trips, one I remember in particular to Brookline, Massachusetts - just outside of Boston. That was the trip where I first heard the vocal music of Gustav Holst, specifically, “To the Unknown God" from his First Group of Choral Hymns from the Rig Veda. It was a slow, eerie piece of music incorporating strange harmonies which, I would learn years later, were Holst’s trademark.

In my last year at Mackenzie, at the final band performance of the year, I received the Senior Music letter - recognition for my years of work with the band and orchestra.

Proudly displaying my Junior Letter, received a year prior.

Years later, I’d heard that Mr. Cole married but there was also a rumor that his wife had been one of the students in our class. I never could confirm the rumor and, while I didn’t think it was true, it sure did make a good story. For many years afterwards, while I was getting through university, I’d occasionally return to Mackenzie to visit with Mr. Cole. He was always interested in what was going on, and I was pleased to tell him that I was studying music at university. As with all things though, change is inevitable and after some years, Mr. Cole left the music department to teach English literature - changing demographics had dwindled the size of arts programs across Ontario as the Boards of Education became more interested in science and mathematics than in music, art or drama. It’s probably been about 20 years now since I last saw him.