by Jessica Barno

Created on: March 05, 2010

The man was held on a pedestal. He had directed choirs all over the world and had won two Grammy awards. My high school choir director considered him to be a god among mere mortals; a musical genius comparable to no one. The first of many utterances of his name by my new choir director was not twenty minutes into the first rehearsal of my freshman year: Dr. Jerry Blackstone.

It did not take me or my choir-mates long to become pretty familiar with recordings of performances by his choirs. His musical firstborn – the receiver of his birthright – the UMS Choral Union, was regarded as our pathetic, drooling choir’s choral role model. They were heroes of the choral music world. The Mormon Tabernacle Choir was possibly their only superior. The UMS Choral Union was baby Jesus’ infamous chorus of angels and Dr. Jerry Blackstone was God.

My first encounter with this man of divine musical authority came in my junior year of high school. I had auditioned for, and was accepted into, the University of Michigan’s Youth Chamber Chorus. Our director was an energetic middle-aged man who looked much like a shell-less turtle. At the dress rehearsal for our fall performance, we were led onto the stage of the gigantic, prestigious Hill Auditorium. As my eyes adjusted to the hot, blinding stage lights, my stomach dropped as I saw the face of our one-person audience. It was a face which had until then only existed to me in pictures, but I recognized it immediately. Sitting in the front row of the luxurious auditorium, his ankle resting on his knee and his hands folded behind his head, was Dr. Jerry Blackstone himself. He was a clean cut man of about sixty years with a full head of gray hair, and had the self-assured quality of a man with perpetual youthfulness. Once the immediate shock of his presence wore off, I was instantly aware of every movement, every sound, and every sign of expression in my body. As I sang, I fantasized that he would single me out after, no, during our dress rehearsal and ask Dr. No-shell, “Who is that young soprano in the front row, third from the left?” and upon being informed of my name, declare, “Miss, your singing and expression is just what I need. I simply must have you in my choir!” I would then inform him that I would have to check my performance schedule and clear it with my manager, and that I could get back with him...was next week okay? My fantasy ended as soon as the song did, when Dr. No-shell

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