Notes in the Key of C (eBook)

“Telephone Line”

– Electric Light Orchestra

In 2001, the first wave of the “.com” era was imploding, crashing under the weight of its overly optimistic expectations. Everyone knew the internet was the next big thing and was looking to stake a claim in the digital frontier. Unfortunately, no one was sure where or how to start digging to find the gold. Like many others, the dot-com business I was managing turned into a dot-bomb, and it was time for me to start looking for another corporate position.

Soon after I’d started that search, terrorists crashed planes into the World Trade Center. The job prospects I was pursuing dried up. It was tough enough being a middle-aged middle manager, and the tragedy of 911 locked up the hiring process for many businesses. How could anyone plan for the future when the whole world had just turned upside down?

I knew I couldn’t sit around and wait for a job to find me. Then a crazy idea popped into my head. I’ve been playing and teaching guitar since college, one or two students at a time plus occasional group lessons. Maybe this could be turned into a business. My wife, Connie, and I discussed it. She had a good job, the kids were grown and doing well. Let’s give it a try for a year.

For starters, I began to write down everything I wish I had known when I first started playing the guitar. I checked out several book/music stores to see what other instructors were teaching. Though I was familiar with most of the available instructional material, there is always something new coming out. I didn’t find anything along the lines of the approach I had in mind. I went home, closed the curtains, quit answering the phone, and began to write.

Aside from a handful of regular students and coffeehouse/bookstore gigging, the only thing I did during this time was write and rewrite. In the back of my mind was a lingering question: Is music a frivolous human pursuit, or is it something substantial enough to build into a career? Looming large was the stereotype of the guy who thinks he’s the next James Taylor/Eric Clapton/Neil Young/Bob Dylan but who never makes it beyond the local circuit.

Six weeks later, I emerged from my self-imposed isolation with Foundations for Great Guitar Playing completed. It was my very own spiral-bound book with two audio CDs included.

Around this same time, I received a call from Business First, the local business newspaper. They were working on an article called “Sitting it Out,” telling the stories of professionals from tech industries who had lost jobs thanks to the bursting of the .com bubble. My guitar and I got a decent-size picture on the front page of the Local section. Nice, but I would have preferred being on “The Cover of ‘Rolling Stone.’”

One day while writing, studying, practicing, and teaching, I received a phone call from a friend. Becky told me she was helping to put together a roster of musicians who would be willing to play music at a hospital in downtown Columbus. Each person would play in the hallways of the cancer floor from 10:00 to 11:00 AM on Tuesday mornings. With eight musicians in the rotation, each of us would only need to do this once every two months.

“That sounds like a good thing. Let me check my calendar.” (As if I needed to look. My morning hours were as empty as a frozen farm field in winter.) “Yes, I’m available, but only until I get back into the corporate world, which may be very soon.”

I played once every other month at the hospital for two years. Then one day, one of the housekeeping ladies said, “It sure is good to hear you.”

“Thanks, but you have live music every Tuesday, don’t you?”

“Nope, you’re the only one still coming.”

A week later, I was walking across a street—actually, it was a small alley dwarfed by tall medical buildings on either side—when an attractive young woman loaded with art supplies stopped me in the middle of the alley and said, “I’m the art therapist. I know who you are, and I know what you’re doing. When I get a budget, I want to hire you for the big hospital.”

This was completely out of the blue. I didn’t think anybody knew where I was or what I was doing. My first thought was Uhhh, my name is John. I play guitar. What came out of my mouth was, “Uhhh, sounds great. Here’s my business card.”

Approximately a year and a half later, I was praying, “Lord, I need to figure out how to make this music thing work.” The number of students had continued to grow. Sales of CDs were a slow but steady trickle. My book was being used as the main curriculum for worship leader training at Vineyard Church of Columbus. All of this was good, but not quite a career. And there had been no word from the art therapist. I found out her name was Jennifer. Another great idea lost at sea.

Suddenly, a mental flash: Gigging, more gigging, larger venues, bigger crowds. That’s the way to do this. “Lord, please open this door. I don’t care how large the audience is. Please let me get in front of the teeming masses so I can make a decent living.”

Four days later, I received the call. “Hi, John, this is Jennifer, the art therapist. We met a while ago. I’ve got the budget. Meet me in the hospital cafeteria next Tuesday, and I’ll explain what you need to do. By the way, you’ll be playing for patients, one or two, maybe three people at a time. I hope that’s all right.”

“That’s fine. I don’t care how large the audience is.”

Since that time, the masses have been less than teeming, but I have played for thousands of people—one, two, maybe three at a time.

When I got the call, I was simply a musician looking for a gig. There’s always the possibility that a famous record executive, home from California to visit his ailing mother, will walk through the hospital, hear me, and immediately sign me to a super-duper record contract. There is also an equal possibility that one day pigs will sprout wings and fly. Neither has happened yet.

What I didn’t realize when I walked into this opportunity was that I had unwittingly stepped into a completely new universe, a place that would prove more rewarding than any record deal. Not to be overly dramatic, but I would soon discover that this was the calling I had been preparing for all my life.

“I Won’t Back Down”

– Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers

It would be difficult to overstate my naïveté when it came to playing music in a professional medical environment. As a volunteer at a hospital in downtown Columbus, my role was simply to play relaxing music in the hallway to create a pleasant ambiance. I was occasionally invited into a room to play a song for a patient, but that was not the norm. I was there simply to provide pretty music in the hallway.

That changed on my first official day as an artist-in-residence. The goal now was to seek meaningful interactions with patients. Jennifer, the art therapist, was my mentor and guide.

“Here’s what we’ll do. I’ll knock on the door of the first two rooms. I’ll introduce us and explain what we do. You observe. Depending on the situation, I may ask you to play a song. When we get to the third room, you’re on your own.”

“OK, fair enough.”

Jennifer, a degreed art therapist with years of experience, was very comfortable interacting with patients. She was also a master of the five-second introduction. “Hi, I’m Jennifer the art therapist. Would you like to make something today?” Then she skillfully connected with the patient and/or family to find out if they would like to try a simple art project. Her goal was always to bring something simple and relaxing into what could be a stressful situation.

The first two rooms were easy. Everything went as expected, with a patient in the bed and a family member or two in the room. As the new kid, all I had to do was watch and listen. I may have played a song or two in these rooms; I really can’t remember.

Then came door number three. Jennifer looked at the patient info sheet, a daily report with the patient’s name and current condition. “This fellow is a frequent flyer.” She saw my puzzled look and smiled, “He has a long medical history.”

I knocked lightly on the door and cautiously stepped in; she stayed in the hallway. A nurse was on the far side of the room staring at a small machine. A shirtless man was sitting on the bed with a sheet pulled up to his waist. This room was warmer than the first two and there was a different level of intensity. The earlier visits were quiet and relaxed, with patients resting peacefully. In this room, the nurse was intently monitoring the machine which was pushing chemo through tubes attached to the patient. Along with these unfamiliar sights and sounds, a pungent smell filled the room. Everything here was new to me, but not to the patient.

“Hi, my name is John, the artist-in-residence. Would you like to hear some music?”

His response was quick and crisp. “Sure. Folk music. Dylan, Bob Dylan.”

I began with “Blowing in the Wind,” followed by Gordon Lightfoot’s “If You Could Read My Mind,” then Peter, Paul and Mary’s “Puff the Magic Dragon.” As the songs rolled out, the intensity of everything going on in the room was racing in. This was a world away from playing music in a hallway or a casual, “How ya doin’?” hospital visit. This was a face-to-face encounter with a patient actively receiving intense treatment for a very serious disease. How could I expect these simple folk tunes to have...