Wotta day! I'm drunk with power! At Girl Scouts everyone listened to me and went for my ideas. In Spanish I got 100 on a test. I don't know if I want to go to Wykeham Rise or not. I feel so out of place there. I hate playing the piano in front of that jerk of a teacher Mr. Nowak. Speaking of jerks, we still have Mr. VanderWater. If he doesn't leave soon, I'll flunk the midterm, which is only two weeks away.
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Mr. Nowak was not a jerk. He was a pleasant, rather shy music teacher at a small, private boarding school for girls. In the fall of 1964, his headmaster handed him two "townies" with minimal musical training for an enrichment experience. I was a mostly self-taught pianist with performance anxiety; my fellow student, Robert (not my brother) was a garage band drummer who could not read music at all. Mr. Nowak's solution was to give me private piano lessons and to teach us both a bit of music theory via a small group recorder class. The original idea was that some of the Wykeham Rise students would join the recorder ensemble, but no one signed up.
So on alternate Wykeham Rise days I would either spend play piano for Mr. Nowak and feel like an idiot, or sit and listen to Robert struggle with the basics of music notation on a wind instrument. How did Mr. Nowak survive the experience? Did he hasten back to his faculty quarters and have a stiff drink? He should have.
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