This post was sent to me by Chris Stella, class of 1973. I haven't changed a word and completely share his sentiment.
"If you attended the George Washington Junior High in the late 1960's, you knew who Mr. C. Bertram Harmon was. He held one of the more difficult civilian jobs on the Eastern Seaboard. He was the only African-American teacher in the middle school which enrolled students from the Country Club side of the rather conservative, Protestant-Catholic-Republican town of Ridgewood, teaching music.
His classroom was a large, and well-lit place, with tall windows overlooking the rutted, caged ballfield. I believe there were some risers, towards the back. On one wall, was a framed, ornate, latinated ancient page of music. On the other side, was a piano, and during Eighth grade, a stereo phonograph in a walnut case appeared, of the sort that normally would belong in your grandmother's parlor.
He always dressed extremely well. He wore well tailored suits, with a perfectly knotted tie, and the cravat was backed by a gold pin, which served to emphasize his high, well-formed and prominent larynx, from which emanated the most interesting observations, in a distinctive, sonorous voice. His facial features were strong, and unambiguously African. He projected a ferocious, active and self-confident, yet fastidious "look".
* * * *
During my first year, Mr. Harmon was very adamant about his dislike for rock 'n roll music. He thought it was childish, and said so frequently, in theatrical tones of mock horror.
However, the next fall, he had a dramatic announcement to make. He said that over the summer he had considered the matter carefully. He decided that such music was a major cultural force, and that some of it, though not all, was of excellent quality and had a great deal to teach.
He informed his astounded audience of junior high school students, who were used to having their musical tastes derided by every authority figure in the universe, that he had decided that he was going to completely revamp a major part of his method of teaching music. We were going to study rock 'n roll music in a serious way. We were going to learn about where it came from. We were going to develop good rock 'n roll taste. Furthermore, as an assignment we would all have the opportunity to choose a song, play it for the class on the walnut-cased phonograph, and analyze its content and musicological qualities, for our teacher and peers.
Mr. Harmon showed us how our favorite songs were rooted in decades and centuries of jazz, blues, and yes, continental African rhythyms. Analyses of popular music now well accepted or even cliche, were heard in very early iteration, in Mr. Harmon's room.
But, my favorite day was the day he showed us that the familiar Beatles Penny Lane" trumpet solo, heard so frequently on the Cousin Brucie WABC top 40 music show, was less George Harrison and John Lennon, than George Handel, and Johann Bach. Mr. Harmon was able to prove that this piccolo trumpet "riff" had been lifted, more or less intact, from Johann and this other George, another Brit who had honed his craft in Hamburg, Germany, though in the 1700's. The proof-by-listening was made so convincingly, that fourty-two years on, I cannot hear any of these compositions without smiling and thinking of Mr. Harmon.
A wave of excitement passed over the class. Surely Mr. Harmon loved, and would have something provocative to say about the last song on the first side of the Magical Mystery Tour album by the Beatles. (This is the one where John Lennon sings about the "elementary Penguins singing Hare Krishna".) But, here, his love of precision and focus took over. We were disappointed:
"During the next class, we will study what is so terribly wrong about 'I am the Walrus'."
For my analytical presentation, I chose the Classics IV tune, "Traces." A sweet little song, but my presentation was disastrous. I was able to demonstrate to the world only my 45 RPM, Five and Dime store musical sensibility.
Others scored wonderful successes. My friend Bill Walstrum, picked "Thinking is the Best Way to Travel", a song by the early Moody Blues. This music was classically based, but also featured numerous interesting electronic effects, which was what you noticed first.
"So, William", Mr. Harmon said. "This music supports the psychedelic drug culture, does it not?" Bill became quite forceful. No, it is anti-drug. The song is saying that your own thoughts can be much more exciting than any substance.
The prominent larynx bobbed, and for once was silent. Mr. Harmon smiled. We had all learned something. Bill had the made the point with power, and succinct elegance.
C. Bertram Harmon's past, was a complete opacity, and he never spoke of it. There was one exception to this. This was the day when he told us, semi-conspiratorially, that in HIS day as a young high school student, when on the dance floor, he'd been known as THE jitterbug King. It was a highly plausible claim.
* * * * * * *
I do not have a complete sense of what the adult town thought of him. The more liberal tendencies of the people who lived in Ridgewood at the time were in part an abstraction, as there was precious little direct contact with people of ANY different color. At a minimum, I would think, at their core, parents of that time would feel a private need to be convinced. To his 1968 students, having an African-American man as your music teacher, was a cool and exotic thing.
However, I do have one 1971 grown-up data point. A friend's mother, a woman of conventional Ridgewood character, once whispered quietly to me that she felt that "the man is a saint, an absolute saint." By this she was not directing my attention to the fact that Mr. Harmon was able to gracefully bear the stress of being the only African-American teacher, or that he was able to master the loneliness which must have been present. Rather, she meant that it had become known that Mr. Harmon cared about his students as people, that his good influence went way beyond his effect on our musical sensibilities.
A boy, it was rumored, had stolen a car. I believe that this boy was a Caucasian. I do not think he could have been a musically-oriented boy. The word was, that Mr. Harmon had used his good agency, to see to it that although the proper penalty was paid, the boys' future prospects were not destroyed.
As for me, during ninth-grade, he taught a music theory course, extremely advanced in scope. It included the requirement that the students compose original music. I took this course, and displayed no talent or aptitude whatsoever. At the end of the year, Mr. Harmon signed my yearbook with a long, carefully written, unique paragraph, in which he hoped for, and had great EXPECTATIONS of, my future success and happiness. It seemed at once so formal, and yet so heartfelt, that I remember it to this day.
* * * * * * *
The June, 1970 Assembly was memorable. The large chorus, of which I was not a member, performed for the departing students. Their final work, conducted by Harmon, was spectacularly intricate in its construction. In the manner of a baroque fugue, the various voices repeated and interwove, underlining, emphasizing, strengthening.
Mr. Harmon, had advised the student audience to listen carefully to the WORDS that had been set to the music.
"The words need to be listened to, as they will be quite relevant to the contemporary scene."
And, Bach-like, the words were not! In a glorious fugue-like style, each section of the chorus hurled family-type criticisms at a solitary, unseen adolescent. The refrain was:
"What do you have to say for yourself,? Speak up, speak up, SPEAK UP !!"
First the basses took the role of the father, leveling all the usual complaints about poor grades, back-talk, and rudeness. Then the altos played the role of the mother, SINGING the familiar words about neatness, sloppy and provocative dress, rooms not tidy, all sung in perfect fugue way, in gorgeous harmony and high style, directed tightly by Harmon. Finally the tenors and sopranos sang the stock role of the younger siblings harassing the unfortunate, solitary young person. Finally at the conclusion of the choral work the "Speak Up!" refrain was again re-presented in repetitive order, followed by sudden silence.
Then, one student hand-picked by Harmon, someone who fit the role quite precisely, someone who everyone knew was not doing very well, would weakly gulp in a perfect stage whisper just loud enough for the audience to hear, HELP! Everyone laughed.
There could not have been a more appropriate coda to my junior high school years, and so my career at George Washington ended.
* * * * * * *
If I could have only one Magical Mystery wish with Mr. Harmon, I would be quite selfish. Sure, the guy was a pioneer in several ways, do anything you want with that, retire all names starting with the letter "C.", if you want, I'll back you !
But with Mr. Harmon, I would want only one thing. I would want to sit in the back of his class, perhaps on one of the risers, and just listen to his wonderful voice, as he described the beautiful things that he loved, speaking of how they were constructed, how they worked. I'd stay as long as they let me.
No doubt, after a while Mr. Cobb, or Mr. Egli would come by and tell me that I had to leave, as my presence had become a distraction. Who is that gray-haired Ridgewood man, sitting on the riser, perfectly still, in the back, they would have begun to ask. And, like the man in the song, I wouldn't give any answers!
But, inside, I would want to shake the kids forcefully. Don't you see?
C. Bertram Harmon, the man, with his knowledge, and devotion, and commanding stage presence, at a minimum he could have been a major success as a university-based musicologist.
However, there he was, by his choice, with us.
He had been been placed there by a town, some of whose residents might have denied how well they were doing by us. The Ridgewood adults had been wise in their placing him before us, some, maybe, without knowing the degree of their wisdom. He was a stabilizing aesthetic and personal presence. He is remembered standing, not sitting, in front, as our Junior High School worlds spun 'round, in varying states of control.
"If you attended the George Washington Junior High in the late 1960's, you knew who Mr. C. Bertram Harmon was. He held one of the more difficult civilian jobs on the Eastern Seaboard. He was the only African-American teacher in the middle school which enrolled students from the Country Club side of the rather conservative, Protestant-Catholic-Republican town of Ridgewood, teaching music.
His classroom was a large, and well-lit place, with tall windows overlooking the rutted, caged ballfield. I believe there were some risers, towards the back. On one wall, was a framed, ornate, latinated ancient page of music. On the other side, was a piano, and during Eighth grade, a stereo phonograph in a walnut case appeared, of the sort that normally would belong in your grandmother's parlor.
He always dressed extremely well. He wore well tailored suits, with a perfectly knotted tie, and the cravat was backed by a gold pin, which served to emphasize his high, well-formed and prominent larynx, from which emanated the most interesting observations, in a distinctive, sonorous voice. His facial features were strong, and unambiguously African. He projected a ferocious, active and self-confident, yet fastidious "look".
* * * *
During my first year, Mr. Harmon was very adamant about his dislike for rock 'n roll music. He thought it was childish, and said so frequently, in theatrical tones of mock horror.
However, the next fall, he had a dramatic announcement to make. He said that over the summer he had considered the matter carefully. He decided that such music was a major cultural force, and that some of it, though not all, was of excellent quality and had a great deal to teach.
He informed his astounded audience of junior high school students, who were used to having their musical tastes derided by every authority figure in the universe, that he had decided that he was going to completely revamp a major part of his method of teaching music. We were going to study rock 'n roll music in a serious way. We were going to learn about where it came from. We were going to develop good rock 'n roll taste. Furthermore, as an assignment we would all have the opportunity to choose a song, play it for the class on the walnut-cased phonograph, and analyze its content and musicological qualities, for our teacher and peers.
Mr. Harmon showed us how our favorite songs were rooted in decades and centuries of jazz, blues, and yes, continental African rhythyms. Analyses of popular music now well accepted or even cliche, were heard in very early iteration, in Mr. Harmon's room.
But, my favorite day was the day he showed us that the familiar Beatles Penny Lane" trumpet solo, heard so frequently on the Cousin Brucie WABC top 40 music show, was less George Harrison and John Lennon, than George Handel, and Johann Bach. Mr. Harmon was able to prove that this piccolo trumpet "riff" had been lifted, more or less intact, from Johann and this other George, another Brit who had honed his craft in Hamburg, Germany, though in the 1700's. The proof-by-listening was made so convincingly, that fourty-two years on, I cannot hear any of these compositions without smiling and thinking of Mr. Harmon.
A wave of excitement passed over the class. Surely Mr. Harmon loved, and would have something provocative to say about the last song on the first side of the Magical Mystery Tour album by the Beatles. (This is the one where John Lennon sings about the "elementary Penguins singing Hare Krishna".) But, here, his love of precision and focus took over. We were disappointed:
"During the next class, we will study what is so terribly wrong about 'I am the Walrus'."
For my analytical presentation, I chose the Classics IV tune, "Traces." A sweet little song, but my presentation was disastrous. I was able to demonstrate to the world only my 45 RPM, Five and Dime store musical sensibility.
Others scored wonderful successes. My friend Bill Walstrum, picked "Thinking is the Best Way to Travel", a song by the early Moody Blues. This music was classically based, but also featured numerous interesting electronic effects, which was what you noticed first.
"So, William", Mr. Harmon said. "This music supports the psychedelic drug culture, does it not?" Bill became quite forceful. No, it is anti-drug. The song is saying that your own thoughts can be much more exciting than any substance.
The prominent larynx bobbed, and for once was silent. Mr. Harmon smiled. We had all learned something. Bill had the made the point with power, and succinct elegance.
C. Bertram Harmon's past, was a complete opacity, and he never spoke of it. There was one exception to this. This was the day when he told us, semi-conspiratorially, that in HIS day as a young high school student, when on the dance floor, he'd been known as THE jitterbug King. It was a highly plausible claim.
* * * * * * *
I do not have a complete sense of what the adult town thought of him. The more liberal tendencies of the people who lived in Ridgewood at the time were in part an abstraction, as there was precious little direct contact with people of ANY different color. At a minimum, I would think, at their core, parents of that time would feel a private need to be convinced. To his 1968 students, having an African-American man as your music teacher, was a cool and exotic thing.
However, I do have one 1971 grown-up data point. A friend's mother, a woman of conventional Ridgewood character, once whispered quietly to me that she felt that "the man is a saint, an absolute saint." By this she was not directing my attention to the fact that Mr. Harmon was able to gracefully bear the stress of being the only African-American teacher, or that he was able to master the loneliness which must have been present. Rather, she meant that it had become known that Mr. Harmon cared about his students as people, that his good influence went way beyond his effect on our musical sensibilities.
A boy, it was rumored, had stolen a car. I believe that this boy was a Caucasian. I do not think he could have been a musically-oriented boy. The word was, that Mr. Harmon had used his good agency, to see to it that although the proper penalty was paid, the boys' future prospects were not destroyed.
As for me, during ninth-grade, he taught a music theory course, extremely advanced in scope. It included the requirement that the students compose original music. I took this course, and displayed no talent or aptitude whatsoever. At the end of the year, Mr. Harmon signed my yearbook with a long, carefully written, unique paragraph, in which he hoped for, and had great EXPECTATIONS of, my future success and happiness. It seemed at once so formal, and yet so heartfelt, that I remember it to this day.
* * * * * * *
The June, 1970 Assembly was memorable. The large chorus, of which I was not a member, performed for the departing students. Their final work, conducted by Harmon, was spectacularly intricate in its construction. In the manner of a baroque fugue, the various voices repeated and interwove, underlining, emphasizing, strengthening.
Mr. Harmon, had advised the student audience to listen carefully to the WORDS that had been set to the music.
"The words need to be listened to, as they will be quite relevant to the contemporary scene."
And, Bach-like, the words were not! In a glorious fugue-like style, each section of the chorus hurled family-type criticisms at a solitary, unseen adolescent. The refrain was:
"What do you have to say for yourself,? Speak up, speak up, SPEAK UP !!"
First the basses took the role of the father, leveling all the usual complaints about poor grades, back-talk, and rudeness. Then the altos played the role of the mother, SINGING the familiar words about neatness, sloppy and provocative dress, rooms not tidy, all sung in perfect fugue way, in gorgeous harmony and high style, directed tightly by Harmon. Finally the tenors and sopranos sang the stock role of the younger siblings harassing the unfortunate, solitary young person. Finally at the conclusion of the choral work the "Speak Up!" refrain was again re-presented in repetitive order, followed by sudden silence.
Then, one student hand-picked by Harmon, someone who fit the role quite precisely, someone who everyone knew was not doing very well, would weakly gulp in a perfect stage whisper just loud enough for the audience to hear, HELP! Everyone laughed.
There could not have been a more appropriate coda to my junior high school years, and so my career at George Washington ended.
* * * * * * *
If I could have only one Magical Mystery wish with Mr. Harmon, I would be quite selfish. Sure, the guy was a pioneer in several ways, do anything you want with that, retire all names starting with the letter "C.", if you want, I'll back you !
But with Mr. Harmon, I would want only one thing. I would want to sit in the back of his class, perhaps on one of the risers, and just listen to his wonderful voice, as he described the beautiful things that he loved, speaking of how they were constructed, how they worked. I'd stay as long as they let me.
No doubt, after a while Mr. Cobb, or Mr. Egli would come by and tell me that I had to leave, as my presence had become a distraction. Who is that gray-haired Ridgewood man, sitting on the riser, perfectly still, in the back, they would have begun to ask. And, like the man in the song, I wouldn't give any answers!
But, inside, I would want to shake the kids forcefully. Don't you see?
C. Bertram Harmon, the man, with his knowledge, and devotion, and commanding stage presence, at a minimum he could have been a major success as a university-based musicologist.
However, there he was, by his choice, with us.
He had been been placed there by a town, some of whose residents might have denied how well they were doing by us. The Ridgewood adults had been wise in their placing him before us, some, maybe, without knowing the degree of their wisdom. He was a stabilizing aesthetic and personal presence. He is remembered standing, not sitting, in front, as our Junior High School worlds spun 'round, in varying states of control.
Posts
Aboslutely OUTSTANDING ! ! !
ReplyDeleteI was a 1971 RHS grad, which would make me '66-'67 C.Bertram Harmon 8th grade student. I have always remembered him vividly, though did not know the C.Bertram, just Mister Harmon. I am a musician to this day with great credit due to Mr. Harmon. Singing for him he would be adamant, "Don't slide up to or down to the note you are singing. Sing it! On it! Like you mean it! And correctly, the first time!" Good advise if you persue music beyond Jr/Sr.H.S.. Deborah Deo was in our class and even though she was blind she saw music better than any of us. Deborah had perfect pitch and Mr. Harmon would call on her often to lead us. We were treated one day to Deb singing solo and accompaning herself on her guitar. An instrument most of us were struggling with at the novice level. Mr. Harmon's influence I am glad to say stayed with me through many years of seeking Rock "Stardom", which never came of course, as I finnaly heeded my mom's advise and returned to College. Indiana University and the Afro-American Choral Ensemble with whom I played my electric bass and sang tenor for 2 semesters. The Professor's name was Dr. James Mumford and like Mr. Harmon a teacher who really cared about the outcome of his students and offered a vast depth of knowledge and talent to improve them. I wonder could you write a sequel to G.W.'s English monarch "Mustang" Leloff, as we would dedicate the sock hop dance "Mustang Sally" to her. Cheers, Pete Zabriskie
Chris, this was an absoltely wonderful and beautiful recollection of Mr. Harmon. What he taught many of us is hopefully being passed down to our kids and grandkids.
ReplyDeleteYou did the man justice. He deserves these words.
I don't remember the spark. Perhaps it was a friend speaking of past teachers that influenced her, or perhps it was some comment made here in Wisconsin during the troubles we have had this year; much of it centered round the selfishness of public teachers. Whatever the source, I chose to google the single most influential teacher I have had. C. Bertram Harmon.
ReplyDeleteAs an aside, rounding out the top three teachers on my list would be Anita (Bonita)Cravelli, RHS, and Mr Bott, GWJHS.
I remember standing outside the closed and locked doors of the school on cold mornings and being let in surreptitiously by Mr Harmon who allowed us early attendees to sit warmly in his music room. Discussions ran the gamut of topics and rarely centered on music.
That stereo that appeared in his class during 8th grade was bought and paid for by Mr Harom since the budget did not allow for such a luxury. and as often as Bach and Wagner spun on the turntable, so did the Greats of every other genre of music. In fact it was Mr Harmon that alerted that first Music Theory class, as I too was among the students, of the one word answer given by (Sir) Paul McCartney in reply to a Rolling Stone interview question..."What is your favorite music to listen to"... the reply... "Good".
I remember Mr Harmon's impeccable sartorial statements; I remember that 9th grade choir that brought him to tears; I remember the box tickets to the Met the choir gave him; I remember attending the opera with him; I reemmber the mint green Chevy Chevelle he drove; I remember Mr Harmon as a man that transcended being the only African American teacher in a conservative school to simply being the most remarkable and remembered teacher in that school.
I can only wonder where he is now. May blessings rain upon him.
Jeff Jadel
GWJHS 1968-70
Bert would be so proud to hear all of your words. I now teach music at GW in the same room where Bert taught for 33 years. I think of him often. I was lucky enough to teach with him in his last three years at GW and to know him as teacher and friend. John Lange GW Middle School
ReplyDeleteBert would be so proud to hear all of your words. I now teach music at GW in the same room where Bert taught for 33 years. I think of him often. I was lucky enough to teach with him in his last three years at GW and to know him as teacher and friend. John Lange GW Middle School
ReplyDeleteThis is special, Chris. Your words helped me "see" Mr. Harmon's class again. I had forgotten the incredible year when we students got to select music to explore in class. I think I brought in a Joni Mitchell song, but I can't remember which one. I believe Mr. Harmon appreciated her words and lyricism. I certainly appreciated him!
ReplyDeleteThank you.
June Keating Sherwin
Hello fellow GW students. Mr Harmon was a gem. I've learned a little bit about his past (Grew up in Philly, piano-playing at age 5, served in the Army, schooled at BU and Julliard I think. Died in 1997). The internet keeps taps on people we value. But he was such an utterly unique man in our middle school years. So encouraging, so mirthful, so accomplished and oh so different. Over the years there have been many important people in my life. But Bert Harmon is the one I'd like to have some more time with. To enjoy his humor and humanity and listen to some good music together. And thank you Chris Stella for your spot-on piece.
ReplyDeleteRegards to all. Henry Mueller -- GW Jr High:1967 - 1970
And here we are 2020 hindsite. I was mourning. And came upon this posting...
ReplyDeleteThe song I chose to study was Nina Simone's Backlash Blues.
Black Lives Matter. And the life of C. Bertram Harmon mattered to so many phenomenally!
Chris, your account is beautiful and very moving. I was lucky to call Bert my colleague and friend for 15 years. Lois Gold.
ReplyDeleteWow — just wonderful. Thanks!
ReplyDeleteD Goerk