A dentist's musical Odyssey

My father, Dr. Lloyd Horatio Thompson, isn't a musician—he's a retired dentist. Yet music is one of the organizing forces in my life as a concert pianist and music teacher, and much of its impact can be traced to my father. How and when, I have wondered, did this dentist develop his current interest in Western classical music?

The answer is strange to tell. Most people develop a taste for serious music because their parents push them into it. In my Dad's case, the opposite was true: He was introduced to Classical music by his kids, albeit inadvertently.

Dad was raised on the island of Jamaica, the youngest of the six children of Cyril Alfonso ("Popsy") Thompson and Vera Leolyn Reid Thompson. His father was principal of an elementary school, and his mother— also trained as a teacher— ran a nursery school in the family home. I never met my grandmother, who died in 1944, when my father was eight. But I was surprised to discover that one of Dad's fond memories of her is a musical one: of his mother playing hymns at home on a pedal organ while Dad lay with his head in her lap.

Until I interviewed Dad, I didn't even know that Grandma Vera played an instrument. Perhaps because my maternal grandmother, Cecily Caisey, came from a long line of musicians, it never occurred to me to inquire about music on my father's side of the family. This discovery raised another question: How much more would I learn, not only about my father but also my mother and all my loved ones if I would only think to ask?

Grandpa sang three voices

That said, my father's family isn't overly musical— or, at least, it lacks any highly trained musicians. Dad's eldest sister, Carmen ("Cissie"), who assumed the role of mother figure when Grandma Vera died, learned to play the piano in a serviceable manner. Her first piano teacher was Popsy, my grandfather, whose keyboard skills my father describes as "adequate." Popsy, an imposing man with a booming voice who sang bass in his church choir, fancied himself a singer. In fact, Popsy won a local talent contest after performing in three vocal ranges: alto, tenor and bass.

He honed this skill teaching music (which he taught in addition to every other subject) in his elementary school. Popsy would demonstrate all four parts, including soprano, in the course of instructing his students. The pieces he taught included Jamaican folk songs, American spirituals and classical choral works. According to my father, the student ensemble wasn't particularly skilled, perhaps because it's difficult to get a bunch of elementary school children to sing four-part harmony unless they're very talented. Still, in his formative years Dad was exposed to a wide variety of music as a result of Popsy's efforts.

A preference for Sinatra and Johnny Mathis

Despite his diverse musical education, in his youth my father's musical tastes remained limited to popular songs. His favorite artists included names I associate with jazz— Ella Fitzgerald, Sarah Vaughan, Carmen McRae— along with Nat "King" Cole. Johnny Mathis and Frank Sinatra.

Dad was singing one of Sinatra's hits— "Fools Rush In"— the first time my mother saw him, at a West Indian Society talent show at McGill University in Montreal. He had already noticed her. She was a member of McGill's West Indian Chorus, and her dancing during one of the group's choreographed songs caught his eye. They soon met at a party sponsored by— you guessed it— the West Indian Society. They were both scholarship students; my mother was majoring in anthropology, my father in dentistry, a field he chose for practical reasons. (Dad considered the ministry but was talked into something more lucrative).

A roommate who loved oratorios

At McGill, my father received further exposure to classical music from one of his roommates. My godfather, Keith Morris, was both a dentist and an organist. Keith had a record player and was fond of listening not only to organ music but also to oratorios. In fact, Dad felt his roommate was too fond of organ music and oratorio and often wished Keith would cease and desist.

After my parents married, my mother continued to encourage my father to develop an interest in classical music, suggesting that he buy a recording of Mozart's Sonata in A Major, with its famous finale, the Rondo Alla Turca. He complied, but he remained mainly interested in pop and jazz.

Later, having bought her a piano for Christmas, Dad took six months of piano lessons from my mother— since the instrument was there, he explained, he might as well. He quit not because of tension created by a wife instructing her husband— that never materialized— but because he just wasn't that interested.

Sports, not music

I mentioned that my aunt Cissie, Dad's eldest sister, took piano lessons. My grandfather was extremely traditional: sports were for boys (my Dad loved tennis and still does) and music was for girls. In any case, my father "never had a hankering for music lessons," as he puts it.

Despite years of childhood and adult exposure, it didn't seem like my father would ever have a "hankering" for classical music, either. The game-changer was the birth and nurture of his children. If not for my mother's insistence that all four of us play the piano, my father might never have grown to appreciate Western classical music. But with his home filled all day with the sounds of Bach, Mozart, and their cohorts, his only choice was between tolerating it and embracing it. He chose the latter.

His patients loved it

The Canadian Broadcasting Corporation was the spot on our radio dial for classical music. Soon after his children set out on the path to becoming musicians, Dad started listening to CBC in his office all day, familiarizing himself with a wide variety of repertoire while learning about the pieces he heard by absorbing the announcers' commentary.

The classical music Dad played at the office soon became a selling point for his practice: His patients found it soothing, with the exception of one man whose request for relief from "that long-hair music" was politely denied.

Our willing chauffeur

My father's interest in our musical pursuits took a very practical form: He chauffeured all of us from Leduc, the small town where I grew up, to our music teachers in Edmonton, the capital city of Alberta. My two sisters and I studied piano, as did my brother, although he didn't continue with it, having more of a passion for acting. I also took violin; my sister, Alicia, classical guitar; and my youngest sister Patricia, cello and, briefly, clarinet. All of our secondary instruments were bought only after we agreed to study them for at least ten years. In Canada there are private music theory exams, so we also took music history, harmony, and counterpoint lessons.

On top of all that, I took composition classes for a few years, and Patricia took ear training. (Alicia and I have perfect pitch, so at least that bit of chauffeuring and expense was spared.)

Still, for years my father would spend up to four hours, three evenings a week (plus Saturdays, some years), driving us where we needed to go, even when the weather was inclement, as it can be in western Canada from October through April. My mother figured out the scheduling, but she wasn't comfortable operating a car on the highway or in the city, so although she sometimes came along, all the driving duties fell on my father.

Dad wouldn't have initiated our music lessons, but he never resented all that driving. He says he's just pleased that we all became such excellent musicians.

The sounds he misses now

Dad retired from dentistry seven years ago. He says he misses listening to CBC all day in his office, but the rhythms of his current life don't lend themselves to a constant musical backdrop. He also misses waking up to the sounds of his children practicing. This surprises me, since the early stages of learning music are often far from melodious— except, perhaps, when listened to by someone who really loves you.

The house is hardly silent: My mother still enjoys playing hymns and occasionally works on duets with a friend or plays for church services or concerts, pursuits that keep her practicing. Mom has been a church musician for many years, and my father has sung bass in her choir for as long as I can remember. He calls choral singing a good opportunity for equal measures of fellowship and music-making, noting that his piano lessons provided him with enough of a background that most of the time he can pick out his parts without Mom's assistance. Mom has even talked him into singing some solos. Dad's voice is untrained, but the feeling he expresses is undeniable.

"'Aural wallpaper'

Whenever my dad hears jazz, he thinks he should listen to it more often. But these days, he estimates that he listens to classical music 70% of the time— not for emotional uplift (he says it doesn't move him spiritually), but for the opposite reason cited by his patients who enjoyed it: it's not distracting. He'll turn on the radio or the classical cable TV station while he pursues another activity, like preparing to lead Bible study. He uses classical music the same way Erik Satie suggested his music be used— as aural wallpaper, albeit a particularly high-quality wallpaper.

Either way, classical music has become an important part of Dad's life, which illustrates the old saw: If you can't beat 'em, join 'em.