I'm a Musician ... and I Use Algebra

In the last 48 hours, I have used algebra twice, and geometry once, in my current vocation as a professional musician/concert promoter/small business owner.  I even had to solve the dreaded "story problem."

Yes, I'm quite sure that I'd have been able to find my answers by another method, probably trial and error ... eventually.  But I needed precise answers and I needed them quickly.

If you're one of those people who loves to boast about how useless high school math was for you, you may want to refrain from making a comeback to this post.  I've never been required to do a pommel horse routine outside of my high school P.E. class,  but I'm not gettin' all up in my gym teacher's face over it.

Armistice Day

"At the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month" ... we will remember. 

Today is Veterans Day.  As many of us know, it's a Federal holiday that has evolved to be called Veterans Day, but it was initially called "Armistice Day," to commemorate the signing of the Armistice that ended World War I.

My grandfather, Thomas Jackson Kolb Funderburk, served the United States in World War I.  I was only a young teen when he died, so it never occurred to me to ask him about his overseas service.  But one night, as he lay in a hospital bed nearing his death, I "served" alongside him in Europe: he was unaware of his granddaughter's presence, but rather seemed to regard me as one of his Army buddies.  The experience scared and fascinated me!  So many memories he'd suppressed, and he seemed to be reliving them.  Although I couldn't really understand what was happening, and still don't, I have vivid memories of that night.

So the memories I'm going to share in this Note are those of my grandmother, from the day the Armistice was signed.  My grandparents had been married only a short while when he shipped overseas.  During his absence, she went to live with an older sister and their father in Jacksonville, Florida ...

My grandparents on their wedding day, October 10, 1917

"One day Papa came in from the bakery where he was working and stood by the table and raised his head up and thanked God.  The Armistice had been signed – where or how Papa learned of it, I do not know, for we had no television or radio.  But there Papa was, thanking God; he said, 'Thank God my boy will come home.'

"Soon we all heard it, for cars with horns blaring were riding up and down the streets saying, 'The Armistice is signed!'

"But it was four months before Jack came home.  He had been in Headquarters Detachment, riding a motorcycle to carry orders to the front.  His commander was Major Oral E. Clark, of the Fifth Division supply train, and Jack thought so much of him.  After the signing of the Armistice, he was assigned to the Army of Occupation in Luxembourg and helped to entertain the troops until they were shipped out.  He played the cello and sang in a band, and they (along with local girls) put on dances and plays until all were gone but his detachment.

"Jack told us so many things that happened while he was overseas; he said that often, as he rode, bombs would explode, first on one side, then the other.

"In one particularly graphic description he wrote of a trip down the Rhine.  The story I like best, though is the experience of a young man in his outfit.  It tells us that God does hear and answer prayer:

"In November of 1918, after the Armistice was signed, the outfit moved eastward, behind the retreating German army.  Jack had been billeted in Luxembourg for months, enduring long forced marches through heavy snowfall.  A young man named Edmond became ill and had to fall out, but later caught up with the outfit and went supperless to bed on the floor of an abandoned schoolhouse.  The next morning they moved again to better shelter – with a roof, walls, and a floor, and on old iron stove, and they managed to keep warm, after a fashion.  Each morning they went out in the deep snow. Edmond developed a sore throat, which turned into tonsillitis, and nothing seemed to help him.

"One day just before Christmas a runner came from headquarters with orders to transfer five men to 'C' Company.  No one wanted to go, but Edmond was to be in charge.  He assigned four other men, and as they were rolling their packs, he slipped into another room and, being a Christian, dropped to his knees and prayed, 'Dear Lord, I do not have the strength to go anywhere … '   It was then he was aware of the Lord’s presence.  He said it was not something he could see, but he could feel the Presence – it was so real.  In his heart he heard Him say, 'I will go with you.'  That was all.  But that was enough.

"By night the transferees arrived in the village of Baden. There was a room in a house, a kitchen, and a German housemother who spoke broken English.  God gave Edmond a feather bed for Christmas – best of all, He taught the reality of His unfailing presence."

Thank you PaPa, for your service in the War to End All Wars. Thank you Daddy, Uncle TJ, Uncle Dutch, Uncle Mike, and Uncle Ben, for your service in the War after that. Thank you to all who have served, and who are serving, and who will serve ... we will remember.

Memories of My Musical Mother

Today, as I sat on the porch with my morning coffee, my mom crept into my thoughts. As she often does! It's going on six years now, since she passed on, but it's safe to say that some memory of her has made me smile for each day of those six years.

And what made me smile today? A fragment of a song: "K-K-K-Katy, Beautiful Katy ... You're the only g-g-g-girl that I adore ..." Do you know this song? It's a WWI-era song, sung by a soldier who was headed off to "see if he could make the Kaiser dance." Everyone knows "It's a Long Way to Tipperary" or "Over There." Camille Wallis knew "the sensational stammering song."   

She knew quite an assortment of songs, and sang them all to my brother and me: the "Erie Canal Song," though as far as I know she never laid eyes on the canal; a Christmas ditty set to the tune "Country Gardens," which I have never heard since, nor met anyone else who's known it; ... and a completely un-PC version of "After The Ball" that is so un-PC that I wouldn't even consider putting the words down here! (If you ask me when you see me in person, I will sing it to you -- provided you swear in writing that you will not let it diminish your good opinion of me or my mother!) There have been occasions in which I've been doing research, scouring old books for new tunes for my repertoire, and found the fragment of a song which I already knew thanks to the wild and wacky breadth of my mother's musical knowledge. "Oh where have you been , Billy Boy, Billy Boy?" is but one example.  

My mother was a classically-trained soprano, destined to be so by her very name: my grandfather, a classical bass/baritone and cellist, named her Camille for "La Dame aux camélias," the central character in Alexandre Dumas's novel which inspired the opera "La Traviata." (At this point it should be painfully obvious that I have come by my musical "nerdiness" honestly.) Too much a tomboy to have mastered the piano -- because you can sing while climbing trees; you have to actually sit at a piano -- she poured her heart into her singing, and had a song on her lips almost constantly. I don't think she ever imagined herself a professional musician, however; she sang for various social occasions and in the church choir, and once competed in Florida's "Jeanie With The Light Brown Hair" contest (though she did not win).

She did make sure that her daughter (that's me) mastered the piano, however, in fulfillment of a promise that she made to my grandfather on the day that I was born ... he noticed my long fingers and proclaimed "that child is a born pianist." And she, and my father both, were ardent supporters of all my musical endeavors. Even when I was "only" performing as accompanist to someone else, it was the rare occasion that I did so without one or both of them in the audience.

She loved Irish music, the musicals featuring Julie Andrews, loved Nat King Cole and Engelbert Humperdinck, loved Roberta Peters and Beverly Sills (both operatic sopranos), but the music she loved best, far and away, was "church music," the old-time hymns and spirituals. She loved a good gospel quartet! And in her last years, she would watch her extensive collection of "Gaither Homecoming" videos over and over again, much to the occasional chagrin of my brother, with whom she lived; he'd sometimes call me and say, "It's all Gaither, all the time, here!" She'd watch them so often that she knew every line, every joke, and to us it seemed boring, but to her it was bliss because, ultimately, the Gaithers are all about music. 

Of all the things my mother gave me and taught me, it's her love of music that has had the strongest influence on me. So this Mother's Day, as every day, I play with extreme gratitude for that love of music, and the joy and fulfillment it's brought to my own life.  

Happy Mother's Day, Camille Wallis!

Never Underestimate Your Potential to Influence Others

Never underestimate your potential to influence others.  Last night a longtime fan came by with his kids, to introduce them and to tell me how much the whole family enjoys my music.  He went on to say that his 12 year old son has been so inspired by Matt Miller's playing of "Jerusalem Ridge" (on "A Celtic Heritage," when Matt himself was only 13) that he's learned how to play that tune on guitar.  AND the young man has teamed up with a young fiddler to form a Celtic duo of his own!  Now that inspires me!

Raise The Clans

Tonight marks the beginning of the 56th Annual Grandfather Mountain Highland Games. The opening ceremony is dramatic and symbolic and beautiful, and I can hardly wait! It is called the "Raising of the Clans," and long ago it was an appeal to support a cause or ideal -- usually to unite the clans for battle. Modern times have altered its purpose, but the raising of the clans is an important part of many Highland games.

At Grandfather Mountain, the ceremony begins after dark. A representative from each of the clans/families in attendance bears a torch, and these representatives assemble on the field in such a way as to form a St. Andrew's Cross -- a living cross of light. In turn, each clan is called, and its representative comes forward to say a few words; most often the clan motto is recited and perhaps a few other things are said, but always, always, they express their pride in being involved in this magnificent gathering.

Off to one side, high atop an observation tower, a lone piper stands. As the torches burn brightly against the night sky, he plays, and the effect is so stirring as to bring tears to many eyes.

What a beautiful way to celebrate family and heritage! Makes me proud to be a Scot! "From the Isles' northenmost realm came the Scot, bred with the stoutest will, the canniest wit, and the bravest heart. For reasons dire did Scots forsake kin and kith and set across the face of the earth to fend for themselves, and in the process, theiy built nations, empires, and new worlds ... A Scot is a Scot, even unto an hundred generations." (Copied from Scotland Rising, Ltd.)

Connecting to My Grandfather

This morning, Greg and I met with Joe Parham, a man who has a small farm outside of Asheville. Joe is adamant about keeping the old family farm practices, lest they die out ... and his milk cow is a pretty little Jersey that is descended from the Biltmore dairy herd. In other words, he owns a cow that comes from the herd that my grandfather, George Marsden Wallis, so carefully developed, all those years ago. Pretty cool, huh?

I love discovering unexpected ties!

Joe will be demonstrating with his Border Collies at the WNC Highlands Celtic Festival.

part of Biltmore's legendary Jersey herd

For more about the Biltmore Dairy -- although there is no credit given to George Marsden Wallis for having developed the Jersey herd -- visit these two links:

Biltmore Dairy: An Udderly Fascinating History

A History of Outstanding Livestock

Remembering Memphis

Some years ago, my band, Marcille Wallis & Friends, performed for the Memphis Scottish Society's Burns Nicht Supper. In addition to its being an amazing event -- one of the world's highest-attended celebrations of Scotland's national poet, Robert Burns -- it was a time for our band (Donna Chapman, Frances Pisacane, Ann & Cal Lloyd, Greg McGrath) and me to get to really know each other as not only musicians, but as friends. We've reminisced a lot about that time ... about the long hours spent in Greg's and my mini-van as we all made the trip from Tampa to Memphis and back, telling stories about our respective pasts and sharing glimpses into our present lives.

And we reminisce about the wonderful dinner to which the Scottish society treated us, the experience that a few of us had sampling haggis for the first time (and the "bullet" dodged by Greg and Frances, both of whom were vegetarians), the fun of playing for the Memphis Scottish Country Dancers, and of course, the fun we had in our own performance set. The trip wasn't all work and no play, either, as the night previous to the dinner we visited the legendary Beale Street, birthplace of Rock 'N Roll, to see the iconic Sun Record Company, BB King's night club, and hear The Blues spilling out from practically every open doorway. For me personally, the trip afforded my first-ever glimpse of the Mighty Mississippi.

It's the Mississippi River and the many friends we made on that trip to Memphis that are on my mind as I write this note. Though as of this moment, the river has crested to just shy of its all-time record high flood stage, and soon the waters will begin receding, there will be weeks and months -- if not years -- of massive clean-up efforts. I'm sure that every one of my band-mates, as well as every one of the friends who like this page, join me in sending our heartfelt best wishes to the citizens of Memphis -- indeed, to all who live along the path of the raging river. We know your indomitable Scots spirit will see you through!