Yesterday, I wrote an essay on my experience with Dr. Robert Morgan, the jazz director at High School for Performing and Visual Arts when I attended. I sent it to him, and this was his reply:
Hi Leslie:
I wrote you via my e-mail account, but I’m not sure it went through. I’m copying my message below:
Hi Leslie:
I read this last night (more-than-once), but was so overwhelmed I couldn’t immediately reply. I “slept-on-it” and will now attempt a thank you.
THANK YOU!! I have been privileged to receive quite-a-few written acknowledgements over the years, some “private,” some “public,” but I have never received anything (not close) so beautifully-written, profound, and touching. I’m sure this took a lot of time and thought on your part, and I appreciate it very much.
For my 60th birthday (2001, to be exact), my wife, Helen, surprised me with a scrapbook, full of testimonials from ex-students that she had secretly gathered. If OK w. you, I’d like to print out your remarks and add to the book (on p. 1, actually!). I wish she had known to contact you at that time…
I remember “Come Rain or Come Shine” – in fact, I have the concert printed program in front of me as I write! Nov. 6, 1992, to be exact. Do you still have a copy of the program? If not, let me know, and I will scan and send.
In looking through my program booklet, I see that you were in the band when we accompanied Milt Hinton. I hope you found that as memorable as I did.
A few questions:
From the programs, I’m reminded that you left ‘PVA after the 10th grade. To where did you transfer? Why did you leave? (if you don’t mind me asking; I can’t recall details – I’m sure I was disappointed!).
Could you provide a few details about your writing career? Do you have a website?
I see that you live in Portland – a great place! Helen and I went there for New Year’s in the late ’90s.
Do you ever get to Houston? If so, PLEASE let me know, and let’s meet for dinner.
Thanks again for your *priceless* remarks, which are now part of my psyche in perpetuity! (Einstein, yet…)
With love,
Doc
After I read it, I asked Doc if he minded hearing the reply from my web site, and he said no.
Dear Doc,
Leaving HSPVA was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do in my entire life. It changed me irrevocably, but not all in bad ways. Sometimes I feel that going to a regular high school was an experience I needed to have in order to function in the world. Most of the time, though, I know that the microcosm of HSPVA is what allowed me the most growth at that age. I struggled badly with Attention Deficit Disorder, and having three performance groups a day where there was no written homework to be turned in was a blessing for my GPA. However, even thinking about the question is moot, because I did not leave HSPVA because I wanted to (exactly). I left because my dad had gotten a new job at a different church and I was too scared to drive from Sugar Land to Montrose every day all by myself. I think my parents were scared of that for me. It just seemed better all around that I went to the school where I lived. But again, it was the hardest decision of my 16-year-old life.
I think that the problems I had because I was coming out would have gone away. I think I would have found a way to deal with all of the grief. Leaving wasn’t really so much about giving up HSPVA as it was feeling I would never be worthy of it. It may have just been my impression at the time, but people like Justin Furstenfeld, Mireille Enos, Beyonce Knowles, Steven Powell, Jason Moran… those people were PVA. I wasn’t sure that people went there to make themselves so much as they went there to further what they already had. I didn’t feel secure in anything, least of all my talent, so that’s the way I justified having to make such a hard decision in the first place. Plus, the year that I left was the year that HSPVA said you had to live in the district to go to school there. We had plenty of people offer to let me live with them or use their address, but I was still “little me” inside.
I thought of you every day at Clements, and missed you mightily.
Love,
Leslie
Stories That Are All True 
For those who are interested, here is the text of the original “Doc” article.
Doc Morgan is the only instructor I had in the entirety of my grade school education who gave me the gift of feeling humbled in his presence. Doc Morgan didn’t give me an education, he gave me the world on a silver platter and an engraved invitation to carry it. He believed in all of my talent and my potential even when I myself could not bear the thought of my own performance ability. To know the depth and breadth of my love for Doc, you have to know that he taught students like Everett Harp, Jason Moran, Eric Harland, Brandon Lee… he has taught the greatest jazz minds of our generation, and he also taught me. It was amazing to me that his pedagogy was so fine, he knew how to reach the brilliant and the barely-hanging-on. When I was in ninth grade, he picked me to have a solo tune in our first concert. It wasn’t high or difficult, just these lazy B’s slinking across chords… maybe you know it? It was called “Come Rain or Come Shine.” Doc Morgan gave me a gift in that solo. He taught me what I could look for in my playing that was admirable. What I found was that I wasn’t very mathematically quick, so the calculations of what notes would fit in the given key- the foundation of soloing- was often beyond me. What I did have, though, was the lazy, rich, fat sound of one of those old guys who can hold you in the palm of his hand because the notes coming toward you are so thick, you could use ‘em to sop up gravy. In a lot of ways, High School for Performing and Visual Arts was damaging for me, because my life was slowly coming apart at the seams due to the reception of the news that I liked girls. The woman I loved had just moved away, and I was dying inside trying to deal with my grief. My grades were so bad that I was on academic probation nearly the entire time I was there. And then there was Doc… the brightest light I’ve ever seen before or since. It is fitting that he wears his hair curly and wild, a bit like Einstein, because when the light shines on his curls just right, the halo appears.
LikeLike