[Congressional Record Volume 153, Number 44 (Wednesday, March 14, 2007)]
[Extensions of Remarks]
[Pages E541-E543]
From the Congressional Record Online through the Government Publishing Office [www.gpo.gov]




                       TRIBUTE TO SYDNEY EVERETT

                                 ______
                                 

                           HON. WM. LACY CLAY

                              of missouri

                    in the house of representatives

                       Wednesday, March 14, 2007

  Mr. CLAY. Madam Speaker, the St. Louis Post Dispatch recently 
published a series of articles to shed light on music education in the 
St. Louis Public Schools. The significant benefits conveyed by music 
education are immeasurable. Studies have found that education in the 
arts leads to success in society, school and life. I applaud the St. 
Louis Public Schools for recognizing the value of music education. I 
also commend Mr. Bob Dorries, the instrumental music teacher at 
McKinley Junior Classical Academy, a St. Louis magnet school, for his 
commitment to cultivating the gift of music in our children. I was 
especially impressed with the article's coverage of sixth-grader Sydney 
Everett's intense desire to master playing the clarinet.
  In reading Steve Giegerich's articles, it is obvious that Sydney is 
an exceptional student who is dedicated to conquering new objectives 
and realizing her full potential. Sydney's love for music was instilled 
by her parents Sean and Deirdre Everett. They have always made music a 
part of Sydney's life. Her father, having taught himself to play the 
trumpet, shared his love for music with his children. Sydney exhibits 
that same drive and frequently takes the initiative to teach herself 
lessons before the class covers them.
  Madam Speaker, it is with great privilege that I recognize Sydney 
Everett today before Congress. I encourage Sydney to continue her 
studies and remain committed to exploring new horizons.
  The two articles from the St. Louis Post Dispatch chronicling 
Sydney's journey to master playing the clarinet follow this tribute.

           [From the St. Louis Post-Dispatch, Sept. 30, 2006]

              Learning To Play: Will Sydney Make the Band?

                          (By Steve Giegerich)

       It's no accident that a poster of Miles Davis is in the 
     sight line of Bob Dorries' students as he stands at the 
     blackboard to review scales, time signatures and other 
     rudiments of music education at McKinley Classical Junior 
     Academy.
       Dorries put it there as a constant reminder of the link 
     between the East St. Louis jazz icon and the potential heirs 
     to his legacy who pass through Dorries' classroom each day.

[[Page E542]]

       The connection is pretty much lost on the majority of 
     sixth-graders enrolled in the instrumental music program at 
     the St. Louis magnet middle school.
       Most don't know Miles Davis from Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.
       The exception is an intense young girl in Dorries' seventh-
     period band class. Sydney Everett required no introduction to 
     Davis, the man who provided much of the soundtrack for her 
     childhood.
       As parents, Sean and Deirdre Everett's priorities were 
     established far in advance of Sydney's arrival on March 30, 
     1995. ``Education has been the goal since her birth,'' said 
     Deirdre.
       The motivation came in part by the failure to realize their 
     own potential. Both Sean and Deirdre had left college without 
     a degree.
       ``I always felt I didn't take full advantage of all I 
     had,'' said Sean. ``Now I look at the way the world is going, 
     and you have to have that degree.''
       From the moment she was born, music danced on the periphery 
     of Sydney's life.
       Her father had developed an eclectic taste in music as his 
     family moved from one military base to another across the 
     country.
       ``I listen to it all,'' he said. And the Everetts made sure 
     their children did the same. Sydney and her brother, Sean 
     Michael, their father said, ``have an open mind toward music 
     and life, too. I want them to experience everything 
     possible.''
       Between the birth of his first and second children, Sean 
     bought a used trumpet at a secondhand store.
       Though he'd dabbled with the guitar in high school, he'd 
     never learned to read music. He still can't. But he taught 
     himself to play that trumpet by emulating chords and riffs of 
     the musician he admires above all others: Miles Davis.
       When Sean Everett's daughter took a seat in Dorries' band 
     room a month ago, her own experience as a musician was 
     limited to a month of piano lessons, family Karaoke sing-
     alongs at Christmastime and a class at Kennard Elementary 
     School that taught the 12-tone musical scale.
       Over the summer, Sydney toyed with the idea of enrolling in 
     McKinley's vocal music program, a notion she ultimately 
     rejected. ``I knew I couldn't sing,'' she said.
       On the day she walked into Dorries' class for the first 
     time, Sydney was just as sure she knew which instrument she 
     wanted to play: the trumpet, like her dad.
       ``Just to hear music in the house will be nice,'' said Sean 
     Everett. ``Music opens up so many horizons. She'll meet so 
     many characters playing music, and it's such a release. Who 
     knows? She could wind up joining an orchestra, seeing the 
     world.''
       Before that can happen, Sydney must learn an instrument.


                           Learning the notes

       Impish and sarcastic, music teacher Dorries often plays the 
     theme from ``Final Jeopardy!'' on the classroom synthesizer 
     as students ponder a question. Dorries, 43, has a firm set of 
     rules and little tolerance for those who break them.
       Rule No.1 for sixth-graders: Before receiving an 
     instrument, they must score an 80 or above on a 60-question 
     exam that tests their knowledge of the categories of band 
     instruments, musical history and, critically, the l2-tone 
     notation scale.
       The payoff for those who obey the rules, practice and stay 
     the course is a chair in one of McKinley's four bands, which 
     perform two concerts a year.
       The students get as many opportunities as necessary to pass 
     the exam. Most need it. Rare is the student who hits the 
     magic score of 80 the first time.
       Summoning lessons learned at elementary school, Sydney 
     scored an 89.
       The following week, Dorries asked the students who had 
     fallen short of a passing grade to review their tests and 
     prepare to retake the exam. Then he summoned Sydney to his 
     desk.
       ``Let's see what you can blow,'' the teacher said, 
     producing an array of sanitized mouthpieces for brass and 
     woodwinds.
       ``I come from the theory of music that every person's mouth 
     determines what instrument they should play,'' he explained. 
     ``It has nothing to do with intelligence, where you've 
     come from, what school you attended or your ability. It's 
     something you come to naturally. It's the shape of your 
     mouth.''
       The fourth generation in a family of musicians, Dorries' 
     philosophy was born of personal experience, a childhood dream 
     of playing the trumpet shattered by the inability to make a 
     single sound through a cornet mouthpiece. It wasn't until his 
     teacher handed him the mouthpiece for a saxophone that he 
     achieved the desired result. He was 5 and has played the sax 
     ever since.
       Dorries turned to Sydney: ``The lesson here is that what we 
     think we want to play, nine times out of 10, is not the 
     instrument we wind up with. And looking at your overbite, I'd 
     say there's a real good chance you'll be good at a wind 
     instrument.''
       First, however, Sydney needed to learn the same lesson 
     instilled in Dorries.
       She blew into a trombone mouthpiece. Nothing. Same with the 
     mouthpiece for a cornet. All hope of following in the 
     footsteps of her dad and Miles Davis vanished, she slumped a 
     bit in her chair.
       Dorries handed her a mouthpiece and a clarinet reed and 
     demonstrated how to moisten it. ``Blow,'' he instructed.
       A duck call broke the quiet of the room.
       ``It's called a squawk, that's what we're after,'' said 
     Dorries. Sydney sat straighter, blew into the mouthpiece. 
     Squawk.
       All eyes on their classmate, the rest of the students 
     stopped studying. Dorries held Sydney's cheeks to prevent 
     them from puffing out. ``Roll the mouthpiece over in your 
     mouth,'' he said gently.
       Sydney blew. Squawk.
       Her classmates applauded and whooped. Sydney smiled.
       After auditioning two more mouthpieces, she ruled out the 
     saxophone and flute and chose the instrument her mother had 
     played, long ago, at O'Fallon Technical High.
       ``I want the clarinet,'' Sydney told her teacher. ``I like 
     the way it sounds.''
       ``I think that's a wise choice, either that or the flute,'' 
     he responded. ``With your mouth structure, you belong on a 
     wind instrument. You have lovely cheeks.''
       Dorries excused himself and retreated to an adjoining 
     supply room, emerging a moment later with a small black case.
       Eyes wide, Sydney watched as Dorries slowly revealed the 
     contents of the black case: a coal-black Yamaha clarinet 
     nestled unassembled on a bed of molded velvet.
       He handed her a form. The clarinet, he explained, belongs 
     to the St. Louis Public Schools. After her parents gave 
     written assurance that it would receive proper care, the 
     instrument would be hers to take home.
       Sydney slipped the piece of paper into a notebook just as 
     the bell rang. Hefting her books, she headed for the door, 
     her next class and the next phase of the journey envisioned 
     by Sean and Deirdre Everett, long before their daughter was 
     born.
                                  ____


           [From the St. Louis Post-Dispatch, Nov. 18, 2006]

      Learning To Play: Gifted Students Get New Mountain To Scale

                          (By Steve Giegerich)

       No one will ever confuse Bob Dorries with Harold Hill, the 
     mythical Music Man who, in another River City, bamboozled 
     parents with the belief that their children could play double 
     bell euphoniums and big bassoons--not to mention 76 
     trombones--without learning a single note of music.
       Dorries is a fundamentalist. Not in the religious sense, 
     but of the doctrine that music is a gift learned slowly and 
     methodically through repetition.
       For Dorries, the instrumental music teacher at McKinley 
     Junior Classical Academy, a St. Louis magnet school for 
     academically talented students, ``Sixth grade is a kind of 
     band boot camp.''
       Boot camp rule No. 1: Every student must pass an exam 
     testing his or her grasp of musical history, notation scales, 
     time signatures, flats and sharps.
       Those who pass are paired with an instrument. Those who 
     fail are destined to take the exam until they get it right.
       For nearly 2 weeks, the first rule produced a divide in 
     Dorries' seventh-period, sixth-grade instrumental music 
     class.
       On one side, the successful test-takers, B-flat clarinetist 
     Sydney Everett and alto saxophonists Megan Ratcliff and Nick 
     Wiegand, attacked the beginning exercises in Book One of the 
     ``Standard of Excellence--Comprehensive Band Method'' and its 
     companion CD.
       Across the room, the others found inspiration and passed 
     the test one by one.
       All things being relative, Sydney was virtuoso by the time 
     Jonathan Brooks added a trombone, Shaunice Safford a flute, 
     Kaelan Moorehead a B-flat clarinet and Wolfgang Fortel a 
     trumpet to the seventh-period ensemble.
       That Sydney's virtuosity occurred on a clarinet was a bit 
     unexpected. Sydney had intended to take up the trumpet, the 
     instrument her father had played during her formative years.
       Her dream of emulating her dad and Miles Davis ended when 
     Dorries determined that the shape of her mouth was more 
     conducive to a woodwind. Upon receiving her instrument, 
     Sydney had no problem adhering to boot camp rule No.2: self-
     discipline.
       ``I only have you twice a week for 50 minutes,'' Dorries 
     points out at least, well, twice a week. ``I can help you 
     when you're here. But there's seven of you and one of me.''
       Translation: The real learning takes place 30 minutes at a 
     time. And it takes place at home. Due diligence is documented 
     in practice reports, signed by parents and delivered to 
     Dorries every other week.
       The exemplary practice reports are posted on a ``Wall of 
     Fame.'' Less-than-satisfactory reports land on a ``Wall of 
     Shame.'' Dorries is characteristically blunt:
       Kids who don't practice won't participate in rehearsals, 
     won't perform in concert and won't pass his class.
       Quiet and intense by nature, Sydney exhibited a 
     preternatural ability to figure things out on her own from 
     the time she was in prekindergarten. When she took up the 
     clarinet this year, there was little need for her parents, 
     Shawn and Deirdre Everett, to remind their daughter to 
     practice.
       Barely a week after receiving her clarinet, Sydney jumped 
     ahead in the book to teach herself ``Hot Cross Buns,'' a song 
     incorporating the three notes--E-C-D she'd learned to date.
       So, too, had Megan, who'd also skipped to the lesson in her 
     saxophone book. Best

[[Page E543]]

     friends since first grade, Sydney and Megan are equals in all 
     ways but one: When it comes to decibels, Megan's instrument 
     trumps Sydney's.
       ``I don't like the music we play in class that much because 
     I can't hear myself,'' said Sydney. ``It's the CD and Megan. 
     They drown me out.''
       Along with classmate Nick--who learned the rudiments of his 
     saxophone over the summer--Megan and Sydney established 
     themselves as the tone-setters (so to speak) of the seventh 
     period.


                               Rule No. 3

       The third rule of sixth-grade boot camp stipulates that 
     students must learn to assemble, disassemble and properly 
     store the instrument in its carrying case before they blow a 
     single note.
       With Dorries preoccupied with Shaunice and her flute, 
     Sydney stepped into the breach.
       Turning to fellow clarinetist Kaelan, she reviewed the 
     rudiments of clarinet assembly and disassembly she'd learned 
     just weeks before.
       ``Mr. Dorries was helping Shaunice,'' she explained later. 
     ``And (Kaelan) was doing it wrong. I was afraid that Mr. 
     Dorries would yell at him, so I helped out.''
       ``Besides,'' she added with a smile, ``I was bored.''
       Not for long.


                                Big news

       In the first week of this month, Dorries cleared his throat 
     and waited for the din to die down.
       The acerbic band director smiled broadly, clearly 
     reflecting his pleasure at the announcement: ``We've decided 
     to let the Beginning Band butcher the holiday concert.''
       ``Jingle Bells,'' he added, ``will be the piece sacrificed 
     on the altar of music.''
       Dorries paused. There was more news. Three students in the 
     class, he continued, would not be joining the beginning band.
       The class shifted nervously, wondering who would be 
     excluded and why.
       ``Sydney Everett, congratulations. Megan Ratcliff, 
     congratulations. Nick Wiegand, congratulations,'' Dorries 
     said. ``I'm about to hand you three pieces of music. You'll 
     continue to work from the red book in class here. These three 
     other pieces are from the blue book. The three of you are in 
     Intermediate Band.''
       The first thing Sydney noticed when she glanced at the 
     music--``Jingle Bell Rock,'' ``Joyeux Noel'' and 
     ``Tequila''--were the chords.
       Dorries picked up on her hesitation.
       ``I'm going to warn you, there are some notes in there you 
     haven't learned yet,'' he said.
       Sydney studied the music. ``Can we write on the music?'' 
     she asked.
       Dorries looked at her. In 6 weeks, he knew, Sydney would 
     take her seat on a stage before friends, family, teachers and 
     classmates. She would lift a mouthpiece between her teeth and 
     play an instrument which, when the semester began, she knew 
     existed but hardly understood.
       ``You surely can,'' Dorries told his student. ``Just make 
     sure you use pencil.''

                          ____________________