The Benores in Texas

UPDATED: Found a few spelling mistakes. Probably more. But the ones I found are fixed. 12/19/09 @ 10:22PM

Today I learned about the passing of Mr. Harold Bradley of West Palm Beach, Florida. Most of my readers have no idea who HB was, but some of you will morn his loss just as much as I do. For the former group, let me briefly tell you about HB. HB was choir director at Forest Hill High School (now Forest Hill Community High School). But he was much, much more than your run of the mill choir director. Think Mr. Holland’s Opus but replace the band with a choir and replace Mr. Holland with Mr. Bradley. He also preferred to be called HB especially if you were a member of one of his choirs. I used HB and Mr. Bradely interchangeably but both evoke emotions of happy memories. Don’t get me wrong, HB could be a tough hombre – but he was dealing with a bunch of immature teenagers. He let us play hard, but demanded we work even harder.

Because of HB I developed a love for the arts that I never new existed. I joined the choir mid-year my sophomore year. I had always been a drama geek, but after singing Christmas carols in drama class in December of 1991 a member of Dimension 20 suggested I “go out for choir”. I had raw, unsophisticated, and completely untrained talent – but I could carry a tune. I tried out for a choir called “New Dimensions” and got in. There were several choirs at FHHS. New Dimensions was kind of like a minor league feeder choir. If you showed you had chops, you could maybe make it into the big leagues. For guys, there was only one big league team – Dimension 20. Women could audition for Les Femmes (did I spell that right?) or Dimension 20. Les Femmes was an all girl show choir with lots of talent. But Dimension 20 (D20) was the elite mixed choir. My junior year (1992-1993) I joined D20.

HB always showed love and tried to develop the talents of everyone in his class. He knew I was a goofy kid who would probably never have the confidence to sing a solo but he also knew I had a love for drama and music. He nurtured that. When we (and I mean the entire guys section) would get out of line he would quip at us with one liners. If we were slouching he might says, “Sit up, you look like an emaciated doughnut.” If we were being disrespectful he often would say, “There is a bus coming at 3:30, I want you to be under it.” If the entire group (usually the guys) were goofing off … he might throw a chair in our direction. The chair never landed on any of us but was close enough to get our attention. If we were late we were lectured with “15 minutes early is on-time”. That lesson I have yet to learn. I remember one day Chris Cassidy and I were coming from his house to a night time rehearsal. Chris was speeding because HB hated tardiness and got a ticket. That explanation didn’t phase HB. We were still expected to be on-time.

I had come from a middle class family that was almost living at poverty level because of the construction bubble in the early 1990s. Yet, HB and my friends in D20 did not care about how much money I had. I went to New York City with D20 my senior year. HB and the parents arranged for me to see 4 Broadway shows. Most of the parents were going to see 4 shows, but us kids only were going to see 2 plus the NY Philharmonic. But because of my passion for all things Broadway, HB made sure I got to go with the parents. Of course, I would be remiss in bringing the entire trip and not bring up the generosity of the Cassidy family. With that I would never been able to afford to go to NYC.

HB was tough, but loved music and loved students. There was a sign in the choir room that said “God is love. Love is Dimension 20.” That sign embodied HB’s philosophy. He truly loved everyone in his charge. That sign would not make it most schools today, but HB thought the political correctness that was sweeping public schools at the time was hogwash (I am sure he used different terms).

He taught me to take personal responsibility for my actions. He taught me to love music and the arts. He taught me there was a time to play and a time to work hard. He taught me that there is a great diversity of people and opinions, and while its important to hold on to your convictions, it is equally important to respect those you do not agree with. These are things I have brought with me well past high school. It’s hard to measure or understand the impact of HB unless you’ve met the man and been in his class. The 100s of performances. The lessons learned. The little things that happen in everyday life that bring you back to those days that only a few other people on this planet share. All because of one good man, with a big heart. Goodbye HB, Harold, Mr. Bradely. Goodbye teacher, mentor, friend. Cheers!

I end this post with a poem by Walt Whitman. Never has this poem meant more.

O Captain my Captain! our fearful trip is done,
The ship has weathered every rack, the prize we sought is won,
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up–for you the flag is flung for you the bugle trills,
For you bouquets and ribboned wreaths for you the shores a-crowding,
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head!
It is some dream that on the deck,
You’ve fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchored safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;
Exult O shores, and ring O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.