Do you know who the Rev. Alfred Drapp is? What about Robert Carrelli? Robinson Stone?
You might not know those names, but you probably know the students who claim them as inspirations: Martin Sheen, Kevin Spacey and Denzel Washington, respectively.
My mother was a teacher, as were my grandmother and great-grandmother, so I know firsthand how influential a role they can play in someone’s life.
For the last two months, I’ve been writing a weekly feature for the paper focusing on some of the city’s exceptionally artistic young people. They’ve shared the stories of how they became involved in their chosen artistic pursuit, and more often than not, they point to a teacher as a starting point.
By the time I went home to Knoxville for Thanksgiving, I had interviewed about 10 of these young talents. As a result, I was feeling nostalgic for the adult figures who played a role in my own musical development.
As I rounded a familiar curve on the way to my parents’ house, I decided to make a pit stop to reconnect with my viola instructor, Eunsoon Corliss, who patiently put up with me week after week for seven years.
I hadn’t seen Eunsoon in almost as long as she taught me, but standing outside her door hearing the all-too-familiar sound of her electronic metronome, the memories came rushing back in waves.
First, I noticed the pervasive, exotic aroma of the spices she used in the cuisine she plied me with when I stayed late. Then I saw the familiar pile of shoes deposited just inside the door (a reminder as to why I strove to wear clean socks to lessons whenever possible).
Suddenly, I remembered how to say “kamsahamnida,” the Korean honorific phrase for “Thank you,” which she taught me to clumsily parrot to her elderly mother, who couldn’t speak a word of English.
I remembered the firm, if fair, hand with which she critiqued my audition pieces (and posture) before a new season with the Knoxville Youth Orchestra. I thought back to the summer she noticed my flagging interest in classical music and newfound love for folk styles and, in her shrewd way, alternated weeks between gigues and jigs. It was a move that set me off on new paths of musical exploration and undoubtedly kept me playing long after I would otherwise have given up.
After Eunsoon dismissed her lesson so we could catch up, I spent about an hour asking about her sons, both of whom I remain close with, and sharing how my life had unfolded since I left for college.
As I drank a cup of tea in my socks (clean, of course), I marveled at how little she had changed. She was still as small as I remember, if just as big on personality, and was still influencing so many young lives in ways they can’t possibly understand. It was a good visit.
I might never be a celebrity, and I’ll never drop Eunsoon’s name during an interview on E!, but she fostered in me a love of music that I will carry with me forever. To that, I can only issue a hearty kamsahamnida.