Author: Meg Noble Peterson Page 13 of 30

Over the years I’ve written about individuals who spend their life creating and promoting projects that fly in the face of the nay-sayers who find little hope of repairing this shattered and divided world.

Here are two such individuals who have come to my attention recently. I urge you to read their stories. They’re a great antidote for pessimism.

I just saw the documentary, “Dancing in Jaffa,” Hilla Medalia’s charming movie telling the story of Paul Dulaine, head of the non-profit organization, Dancing Classrooms. Having been born in Jaffa to an Irish father and Palestinian mother (the family left in 1948), he returned to Israel in later life to try to instill mutual respect in 9 to 11-year-old Jewish and Palestinian Israelis through a 10-week course in the movements and courtesies of Latin dance.

Dulaine, four-time champion of international ballroom dancing competitions, was convinced that dance could bridge the divide between Israeli Jews and Palestinians, transforming long-held prejudices and turning wallflowers into confident teens in the process. In the movie, he instructs at five schools, some mainly Palestinian, some mainly Jewish, and one a blend of both. Though he admits to a particular concern for his Palestinian students (“I would like to give them a chance to better themselves”), he is equally firm and considerate with all his charges.

See the movie and you’ll be amazed and heartened by the outcome. http://www.nytimes.com/2014/04/11/movies/dancing-in-jaffa-a-documentary-by-hilla-medalia.html

Another individual, Harvey Price, (http://music.udel.edu/percussion/), assistant professor of music at the University of Delaware, was called to my attention by a fellow-percussionist and good friend, Phyllis Bitow.

His program is The Peace Drum Project, making peace in Galilee. http://peacedrumsproject.org/the-projects-start/

In 2007, Harvey Price formed three youth steel drum bands in Israel of primarily Jewish Ethiopian youths.  All three bands, under that Israeli teacher, are still going strong!

In 2011, the clergy of Delaware Churches for Middle East Peace and four Northern Delaware rabbis, Orthodox, Reform, Conservative and Reconstructionist met to exchange views regarding the Israeli/Palestinian conflict.  As a result, they began to explore how they might collaborate locally to promote peace in their shared Holy Land.

An interfaith committee was formed to involve youth in peacemaking. Mr. Price’s success with youth steel drum bands in Israel was brought to the committee’s attention and wholeheartedly embraced as a way to build trust and nurture peace among Jewish, Christian, and Muslim youth through teamwork and music.

The project was launched in October 2013 when Harvey Price and fellow enthusiasts traveled to Israel and delivered the first set of drums. Read about the various ways organizations and students have raised money for this project and listen to their playing! http://peacedrumsproject.org/steel-drum-students-learning-quickly/

As I wrote in my posting about Pete Seeger, he was another steel drum enthusiast, who believed that music was the way to bring people together and promote peace, and urged my husband, Glen Peterson, then President of Oscar Schmidt, Int’l, to make steel drums along with our autoharps and Orff percussion instruments. These drums were all the rage at that time in music education. It seems that they are now as popular as ever!

Langley has been beautiful this spring. Sunny and cool. All kinds of art exhibits are in progress as well as some wonderful plays. Two outstanding productions were: Good People by Davis Lindsay Abaire, a play I missed at the Manhattan Theater Club in NYC, and Our Town by Thornton Wilder, a production I last saw on Broadway with Spaulding Gray. I have not seen a better production and plan to see it a second time before it closes. I often usher at WICA (Whidbey Island Center for the Arts), where most dramatic productions take place. We have another smaller theater, The Outcast Theater, which is where Good People was mounted.

It’s amazing the talent that the South Island boasts. For a theater addict, this is, indeed, heartwarming.

My next blog will tell about my birthday party, but I’m still gathering photos, and getting used to being so old.

…AND I WATCH, RAPT, FROM MY BALCONY

And they greet me from the back porch as well….

BRING NOTHING BUT GLADNESS TO ME…Tra La. Gilbert and Sullivan, can you top that? I cannot think of one word of complaint over these past few weeks since spring ushered in an abundance of flowering trees, rhododendron in rainbow colors and fresh produce spilling over the fertile lands where volunteers and avid gardeners fill our plates with glorious abundance. Oooh, that’s pretty flowery, as it should be! The smell of freshly mown grass–the color of green that only comes from delicate intermittent showers–the wind from the Sound, the hummingbirds whirring around my prayer flags (I don’t feed them so maybe they’re Buddhist), the moon that starts hovering around seven o’clock even before the sun finally descends at 9:30, fill my day, which culminates in a walk along the shore at sunset watching the tide go out. Whidbey Islanders have taken to the roads and byways, on bicycle and foot, many ending up at Ebey’s Landing, an Historical National Reserve that gives a vivid record of Pacific Northwest history, clearly visible in the landscape. My friend, Lee Compton and I hiked up the cliff in April. It was a beautiful, solitary walk, now taken over by dozens of avid hikers preparing for the summer season.

Lee and I heading for the cliff….

You may remember that Lee is the friend who saved my life in India three years ago when I fell headfirst, after hanging from my right knee on a strap on the third tier of an Indian train on the way from Ft. Cochin to Udupi. He caught me just as my head was preparing to go through the floor of the compartment. Needless to say, I owe him big time!

May Day was ushered in, joyously, at the Good Cheer Garden in Langley, organized by Camille Green, the garden manager. This was my first time around the maypole and it was hilarious as we wove in and out until the ribbons were so short that we had to stop. There was good food, good music, face painting, and an array of flowers and branches so we could make colorful headdresses. Larry Dobson wowed us all with his expertise on stilts. We had a blast! Brava, Camille.

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I just returned from an exciting afternoon at WICA (Whidbey Island Center for the Arts), attending the 17th annual Hedgebrook Women Playwrights Festival. Four playwrights and their dramaturges presented scenes from the plays they had been working on at Hedgebrook, the writer’s retreat near Langley. They had just finished an intensive two-week residency. The actors were incredible and the material powerful. At times I thought I was back on Broadway!

This was one of many programs I’ve attended at WICA over the past months. Luckily I’ve been able to volunteer for the shows, musical or dramatic, that appeal to me…and there are many. Being an usher means that you don’t have to pay! I like that. I’ve also enjoyed four operas that have been streamed live from the Metropolitan Opera in New York City on various Saturday mornings. Many of you have probably done the same. The programs are broadcast internationally. What a great service to us opera lovers. Because of the time change we had to be in our seats by 10 AM for the matinee. But it was worth it, even though it meant catching an early ferry. I’ve been attending with two friends, Jon Pollack and Christy Korrow.

An outstanding concert, the final one of the Saratoga Orchestra, featured Sara Davis Buechner playing Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue. I have never heard it played with such power and finesse! She also gave a short program of the history of jazz and ragtime in the early 1920’s, illustrating her talk with excerpts. If you ever get a chance to hear this artist, grab it (http://saradavisbuechner.com). She’s sensational!

Next up, my birthday. Let’s see how the zip line goes this year!

“That best portion of a good man’s life, his little, nameless unremembered acts of kindness and love.”

These words of William Wordsworth give me comfort as I mourn the sudden death of my dear friend and colleague, Dr. Peter Beach, on April 18. He was a priest at  St. John’s Episcopal Church in Olney, Md. at the time of his death, work which he had returned to after his retirement from government service. It was as if he had come full circle, back to his roots, having begun his professional life as a missionary in Egypt and India in 1950. Peter was a firebrand during the early days of the Great Society, at the inception of Headstart and the Peace Corps, where he was Deputy Director in Tunisia for four years. When I met Peter he was head of Veterans Affairs in Washington where he was instrumental in advocating for our veterans during the Agent Orange travesty after the Vietnam War and the horrendous medical problems after the Gulf War. His fluency in both French and Arabic made him valuable not only in government service, but as a teacher and, shortly after he immigrated to the United States in 1961, the principal of the Barrie School in Tacoma Park, MD. Just hearing his adventures as he moved from England and settled his family in Maryland made me realize what an innovative, multi-faceted person he was–not afraid to take risks and walk into the unknown.

I met Peter right after co-founding Music Education for the Handicapped in 1979. He was working at the time with the President’s Committee on the Employment of the Handicapped. His enthusiastic advocacy of our work make him an invaluable member of the board for the ten years that I was the executive director. His qualifications were stellar, but above all he was a caring human being who brought light into the lives of all who crossed his path.

Yes, Peter was an idealist as well as an optimist. But he didn’t just talk, he acted. He saw the best in everybody and in so doing, we became just a little bit better.

Peter loved nature. He loved to watch the sun set over the Atlantic from the breakwater at his summer home in Rehoboth Beach; he loved to walk on the beach and chat with the children playing in the sand at the end of a day; and he loved to hear the soft sound of the rain on the roof or anticipate the drama and excitement of a gathering thunderstorm. I often think of him when I read the beginning of this Robert Frost poem.

I have been one acquainted with the night.
I have walked out in rain—and back in rain.
I have outwalked the furthest city light.

Or the beginning of this recent poem by Ging Alburo

As I listen to the sound of the falling rain,
On the thin roof of our house they tumble in Rhythm.
Just like a mighty songs from heaven,
Sung by the angels or cherubim.

And what a gala affair it was, organized and hosted by the inimitable Pushkara (Sally Ashford) and her daughter, Wendy Ashford. You can imagine the musicians it drew from Seattle, Port Townsend, and over the mountains far away. They brought their instruments and played the folk music that Pete, who died last January at the age of 94,  promoted, along with his original songs that have become part of America’s folk legacy…from Turn, Turn, Turn, to  Where Have All The Flowers Gone to If I Had A Hammer.

The inimitable Pushkara

Pushkara and her family were active in the peace movement in the Northwest from the time of Woody Guthrie (Goin’ down the Road Feelin’ Bad and This Land Is Your Land, to name a few of his hit songs), when Pete was just a young man. She recorded numerous interviews in her charming Gypsy Wagon, from people who played a part in Pete’s long life. The colorful wagon was built as a symbol of peace and harmony, and resides next to her lovely home overlooking the cliffs above Puget Sound. I was one of those lucky people who got to hear Pushkar’s tales and added a few of my own from knowing Pete.

You can imagine my surprise when I walked into my husband’s office one day in 1971 to see a tall, lanky man sitting there, gesticulating adamantly. It was Pete Seeger, trying to convince us to manufacture steel drums, which were becoming all the rage in the schools as well as at pop concerts. We were the makers of Oscar Schmidt Autoharps and had often consulted with Pete’s half brother, Mike Seeger. We were heavily into folk music, rock (i.e. John Sebastian and The Lovin’ Spoonful) and music education. My husband shuddered at the thought of tuning those very  loud Caribbean instruments and said it would be impossible to add this to his already overflowing compliment of folk instruments, including dulcimers, and a full range of Orff percussion. Pete was charming, but determined. He didn’t want to give up. The next time I saw him I was on 8th Avenue just coming out of a phone booth (anybody remember phone booths?) and he grabbed my arm and said, “Oh, Meg, I’ve just returned from Russia and do you know that those people love the steel drum. I even saw some musicians playing them in the snow.” Now I ask you…what are  your chances of bumping into  Pete Seeger on 8th Avenue on a cold winter day? His enthusiasm was, as always, infectious, and left me smiling and shaking my head at the sheer energy of the man.

Another story I related was my chance meeting with Pete’s mother at an AAUW meeting in Miami in 1959. I had just had my fourth child and was eager to speak to adults after tending four children 24/7. I sat down next to a lovely white-haired lady and somehow we started talking about camping and hiking, something we both enjoyed. She said that she and her husband had wanted to show their children the country and live a simple life while researching the music of various parts of America. He was a Harvard-educated musicologist. She a concert violinist. I listened with awe as she described this experiment in bare bones living. They were precursors of the people who live in RV’s and move from place to place. Each child had a fork, spoon, knife, cup, and plate, and was responsible for caring for them and their few possessions. They communed with the outdoors and loved nature and music. “We wanted our children to live close to nature and appreciate its beauty,” she said. “You may know of one of my sons. He’s a folk singer. Pete Seeger.” It was such a modest, offhand remark. If only she had lived to see the impact this son had had on the America she so loved. What surprised me after we had been talking for an hour is that she thanked me profusely for listening to her. “Most young people would not be interested in the stories of an old lady,” she said. I told her that I was fascinated and only hoped my life would be as eventful and useful as hers as I grew older.

Here is a smattering of the many musicians who came to the Deer Lagoon Grange in Langley on March 30th to honor Pete.