Saturday, September 24, 2011
Addendum to Izzy Guitarra
What I completely forgot to say, which was critical to the arc of this post, was that my mother, who was visiting me today and who has a penchant for clipping newspaper articles, somehow found Mrs. Fontana's obituary. I hadn't heard about her or from her in more than fifty years. I needed to toast her and, as it evolved, wonderful teachers.
Izzy Guitarra
I grew up in Park Slope Brooklyn in the same 6 family house that my father grew up in. My grandparents lived there too.
When it was time to go to school, I went one short block to P.S. 107, the same elementary school my father had attended. I had Miss Mooney for kindergarten, then Miss Curran in first grade (my father had had her too), Miss Ward in second (my father had had her too) Miss Donaldson in third (my father had had her too - are you detecting a trend?) and Mrs. Ott in fourth (and . . . need I say more?).
The amazing thing was these elderly and devoted, "cut from the original mold" school teachers (mostly unmarried) actually remembered my father. MY FATHER! It was one thing to follow a sibling through school, but I was following my misbehaved, mischevous, putting tacks on teacher's chairs father.
It wasn't till I reached the fifth grade that this pattern was interrupted by a miraculous occurrence. It was the entrance of Mrs. Fontana as my teacher. She was young. She was new. She was downright cute. And she was musical! She played the piano - an instrument I was attempting, without passion or inspiration. Mrs. Gastmeyer was my teacher - Janie Gastmeyer's grandma - a lovely lady, but not exactly someone who was exhorting me to great musical heights.
Mrs. Fontana immediately organized a chorus - A CHORUS! I was in my glory. We toured. Touring meant performing at the local savings bank on Park Slope's Fifth Avenue. We were all decked out. It was the holiday season and we felt like local celebrities.
The fifth grade went along like that. During that year, my parents had already decided to move from Park Slope - something about the neighborhood being in a negative transition. Oh well. Some folks don't read the trends well.
When Mrs. Fontana learned that my parents wanted to move, she recommended the best Brooklyn school districts and made contact with Moe (?), Principal of P.S. 236 in Mill Basin, reputed to be one of the best public schools in Brooklyn.
Correspondence was exchanged after my parents had decided on a house in that area, and so it was decided that I would go to P.S. 236, transferring from P.S. 107, leaving Park Slope and all my friends, and leaving Mrs. Fontana. A new phase of my life was to begin. I also learned that she was "instrumental" in finding Ms. Manasia, the piano teacher who almost turned me into a concert artist except that my adolescence kicked in and the piano and religion became foci for my anger.
I think of all that Isabella Fontana meant to one little girl who loved music. And I think of my daughter, a gifted and talented musical performer who passes along her love and passion to her students. It's an inestimable gift for a child.
I just bought myself a guitar. I've always wanted to play the guitar, and now I will take lessons. I have named my new guitar Isabella Fontana guitarra in honor of a young teacher who, perhaps unbeknownst to her, was instrumental in my love of music and performance, and in my life. Here's to you, Mrs. Fontana!
When it was time to go to school, I went one short block to P.S. 107, the same elementary school my father had attended. I had Miss Mooney for kindergarten, then Miss Curran in first grade (my father had had her too), Miss Ward in second (my father had had her too) Miss Donaldson in third (my father had had her too - are you detecting a trend?) and Mrs. Ott in fourth (and . . . need I say more?).
The amazing thing was these elderly and devoted, "cut from the original mold" school teachers (mostly unmarried) actually remembered my father. MY FATHER! It was one thing to follow a sibling through school, but I was following my misbehaved, mischevous, putting tacks on teacher's chairs father.
It wasn't till I reached the fifth grade that this pattern was interrupted by a miraculous occurrence. It was the entrance of Mrs. Fontana as my teacher. She was young. She was new. She was downright cute. And she was musical! She played the piano - an instrument I was attempting, without passion or inspiration. Mrs. Gastmeyer was my teacher - Janie Gastmeyer's grandma - a lovely lady, but not exactly someone who was exhorting me to great musical heights.
Mrs. Fontana immediately organized a chorus - A CHORUS! I was in my glory. We toured. Touring meant performing at the local savings bank on Park Slope's Fifth Avenue. We were all decked out. It was the holiday season and we felt like local celebrities.
The fifth grade went along like that. During that year, my parents had already decided to move from Park Slope - something about the neighborhood being in a negative transition. Oh well. Some folks don't read the trends well.
When Mrs. Fontana learned that my parents wanted to move, she recommended the best Brooklyn school districts and made contact with Moe (?), Principal of P.S. 236 in Mill Basin, reputed to be one of the best public schools in Brooklyn.
Correspondence was exchanged after my parents had decided on a house in that area, and so it was decided that I would go to P.S. 236, transferring from P.S. 107, leaving Park Slope and all my friends, and leaving Mrs. Fontana. A new phase of my life was to begin. I also learned that she was "instrumental" in finding Ms. Manasia, the piano teacher who almost turned me into a concert artist except that my adolescence kicked in and the piano and religion became foci for my anger.
I think of all that Isabella Fontana meant to one little girl who loved music. And I think of my daughter, a gifted and talented musical performer who passes along her love and passion to her students. It's an inestimable gift for a child.
I just bought myself a guitar. I've always wanted to play the guitar, and now I will take lessons. I have named my new guitar Isabella Fontana guitarra in honor of a young teacher who, perhaps unbeknownst to her, was instrumental in my love of music and performance, and in my life. Here's to you, Mrs. Fontana!
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