Keyboardists, listen to each other! Try to match up! Look at the baton! Look at the downbeat!
"There Are No Shortcuts"
The day Charlie Randall gave Lucy a violin she discovered that all the anger that was built up inside her seemed to flow through her fingers and into the instrument. It came out as music.
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Her behavior began to improve. She started listening, focusing, keeping her mouth closed. When she was halfway through sixth grade, Mr. C and Charlie Randall nodded at each other. "We wanted her to get a taste of what success is all about," Mr. C would explain later. They made Lucy first chair in the violin section. Now she would have to be a leader, setting an example for others, making sure they did their work.
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"Playing the violin helped with the stress," Lucy recalled later. "And then going on field trips [to Washington, D.C., Utah and California], I saw this is what I want. I could see that there are things I can do."
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Mr. Randall had put dreams in her head -- of college, maybe a career in teaching. Lucy practiced three hours a night now, and sometimes she wondered if her violin was more than just a musical instrument. "This could help me get where I want to go," she thought. "No one where I live plays the violin."
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The music rehearsal room is a cheery place, with a red bulletin board that says "Showtime" surrounded by flashing red lights. But the kids perched
on rows of black folding chairs look anything but relaxed. "I hear someone whispering!" Mr. C says, glaring at his students now, drilling a keyboardist with a look that could cut glass. "It's going to get me extremely upset."
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Part of the orchestra's success, he believes, rests on discipline. The fifth grade spends the first two weeks of class just learning how to walk in the room, take their seats and track the speaker with their eyes. They don't even pick up an instrument until the end of the year. Mr. C once made the entire sixth grade sit out a rehearsal without playing because one student was talking.
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"Call me old-fashioned, but it works," he says, beaming. "The kids know I mean business."
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"Business," to Concepción, is not about developing musical talent -- it's developing skill. Talent, he explains, is the rare innate ability to play an instrument without much guidance. Skill is learning the lessons. "Most music teachers just want to work with the gifted kids," he says.
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"The fact is that less than two percent of our kids have talent. Only two percent have played an instrument before. They all start out at the same level. And each and every child feels equally important and successful."
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But scales and music theory are only half the class curriculum. The other half is spelled out in posters that dot the room: "Be Nice!" says one. "Work Hard!" says another. And, "There Are No Shortcuts!" If you work hard, you will succeed, Mr. C instructs. Be respectful of others, and treat them with kindness. Always stay curious. If there's a chance to learn, grab it.
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Later, when the classwork turns to a discussion of musical directions like andante and allegro, Mr. C points out that the notations are in Italian, then takes the opportunity to give the students a brief geography lesson. "Now how do you spell Italy?" he says as the childrens' hands shoot up. "Where is Italy located? And what is south of Italy?"
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"Lucy, are you in the street?" It is 11 p.m. Mr. C is on the other end of her cell phone.
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"Yes, Mr. C," she replies.
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"You're not doing anything you're not supposed to be doing, are you?"
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"No, Mr. C."
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"Okay, it's time to go upstairs now."
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Lucy has turned 14. She still lives in the chaos of the projects, but KIPP has become her real home. When she arrives at school hungry, Mr. Randall orders in a sandwich or Chinese food. When she shows up in dirty clothes, he or Mr. C find a clean KIPP T-shirt.
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