A Yellow Submarine in China
In March of 2004, I traveled to China as a part of a teacher and student exchange.
My fellow teacher was Betty Gibbs. We chaperoned 10 Sapulpa High Students on a trip that took us to Beijing and then on to the city of Chengdu in the foothills of the Tibetan plateau.
We took off one week before spring break, expecting to be away for 3 weeks. We used spring break in order to make the time out of school minimal. Each of the students had applied and also taken an 8-week course in Chinese at OU Tulsa under local High school Chinese teacher Susie Tattershall.
So, when we left, we were nervous and elated. The long plane journey was enough to squeeze and jitters out of a person by the time we reached the mainland of China. It was kida cool to watch the airline map as we traveled, arcing over the arctic circle and then south along Siberia into China.
In Beijing, we met Shaoyan, a tour guide I had met before when traveling with teachers in 2001. She took us through the Forbidden City and to see and scale the Great Wall right outside the city. Later groups would travel a little more expensively, but this was the 1st and we were on a shoestring budget. The experience would be new for both the receiving school and us as well.
Lie Wu High school in Chengdu is located in a city of nearly 11 million. A Mid sized city in China! Imagine! We were met late by a contingent of Chinese teachers and students who took us to a local hotel, just minutes away form the school. We hadn’t known what to expect. We thought we would immediately be taken to separate houses, but instead the school decided to house us the first few days with the hotel. Not bad and it helped ease some of the fears of the kids as to who and what they might expect.
On our first full day in Chengdu, we got a preview of something that was surprising to we typically uptight people from the Midwest. The school held a dinner for us and the teaching staff at LieWu. At the dinner, the principal stood up and serenaded us. After him, some of the Chinese kids came in and sang to us.
The odd thing was, I couldn’t imagine any principal from any of our schools singing to a group of Chinese visitors. Apparently, this was not an unusual thing. It turns out that these people broke into song, or karaoke without any fear of embarrassment of ridicule. Onb the other hand, most of the Sapulpa kids I knew would have been way too self conscious to do the same.
It did have an effec5t on our kids too. Luckily, the group I took was made up of some choir kids and performers. At a school assembly in our honor, they also sang song, sang karaoke and danced, much to the delight of the Lie Wu students and staff.
The thing that meant most to me was one day in English class. I was invited to teach the classes while Chinese instructors watched. Now, these classes are a bit different than US classes. There are about 65 kids piled into a class that is mostly lecture oriented. With that many kids, it is hard to do any sort of one-on-one or group work.
I started with some role playing things using kids from the class, who reluctantly played the parts of buying or selling pizza in English. Finally, they began to warm up a bit to the idea and we finished the class with some question and answer, especially about life in Sapulpa, Oklahoma.
During the exchange, one girl raised her hand and asked, “Will you sing for us?”
I was caught by surprise. Singing is not what I do. When I was a young kid, I could lie to myself and think I sounded like Paul McCartney, but now I know I have no range, no rhythm or ability to carry a melody. Maybe that’s being too tough on myself, but I haven’t sung in public in who knows how long.
Panicking to get out of the situation, I said, “I am not a very good singer, but how about you sing a song for me?”
Immediately, 5 of the girls stood at their seats and started to sing a song by the Backstreet Boys. They even had the hand motions and dance steps down. It was a spontaneous performance that was met with thunderous applause after it ended. It was pretty cool to see this American pop song performed flawlessly in a Chinese upper school classroom.
The little dark haired girl was not to be dissuaded. “Will you sing for us now?” She asked again.
I felt trapped. I began to sweat. Those old fears of ridicule and public display of ineptitude washed over me. I was much more suited to playing air guitar than to singing in front of people.
But, I had an idea.
“Let’s do a song together and make it part of an English lesson,” I said. “I will write the words to the chorus of a song on the board, and I will sing the verse to you, and we will all sing the chorus.”
Apparently the little Chinese girl was happy with this, nodding her head enthusiastically. And, so with approval of the class, I turned to the board and began to write the words..”We all live in a Yellow Submarine…”
Nervous, and nearly weak with shyness, I explained to the them the rhythm of the chorus and then, stood tall in front of the board and in a quavering voice, began to sing “In the Town Where I Was Born….” It seemed to take forever, with the smiling faces of the class and visiting Chinese teachers all on me, to reach the end of the verse, “…beneath the waves, in our yellow Submarine!”
The n I pointed at the chorus on the board and led the class though the chorus several times. At first, we were out fo sync, but with each attempt, pour voices melded better and better. Each time, they sang louder and louder and at the finish, the class applauded each other and me.
I was jittery with excitement. It was a kind of rush to sing in front of so many people without critique and without rejection. There was only a joy on unity and acceptance, and it seemed, an appreciation that I would sing for them.
There, in western Chine, to a class of 65, I, a shy Oklahoman, sand a British pop song form the 60’s and we all blended into one joyous group for a few precious moments.
My words are poor in an attempt to relay how much those moments meant to me. Surely, there is a song somewhere that says it better than I ever can. Music, so universal and so much a part of our worldwide psyche, spoke through each of us in that 3rd floor classroom. Music isn’t some distant, different thing form any of us. Even with my poor power of singing and my even poorer power of musicianship, I was music for a few moments.
Saturday, August 8, 2009
Monday, August 3, 2009
I should have been a rock star- irish pubs and tipsy tunes
In March of 2003, Ashley and I arranged a school trip to Ireland. She offered it to kids at Cascia Hall and I to kids at Sapulpa High. We ended up with a pretty good group, and with a few parents to boot. One of the girls from Sapulpa took her mom and two sets of Cascia parents went along with me, Ash and two other chaperones… Lynnann, Ash’s fellow Cascia teacher, and her husband.
Symbolically, we flew out of Tulsa on St Patrick’s Day to arrive in Dublin in the late evening as the tattered remains of raining hell on St Patrick’s Day had settled over the streets. Pubs were still lively and the streets still active. We were obviously tired from the travel, but wandered the streets seeking succor in the form of Guinness.
We spent a couple days in Dublin, touring, and drinking our way across the city. One bartender told us that the Guinness got better the closer you got to the Liffee… which is the river that runs through Dublin. I think it was true. The Stout never tasted better than taken with a whiff of Irish air and breeze from the river drifting through the pub.
Finally, we boarded the bus to begin our tour of the island. Interestingly enough, the company had given us, not an Irishman, but instead a Scandinavian woman as our guide in the Emerald Isle. Perplexing. She was sweet and knowledgeable, but not Irish.
It was in our travel that we had a couple of great pub experiences, one of which is a musical event I will never forget. This came on the day of Wednesday, March 19.
We left Dublin at a time early for any late night drinkers, 8:30 am. In fact, a time that seemed early for most Irish. We drove a long time to reach the Rock of Cashel, where stood a medieval fortress and the ancient original cathedral of St Patrick. The cathedral was in a state of disrepair and I noticed something unusual about it after wandering inside… besides the roof that was no more. The cathedral was one of the only I have ever seen in which the altar was at the west end.
Legends say that the devil threw the rock at St Patrick to dissuade him from Christianizing the Irish and instead, Patrick built his cathedral there. It was a place that was probably more interesting to me, the history teacher, than to a lot of the kids.
WE loaded the bus and drove on the town of Tipperary. A Lot of people… older people… know of it because of the famous WW I song, “It’s a long Way To Tipperary.”
It's a long way to Tipperary,
It's a long way to go.
It's a long way to Tipperary
To the sweetest girl I know!
We made a short stop there, where Ash and I broke from the group, and ran to the nearest pub. It was in the quiet of that pub that we met the Price brothers, two shaved headed brothers who mad their way as boxers. They were interested in talking to the Americans and drinking a pint with us. Ash and I were late getting back to the bus.. and the driver was not pleased.. but it was worth it to us.
Finally, we pulled into the town of Limerick. We nested into the hotel and I fell asleep for a Guinness induced nap. The nap rejuvenated me and prepared me for the night to follow.
After dinner, we milled around debating our course of discovery and pub debauchery for the evening. First, as a group, we wandered 9into the hotel bar where a three-man band played. They sat in chairs, beers perched at their sides, each playing guitars. The three wore long hair in an almost 70’s style and they played rock songs from across the eras of pop music.
I sat at the bar, directly beside the band, watching them strum, pick and sings through a list of hits I was well familiar with. I think they realized that I too, after a few more beers, was singing along with them as they played. Soon, we were engaged in a running conversation between songs. We exchanged names, and shook hands and talked music as they played.
Soon, a lot of our group wandered on to more teenage places and I stayed and became drinking buddies with the band. A few more hotel patrons and some locals wandered in as well.
The band gave us music advice about Irish bands. Of course, you can’t go wrong with U2, but never, never listen to anything played by MYTOWN… they are a disgrace to the Irish!! The band said, listen to the Frames… a great but underrated band.
Later I would find a lot of music by the Frames and the band was right… they ere good; Serious and somber, and good. Iun fact, in recent years, the lead singer, Glen Hansard would star in and write the oscar winning soundtrack to the independent movie “Once.” Like the band, it is an understated and beautiful work of art.
I have still not listened to MYTOWN.
After many beers and songs, John Steele, the lead singer, got up to go take a piss. He and I staggered to the toilet, talking about how much we both disliked George Bush and his war… the 2nd Iraqi war had just begun while we were in Dublin. Pissing and politics.
Back in the bar, John sat to play and said to the crowd, I’d like to dedicate a song to my new friend and intelligent human being, Charlie Dugan.” Then the band played a spectacular version of the Beatles “Don’t Let Me Down.”
I stayed until the band finished for the night. I shook hands and patted backs with my newfound musical friends. I appreciated their talent, and I think they appreciated being appreciated. It was a wonderful night… my m body softly buzzing with the Irish drink and my mind buzzing with a thousand songs and singers.
How I wish I could find that band again, drink to the music, share a piss and musical trivia. Tip a brew and buy a round for them.
It was that moment I felt the true words spoken to me in another pub. An older gentleman, after finding out that my name was “Dugan”, an obviously Irish name, said as he raised his glass, “Welcome Home Charlie Dugan. We4lcome home.”
Symbolically, we flew out of Tulsa on St Patrick’s Day to arrive in Dublin in the late evening as the tattered remains of raining hell on St Patrick’s Day had settled over the streets. Pubs were still lively and the streets still active. We were obviously tired from the travel, but wandered the streets seeking succor in the form of Guinness.
We spent a couple days in Dublin, touring, and drinking our way across the city. One bartender told us that the Guinness got better the closer you got to the Liffee… which is the river that runs through Dublin. I think it was true. The Stout never tasted better than taken with a whiff of Irish air and breeze from the river drifting through the pub.
Finally, we boarded the bus to begin our tour of the island. Interestingly enough, the company had given us, not an Irishman, but instead a Scandinavian woman as our guide in the Emerald Isle. Perplexing. She was sweet and knowledgeable, but not Irish.
It was in our travel that we had a couple of great pub experiences, one of which is a musical event I will never forget. This came on the day of Wednesday, March 19.
We left Dublin at a time early for any late night drinkers, 8:30 am. In fact, a time that seemed early for most Irish. We drove a long time to reach the Rock of Cashel, where stood a medieval fortress and the ancient original cathedral of St Patrick. The cathedral was in a state of disrepair and I noticed something unusual about it after wandering inside… besides the roof that was no more. The cathedral was one of the only I have ever seen in which the altar was at the west end.
Legends say that the devil threw the rock at St Patrick to dissuade him from Christianizing the Irish and instead, Patrick built his cathedral there. It was a place that was probably more interesting to me, the history teacher, than to a lot of the kids.
WE loaded the bus and drove on the town of Tipperary. A Lot of people… older people… know of it because of the famous WW I song, “It’s a long Way To Tipperary.”
It's a long way to Tipperary,
It's a long way to go.
It's a long way to Tipperary
To the sweetest girl I know!
We made a short stop there, where Ash and I broke from the group, and ran to the nearest pub. It was in the quiet of that pub that we met the Price brothers, two shaved headed brothers who mad their way as boxers. They were interested in talking to the Americans and drinking a pint with us. Ash and I were late getting back to the bus.. and the driver was not pleased.. but it was worth it to us.
Finally, we pulled into the town of Limerick. We nested into the hotel and I fell asleep for a Guinness induced nap. The nap rejuvenated me and prepared me for the night to follow.
After dinner, we milled around debating our course of discovery and pub debauchery for the evening. First, as a group, we wandered 9into the hotel bar where a three-man band played. They sat in chairs, beers perched at their sides, each playing guitars. The three wore long hair in an almost 70’s style and they played rock songs from across the eras of pop music.
I sat at the bar, directly beside the band, watching them strum, pick and sings through a list of hits I was well familiar with. I think they realized that I too, after a few more beers, was singing along with them as they played. Soon, we were engaged in a running conversation between songs. We exchanged names, and shook hands and talked music as they played.
Soon, a lot of our group wandered on to more teenage places and I stayed and became drinking buddies with the band. A few more hotel patrons and some locals wandered in as well.
The band gave us music advice about Irish bands. Of course, you can’t go wrong with U2, but never, never listen to anything played by MYTOWN… they are a disgrace to the Irish!! The band said, listen to the Frames… a great but underrated band.
Later I would find a lot of music by the Frames and the band was right… they ere good; Serious and somber, and good. Iun fact, in recent years, the lead singer, Glen Hansard would star in and write the oscar winning soundtrack to the independent movie “Once.” Like the band, it is an understated and beautiful work of art.
I have still not listened to MYTOWN.
After many beers and songs, John Steele, the lead singer, got up to go take a piss. He and I staggered to the toilet, talking about how much we both disliked George Bush and his war… the 2nd Iraqi war had just begun while we were in Dublin. Pissing and politics.
Back in the bar, John sat to play and said to the crowd, I’d like to dedicate a song to my new friend and intelligent human being, Charlie Dugan.” Then the band played a spectacular version of the Beatles “Don’t Let Me Down.”
I stayed until the band finished for the night. I shook hands and patted backs with my newfound musical friends. I appreciated their talent, and I think they appreciated being appreciated. It was a wonderful night… my m body softly buzzing with the Irish drink and my mind buzzing with a thousand songs and singers.
How I wish I could find that band again, drink to the music, share a piss and musical trivia. Tip a brew and buy a round for them.
It was that moment I felt the true words spoken to me in another pub. An older gentleman, after finding out that my name was “Dugan”, an obviously Irish name, said as he raised his glass, “Welcome Home Charlie Dugan. We4lcome home.”
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