16347: (Hermantin)Miami-Herald-Talented kids strike all the right notes at music camp (fwd)

[Bob Corbett <corbetre@webster.edu>]

From: leonie hermantin <lhermantin@hotmail.com>

Posted on Sun, Aug. 10, 2003



Talented kids strike all the right notes at music camp

BY DAVID OVALLE
dovalle@herald.com

A humid gust blows through the open doors of the cafeteria. About 20 parents
have trickled in through the drizzle, disposable cameras primed, video
recorders ready.

At the foot of the stage, Theo and his buddies have stopped playing tag and
talking about video games, stopped jabbing the mottled keys of the old
piano.

They are among the 16 children sitting in Treasure Island Elementary
School's cafeteria, members of the district's regional summer strings camp,
the finest violinists and cellists in northeastern Miami-Dade County public
schools. They are waiting to perform.

The district's strings program started in the late 1980s to beef up
elementary school music programs, which had produced few quality violinists
and cellists.

When it began, one ''strings specialist'' roved the schools, teaching
mechanics to children and their music teachers.

Now, against a backdrop of changing demographics -- northeastern Miami-Dade,
no longer defined by retirees, has more families from diverse backgrounds --
five strings specialists work the entire county. Demand is high, although
many students cannot afford instruments.

On this day, 12-year-old Theophile Coriolan will play his first recital.
Like most children here, he borrows his cello from school.

Theo and his companions have refined Beethoven's Ode to Joy and mastered
Chopsticks.

But Handel's Royal Fireworks has given them -- and instructors Wells
Cunningham and Nicolas Repetto -- fits all week. The piece was almost left
out. With the show about to start, however, Royal Fireworks remains on the
program.

Theo, maybe more nervous than he wants to admit, glances at his younger
brother and his mother, Marie.

She took the day off work and caught two buses to be here.

SPECIAL SKILL

Theo has ``the ear.''

Like all the strings camp children at Treasure Island Elementary in North
Bay Village, he has the aural ability to distinguish musical notes. Theo,
who will attend Nautilus Middle School next fall, last year earned a spot in
Biscayne Elementary's orchestra after he impressed teachers during a singing
tryout.

''It's not hard,'' says Theo, who has chubby cheeks and a penchant for
knock-knock jokes. ``Besides, I get to sit down the whole time.''

But Theo's form -- his posture, the angle at which he brushes the bow
against the strings -- needs work. That is not easy, because Theo's cello,
on loan from Biscayne, is too small for his five-foot-three frame.

During practice, Theo sits on four textbooks stacked on his little blue
chair. The books, he found, help his posture. He feels more natural.

On Monday morning, as the five-person cello section practices, instructor
Wells Cunningham scolds Theo for not bending his fingers as they slide from
note to note.

Frustrated, Cunningham switches Theo's three-quarter-size cello with another
student's full-size one.

''It looks bad on me,'' Theo complains.

''It's a better size for you,'' Cunningham says as they begin Go Tell Aunt
Rhody.

The other student, however, wants his cello back. There is one full-size
cello and two children who need it.

''You know what, Theo? You're going to have use your cello,'' Cunningham
says as he hands the boy back his instrument. ``Next year, you'll have a
full-size. I promise.''

Theo and his mother have only to walk to the sidewalk in front of their
North Beach duplex to catch the morning L bus. They live on 85th Street, on
a strip of duplexes and apartments.

It's Wednesday. Theo's blue plastic watch reads 7:45 a.m.

Theo looks toward the horizon, squinting, hugging his cello case. He asks
his mother if the bus is coming.

''No, not yet,'' Marie Coriolan says, smiling.

Theo was a baby when his mother came from Haiti more than a decade ago,
joining Theo's father in Florida.

Every morning since the camp started on June 30, Marie has accompanied her
son on the bus for the three-mile trip to Treasure Island Elementary. After
they transfer, when the G bus drops them off on the 79th Street Causeway,
the two hustle across street and walk the half-block to the school.

Marie kisses him on the cheek, then watches him disappear into the school
before heading back to the bus stop to spend another $1.25 for a ride across
the bay into Miami to work at a home for the elderly.

When camp ends at 3 p.m., Theo lugs his black foam cello case to the bus
stop and heads home, this time by himself. Sometimes people ask him if he
plays the guitar.

At home, Theo flicks on PlayStation. About 6 p.m., after his mother has come
home, he practices the cello for about an hour.

His 10-year-old brother, Revault, moans because he can't hear The Simpsons
on television. But other times, Revault tries to play the cello, which Theo
has nicknamed ''Vivi Senior'' after a character in a video game.

Theo is serious about his music. For now, he says he wants to be a
professional cellist, or perhaps a doctor.

But after Friday's recital, Theo won't be able to practice for awhile. He'll
wipe down the cello, zip up the black foam case and hand it back to
instructors until next fall.

'FIREWORKS' DISPLAY

Cunningham shakes his head on Wednesday as the orchestra finishes another
run at Royal Fireworks. ''It's not going to happen,'' he says.

Growing up, Cunningham wanted to be a professional cellist in New York or
San Francisco. After college, he played with Miami's New World Symphony for
two years, but a teenage hand injury deteriorated and eventually left him
unable to perform professionally.

''If I played a symphony, I would be holding the bow like a baseball bat by
the end of the night,'' Cunningham, 30, remembers.

Yesterday, Nicolas Repetto, his cohort, spent more than an hour reviewing
audio recordings from the afternoon's orchestra practice.

All the other pieces on the upcoming program have three harmonies. Royal
Fireworks has one extra, which means four groups of children must play
separate parts but mesh as a whole.

''It's just a little above them,'' Repetto explains wistfully. If they can't
master it, he says, ``we'll find something easier that sounds good.''

IT'S SHOWTIME

Friday: Theo leaves his black Reeboks at home in favor of shiny black dress
shoes.

Everyone wears dark pants or skirts with white T-shirts. The iron-on logos
read ``Treasure Island Strings Camp.''

As showtime nears, logistical glitches mount. The program misidentifies one
of the cello players for the ensemble.

Another cellist pops an A string. Cunningham can't find a replacement in
time so he lends him his personal cello. It's 115 years old, valued at about
$16,000 and kept in a case that resembles a steel sarcophagus.

The seats steadily fill. The recital begins with a handful of children
playing solos without a hitch. Then, the cellos play several pieces.
Flawless. Next, the violins perform theirs. Perfect.

Finally, they come together for the orchestra set. Frere Jacques is a snap.
Chopsticks is easy.

''Here we go,'' Cunningham whispers from the audience as Repetto takes the
stage to conduct Royal Fireworks.

Parents duck behind video cameras, jockeying for position near the stage. In
the corner, a school janitor holds his beige baseball cap, taps his left
foot and grins.

Theo readies his bow. He is the only student who sits on two chairs stacked
on top of each other. The textbooks he sat on during practice didn't look
right for the concert.

His mother, in a lavender dress and white patent leather dress shoes,
shuffles closer, holding up her camera, waiting.

For a month, she has heard her son practice at home. Today is the first time
she has seen Theo perform on stage.

Bows glide across violin strings. No screeches, no missed notes.

Theo stares at his sheet music, listening intently for the cellos' cue. In
one broad stroke, he slides his bow across the D string. The rich rumble of
the cello section eases into the melody.

The tension melts. For four minutes, Royal Fireworks -- penned by George
Frideric Handel in 1749 to celebrate the end of the Austrian War of
Secession -- soothes the room.

One dad seated in the back closes his eyes, tips his nose upward and nods
his head softly. Cunningham smiles.

''It was great,'' he whispers.

Theo grins, pleased. His summer of strings is over. Today is the last time
he'll hold his cello until the fall.

His mother snaps another photo.

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