In Defense of Suzuki Teachers

Written by Pamela Wiley
Published: February 7, 2014 at 2:03 PM [UTC]

For many months now, string educators throughout the US have been surfacing to thank Mark O’Connor for sparking a re-examination of the core of string education in our country. Hundreds have also come forward to criticize Mark for his “attack” on the Suzuki Method and on the credentials of Shinichi Suzuki himself.
First of all, I believe that re-examining the current state of string education in America is long overdue. The evolution of training in brass, wind and percussion instruments has far outstripped that of string education in recent decades as evidenced by the comparative growth in these areas in middle schools, high schools, colleges and universities nation wide. Although the current Suzuki Method vs. O’Connor Method banter has become strident and even a bit nasty at times, I am personally glad to see folks hashing this out. The strength of some of the rhetoric – on both sides - merely supports the fact that there is something important at stake and therefore worth the fight.

As for the controversy as to whether or not Suzuki falsified credentials or led people to believe things other than the truth or got caught up in something larger than himself and was used by others or whatever, I find this all very interesting and worth the research for anyone who wants to dig further. As with anything, there is a truth out there and truth has a way of surfacing sooner or later. I find myself wondering what would be going on if Suzuki were still alive. What would he say in his own defense? Would he be able to “prove” that the accusations are false? Would he hide in disgrace? Would he humbly beg an apology for inflating some aspects of his past or at least allowing this to happen? As for Mr. O’Connor’s confrontational manner of bringing some of these issues to the table for examination, perhaps that was what was needed to get folks talking and re-examining their own commitments. One thing is for certain, a passionate discussion is evolving over string education and I cannot believe this is not a good thing on balance. At the very least it’s an example of the American way.

What has struck me the most while observing this controversy, however, is the vehemence with which many Suzuki teachers defend the Suzuki Method and discount the O’Connor Method out of hand. The proponents of the Suzuki Method in the early years in America (60s & 70s) exhibited a strong pioneering spirit. I was one of them. It is curious to me why this same method now includes so many teachers, students and parents who are unwilling to even consider a change and who consider the Suzuki Method to be in some way sacred. Here are a few thoughts that might explain this phenomenon.

The Vested Interest Factor. Vested interest can take many forms and is extremely powerful. It is understandable that teachers who have invested time and financial resources into the now highly-organized Suzuki teacher training system will find it difficult to question whether they want to continue to be known as Suzuki teachers. Teachers who have founded music schools or studios that have “Suzuki” or “Talent Education” as part of their names and advertising systems and teachers who work at these institutions will find it particularly hard to change course.

I, for one, had a very strong vested interest in being a Suzuki teacher. It was rooted in a long battle for acceptance. When I first left my Suzuki Method apprenticeship training in the Preparatory Music Department of American University in 1971 and moved to Myerstown Pennsylvania, I was eager to start a Suzuki program in my new home. I wrote a letter of introduction to be distributed to all the first grade and kindergarten classes in the local school district. I rented the film “Happy Children of Japan” showing Suzuki’s student tour group from the 1960s. I set up an open house at a local church – complete with balloons and popcorn. Not only did no one show up for my presentation, but also my offer to teach the 4 and 5 year olds of the town how to play the violin without reading music was met with more than a cold shoulder. I was actually accused of being a re-incarnation of Harold Hill from The Music Man trying to con the town into investing in the “think method,” taking people’s money and then planning to move on when the scheme didn’t play out. This is quite funny to me now, but at the time it was incredibly deflating. I would rather have been accused of being Marian the Librarian.

I personally participated in the painfully slow growth of the Suzuki Method in the 70s and 80s and felt no small measure of vindication upon its eventual acceptance as a preferred course of music education for young children. Living through this decades long process must have had a huge psychological effect on me. The eventual nation-wide acceptance of the Suzuki Method as the preferred way to train youngsters on string instruments carried no small measure of personal vindication for me.

The Recognizable Label Factor. I can distinctly remember the feeling I had the first few times I answered the question “What do you do?” with “I’m a Suzuki teacher” and was affirmed by “Oh yes, I’ve heard of that” instead of a blank stare. What a great feeling it was to not have to explain what a Suzuki teacher was. It put me right up there with other recognizable professions like English teacher or Doctor or Beautician. No more fighting my way out of obscurity.

What has become more and more curious to me as I examine this phenomenon, however, is how long and strongly I clung to the label. By the 90s there really wasn’t much “Suzuki” left about my teaching. Like many others, I was using more supplemental material than the Suzuki material presented in the Suzuki books themselves. The “Suzuki philosophy” had become indistinguishable from common sense and my natural positive and encouraging attitude toward teaching. I had largely abandoned relying on the parents to make sure that what I was teaching was being followed through at home in favor of directly empowering the child. I daily questioned and compromised the Suzuki Method’s proscription of “mastering” every step before “going on” to a “next step” feeling that the very idea undermined the organic nature of growth and even of music itself. My studio did not carry the name “Suzuki.” I did not use any of my “credentials” (teacher training courses registered with the Suzuki Association) for soliciting students or validation of employment. So why did I continue to call myself a Suzuki teacher? It must have been the power of the recognizable label that had some validity and status - an easy thing to say - that I kept saying even though it had become less and less true over the years.

The Consistent Identity Factor. This is similar to the recognizable label issue but not quite the same. Names are important. All cultures value names in various ways and it is hard to imagine that changing one’s name would be taken lightly.

When my second husband and I decided to marry, the issue of what my name would be came up. I was 60 years old and had been professionally known by my first husband’s surname for over 35 years. However, it just didn’t seem right to carry my first husband’s name into my second marriage. If I had kept my maiden name all along, that would have solved it. But I hadn’t. Reverting to that name didn’t seem right either. Nobody knew me by that name and it was a name from a distant past. My new husband decided that he would like me to take his name. It was a bit uncomfortable at my age to have a new name, but it was the right thing to do and I like it now.

This change, however, had a curious effect on my husband John. He said he couldn’t imagine changing his name under any circumstances. He said, “I wonder how women do it!” Of course, some women do keep their birth names and some folks (men and women) change their names for various reasons. But the point is, that names do not change easily. Being Pamela deWall the Suzuki Teacher for over 35 years and then becoming Pamela Wiley the O’Connor Teacher five years ago really does carry an identity shift. Not easy for humans I think – men or women.

When politicians switch parties and become Republicans after long careers as Democrats (or vice-versa), we look upon this shift with skepticism. Do such shifts necessarily carry a denial or renouncing of the past identity? I don’t want to think that my 35 years as a Suzuki Teacher were “wrong” or “wasted.” And I don’t. Personally, I see my identity shift as an evolution or metamorphoses – both also natural processes. But that doesn’t mean it didn’t take some getting used to and weathering some flack from old friends and colleagues who felt in some way betrayed by my “change.”

The Missed Boat Factor. Like many violin teachers my age (67), I feel that I could have become a much better player than I did if I had had the opportunity of being part of a Suzuki program as a youngster. Some of becoming and being a Suzuki Teacher for so many years, I think, was filling in the gaps in my own development and some was no doubt the natural parental impulse of wanting to give something to the next generation that one’s own childhood did not provide. What would have happened to me if I had lived next door to an accomplished American-style fiddler while growing up didn’t even enter my consciousness. I hadn’t seen that. I rather stumbled into the Suzuki Method in the late 60s and was totally won over by it. I started to see my students learning a skill through the Suzuki Method that I wished I had learned as a youngster. I know they valued their experience partly because they knew that I did and that I was subtly (and sometimes overtly) envious of them.

Although being a Suzuki teacher compensated for a missed boat in my lifetime, I was able to jump on what I saw as a “better boat” when it came along. I can see, though, that this would be harder for some than others. Loyalty is a strong virtue and sometimes blind loyalty to something can cloud or overshadow loyalty to a higher principle.

The Mentor Factor. I know exactly why I became a Suzuki Teacher. It certainly wasn’t through a process of being presented with several alternatives and trying to choose the best one for me. Random circumstances led me to relationships with two women whom I greatly admired: Neva Greenwood and Ronda Cole. They were Suzuki Teachers and I wanted to be like them. My violin-playing heroes – Jascha Heifeitz and Vassar Clements – were totally unapproachable. Although I wished it, I could never really be like them – or even close. However, I could actually relate to Mrs. Greenwood and Ms. Cole and could copy their work to a large degree. They also each took an active interest in me as a teacher and as a player and fostered my growth in both areas. I am and will always be grateful for their interest in me. To call myself a Suzuki Teacher honored them and made me more like them.

The Inertia Factor. And finally there is inertia – and we all know about that!
Many years ago, I read a very convincing book written by a man who argued that it would be very good for most humans to change career paths every 10 years. Regardless. If things were going badly, change for sure. If things were going well, change anyway. I can’t remember the details or even the title or the author but the argument that humans would be mentally and physically healthier, more creative and happier if they changed it up in a big way every so often has stuck with me.

We all know how hard it is to break old habits, let go of old patterns or make significant changes in the way we do things or inter-relate to, say, our spouses or our children. Even when we know that we should change or that change would definitely be for the better, we persist in old ways. I believe there is much written about the psychology of repetition, comfort in known patterns, “the devil you know,” etc. There must be something addicting about repetitive behavior that keeps us from changing – a feeling of comfort in predictability and a sense of control if nothing is changed. For all the talk on the national scene about change, it should be clear to everyone that it is not as easy as it sounds. Most of us will keep on doing what we have always done without questioning whether there is a better way. I think that is what I was doing until a clearly better way came along and slapped me so hard in the face that I just couldn’t ignore it.

Looking back and realizing how strong all these factors were in my own life, I am not at all surprised by the huge resistance there seems to be to what I see as a natural evolution for string education in America. Actually, I am a bit surprised at how quickly and easily I embraced the New American School of Violin Playing. It would have taken a truly extraordinary presentation of a new system to cause me to let go of my forty-year vested interest and identity as a Suzuki teacher. And that’s exactly what the O’Connor Method is – extraordinary. One thing does feel the same, though. The pioneering spirit that I felt in the 60s and 70s at the beginning of the Suzuki movement is definitely still with me as I move into this new way of enriching children’s lives through music.