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Current Articles, Interviews and Commentary
from
The New York Times, January 18, 2004
Oops! One More Time
By John Merrow
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Norman
Y. Lono for
The New York Times
Kelsey Jillette , 26, in class at the
New School University |
That familiar incumbent
chant of campaign seasons – "four more years" –
takes on frightening new meaning when spoken by a freshly minted college
graduate. "Four more years" is what my daughter Kelsey said
one night nearly two years ago. I didn't understand.
"Four more years," she repeated. "I need to go to college
all over again."
"Don't you mean graduate school?" I asked hopefully.
"No," she said, "I need to start over. I should have
majored in music."
Kelsey had just graduated in theater arts from Brown University. Several
professors had suggested she study music. "Develop that instrument,"
one strongly advised after discovering her pure three-octave range.
But overwhelmed by inertia, she stuck with theater.
After the shock wore off, I asked two professional singers for advice.
Both suggested she take voice lessons and study on her own. I passed
that along, but Kelsey wanted to learn to read, write and arrange
music, and to do that she needed classes. "I don't want to be
someone who just sings whatever's put in front of her," she said.
As far as financial support, I was a "one-term parent,"
I told her, but that didn't dissuade her. She researched music schools
in New York and applied to the one reputed to have the best vocal
jazz program. When the New School University (annual cost: $23,000)
accepted her, she was ecstatic. She visited the financial aid office,
told them she was on her own and asked for help. That night at dinner
she was beaming. "They've offered me a $13,000 package."
Gently, I asked, "How much in grants and how much in loans?"
It turned out that most was in loans, and the meal suddenly didn't
taste so good.
Things took a turn for the worse; because she had already graduated
from college, she was not eligible for a federal Pell grant. She would
have to pay back just about every dollar in the aid package, and borrow
more. "Four more years" was going to cost more than $100,000,
a large sum for anyone and a truly staggering amount for an aspiring
entertainer.
But Kelsey was determined. She spent the summer tutoring, baby-sitting,
braiding horses at horse shows, and substitute teaching. She took
care of her cousin's baby in trade for a place to live, her introduction
to the barter economy. In September 2002, she became a "re-freshman,"
but this time she knew what she was in school for. "Dad, this
is the best thing I've ever done," she enthused.
At my college reunion in the spring, friends were sympathetic. "Don't
you remember how we used to beat ourselves up for not paying attention
in college?" they would ask. "We used to wish we could go
back again." Luckily, I have never said to Kelsey, "Why
didn't you, when you had the chance?" because, like almost everyone
who has gone to college, I have plenty of regrets about opportunities
I missed. A statistically inclined friend noted that many students
take six to eight years to finish their four years, so Kelsey was
at the cutting edge of a trend. "Besides," he said, "look
at how popular adult education has become; she's just doing now what
we'll do later."
Soon Kelsey had dark circles under her eyes, because her new routine
of study/go to class/rehearse/perform left little time for sleep.
The summer before her second freshman year, she knew six songs. Eighteen
months later, she reads, writes and arranges music and has a repertoire
of 150, including many of the jazz standards that my parents grew
up with.
One night I discovered that Kelsey Gillette Merrow was no longer.
She had become Kelsey Jillette. "Everyone kept spelling it 'Marrow,"'
she explained (and I know all about that). "What happened to
the 'G,"' I asked. "People were mispronouncing it with a
hard 'G,' and it sounded awful." So with a new name, Kelsey and
her group recorded a CD, which she then hand-delivered to about 100
clubs and restaurants in search of gigs. Most of her gigs are in restaurants,
where she has to sing over, around and through conversations, bustling
waiters and other distractions.
Kelsey is hardly cavalier about what she's doing. She told me, "I
wish I had known at Brown that I could get so much out of a college
experience. If I had only known from the start what I was there for,
but I didn't." I have come to admire my daughter for having the
courage to go down a difficult path. No doubt the fact that she'll
end up paying for most of the trip makes every moment valuable.
She's already broke: even with help (including some from me this year),
she will be at least $22,000 in debt by this June. So if you go hear
her sing, that is not a tip jar on the piano. It's a tuition jar.
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