David Neef
I started taking piano lessons from Judy when I was around 10 or 11—I didn’t much care for the piano (or at least practicing) at that point; I’d been in lessons for years and had not been too diligent training my hands to play. That was fairly apparent to Judy when I walked in. When I opened the door, she floated down her Victorian staircase in a long charmeuse-like gown with butterfly sleeves attached to finger loops. Her hair was in a large bouffant-styled meticulously on her head- and she floated down the staircase while eagerly welcoming me with a high-pitched “Helloooooooo” and a dramatic flourish. She told me I had “long, beautiful fingers… just like a surgeon.” My father must be a surgeon. Many of her students’ fathers were surgeons, she explained.
When it became apparent that my skills were not up to snuff, Judy abruptly stopped the lesson, got up, and said, “Let’s go.” I wondered where we were going. We got in her car and started driving and eventually arrived at the local music store. We got out and she told me to go pick out some new music: whatever music I wanted. I’d been playing a lot of simple, classical recital pieces as well as training exercises. Now I picked out books filled with movie and TV themes, Broadway musicals, and contemporary pop. I have loved playing the piano, singing, and music-in-general, ever since. What followed were many years of traveling together to see Broadway shows in Wichita or Kansas City, like Phantom of the Opera; many recitals and plays; and anything spectacular, musical, and show-stopping. Judy helped me to love music, in all its forms. And she helped me understand that to practice and work hard allowed me to reveal the songs that I loved. She had an unbridled enthusiasm for beautiful, impeccable performances that showcased a passionate, melodious soul. That’s because she was one: a beautiful, melodious soul. And I will always keep listening to your song, Judy…