Allan Anderson wasn’t the most famous music teacher in B.C., but he was certainly one of the best. I first encountered him as a shy Grade 7 student through Richmond School District’s legendary summer band program. At that time, I found him a bit intimidating as he was the first teacher who treated me like an adult, with grown-up expectations. A few years later, I saw his McNair Secondary Choir perform at Gateway Theatre, and determined that I simply must finish my final two years of senior high school in his program. The music program at McNair exceeded my wildest dreams, as he had attracted a pool of students who were ultra-talented. I suddenly found myself a small fish in a big pond—but what a pond it was!
As a teacher, Al was very ahead of his time. He was one of the first to recognize the power of the new technology in music production and composition, something everyone with a laptop computer takes for granted today. He had a natural business acumen that is rare among teachers, and was able to solicit grants and funds to purchase equipment that few programs possessed at that time. Operating out of an old building beside McNair Secondary that had once belonged to the CBC, Al had built a musical fortress into which one could disappear for days and not come out.
His achievements were considerable: he regularly entered regional and national festivals, taking home awards while competing against larger public schools and private schools with twice the budget and resources. A coterie of students who graduated from his program became music professionals or embarked on careers in the arts, including the well known Suspenders vocal group and jazz musician Sharon Minemoto. However, he was not a teacher who was obsessed with awards. He was the kind of teacher who could almost instantly source out what you were good at, and if you expressed interest in something, he would hand you the tools and say “Why don’t you go do that?” As a teacher and parent myself, I now recognize that it is not always easy to stand back and grant people the independence to learn for themselves and discover their abilities. However, he didn’t suffer fools gladly; if you were late to one of his rehearsals, you were sure to be greeted with the witty, acerbic line “Thanks for making a guest appearance!”
At a time in his career when he could have coasted on past achievements, Al took on an even more active role in our education system—the development of the curriculum guides of the 1990’s, documents which still influence much of what we do today in the classroom. He served as president of the BC Music Educator’s Association and its national organization, the CMEA, and designed curriculum for courses at UBC. His raison d’etre for doing this was simple — he recognized that for Music to endure in the school system, it needed to appeal to more than just a small group of the naturally talented. His approach mirrors the way we think about music programs today — gone are the elite programs by audition only. We now attempt to appeal to a much wider group of the student body.
As a mentor, Al was without peer. He gave me some of my most valuable advice regarding work/life balance. He recognized that the role of a music teacher is a special one for many students: part teacher, part friend, part mentor. When you are doing something as personal as making music with other people, a bond is formed that exceeds the normal confines of the curriculum. He also knew that teaching music could be an all-consuming profession, and that you needed to guard your family and personal time.
Above all, Al recognized that the human relationship between teacher and student was primary. He would often say to me when I was doing my teaching practicum with him “Michael, we don’t teach music — we teach students!” As a music teacher myself, I have come to understand the meaning of those words and try to live by them. He was a teacher, a mentor, a friend. I know I speak for many of his students when I say we will greatly miss his presence, his enthusiasm, and his passion for music.
Thanks for making a guest appearance in our lives, Mr A.
