Southwestern Heights High School - Mustanger Yearbook (Kismet, KS)

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More Than Music Song-man, your song is done. Song-man, your song is done. If only we could turn back the hand of time. If only you could hear what we never really told you. You were the magic music man, you taught our hearts to sing. You taught us to dream on a silver cloud. You taught us to wish on a star. You were the magic music man, you made us what we are. You gave us more than music, more than notes and rhyme, more than pretty phrases, more than keeping time. You gave us love in a melody, a reason to be strong. And we will never be alone, you gave to us a song. We will remember you when the world has turned to Spring. We will remember you, you taught our hearts to sing. Song-man, your song is done. Song-man, your song is done. by JOYCE ELAINE EILERS 1979 Jenson Publications, Inc. International Copyright Secured All Rights Reserved Plenty of time Can someone tell me where the songs have gone? I heard them only yesterday. I wanted to sing, But there were things to do And people to see And besides, There would always be time to sing. But now the songs have gone, And the only thing That there’s plenty of time to do Is remember. by STEVE BRISENDINE February 13, 1981 The following dedication is a segment of a let- ter written by former student, Jerolyn Brown. THANK YOU TEACHER His personality put the fear of God into me. He was stern, gruff, demanding. His name was Ernest McVey, but we all called him Big Mac because he was about six feet and six inches tall, and he loomed over us like a giant oak tree. Big Mac was the toughest choir director I ever sat under. He demanded more than work; he demanded dedication. If I didn’t sing a song right the first time, I sang it again and again until I reached that certain perfection Big Mac insisted upon. I don’t know the date nor anything else that happened that day. I can tell you the time and place. It was about eight fifteen in the morn- ing at S.W.H.’s auditorium. It was not an un- usual sight to see Big Mac and me on the stage that early in the day. He was working with me on my solo for the “Messiah” we were soon to be presenting. I stood staring into the empty, dark auditorium, not really in the mood to re- hearse. After Big Mac played the introduction on the Baldwin organ with his old but capable hands, I plunged into the first verse trying to control my wavering, “sophomorish” voice. I really wasn’t thinking about what I was doing because this was just another morning of prac- ticing the same solo I’d been working on for days. When I finally finished, I stood there, still staring into the echoing auditorium, wait- ing for the criticisms that always followed my vocal attempts that did not quite reach Bever- ly Sill’s quality. But from behind me came only silence. When I turned around, there was Big Mac bent over the organ, his hands trem- bling as they rested on the white keys. I was wondering what I could have done to upset him so, but it was not long before he calmed my fears. He looked up at me with giant tears streaming down his stern, but now softening face, and said, “That was beautiful.” You’re gone now, Big Mac. Young people will never again sit under your instruction. But you life’s blood will continue to flow through the students’ lives you did touch. You showed us our potential and made us settle for nothing less. Thank you, Teacher. 3

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In Memoriam Mr. Ernest McVey This edition of the Mustanger is dedicated to the memory of Mr. Ernest McVey, vocal music instructor at Southwestern Heights. Mr. McVey passed away on February 13, 1981. The following page is a tribute to a truly great instructor and a dear friend.

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