JULY 17, 2020 – Recently, on my evening walk I heard an outdoor concert by a dozen student . . .VIOLISTS! Led by their indomitable instructor, Elizabeth Cregan, these high school kids put out some great sound for an attentive, appreciative neighborhood audience.
I’d met Ms. Cregan and her husband during the week following the murder of George Floyd. Cregans live three blocks from the elementary school grounds where the concert took place. A year ago I’d heard live string music coming from their house, and more recently I’d noticed a violin (viola, as it turned out!) sign hanging over the side entrance of the home. I wondered who in St. Paul—it isn’t Vienna or Budapest—might be drawing real horse hairs across synthetic cat guts strung upon a polished box of spruce and maple. That evening in early June produced the chance to satisfy my curiosity.
In strolling by I saw the homeowners sitting in wicker chairs in their front lawn atop the short, steep slope above the sidewalk. A Black Lives Matter sign—one of dozens in their immediate neighborhood—appeared next to the chairs. The setting was easy for starting a conversation.
Elizabeth is a free-lance violist (Birchwood Quartet; Minnesota Opera; numerous other notable gigs) and long-time teacher. Her online bio discloses that she’s sent students to such notable conservatories as Peabody and the Cleveland Institute. Her husband, Michael, is an engineer who works for a filter manufacturer. Because of Covid, he’s busier than he’s ever been, in contrast with Elizabeth, who, because of Covid is the least busy she’s ever been.
Naturally, given the BLM sign and local upheaval following George Floyd’s killing, we talked politics. I soon learned that the recent explosion of BLM signs in the surrounding area had been the work of the Cregan’s son, Joseph, whom I got to meet when he happened to step out of the house. He and some high school buddies had been stirred to action by a disturbing act of wanton violence barely a half mile away.
During the earlier week of havoc, thugs had smashed all the ground floor windows of a house owned by a mixed-race couple. The perpetrators had left behind a message that worse was in store.
What was in store, it turns out, was a proliferation of BLM signs ordered by Joe and his buddies, who went door-to-door to win subscribers to their campaign. The non-takers were in the small minority. I was impressed with Joe. Articulate and affable, he exuded intelligence and thoughtfulness.
So, when there in the shade of a summer evening Elizabeth’s viola ensemble belted out the last movement of Bach’s Brandenburg Concerto No. 6—a veritable show-off piece for the mighty viola—I felt a medley of emotions: sadness for what we’ve lost; anger and frustration over our American mess; hope in a future filled with the music of a long-dead composer brought very much to life by the hearts and minds of young people inspired by their heroic teacher.
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© 2020 by Eric Nilsson
