Music Lessons

Our new piano, purchased especially for Jory, came when he was 4 years old.  Suzuki piano lessons began with a young teacher named Roseanne.  The class consisted of 4-5 pre-schoolers, with moms planted on her living room sofa and kids sitting on the floor beside the piano.  Equipped with Book 1 and a set of audiocassettes, we came weekly for lessons, followed by supervised practice at home.  This early childhood method of learning to play an instrument was based upon the same principles as learning to speak a native language, so Jory was immersed into listening and then repeating.  At lessons, Roseanne would play the melody on the piano while each child took a turn sitting beside her on the bench repeating that melody. 

Starting with Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, we listened to the cassettes everywhere we went, ensuring that melodies became familiar and ingrained.  California efficiency led to listening to the cassettes in the car.  We listened on the way to and from pre-school, on every trip to the supermarket, and even when we were driving older brother Darren's carpools to Hebrew school and soccer practices.  At home, Jory played the assigned songs with ease and then went on to pick out other tunes that were in his head.  

While he sat beside Roseanne during the lesson, he played the assigned melodies with embellishments, such as harmonies or syncopation, which was not to her liking.  We plodded through these group lessons until Jory rebelled.  Roseanne had denied his request to learn more current songs.  He was almost 8 and his favorite songs to play were John Williams' themes for Olympic Games and Star Wars, which he learned by himself from listening to the radio.

The following summer, we sent Jory to camp for a month.  This overnight camp was full of new and interesting friends and experiences.  On parents' visiting day, he was anxious to share with us all of his adventures, but we were disappointed that he didn't seem to have missed us.  Most of all, he had made a friend who brought an electronic keyboard to camp.  Jory's friend put the keyboard into demo mode and it played a catchy and somewhat complicated song.  Then, Jory put the keyboard into manual mode and played the entire song from memory.  Along with all the boys in his bunk, we were impressed.

The second summer, Jory's camp counselor and CIT (Counselor in Training) were both teenagers who had progressed through the ranks of campers to staff in previous summers.  They were fun role models for the 14 boys in the bunk, teaching them what were the best selections at meals, how to get candy by going to the nurse's cottage for band aids, and how to sneak out at night to play pranks.  Best of all, they had brought guitars to camp.  It didn't take long for Jory to ask them to let him try playing their guitars.  In his mandatory letter home, Jory asked if we could bring my guitar when we came for parents' visitor day.  By the end of camp, Jory was proficient enough to play chords and accompany himself singing most of the camp songs.

The student guitar from my teenage years’, became Jory's.  I also had some beginning guitar books and a collection of folk songs with notated chords.  We sat together while I showed him how to read the chord notations, where to place his left fingers on the fret board, and to keep his pinky finger on the guitar while playing strums over the sound hole.  With a huge smile on his face, Jory took everything to his room and disappeared.  Of course, he came back out playing the songs that he was hearing on the radio, not my old folk songs.

In fifth grade, the school curriculum offered instrumental music education.  Jory was the first to jump in by selecting the trombone as his instrument of choice.  We were all surprised, as he had always loved the tuba.  

“You make me walk to school and I'd have to carry that huge, heavy tuba back and forth,” he complained.

“You could roll it on our dolly,” I offered.

“Nope,” he insisted.  “It's more than I'm willing to take on.  I'm playing the trombone.”

A family friend provided us with an old trombone that was cluttering their garage.  Jory immediately took the dusty, smelly, drab trombone to the bathroom.  Holding the instrument over the tub, he turned on the shower and began filling the trombone with warm water.  Rapidly, the entire bathroom began to smell overwhelmingly musty.  Terrified that Jory was ruining this instrument that was lovingly entrusted to our care, I questioned his actions while turning on the air-extracting fan.  Despite my objections, he steadfastly proceeded.  When the tub was half full, Jory pulled the trombone apart and submerged its parts.  He turned, wiped his hands dry, and told his brothers that no one was to take a bath or shower until he said so.  That was that!  The trombone soaked overnight and emerged squeaky clean, sweet smelling, and not so dull.  With an old sock over his hand, Jory polished the trombone until it was shiny and beautiful.  He proudly played this trombone from sixth through ninth grades in the Parks Jr, High School and Troy High School bands and orchestras.  

The summer before high school began, Jory was already marching with the Troy High School Band.  It was a great introduction to his new technology magnet school and classmates, as he was on campus everyday marching on the field and exploring the buildings and hallways.  He found it easy to march in step while playing his instrument, and was happy to help others overcome the challenge.  At first, he volunteered to play the trumpet, but when the band director mentioned that they needed a trombone player, he went back to playing his old instrument.  The band became his social group at Troy and he loved playing at football games, traveling to other schools to support the teams, and to band competitions, where everyone wore their red and black uniforms while marching with precision on the field.  

Troy's band won many awards and was selected as a featured band at Disneyland.  It was a very special sun filled day when the band kids piled into a yellow school bus and skipped classes to march down Main Street USA and around the circular park in front of Sleeping Beauty's Castle.  This short concert earned the kids a free day of fun, but for Jory, it was the fulfillment of one of his first childhood dreams.  I was lucky to have been a parent chaperone and to witness his huge grin and stand-tall pride of accomplishment.

The second year of band began with change.  Jory had a pre-malignant melanoma removed from his back and the doctor instructed him to refrain from reaching and stretching.  Trombone playing was definitely out.  He switched to xylophone during marching season, which he learned to play almost intuitively, and he played guitar during concert or orchestra season.  

It was during the summer before his third year of band that Jory decided to join the drum line.  After all, drummers seemed to have the most fun playing complex rhythms and beats.  He had already been accepted to a 6-week study abroad program in Israel and took his drumsticks and my old guitar with him.  He practiced all summer long and was very competent when he tried out for the drum line.  The band director called him over after try outs to compliment him on his drumming, but denied him the position because he had missed the first few days of summer band practice.  Jory was devastated and the joy of being in the school band decreased from that point onward.  The band kids made fun of him for being a drum line loser and a dorky xylophone player.  He stopped hanging around with them and lost all personal interest in percussion and the band.

About that same time, Jory told us that he needed a better guitar.  He had researched it and had decided that he wanted a 12-string Ovation.  We knew nothing about guitars, but we did know that Jory had no concept of money nor the desire to save it.  For years he had received a weekly allowance that he spent frivolously and secretly on candy.  

“This is a good opportunity for you, Jory,” his Dad explained.  “You already have a guitar that you can play, but if you want a new one, you could save up to buy what you want.”

“But that will take forever,” he protested.

“Okay,” I offered, “what if you save half and we pay half?”

“I can do that,” he responded with a grin and determination to reach his goal.  We walked away confidently knowing that that day would never come.

To our surprise, a year later, Jory came to us with the announcement that he was ready to buy his new guitar.  He had saved his birthday and Chanukah money, along with other funds that he had earned fixing computers for friends, and perhaps some of his allowance money, as well.  We were skeptical, but played along with him.  He called several guitar stores in Los Angeles and found one in Santa Monica that had the 12-string Legend Pro Ovation that he wanted, so we set a date on the calendar to take a trip to look at Jory's dream guitar.  

“I know about Ovation’s founder, Charles H. Kaman,” explained Dad as he drove us to the guitar store.  “He's been involved in technology experiments for helicopter aviation.  Along the way, he discovered a synthetic material that was both strong and also enhanced acoustics.”

“Did you know that Josh White, Charlie Byrd, and Glen Campbell all play Ovation guitars?” Jory added.

Sticker shock settled in!  Jory had a wad of folded dollar bills in his pocket.  Certainly, we thought, the guitar he wanted was not more than a couple hundred dollars, but we were wrong.  He wanted a Legend Pro that was significantly over $1,000
and the case was an additional $500.  He sat on a stool at the store with the Ovation in his lap, playing Stairway to Heaven by Led Zeppelin.  Several customers and another salesman wandered over to hear.  It was beautiful!  The guitar was magnificent!  The clarity and depth of sound was incredible!  We didn't even try to talk him into a lesser guitar, we simply swallowed hard and agreed to pay our half plus throw in the cost of the case.  Jory walked out of the store with his head held high, a huge grin on his face, and the guitar of his dreams clutched safely in his fist.

Strumming flowed freely in our house as Jory was glued to his guitar.  After a week, he came to us with a request for guitar lessons.  Piano lessons had not been as successful as we had hoped, so the prospect of shelling out more money for him to not listen to the teacher wasn't encouraging.

"I need to learn scales," he explained.  "I can figure it out by myself after I learn all the scales."

Most kids hate the drudgery of practicing scales, yet our kid wanted to learn them!  We scratched our heads.  I hired a grad student from Cal State Fullerton who was working on his MFA in guitar performance and needed a bit of extra income.  When Michael met Jory for the first lesson, he expected his student to be the stereotypic wannabe rock star teenager.  Michael was surprised to find himself teaching scales that were thirstily absorbed, with capacity for more, to a musical computer geek kid.  The two of them developed a symbiotic relationship where Jory learned scales for the first hour, and Michael learned all the ins and outs of operating his computer for an hour or more after each guitar lesson.  Quite often, Michael stayed for dinner and sometimes it felt like we had an additional hired son.  

Jory was now halfway through his junior year of high school.  He had totally lost interest in band and was absorbed with playing his guitar.  He explained to us that he needed more traditional music theory, which was not offered at Troy High School.  We explored our options and discovered that the school district had a somewhat hush-hush Bridge Program that allowed high school students to concurrently take one class at the community college.  We signed all the forms and enrolled Jory in an evening class at Fullerton College.  

He was the youngest student, loved the class, earning the top grade.  Inspired by Dr. Anthony Mazzaferro, his instructor, Jory continued on at night with college level music theory, ear training, and harmony courses, while he completed the last 3 semesters of high school. With a solid foundation in music theory, Jory's musicianship improved and he also began writing down the melodies and harmonies that played in his head.  

Guitar in his hand, he'd explode from his room, bursting with excitement and enthusiasm.  "Listen to this!" he'd announce, as he grabbed a kitchen chair and began playing his newest composition.  His foot tapped out the meter while his fingers adeptly fretted the notes.  Out emerged the melody, accompanied by harmonies, transitions, and rhythms.  A few days later, he'd debut another fresh composition.  Jory was transitioning from a musician into a composer.

Gamelan photo by Jean Pierre Dalbera

To continue his studies after high school graduation, Jory applied to California Institute of the Arts, as a music composition major.  On our first visit to explore the college, he became mesmerized from the unique percussive tingling of the Indonesian Gamelan, resounding energetically throughout the hallways.  Like a magnet, he was drawn to see this instrument that reverberated when bells and gongs were struck with mallets.  Of course, as soon as he could during his first year at CalArts, he enthusiastically enrolled in Gamelan classes.  CalArts also required that he take classes in keyboards and other symphonic instruments.  Since he already had experience with keyboards, brass, and percussion instruments, he chose to take oboe lessons.  His teacher was a member of the Los Angeles Philharmonic Orchestra and we have no idea where he got hold of an oboe.  We never heard him play the oboe or even mention that he was taking lessons until the day of his CalArts graduation.  

Assured by Jory that he was marching at graduation, we were excited to attend the ceremony, but because he had a history of not completing "unimportant" assignments throughout his educational career, I called the administrative office to inquire about requirements for graduation.  I was told that no student with incomplete assignments or classes would be allowed to participate in the graduation ceremony.  Pleased with this assurance, we proudly attended graduation.  It was only after the commencement ceremony that we learned that Jory was still Jory.  He had 3 incomplete classes.  One was in oboe. 

"The LA Phil went on tour and we didn't have time to complete the required lessons," he explained.  "When she gets back, we'll schedule the last three lessons." 

"Great!"  we responded, with a hint of exasperated sarcasm, “Your new Mac computer graduation gift won't appear until after we see your diploma!"

When the oboe instructor returned, Jory again managed to barter a deal with her and completed the course in his usual, non-traditional way.  

Jory consistently remained Jory!

COMMENTS:  

Click on Jorysmother@gmail.com to send comments.

Jory Prum       1993

At the age of four, I began to play piano and read music.  I took lessons until I decided that I would continue on my own.  At ten, I decided to teach myself to play the guitar and mandolin by learning all the chords from a book. When I felt the need to learn scales and technique, I convinced my parents to let me take guitar lessons.  I felt that I had learned all that I could without help from someone more advanced than myself.  Through group lessons taught at school, I learned to play the trombone and various percussion instruments.  My parents have always commented about the constant rhythms that i tapped on the table or the ever-presence of melodies that I sang.

I know that my knowledge of formal and classical music is quite limited, so I would like to study it more in depth.  Along with completing my senior year in high school, I am also enrolled at the community college under the Bridge Program, where I am taking courses in music theory, ear training, and harmony.  I am learning techniques that I can incorporate into some of my writing.  In addition, I have noticed that my favorite film scorers–John Williams, Alan Menken, and Danny Elfman–seem to draw their inspiration from the classic composers.  Therefore, I have been spending time at the public library listening to compact dics by Isaac Albéniz, Mozart, Handel, and Bach.

Jory Prum     January 29, 2009

I am a musician and play many instruments, including acoustic guitar, bass, percussion, trombone, and many others.

Sandy S.

I thoroughly enjoyed your story on “Music Lessons”….Jory was so versatile, I knew he played guitar but didn’t realize he played so many other instruments as well.  It’s great that he had Suzuki lessons as a young child….didn’t know they offered piano. When I was 5 yrs old, my grandmother taught me my lines and spaces and how to play the piano. My parents eventually bought me an upright Hamilton piano for 45.00 and my lessons cost 2.75…can you believe it? My teacher came all the way from Indiana to teach her pupils on the south side of Chicago. She was very strict and only let us play classical music…as soon as she left, I jazzed up Fur Elise.

Anne S.

I now realize what a tremendous challenge it was to raise a genius.

Ralph L.

5 out of 5 stars

Ann L.

I loved the story.  We heard about  Suzuki method back in Belarus. My sister came from Belarus without any American experience and went to the Suzuki conference.  It opened the door  for her to be employed in 1980 in Chicago.  I enjoyed so much Jory’s free spirit!   Reading about him is like getting another drop of his spirit, which I need so much.

Elaine A.
I was mesmerized as I read your blog about Jory and his musical journey through his childhood and teens. He certainly chose the right parents to help him on his journey. It is not easy to have such a special child and with the wrong parents there can be great damage done to a child’s psyche. 

Molly P.
What an amazing musician!! He did March to his own drum, but was not allowed to march with the drum in the band!  They didn't know what they were missing! 

Elaine R.

My son Michael is a H.S. music teacher. He teaches the band geeks, marching band, show band etc. He also plays professionally, writes music charts and gives private lessons. His main instument is trumpet, but he plays many others. I remember when he was a teenager and all he wanted was a 6 string guitar. Everyone said a 4 string is fine but he wanted what he wanted. He eventually got his 6 string.  School was touchy sometimes, especially Spanish. I totally get Jory's music story!

Dee N.

Jory was still Jory sums it up. You grew a genius, allowing him to be Jory.  I think you had no choice. What a joy.

Daniel S.

thank you Leslye! 

Rita B.

Interesting! How do you remember all the details?

You should write books... I admire your writing abilities and enjoy your stories.

Freea S.

That's our Jory! He had his own pioneering way of doing everything and it always worked! Thanks for these shares. So greatly appreciated. 

Sam K.

Wonder if the path might have been different had he joined the drum line? I’m thinking it might have been a detour, but the journey would have continued…  As always, I’m smiling after reading about the evolution of Jory. 

Essie L.

My younger sister, Lisa, committed suicide this year, after a lifelong battle with manic depressive illness.  She finally freed herself from a life of emotional pain. It’s what she’d wanted to do for a long time.  As I read your stories of Jory I thought how lucky you are to have such wonderful memories and records of a life so well lived; of a person who brought such joy to you and others. 

© Leslye J. Prum   2017    All Rights Reserved.

Gobbles and Giggles

OCCUPY THANKSGIVING Squatters

One Thanksgiving morning, we awoke to a kitchen full of squatters.  Every bit of counter space was filled with large, brightly colored, honeycomb tissue paper turkeys sporting protest signs.  Even our traditional table decoration turkeys had migrated to join the protesters.  OCCUPY THANKSGIVING read their picket signs.  All over the country, protesters were squatting on public property with OCCUPY WALL STREET signs and now they had come to our house. 

Protesters

"Counter" Protesters

Turkeys,of course, have the right to protest on Thanksgiving, as they do not accept that their birthright is to feed the nation, but only Jory would bring them home.  Of course, there were “counter” protesters, as well.  Cows and pigs surrounded the turkeys in signs that read EAT MORE TURKEY and THE COWS ARE RIGHT!  EAT MORE TURKEY.  We took a poll, in which Jory was most vocal, but nobody wanted to switch to tofu turkey, so the protesters were overruled for the upcoming holidays.

At the beginning, we all would gather at Grandma Edna and Grandpa Morris’ house.  Grandma Bertha, Grandpa Sergio, and Aunt Miriam and Aunt Molly also joined us.  Thanksgiving was still a rather new holiday for them, having recently immigrated with Sam to Los Angeles from Mexico City.  Every year there were also other relatives and invited friends, so the table was expanded to accommodate everyone.

Thanksgiving lunch for the needy.

Thanksgiving morning, before we came to Grandma Edna’s house, we had things to prepare for our feast and we had an important obligation.  The boys and I went down to a small local church and served Thanksgiving dinner to the needy.  Each boy brought a tray of my freshly baked pumpkin bread, pies, or cookies to be shared.  The church parking lot was filled with tables and chairs.  Along the outside wall was a buffet table that stretched the entire length of the building.  Delicious homemade food filled every space on top of the crisp white table clothes.  There was turkey, ham, mashed potatoes, gravy, marshmallow yams, green beans, corn, black beans, rice, tortillas, biscuits, corn bread, pumpkin bread, pies, cakes, and cookies.  The line of hungry families and homeless people meandered down the street and around the corner.  Volunteers served the food as hungry individuals chose what they wanted.  At the end of the buffet table, the boys carried the filled plates to a dining table and helped the people get seated and comfortable.  We stayed to help until the last person had their fill.  It was important to me that the boys realize that there are many who are less fortunate than ourselves and it was their duty to treat them as guests and help out with whatever was needed.  It made Thanksgiving even sweeter, having done a mitzvah, or good deed, for others who could not repay that kindness.

Jory and Grandpa Morris in fun wigs.

Feeling pleased to be able to help the hungry, we then headed to Grandma Edna's house.  From the minute we entered the door, we could hear one of Grandpa Morris’ upbeat records playing on his turntable in the living room stereo cabinet.  As the spirit and the music moved us, one by one, we would become a family flash mob that gathered on the stone tiled walkway between the living room and the dining room.  The rhythms were contagious and feet began to dance on the hard surface.  We were a regular tap dance troupe, showing off our steps and moves.  Occasionally, someone would join us in one of Grandma Edna’s fun wigs and, just like in the old movies, we would laugh and dance on with tap dance steps that reverberated off the walls.

Salvador Dali jigsaw puzzle

Jory, Thalia, and Shan post scavenger hunt.

It seemed forever that we waited for the meal to begin, so distractions were available to keep our minds off of growing appetites.  A card table in the living room was a favorite spot to search for straight edges or red pieces in the large colorful jigsaw puzzles that challenged us every year.  The first comers occupied the four chairs, but the table corners offered room for bystanders who had aerial vision and could reach over the table to secure that obscure piece of cloud or sunshine.  Every year the puzzles seemed to become more interesting and complicated.  Once, when the boys were very young, we were all surprised to find that a playboy centerfold puzzle had made its way onto the card table.  Later, placing the final piece in the puzzle became a coveted honor.  Suspiciously, Jory began finding that last piece under the table, but his brothers swore that it was always hidden in his pocket.  The next year it happened again.  From that time on, Darren and Shan each sequestered a “last” piece, making sure that brother Jory couldn't finish the puzzle.   As they got older, the nature of the games expanded as the boys created their own activities to pass the time until dinner.  One year, Shan and Thalia organized a scavenger hunt for Jory’s prized railroad conductor’s hat that he claimed had been kidnapped.  Afterwards, the three of them showed up to the table wearing their various found treasures.  The brothers were never at a loss for silliness and laughter.

Jory and Shan at the oven door with a turkey hat.

Meanwhile, the ovens were bursting with the savory aromas of roast turkey with stuffing, candied yams, and pumpkin and corn breads.  We were salivating as our tummies gurgled.  The dessert table was already set with pumpkin, pecan, and apple pies; and as much whipped cream as one could pile on.  Gratefully, dinner is usually early on Thanksgiving and we were all hungry and ready.

Prum Family traditional Thanksgiving Table

We longingly checked out the Thanksgiving table, where presiding at the center is always a balding straw turkey whose remaining tail feathers are now short and scraggly.  They were never brilliantly colored, but in our memories, they represent the radiant past 60+ years of beautiful family gatherings around the Thanksgiving table.  Not alone, this raffia turkey is joined by equally old, mini-sculptured candles shaped like Pilgrims and Native Americans and a few colorful pumpkin and gourd candles that have remained unlit throughout the years.  They stand surrounded by vibrant red, orange, and yellow leaves that fall from the trees outside to bring color to our table.  Adding sparkle to the table is the flock of brightly colored, foil wrapped See’s chocolate turkeys, each carefully placed before every person’s place setting.  (When this custom began, the See's chocolate turkeys cost 35¢ each.  Now they are $5.50 apiece.) 

Thanksgiving buffet table

Jory serves himself turkey while Thalia waits.

When dinner was announced, everyone rushed to the buffet table to fill their plates with our sumptuous dinner.  The turkey had already been carved, so choosing between the dark and white meat was easy.  Steam rising from the bread stuffing curled into our nostrils, making our mouths water in anticipation.  The dish of candied yams bathed in their sweet orange sauce was adjacent to the plate of round, cranberry sauce slices.  Next to Grandpa Morris’ required green salad was a bowl of bright green string beans.  A bowl of spiced peach halves and one of black olives added condiments to the meal.  Of course, the baskets of pumpkin and corn bread were passed around after everyone was seated at the dining table.

After the meal and before dessert, we had two very important traditions to fulfill.  First, we went around the table so that everyone could share those things that they were thankful for.   Thoughts and words were percolating within each of us throughout this special day.  Now they were validated as each of us said them aloud in the presence of those that we loved most.        

Turkey Farm

Our second tradition was the Turkey Gobble, which had its origin when I was about 9 years old.  Grandpa Morris would take us to the turkey farm at Mt. San Antonio College.  We could hardly wait to jump out of the car and sprint to the fence.  All the turkeys in the yard came to greet us.  Grandpa Morris would throw his hands up like conducting an orchestra and command, “All together now!”  At Grandpa Morris’ prompting, the turkeys would join in a rambunctious cacophony of gobbles.  We loved it and urged encore after encore.  All the way home, we would practice gobbling, but no one could beat Grandpa Morris.  To this day, we still honor these traditions.  New members to our family shyly turn red as they undergo this sacred initiation into the Prum family custom.  Laughter abounds following each gobbling solo.  Finally, the grand finale occurs when Sam raises his hands to conduct the ensemble and says, “All together now,” and everyone gobbles in unison.  When the giggles subside, the pies are served.

Pumpkin, pecan, and apple pies.

We have always had two or three kinds of pie at Thanksgiving:  pumpkin, pecan, and apple.  Not everyone was a fan of pumpkin pie, and Jory was allergic to the milk based pies, so I made apple pie for him and anyone else who wanted some.  Whipped cream made the pies really special.  Sometimes, the boys, each armed with a can of whipped cream, faced off in the kitchen and came out covered in white deliciousness.  Jory was not allergic to making a mess with whipped cream and we always had a generous supply on hand.

Prum family Thanksgiving table decorations.

In time, the straw turkey along with the assortment of table decorations migrated to our house.  Grandma Edna and Grandpa Morris had moved from Whittier to Leisure World.  Grandma Edna declared a hiatus, and their kitchen went on vacation.  At first, they contributed the roasted turkey, but eventually they had done their duty and became guests.  Everything else remained almost the same.  We all gathered together to feast on our favorites, express our thanks, gobble, giggle, and chomp on those chocolate turkeys.

Jory singing "Bertha from Bolinas" after dinner.

As each of the boys became adults and began to explore their futures, they moved in different directions and into distant locales.  It was not always possible for all three to be with us for Thanksgiving.  Darren moved to Nevada, then Florida; Jory was drawn to Fairfax and Norway; and Shanon migrated to Australia, then San Diego.  They always called or Skyped sometime during the day if they were not able to make the trip home.  When Jory was with us, there was always an after dinner serenade of his favorite songs.  Most were satirical and funny and some, like “Bertha from Bolinas,” were his own compositions.  He was pretty young when Grandma Bertha passed away, but he memorialized her name in his music. 

Last year was the first year that we were all together for Thanksgiving without Jory.  Darren hosted the event.  It wasn't easy, but we made it through together.  It was Eliza’s first Thanksgiving, as she was born to Shan and Thalia 10 days before Jory passed away.  Having a baby in the family helped camouflage the underlying sadness that we all felt.

Thanksgiving 2016 at Darren and Andra's house.

As a surprise for me, Jory's brothers scheduled a photographer to take family portraits.  We scouted locales near Darren’s home to find trees with red, gold, and orange leaves.  The spot we chose was near a picturesque lake house with rocking chairs on the wooden porch.  Fortunately, the inhabitants were away celebrating Thanksgiving with relatives, so we made ourselves at home for a fun picture shoot that redefined our family and is helping us all move forward with our current reality.

The Redefined Prum Family on Thanksgiving 2016

Luckily for us, no one was home when we used the porch for this fun photo.  Jory would have loved this.

COMMENTS:  

Click on Jorysmother@gmail.com to send comments.

Jory Prum    January 29, 2009
I maintain that I was not allergic. My parents claim I was calmer when I was "allergic", but they didn't know I was having chocolate milk at school.  

Abe

Thank you for helping me get to know so many things about Jory that I did not know. I await eagerly every new chapter of your blog that you write so beautifully and with so much love.

Rita

Your stories are so poignant and interesting-the addition of photos is ingenius.  Your extended family is an amazing achievement. Few are so lucky.

Erik

Love it and KEEP ME ON THE LIST. Hehehehehe

©  2017  Leslye J.  Prum  All rights reserved.

Stepping Stones

Kermit came to the hospital and hung upside down above the foot of Jory’s bed until the end, but Kermit was a latecomer.   It all began on Sesame Street before Jory was 2 years old.  He fell in love with Cookie Monster and Rubber Ducky.  We had an 11 inch color TV and Jory would dance in front of it singing along with the muppets, "C is for cookie, that's good enough for me."  He joined in when Ernie sang to Rubber Ducky in the tubby.  That Chanukah, squealing with excitement, Jory opened a gift containing his own rubber ducky along with Bert and Ernie hand puppets, which he kept and safeguarded forever.  He sang "Rubber Duckie" and "C is for Cookie" his entire life, eventually being able to closely imitate the voices of muppet actors Frank Oz and Jim Henson. 

A few months after Jory's second birthday, Star Wars was released.  Jory was too young to see the film, but the theme song played all over the radio.  Since California kids are raised in cars while being constantly transported from place to place, Jory was generously exposed to the score written by John Williams.  Almost immediately, he was singing "Na, Naaa...Na Na Na Naaa......Naaa.... Na Na Na Naaa....."  Everywhere we went, Jory sang at the top of his lungs, inviting strangers to comment, "Hey, do you hear that kid singing Star Wars?" 

He was approaching 3 years old when our family decided upon our first visit to Disneyland.  Older brother Darren was almost 8 and had been pleading to go.  We lived in Mickey's backyard, but as a young couple, couldn't afford it sooner.  We were as excited as the kids, wanting to see their faces as they met the real Mickey and Minnie Mouse at the photo station on Main Street, USA.

The minute we entered the park, Jory spied the steam locomotive chugging into the Disneyland train station and shouted with joy.  He had fallen in love with trains from the many storybooks we had read to him and tugged at our hands to hurry up so he could see it up close.  In retrospect, he was probably intrigued mostly by the rhythmic clattering of the steel wheels along the tracks, the whoosh of steam escaping from the brakes and smokestack, the engineer releasing double wailing blasts from the horn, as well as the conductor's clanging the bell and singing, "All.....a-b-o-a- r-d!"  If portable sound recorders had been invented then, he would have told us all to keep quiet while he stuck his right hand up into the air and recorded all the glorious sounds for his library.

As we entered Main Street, a spiffy uniformed marching band was making its way around the circle.  Jory's eyes opened wide as he watched the rows of shiny brass horns and cadenced drums parade by us and down the street.  Again he tugged as he tried to persuade us to follow the band.

Throughout the day, we went on ride after ride, always ending each attraction humming the melody of that particular ride.  As we stood in line for the next ride, Jory sang "Alice in Wonderland, la la la la laaaa" or "I can fly, I can fly, I can fly...."  He insisted that we ride the Merry-Go-Round several times.  I thought it was because he loved going up and down on the sparkling, white carousel horses.  Years later, while Jory and I were again riding a Disney carousel, he told me that it was because he loved listening to the calliope.

In New Orleans Square, there was a Dixieland band performing in a pavilion, and another outside the Carnation ice cream parlor.  Jory took delight in each band and was reluctant to move on to the next attraction.  He was dazzled by tubas and trombones.  We thought he was drawn to them by their size and color:  gleaming brass and shiny silver ones, each tuba curling around the player and evolving into a glorious spout above his head, and each trombone with its arm-length slippery slide moving its sounds into the atmosphere.  In hindsight, Jory was mesmerized by their um-pa-pa's and wa-wa-wa's. 

Shortly after sunset, we thankfully found seats curbside along Main Street for a brief rest while waiting for Disney's hometown character parade.  We were all exhausted from a full day of fun and excitement.  Jory had missed his nap and his eyelids were heavy, but he was fighting hard to keep them open.  All of a sudden, a man's polished voice blared from loud speakers above us, "Ladies and gentleman, boys and girls of all ages:  Disneyland is proud to present the Main Street Electrical Parade!"  Immediately following, flowed a river of synthesized music in an upbeat, syncopated rhythm, accompanied by 600,000 sparking lights concealing small vehicles that whirled and darted down the street.  Jory came alive.  Electronic music was fairly new and it was the first time that he was experiencing it.  Jory absorbed each note and after the initial loop, was able to sing the entire catchy melody.

On our way out of the park, we stopped at the General Store and Jory was gifted with an LP vinyl recording of the Main Street Electrical Parade.  He could hardly wait to play it on his plastic kid's record player, but like any exhausted toddler, fell sound asleep in the car on the way home, clutching his record.  With Mickey taking a surprising back seat, the absolute highlights of Jory's day at Disneyland were tubas, trombones, drums, and stick-in-your-head melodies.

The next morning, singing the Main Street Electrical Parade ditty at full volume, Jory woke us up by climbing into our bed inquiring about his record.  Before releasing it to a very rambunctious Jory, Sam safeguarded the pristine record by recording a tape cassette on our Hi Fi stereo system.  Twice we listened to it:  first as it was being recorded and then the recorded version.  Jory danced around the room with glee and excitement as Sam placed the record into his chubby little hands and told him to be very careful not to scratch it with the needle.  Like a cartoon character, he dashed to his room with his prized possession, leaving the air behind him swirling.

Almost immediately, Jory emerged, sobbing and screaming, "Daddy stole the boom booms!"  We couldn't understand what he was saying nor could we calm him down.  Louder and clearer he shouted, "DADDY STOLE THE BOOM BOOMS!"  Sam and I looked at each other trying to figure it out.  Nothing clicked, so Sam placed the record on Jory's toy turntable, gently placed the arm at the disc's edge, and lowered the needle into the groove.   "Dum De De Dum Dum....." began the music, yet Jory could not be soothed.  Finally, Sam looked at me and proclaimed, "This children's record player has no bass.  He can hear that the bass is missing from the music."  We were dismayed.  It was our first real awareness of Jory's musical talent and gift.

In hindsight, this was the pivotal time of Jory's young life.  Through music, he fell in love with Jim Henson's world of fun and funny muppets, George Lucas' world of innovation, and Walt Disney's magical world of creativity.  We would never have guessed at that time that the stepping stones for his professional career would include jobs as an Electron at Jim Henson's Creature Shop, a sound designer for Star Wars Video Games at LucasArts, and a sound engineer at Disney Online.

Even into his early 40's, Jory continued singing “Rubber Ducky” and “C is for Cookie.”  When he added "It's Not Easy Being Green,” Kermit joined Jory's favorites.  Working as an Electron at The Creature Shop, he earned the right to wear a black, Jim Henson's Productions jacket with Kermit embroidered on the back and Jory's name on the front.  As an adult, he wore Cookie Monster t-shirts and was often requested to sing his signature Sesame Street songs at open mic venues and parties.  When Jory opened his studio, Kermit the Frog, in stuffed animal form, presided up-side-down on a microphone stand, immediately establishing Jory's playful sense of working and living.  He now sits at our house on the piano that was Jory’s first instrument.

COMMENTS:  

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Jory Prum   January 7, 2009
When I was very small, Grandma Edna gave me a picture disc 10" record of the "Disneyland Main Street Electrical Parade" soundtrack. My dad said, "Let me copy it to a cassette before you play it, so we can listen to it in the car." He knew I was going to destroy the record on my toy turntable.  I listened as he copied the record and then ran excitedly to my room to listen to it on my record player.  I then ran crying to my mom, inconsolable. She asked me what was wrong and I said, "Daddy stole the boom-booms from my record!"  I didn't understand it at the time, but my dad's stereo was a really nice high-fidelity system and my little toy record player simply couldn't reproduce the bass that I'd already heard on his speakers!  Thank you for everything, Grandma!

Donna
Musical talent is right!

Molly
Another fascinating and beautifully told account of Jory's wonderful gift with sounds and music.   It showed early on his creativity, rhythm and love for music, but more than anything, it showed your support and belief in his pursuits. He succeeded because you believed in him and were with him since early on in his life.  Read it three times already!

Alyse
So incredibly powerful!  Thank you for sharing your insides and outsides.

Sam K.
I started this lovely Sunday morning by reading your first two posts. Joryprumfreespirit.blogspot.com is now on my favourites bar!  I so enjoy the vignettes and your insights into the making of the man.  I think it must be characteristic of you to find ways to transform the tragedies of life – be they big or small – into triumphs of spirit as you are doing with this journal. And, there is a lot of potential for a book.  What vividly re-created vignettes. I didn’t know Jory, but these stories give me windows into who he was (and why…)

Miriam

Jory will always hold a very special place in our heart.  His winning smile from the youngest age, his awe and wonder at everything in the world, to his incredible ear for music and wonderful sense of humor.

Several stories from his childhood capture all of this.  I remember hearing from you how one day you found him in the car having taken apart the sun roof to see how it worked and another time in tears because when Sam recorded his favorite music onto cassette, he took away his "Boom-boom" and then of course was one of his favorite songs - "fish heads" complete with actually getting a fish head.

© 2017  Leslye J. Prum.  All Rights Reserved.