Yes, I briefly sang with Sheryl Crow in college and, yes, her arts education at the University of Missouri has certainly served her well and yes, I can safely speculate that Sheryl makes more money than I do.

However, with only a tiny fraction of the student population growing up to become a “Sheryl Crow,” an incorrect assumption prevails that an arts education does not provide the same benefit as the “Three Rs”: reading, writing and arithmetic.

That being said, I would love to compete in a Spelling Bee with the mental giant who first coined that unfortunate etymological phrase.

But what about the first grader who discovered an affinity for art and is now helping to build America as a successful architect? Or the classically trained ballerina inspired to rebuild lives through a career in physical therapy?

And what about international blogging sensation, Randall Kenneth Jones, and his rather obvious flair for the dramatic?

I defend my description of “international blogging sensation” because my college friend Laurie lives in New Zealand. Plus, I have another Facebook Fan in “Vigan, Ilocos Sur, Philippines” though I’m not totally sure where that is or how she found me.

Even my Podiatrist, Honey Lam, credits her adolescent study of music, including bassoon, saxophone, piano and violin, as, “instrumental” (sorry—I couldn’t resist) in her ability to “fine tune” (yep—I did it again) her critical thinking skills.

I was also going to comment that Honey Lam’s music education obviously gave her a “leg up” in her chosen podiatric profession but I didn’t want to induce groans from my readers.

Here is my story…

In the Fall of 1977, my life would forever change. It was called High School.

(Theme Song begins here: New Kid in Town by the Eagles)

Jackie Pettit White. Photo courtesy of Pamela Pettit Bruenjes

Of the new crop entering Rock Bridge High School in Columbia, Missouri, the most notable addition, for me, was my drama teacher, Jackie.

Although known as Mrs. Smith on the first day of class, Jackie would go through multiple surname changes over the next several years. In Susan Lucci terms, Jackie would eventually evolve to become Jackie Pettit Smith Bromstedt White.

Jackie was, and always has been, the woman and arts educator most profoundly responsible for the business professional I am today. Jackie didn’t just march to the beat of a different drummer—she was the drummer, the drum, the drum sticks and the band.

Thankfully, for those of us in her classes, Jackie was absolutely authentic to herself and honest to a fault with her students—especially to those of us who she felt needed it the most. Jackie insisted upon a strict code of theatre etiquette. And as her gift was a combination of fear (none of us wanted to disappoint her) and encouragement (all of us required her approval), we lived and died by her rules and regulations.

It hasn’t been terribly long ago that a fellow actor, Mr. Absentminded, failed to remember his next line during a live performance thus bringing the storyline to a screeching halt. Without hesitation, and in the spirit of teamwork, I did as Jackie had originally taught me and said his lines for him. Of course, this was a challenging feat as my character didn’t actually know the butler did it yet but the show did go on.

Nevertheless, in the process, Mr. Absentminded ultimately broke one of Jackie’s Fundamental Rules: always say “thank you” when someone covers for you in a performance. Mr. Absentminded said nothing to me.

A little common courtesy goes a long way: in the dressing room and in the board room.

Part of me expected the spirit of Jackie to show up backstage the next night and rearrange Mr. Absentminded’s props and costumes in retaliation for this behavioral misstep. Though tempted myself, I was far too Type-A impaired to execute such a deliciously diabolical plan on my own.

To be fair, knowing what to say and when to say it obviously wasn’t Mr. Absentminded’s strong suit anyway.

My first audition at Rock Bridge High School was for the fall 1977 production of Bye Bye Birdie. And the day the final cast list was posted, I cried—oh did I cry.

Though I was confident that my audition song choice, Bless the Beasts and the Children, was a surefire winner, all my sophomore contemporaries were cast but I was not. Even a deaf student named Buster was cast instead of me—in a musical no less. I was devastated.

In hindsight, I am sure my lack of Birdie success was Jackie’s not-so-subtle way of telling me to keep my ego in check and, more importantly, prove to both of us how important the opportunity to perform meant to me.

Score another point for my future business negotiations. That and I should never attempt to cover a Karen Carpenter song for future auditions.

Though I’m not sure my ego settled down much, they rarely do in high school, Jackie did achieve part of her goal and I would go on to prove my desire and work harder—much harder—at everything I did.

Is it just me or are we all seeing a positive lifestyle trend developing here?

Truth be told, I wasn’t the most talented student to ever step foot into Rock Bridge High School. But through hard work and perseverance, Jackie eventually rewarded me for my efforts many times over.

By the spring of 1978, I was actually cast in Rock Bridge’s Man of LaMancha as a part of the rough and tough band of muleteers—typecasting, of course.

On opening night of LaMancha, I assumed my pre-show position alongside the other “prisoners,” crouched tightly underneath the newly constructed thrust platform stage, only to experience my first major wardrobe malfunction: my costume pants had completely ripped open in the rear seam as I crawled into position.

Randy: (in a whisper) Rodney. Rodney. My pants just ripped open in the back. We don’t leave the stage for the first 30 minutes of the show. What do I do?

Rodney Hill: Uh…don’t turn around?

Concealing my exposed bottom behind a conveniently positioned large prop.

From my now literal prison under the platform in front of the gymnatorium stage, I was unexpectedly redefining the entire concept of “opening night.”

I learned two extremely valuable lessons that night:

1)  Always cover your ass and

2) Never ever allow your mother to repurpose a McCall’s pajama bottom pattern for a public event.

Truth be told, I needed my fellow thespians as much as they needed me: Sarah Froese, Celenne Poulin, Becki Forsee, Sheri Hulett, Jim Chambers, Rodney Hill and Curtis Shaw. And yes it was Sarah Froese, armed with a handful of safety pins, who ultimately kept me from an awkward first brush with indecent exposure: “Randy, trust me, no one wants to see your ass.”

As a group, high school theatre actually became our own adolescent version of “hide and go seek” but with scripts replacing spontaneity, costumes replacing crevices and characters replacing our somewhat awkward adolescent selves.

Jackie gave us focus, drive, determination and a newfound comfort with audiences, both large and small. Most importantly, she set us on a path of learning to be comfortable with ourselves.

Children learning to be comfortable with themselves? What a daring educational concept.

Unrelenting in her goal to also teach us lessons in rejection and humility, though sometimes painful for the teenage psyche, Jackie would eventually unleash a group of tough competitors to college campuses and beyond.

As a writer, salesperson and marketing professional, I make my living being both “creative” (drama) and “analytical” (music). I make presentations to groups both large and small. I have to visualize a concept and work with a team to bring my vision to life on the client’s behalf (art).

I am drama, music and art. I am my arts education.

Moreover, I defy anyone to convince me that the ability to confidently and articulately present one’s self in any sort of public forum isn’t a tremendous advantage.

On November 22, 1991, the world lost an amazing educator when Jackie Pettit White passed away well before her time.

And in 2011, I finally have the forum to publicly thank her. And, of course, what Jackie did for Buster, the musical deaf student, and his sense of self is exactly what educators are supposed to do—use their power to help each student, every student, understand their full potential.

So Jackie, on behalf of both Buster and me, I thank you with all of my heart.

Postscript: My high school vocal music teacher and Jackie’s esteemed colleague, Mr. Bob Bohon, recently saw me perform in Dirty Rotten Scoundrels at the Sugden Theatre in Naples, Florida some 30 years after I left his classroom. To have Bob in my audience after all these years was extraordinarily special.

If you have a teacher who made a dramatic impact on your life, find him or her and tell them. Tell them now. They deserve to know.

Humorist, Editorial Writer, Speaker, and Entrepreneur Randall Kenneth Jones is the creator of professional-courtesy initiative, RediscoverCourtesy.org, and the “confessional development” chronicle, AttackBunnies.com. His creative communications agency, MindZoo, is dedicated to the development of highly targeted and innovative written and visual communications for use across today’s wide spectrum of online and offline media.

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