A lady named Max made me into a singer
After a long hiatus, I have rejoined the alto section of the choir at Christ Lutheran Church in Whitefish.
I’ve sung in church choirs off and on for most of my life but it’s been several years since I’ve been a “regular” choir member. There’s nothing that gives me such pure joy as being surrounded by four-part harmony and being a part of it.
So I wondered, why had I stayed away so long? I guess life and all of its busyness sometimes gets in the way of doing what we love.
I may have been born with some limited ability to make music, but it was my mentor, a lady named Max, who really literally made me sing.
Maxine Shulstad was a rebel with a cause in our little Lutheran country church in northern Minnesota. At a time in the 1960s and ’70s when the rest of the church ladies were wearing hairsprayed, tightly curled “helmet hair” and polyester double-knit dresses and looked like clones, Max wore her hair short and straight, and I don’t ever remember her wearing a dress.
She took it upon herself to teach a bunch of bashful farm kids something about music. Max did her best to put together a respectable youth choir for our annual Christmas programs. It wasn’t her fault that red-headed Jimmy Nelson was tone-deaf. Or that the Ronsberg kids consistently sang off-key.
Max knew how to shake things up.
Those who played band instruments were called upon for extra duty. Various trumpet players were ordered to accompany “Christ the Lord has Risen Today” and I played the flute so there was no end to my accompaniment chores.
She even brought a guitar (gasp) to our conservative congregation at a time when church hymns and nothing but hymns were the norm. Guitar music could lead to clapping (another gasp) and who knows what else? Soon there could be dancing in the aisles, at which point the church ladies were apt to just keel over from shock.
Still, none of the other ladies wanted the responsibility, so they let Max rule over the music program.
When Max realized our ragtag choir was never going to amount to much, she honed in on small groups. That’s when I became the lone alto in a trio that included the other two girls in my grade, Faye and Janet. Max drilled the notes into us, so much that I still remember the alto part on “Let There Be Peace on Earth.”
Our trio never drew the acclaim that the legendary Brusven sisters achieved in our country church. They were four, gifted siblings, and it was tough to hold a candle to them. But we were above average and much appreciated at special events.
Janet and I went on to be part of a gospel group called The Soul Seekers that performed at area churches and as far away as Duluth, Minn. That was a wonderful time in my life, and much of the credit goes to Max.
I didn’t realize at the time what a challenge it must have been for her to find enough moments in the day to teach us how to sing. She was raising six kids and helping her husband milk cows morning and night.
A few years ago, when my three brothers and I were at our old church practicing musical numbers for our parents’ 50th wedding anniversary program, I opened the piano bench and, much to my surprise, found stacks of old sheet music we’d performed decades ago.
After we baby boomers grew up and moved away, the music program eventually fell by the wayside in our aging congregation. But the music was still there, along with the memories.
So there you have it, fellow choir members. If I’m able to carry a tune, it’s only because Max made me sing. For that, I’m forever grateful.
Features editor Lynnette Hintze may be reached at 758-4421 or by email at lhintze@dailyinterlake.com.