WHEN I TANGLED WITH THE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER

It was 2004; Maine had cast its electoral votes to Kerry but Bush had won the nation. I was 17 years old and taking voice lessons. 

 My voice teacher, Judith, had been asked by the State House to sing the national anthem for the meeting of the Maine Electoral College when they would cast their votes for Kerry. (I never knew that this is a solemn process that happens on the Monday after the second Wednesday in December. Members of the Electoral College cast their electoral votes on separate ballots for president and vice-president). For whatever reason, Judith was unavailable to perform and asked me to sing in her stead.

I was thrilled at the honor. I knew our anthem backwards and forwards, having sung it before for various occasions, both as a soloist and as a chorister. Even so, I practiced the piece religiously, knowing that I always get stage fright. (Despite having performed in front of people for as long as I can remember, I still get very nervous before I sing. I feel, however, that my nervousness sharpens my focus. It is the lack of those butterflies that get me into trouble….)

My father and boyfriend (now husband) drove up with me. During the entire ride, my father peppered me with questions about the Star-Spangled Banner. (This is my father’s teaching style. When I ask, “Dad, how do you spell X?” he replies, “How do you spell it?” I then dutifully follow the established spelling bee rules:Say the word, spell the word and say the word again. If I say the incorrect letter, he makes a buzzing noise and Ibegin again.) 

 How many verses? Recite them! When was it written and by whom? What is the name of the poem? What was the name of the popular British song from which the tune was taken? When was it made the national anthem and what song was used previously? I answered all these questions and more, and my nerves were nowhere to be seen.

 With my father and boyfriend in the audience, I stood in front of the lectern; there must have been at least 75 people in attendance. Someone spoke briefly, and then signaled that it was time for me to sing. I began. Everything was going wonderfully; I was so confident, I was warmed up and on pitch, I knew the song like the back of my hand, and….

I stalled after ”through the perilous fight.” I could not remember the next word for the life of me. One beat passed, then another; the silence felt deafening. Seconds became hours. Suddenly, I heard my father's voice sing, “O'er the ramparts we watched, were so gallantly streaming.” He was standing. Then, slowly, every person in the room arose and began to sing. I rejoined the swell of voices with“Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there” and the whole audience finished together.

 My dad’s best friend, Paul, called us later that night. He was listening to Maine Public Radio and heard a story about everyone singing the national anthem at the State House. We had been recorded and Paul recognized my voice. I was briefly famous (or infamous, perhaps). But the radio personality did not realize what an exceptional moment it was for that forgetful singer.

 It was a simple moment, an ordinary moment; a group of people singing our nation’s anthem. But it was an extraordinary moment; my father coming to my rescue, and then inspiring the rest of the audience to do the same. We all became united by music, the desire to help out a fellow man and love of country.

P.S. I ended up graduating conservatory with a Master’s in Opera. I even performed as Violetta in Italy. And for every performance I have had since that fateful day, my father insists that he be given the music, just in case.