Mr. Terris: A Remembrance

Published January 3, 2025

Mr. Terris: A Remembrance

“What I am to be, I am now becoming.”
-Benjamin Franklin

Painted on the wall of the Coeur d’Alene (Idaho) High School music room, these words hovered over my adolescence and indeed prophesied much of who I am today. They provided a North Star concept of the man who taught in that room, John Terris.

On December 2nd, Mr. Terris, the most influential and important teacher of my life passed away. Since hearing the news of his death, the memories and lessons have flooded back, and it has taken time to process and evaluate them. Like a lot of my fellow Vikings I suspect, my relationship to Mr. Terris (even after he asked me to call him John, I have been uncomfortable doing so) is complex. The strictest, most consistent, and most disciplined teacher I ever had, he absolutely helped instill and nurture my love of music and my life’s path in it, but he also implanted a respectful fear. What follows is one former student’s reflection on this man who had a gargantuan impact on the lives of all who studied with him during an incredible 33-year teaching career:

“I’m not here to teach you about music, I’m here to teach you about life.”

Filer image element — *Photo: Mr. Terris*

Reinforcing the Franklin quotation on the wall, this Terris-ism couldn’t have been truer. Yes, he taught music, but it was through music that he imparted important principles. The first of these is consistency. I don’t ever remember him making an exception to a rule or policy. Ever. One of those policies was that every Monday each student had to turn in a practice card, signed by a parent, proving that that they logged the minimum amount of at-home practice time that week. If you didn’t turn in your practice card, you lost your chair. Period. If you were first chair, had a solo part to play in a piece, and there was a concert that night, the second chair player better have the solo prepared, because you were not going to be playing it. If everyone in the section failed to turn in a signed practice card, I’m quite certain no solo would be played.

My dear friend, National Board-Certified music teacher, and now 30-year master educator himself, Rich Rees, was a member of the McDonald’s All-American Marching Band his senior year. The McDonalds band was comprised of two musicians from each state. It was a huge honor to be selected, and Rich’s fantastic trombone playing made him completely worthy. After marching in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade and spending the weekend in New York City, he flew home on a Sunday red-eye flight. Although he returned a conquering hero to his friends, he’d forgotten to get his practice card signed and was promptly demoted two chairs because “that was not the behavior of a leader.” Mr. Terris could be tough.

“Early is on time, and on time is late.”

I am almost physically incapable of showing up late to anything, and these seeds were certainly planted by Mr. Terris. Never has a reputation preceded anyone like his. Coeur d’Alene High School at that time was a three-year school (10^th through 12^th grade). On the first day of my sophomore year, everyone in the orchestra class was sitting quietly in their seat with their instrument out and tuned before the bell rang based on that reputation alone. If a sectional was scheduled for 7:00 a.m., that’s when the band room door was locked. A post-7:00 a.m. arrival required pounding on the door to be let in, and that was only if one had a note from a parent or an administrator. Unexcused tardies and absences really weren’t a thing in the Terris universe.

“Perfection is what’s expected. We’ll address what’s wrong.”

“When you pay your electric bill on-time each month, do they send you a thank you note? No, they send you another bill the next month.”

This mindset is the part about Mr. Terris that wouldn’t do well in the modern day, and truthfully was not the healthiest thing for us students. Compliments were rare treasures in his classroom. He encouraged his students, but it certainly wasn’t via unearned, fluffy praise. Internalizing this perfectionist approach over the years has at times caused me not to be pleased with my imperfect journey of development and growth in music and other parts of life, but it also has kept me from being satisfied with an “it’s good enough” attitude. Like so many things, it’s a complicated mixed bag.

I’ll pause here to tell you that there was never a moment when I felt that Mr. Terris didn’t love or care about me and my fellow students. Yes, it was tough love, but he demonstrated it by his unwavering commitment and presence. He never married or had children, so we students were his kids. His car was always the first in the parking lot, and the last to leave. If a student was preparing for a festival, competition, or scholarship audition he would make time to work individually with each student, and if a recording was required, spent unlimited time making the best one possible. The results of these efforts were staggering. My junior year we sent two audition-winning busloads of students to participate in the Idaho All-State Band and Orchestra. I was named principal bassist of that orchestra and received a classic Mr. Terris compliment. He put his arm around me and said, “Scott, I don’t know whether I should pat you on the back or kick you in the butt.”

His complete dedication to his students accrued incredible success over his 33-year career. He took 61 groups to band and orchestra festivals, receiving 59 Superior ratings and two Excellent ratings. Nothing below that. And his dedication was also displayed by being there for a student or two who made a bad decision and needed to make their “one phone call” in the middle of the night from jail. We all knew that he was there for us anytime we needed him.

“There are no small parts only small players.”

I ponder this comment often. We bassists often have, shall we say, less than interesting things to play. Human nature can cause a person not to treat these parts with the same respect, integrity, and commitment that one might for, say, a Beethoven symphony. This approach was not acceptable for Mr. Terris, and just last month I heard his voice in my head while trying to perfectly place every note of “Little Drummer Boy” during the Reno Phil’s “Spirit of the Season” concerts. This gift of valuing details (and people for that matter) that are seemingly less significant is one for which I am grateful.

“Don’t React!”

As you can see by now, Mr. Terris’s incredible discipline commanded the respect of his students. When teenagers acted like teenagers in his class, a familiar response was barked: “Don’t React!” By golly, we stopped reacting. Although it was before my time, the most legendary deployment of this phrase came when the Coeur d’Alene High marching band was in formation, about to start marching in the annual Spokane, Washington Lilac Parade. At that moment a troubled soul leapt to his death from a building right next to the assembled musicians. Mr. Terris yelled, “Don’t React,” and none of the 60 or so teenagers so much as turned their heads.

I’m reminded of the 1995 movie “Mr. Holland’s Opus” starring Richard Dryfus. Mr. Terris touched the lives of two generations of North Idaho students, and his kids really were his life’s work. The 1987 Idaho Music Teacher of the Year and 1988 National Band Masters Association Citation of Excellence laureate impacted hundreds of lives. His students are now public-school music teachers, professional symphonic musicians, college professors, blog-writers as well as architects, lawyers, parents, and contributing citizens. The seeds he planted in us are rooted and blossoming across the country and the world.

Unfortunately, I didn’t keep in close contact with Mr. Terris after my graduation in 1987. His tremendous discipline was well suited to the road races and triathlons in which he competed toward the end of his career and in retirement. A devoted Catholic, he served as organist at Coeur d’Alene’s St. Thomas Church for over 50 years. Although it was judiciously shared with the students in his classroom, he had a rapier quick wit that stayed with him to the end.

Indeed, I now am what I was becoming in the Coeur d’Alene High music room so many decades ago, and the person I am today would not be the same without John Terris and his impact on my life. I am eternally grateful to you, Mr. Terris. Rest In Peace.

Scott Faulkner is a 1987 graduate of Coeur d’Alene (ID) High School. He is also principal bassist of the Reno Phil and Reno Chamber Orchestra (RCO), and the former executive director of the RCO. For the League of American Orchestras, he serves as faculty director of its Essentials of Orchestra Management seminar each summer at the Juilliard School and is also director of its Alumni Network.