Philadelphia, 1960. Dad lost his job. Seven-year-old me told my voice teacher, Dr. Lake, I had to quit—we couldn’t afford $2 lessons.
He said quietly, “Let me see what I can do.”
Days later, a white-haired man at a hotel asked me to sing Handel, then read lines. I didn’t know I was auditioning.
Mom signed papers. That man was Oscar Hammerstein II.
Two days later, I opened on Broadway in The Sound of Music. My eighth birthday—my debut night.
A teacher who cared turned my goodbye into a beginning.
Years later, I became a music teacher myself. When students can’t afford lessons, I remember Dr. Lake and quietly say: “Let me see what I can do.”
One person’s kindness can rewrite a life.
Philadelphia, 1960. I was seven. My dad had just lost his job. I told my voice teacher, Dr. Lake, I had to quit—we couldn’t afford the $2 lessons anymore.
He didn’t argue. He just said, “Let me see what I can do.”
A few days later, I was in a hotel lobby. A white-haired man asked me to sing Handel. Then read lines.
I didn’t know it was an audition.
My mom signed the papers. That man was Oscar Hammerstein II.
Two days later, I opened on Broadway in The Sound of Music. My eighth birthday—my debut night.
Years later, I became a music teacher. And when a student says they can’t afford lessons, I remember Dr. Lake.
I smile and say, “Let me see what I can do.”
Because one person’s kindness doesn’t just change a moment. It can rewrite a life.
