Jerry Willard:

When I was a child in the late 1950s just beginning to become interested in
music the guitar was in its infancy as a concert instrument and teachers
were difficult to come by. There were few players and few teachers and even
fewer good teachers. I was a young man, a bit of a prodigy, in that I could
play some difficult pieces in an era when very few people could. I was used
to being coddled and people were continually saying, "You play so
beautifully, you're so young," and so forth. It was then that I met not
only my first good teacher but the most unforgettable person I have ever
known: Richard Lurie.

Mr. Lurie had a guitar studio in Cleveland, Ohio and was known as very fine
jazz and classical guitarist. Dick also sponsored artists and set up
concerts for the young Julian Bream, Segovia, Presti & LaGoya and John
Williams. Needless to say it was a thrill for me to be able to talk to, take
an occasional lesson from, and rub shoulders with these truly great
musicians. I was young and had the arrogance of youth. So at my first lesson
with Dick, I sat down opened the music and said, "I think..." Mr. Lurie's
baton slapped down on the page of music. He looked me straight in the eye
and said, "Who cares what you think? You're here to find out what I think.
If you want to know what you think you can stay at home!" That was my
introduction to boot camp with Mr. Lurie. Sometimes in my lessons I felt as
if I was being taken apart and reassembled. Every truth I held about music
and art was examined and dissected. I was being taught to think in spite
of myself. That is the most valuable gift a teacher can give a student.
Underneath his tough exterior there was a man who loved art and music. He
cared about people and that came across in his teaching. It also kept me
coming back for more lessons.

I studied with Dick Lurie off and on from 1964 to 1972. Towards the end of
my tenure with Dick we had become good friends. I was getting ready to move
to New York City in an effort to further my career and live the life of a
professional musician. I remember Dick saying, "Just because you like to do
something is not a reason to try to make a living at it." I looked at Dick
quizzically. He looked back at me, "You like sex, right?" I gulped and said
yes. He said, "Well, it might not be such a good idea to make a living at
it." That was Dick, invariably cutting to the core with his own unique
eccentricity.

Dick passed away in August of 2000. He knew he was going to die and was
selling off his extraordinary collection of instruments to dealers in Asia.
Guitars such as Hauser and Fleta, acoustic jazz guitars such as D'Angelico
and Stromberg. He wanted to make it easier for his wife so she wouldn't have
to deal with it. He accepted his death in a way that was realistic and not
sentimental. I wept when I heard of Dick's passing. He taught me about
music, and he taught me about life and a realistic view of my place in it.
Today, every concert I play, every rehearsal I attend or lesson I teach, I
use ideas and concepts I learned from Dick Lurie.

Gerry Saulter:

I first met Jerry Willard in September of 1988 @ SUNY Stonybrook. I was a transfer student coming from Nassau Community college, having studied with Bill Zito, Steve Leonard & Stanley Solow. I was set to continue at Queens college, as so many Nassau music students do, but I lived out in Suffolk, not far from SUNY, & my parents suggested to at least take the audition I see how it goes. At that time I did not really have the confidence to consider the audition as being nothing more than a formality, & that after Prof. Willard heard me, I'd be delegated to his Graduate assistant. I did however prepare as best as I could through that summer to play Villa-Lobos preludes #3 & 4, and the Bouree in Em by J.S.Bach.

I first played the Villa Lobos fourth prelude for him & I remember feeling very good about the performance. I looked up to find him grinning. After the basic interview questions, I asked if I should continue & he said "No need, come back tomorrow after I set my schedule for grad students & we'll find a day & time...Oh & by the way nice playing. Let's start to think about the melody more, & I want you to improve some basic technique." At that point, I was hooked into what Jerry Willard was saying.

Over my time @ Stonybrook, Jerry Willard guided me in so many ways. Politically, socially, & of course, speaking with the guitar in musical terms. I think what stands out to me is how damn funny he can be. He doesn't know this, but I often describe him to others as "the David Letterman of classical guitar" His joy of life shines through in his playing & teaching, & I ask myself everyday when students are looking to me for guidance, "How would Jerry handle this?"

Given the opportunity, I could go on and on about how great it was to study Bach with essentially the guy who wrote the book, or how dynamic he taught me to be when playing in ensemble. He allowed players who grew up with rock & jazz to hold onto to the essential attitude of that style of play. But the one mantra that I can still hear him saying is "find your own way in music." Essentially Jerry helped my find my self-motivation. He helped my find that there is always a solution to every problem, be it a technical music passage, or how to promoters & administrators.

Jerry taught me how to play, without playing the game.

Laura Oltman:

I would say my first classical guitar teacher, a Cuban woman named Luisa
Sanchez de Fuentes, was my most influential teacher. I had taken a guitar
class before that at a local recreation center, but she was my first private
teacher. She was the first person I had known well who was not an American.
Her whole demeanor was more like someone from Europe, maybe from the 19th
century. As a teacher, her greatest asset was an ability to teach musical
expression, especially in Spanish and Latin American repertoire. I have not
had another teacher who could quite rival her ability to encourage
expressiveness in her students' playing. In addition to being a good
guitarist she was a very good singer and I believe that gave her a different
perspective than someone who is strictly an instrumentalist. She came from
a family that had a musical background, although it was not entirely clear
to me what it was. Her grandfather was a composer named Eduardo Sanchez de Fuentes. He is mentioned in a Groves Dictionary article on Cuban music.
She said that he had written one song in particular that was very popular
among Cuban exiles in the U.S. Of course, I don't remeber what it was.

Unfortunately, we did not end our relationship on the best terms. Miss
Fuentes had left Cuba after the communist revolution on a "freedom flight"
to the U.S. Her family in Cuba had been more or less allied with the
previous regime and her departure from Cuba was necessarily hasty. She was
apparently from a culture of wealth and privelege that was utterly foreign
to me. As I grew older I had increasing difficulty understanding her
behavior and expectations. Looking back, I think that she had a very hard
time adapting to a life alone in the U.S. as just another middle class
citizen. It was an interesting education in the politics of social class,
but one that informs my view of the world to this day.

Terry Champlin:

I started music late in life. In fact, I was 21 and had just returned from a stint of not so voluntary service in the military. As my undergraduate my education was in theoretical physics, I have often been asked how I ended up in music. I guess you had to be there.

One thing is for certain, though. Had I not had a great first teacher and mentor, I would have never succeeded in this strange world of music. I was fortunate to study with the great cellist and conductor Luis Garcia Renart. Luis was a student of Pablo Casals, was a major international performer (managed by Sol Hurok in his heyday), and a 5 time winner of the Casals award.

Luis took me straight to the music. From him I learned that there is no shortcut for work, but when the heart of music is there, the work is both more joyous and more efficient. As there was no time for studenthood, he never treated me as a student. Rather, he expected me to bring him pieces I could perform convincingly, even at a rudimentary level. Since guitar was not Luis' primary instrument, he sent me to others for technical advice. He constantly forced me to expand my stylistic taste. Although my initial inclination was toward the lyrical, the romantic, and (of course) the baroque, he pushed me into modern music (which he himself didn't particularly like) and the Classical style of Sor and Mozart. He encouraged my early efforts at composition.

I had other great mentors to whom I owe great debts. Internationally known violinist Mark Sokol and, indeed, the entire Concord String Quartet; the great guitar duo Evangelos and Liza; and, in a strange way, Alexander Bellow. But Luis always remained the bedrock. Helen and I returned years later to be coached as a guitar duo by him. I realized then that he had exactly as much to offer as I was able to take. I realized that any limitations I had seen in him as a teacher were actually my limitations as a student. He is not a perfect man, and I certainly wasn't a perfect pupil. But the ancient gift given from teacher to student is one of the gifts that this world, which gives so much of both joy and sorrow, has to offer us.