We did so with earnest because there was something bigger than all of us at stake something so compelling that we would never think to look away. And the only way to give it to him – to give it to ourselves – was through the discipline of holding multiples of awareness. He cajoled us to care as much about the technical accuracy of the work as for the vision he was creating for what it could and would become. Paul expected a trifold attention in the choir room: on him, on the music and on one another. The more attention we pay to our devices, the less attention we are paying to the actual human beings in front of us. The reason this doesn’t work – especially not for leaders – is that leadership happens in relationship, through behaviors that promote meaningful human connection, right here and right now.
It is now completely common and expected to see a group of people in just about any setting – walking, sitting, eating, driving, at concerts and events – with their heads down and focused on a device.
#I get on my knees choir version portable
Consider the all-consuming nature of our portable technology. When we look down we miss a lot of important things. Looking up has an even more important, practical consideration. It is an ability to see what’s going on in the work of the team while keeping an eye on the vision for what it is we are trying to achieve. A leadership posture is one of readiness and awareness. Absent a vision for what they are trying to create, they are constantly looking down, engaging in their team’s work directly rather than scanning the horizon for challenges and opportunities that will surely come. A common mistake I see leaders make is one of posture and stance.
#I get on my knees choir version full
If you really want others to follow you – if your vision for the future is worth their full participation – it’s awfully important to know where you’re going. What I didn’t realize at the time was just how fundamental it was to the successful practice of leadership. That preparation he noticed showed up in a moment of practical necessity: I simply wanted to survive! And the only way to do so was to be vigilant and alert, hyper-aware and attentive to as much information as I could possible take in. Maybe this was going to work out after all. I allowed myself the slightest exhalation. “He prepared you very well,” he said to my absolute astonishment. Was I just not ready? Was I about to be shown the door? Where was he going with this? “What’s your name?” he ordered. ”David Berry,” I stammered. ”Who was your high school music director?” he asked.
I was as prepared to field a sharp grounder up the middle as I was to follow his direction.Ībruptly, he waved off our singing and came to stand directly in front of me. My knees were flexed, I was on the balls of my feet and my head was on a swivel. Paul peered over his glasses with a discriminating glare and, in response, I held – aimed – my music folder like a gun, keeping both my music and this predator in my sights. In my audition a few months earlier I was made viscerally aware that my accomplishments in the little pond of high school meant very little in the open ocean of Los Angeles, LMU and Maestro Salamunovich. I was in the front row and I was taking no chances. We were assembled – 60 men – in a semi-circle around the piano. Perhaps it was his attempt at a “boot camp” strategy – scare away the faint of heart, the weaker links in the chain. Paul Salamunovich prowled the rehearsal room like a bear, and at no time more so than at our first rehearsal in the fall of 1988.
When Paul passed away in April, 2014 I reflected on the lessons I learned under his direction and how they have helped to shape my point of view on the role of leadership in a complex and changing world. I was deeply privileged to be a member of the University choruses from 1988- 1992, three of those under the direction of the late Paul Salamunovich.