When asked to pen a few thoughts about Robert Rayfield, I welcomed the chance to put to paper some thoughts about my mentor who I knew for more than 25 years. As I sat down to the task several times, I found it more difficult than I had imagined. He and his wife Nancy graciously welcomed "Rayfield-attachés" (a derivative of the Chicago "Platt-attaché" household where Nancy Platt grew up with many student boarders from her father's classes, including her later suitor Robert Rayfield!) in and out of their home, church, and life. I, along with many of my family and friends, have been blessed to be part of the Rayfield/Platt family. There were so many lessons and liturgies, so many dinners and parties, so many sailing races and Elison Bay family vacations from which to pull just a few memories.
Then, while sitting at the console this Christmas Eve, playing Langlais' La Nativité (one of his favorite pieces as well as one of my first pieces during my freshman year), the essence of Robert Rayfield became truly apparent. Robert Rayfield was a superb, dedicated teacher of the organ, determined that each student under his tutelage would learn proper technique, know how to finger and pedal new repertoire, know how to practice efficiently, and be able to go into the world as a proficient organist and musician. His caring for the organ students at Indiana University reached across studio lines. He was pastoral, helping students work through their joys and sorrows of growing up. He was a character, enjoying life's people and pleasures with his quick, often groan-causing wit.
Dr. Rayfield was a stickler when it came to technique. His insistence on being able to play manual scales with "speed, facility, and ease" haunted me through my master's degree work. He was extremely patient, insisting that these, along with Hanon and Czerny exercises, be practiced daily on the poorly tuned, hardly-any-action pianos relegated to the spare corners of the organ practice rooms! Ick!
I remember happily shelving my fifth edition of the Gleason book upon my completion of all the manual, especially the independent finger exercises, and pedal exercises, including scales, after three semesters of physical torture to my less-than-flexible body. I also remember purchasing the sixth edition at the beginning of my master's degree just so I again could go through both manual and pedal technique from a pedagogical stance. After all, I was his graduate teaching assistant and needed to be able to demonstrate as well as oversee students' development. At the time it seemed more than what I should have to bear. I now know that it was indeed a gift which I use every time I play the organ or work with a student.
As I played "La Nat," Bob's nick-name for La Nativité, I began to notice the fingering and pedaling markings we so carefully placed just to the left of each note some 25 years ago. There was a chord spanning more than an octave that I could not reach, and he meticulously rewrote those two beats, adding rests and transposing one pitch. My copy of the Buxtehude Prelude, Fugue & Chaconne from the same time has every note fingered or pedaled. This was an exercise which he insisted that each undergrad do for most of the degree work: finger/pedal a section and bring it to the next lesson for complete review and frequent revision.
To reinforce his concepts on practicing, Dr. Rayfield asked students to be able to play--at lessons--sections of pieces in combinations (hands only; pedal only; right hand & pedal; etc.) and with rhythmic alterations, i.e., changing running sixteenth notes to various dotted patterns. No getting away with just saying you had used those practice techniques during the week!
Bob was cautious about allowing his students to perform recitals at school or at other venues. He strove for the most "authentic interpretation," something for which he was constantly researching. He wanted each student to have a positive experience and guarded us quite closely until he felt we were able to withstand the pressure of playing for other faculty members, peers, and friends.
I distinctly remember when, in 1979-80, Bob "discovered" Baroque articulation. I was teaching high school after having finished my bachelor's degree in music education. I had only my senior recital to play to complete my organ performance bachelor's degree. We both agreed that I would finish it during the summer of 1980. I had been so busy planning for school concerts and preparing lesson plans for theory and lit classes, that I had not the slightest notion that there had been new revolutionary findings in the musicological field. I went back for my first lesson in June hoping to play through the program, receive his blessing, and schedule a hearing. We spent the entire lesson re-fingering, re-pedaling, and adding various combinations of slurs and staccatos to the Bach Toccata, Adagio & Fugue. I petitioned him to allow me to play it as I previously had learned it--in that very legato Romantic style. Bob would not permit me to play it in any way but the most accurate and up-to-date manner possible. I did not play my recital until late August, just days before I was due back in the classroom. I had completely relearned the piece!
Bob was intuitive. He seemed to sense within each one of us the ups and downs of our love lives, the lack of success in other music classes, and our general mental health. He knew when to apply the pressure to get a piece finished, when to find help for a student failing theory, and when to suggest alternative studies for those who had "gotten a wrong phone call" from God's career line. Bob knew when to invite a student to Lake Lemon for a day of distraction by practicing for a upcoming sailing race or relaxing with a gentle cruise along the lake's perimeter in his much loved Flying Dutchman. Around the Rayfield dinner table, provocative discussion about any and all topics allowed us to learn about and love each other more--a time and place to "let our hair down."
I can still hear Bob's laugh: an infectious chortle with a twinkle in his eye. I remember his bushy eyebrow gymnastics: one up, the other down; his socks of different colors, yet coordinated; the vision of Bob riding his bicycle with its two side baskets from home to school and back. A photo taken by my younger daughter during our last Elison Bay visit sums it up: comfortably dressed in a T-shirt and jeans held up by bright yellow suspenders with ruler markings, thinning gray hair blown wild by the wind, short-fingered, bony and muscular hands, wide-eyed, and just beginning to laugh. Robert Rayfield, a loving character who gave much to all of us he encountered. Rest in peace, dear teacher, mentor, and friend!
