Recently I received word that one of my professors at Shenandoah Conservatory, Dr. Stephen Johnston, had passed away. https://www.su.edu/blog/2024/08/30/remembering-conservatory-professor-emeritus-stephen-johnston/?fbclid=IwY2xjawFQFARleHRuA2FlbQIxMQABHUGDbQbA3c1H1-f7iAbIgz2HJuArGoAs1KBlS2xCFyZ5HxtHJbIAcbFldg_aem_sPDJr53tXGt4jaPtCwLLHw
While I was not in his studio, DJ had a strong impact on my undergraduate studies. He was a towering figure at the Conservatory, a professor that everyone knew, regardless of if you were in one of his classes. I was fortunate to be in his conducting class and was pleased to perform under his baton when he was a guest conductor with the Wind Ensemble.
In the days since his passing, I’ve relayed to many of my ShenCo friends the story of my audition at Shenandoah and how DJ was the professor for whom I auditioned. My first impression of him was that he was intimidating, but as I got to know him, I realized that his air of intimidation was really a passion for music and a desire to excel in all aspects of the art. He expected his students to match his standards, but more importantly, he expected the same of himself.
As I processed the news of his passing, I discovered a fair amount of cognitive dissonance. In my mind, DJ is a Titan; musically and professionally. I can’t tell you how many times over the past twenty-five years that I’ve heard his voice inside my head as I’ve said the same maxims to my own students. But here’s the problem. Titans are immortal. How do I wrap my head around that?
After reflection, I realized that his status as a Titan wasn’t dependent on his still being alive, physically. As long as I am teaching and the students whom I’ve taught are teaching, he’s still having an impact on music education.
Which made me think about the true legacy of teachers, who have a vast influence on their students, both consciously and subconsciously. When music educators are teaching, there is no way to tell what concepts are hitting home, and which are missing the mark. Yes, assessment helps us gauge and inform our best practice, but in many ways, teaching music is a process. And as I’ve said in methods classes many times, the problem with this type of teaching is that you turn on a light switch and a light comes on in a different building. Sometimes you just don’t know what is creating the most impact for students.
My point is that teaching is hard, harder than it used to be. With all the challenges facing music educators in the 21st century, who can blame folks who have decided to leave the profession, either through retirement or just finding a different way to make a living. For those of you who are still at it, keep it up. The job that you are doing is important, and you are doing it well. Take a second and reflect on the impact of your own teachers and realize that you are somebody’s DJ. What will your musical legacy be? Whose life are you impacting? Whether or not you believe it, you have already been a positive influence on someone’s life. It may just take a minute for their light to shine over to your building.

I’m sorry for your loss, Jim. One consolation is that Dr. Johnston can live on through the lessons he taught to his students that his students pass on to theirs. I miss my mentor and grad advisor, the late Don Harris, tremendously, but everytime I sit down to compose, I hear his advice: “Let the music breathe,” and it makes the work better.
Thanks, Matt. There’s something beautiful about the legacy of teachers, especially the ones we find in the arts. I appreciate you taking the time to read my blog.
What great advice from your mentor. A wonderful reminder for all of us. Hope things are well in Ohio!