After he spent two days working with the students at Oscar Peterson Public School last week, Mississauga poet Peter Jailall exclaimed, "this is a school that's got rhythm." Just like its namesake.
Jailall is a retired Peel elementary school teacher who visits schools periodically passing his passion for poetry on to a new generation.
He invited me to come along while he worked with students at OP Public.
Once a classroom teacher, always a classroom teacher.
Jailall had written a new poem for the late jazz master for the occasion, to make this learning opportunity a memorable one for them. And, like a certain famous pianist, he had his audience firmly grasped in his hands from his first note... er sentence.
He had them clap to its cadence, recite its rolling rhythm and bop to its beat — and he didn't need much help because the special music curriculum that Principal Caroline Mochrie and her staff have installed at Peterson makes such exercises an everyday occurrence.
Jailall painstakingly explained how his first draft of every poem is just a place to start and how his editors and publishers want to see his work polished, reworked and polished some more.
It's a message that teacher-librarian Jacqueline Springer says can't be repeated enough for students.
"It's always wonderful to have someone else come in and reinforce the message," says Springer. "The editing process is so difficult for them. They don't like to do the rewriting."
As if anyone does.
The kids not only understood a little more about who Oscar Peterson was after Jailall's talk and his poem, but they could see the impression that Oscar's character had made on those who followed. That legacy is just as much about the kind of man he was, as the kind of musician he was.
Here's Peter's poem:
For Oscar E. Peterson
At Christmas ‘07
When we sang
“O come, O come Emanuel”
Our own dear Emanuel went away
This son of a railway porter
This tunesmith, jazz-piano man
Leaving an empty spot
In our collective heart
He came from Montreal to Mississauga
With a twinkle in his eye
And a sweet, kind smile
On his tender face
Even though he suffered ridicule
Just because of his race
One patron refused to shake his hand
One barber refused to cut his hair
He stayed in segregated hotels
In the US-South
Yet, he hired a white guitarist
For which he was severely criticized
And he gently played on
Gently plucking the black and white keys of his life
He will never smile again
But he has left a million smiles behind
He will never sing again
But he has left so many songs
Imprinted on so many hearts
He will never play again
But he has left so many notes
For us to play
The whole world sang with him
While we in Mississauga
Embraced him with joyful pride
His memory remains with us
On a postage stamp
On a street
On a plaque
And on a school
We will always remember
Our dear Oscar.