A Letter to Mr. Millar
Throughout childhood, we come across many teachers and mentors who impart various lessons, but some of us are lucky enough to have that one person who helped change our lives for good. For me, that person was my high school’s music department head, Mr. Jim Millar. Mr. Millar opened a whole new world of opera to me. He gave me the perspective that allowed me to pursue an opera-related career and eventually start Opera Praktikos. This year, my mentor, Mr. Millar, is retiring from his teaching career, and I wanted to take the time to publicly thank him for everything that he taught me as a young disabled high school student and beyond.
“Dear Mr. Millar,
As your final year as an educator comes to an end, I want to thank you not only for the ways you and your department developed my love and understanding of opera but also for how you helped me deepen my sense of self as a disabled man. I firmly believe that as you get to know someone, the small, otherwise inconsequential moments can define a relationship. When I think of the start of our relationship, I think back to our first trip to The Metropolitan Opera together. We saw The First Emperor, and it was my first time seeing a contemporary opera at The Met. It was a rite of passage I have held close in memory as I’ve gone on to develop my career and eventually start Opera Praktikos. During intermission, I mentioned Luisa Miller, adding, “You know the one by Verdi,” to which you responded with an obvious “Yes, of course,” as if to imply, “Yes, of course, we ALL know Verdi wrote Luisa Miller.” Some may have taken your tone as condescending, but for me, it was a reassurance that I was in the company of a true opera lover who knew all that I did and much more! I had always felt out of place in high school as a wheelchair user with a love of opera, but your passion provided me with a safe place.
Co-founder Greg Moomjy and his high school teacher Mr. Millar on a trip to Italy.
Not only did you create a space for me to explore the possibilities of my passion for opera as a career, but so did your entire music department—specifically, Mrs. Anne Crawford, who opened my eyes to musicology. Sadly, I was not able to thank her before she passed away for the ways in which she opened up a whole new world of possibility for me. Before meeting Mrs. Crawford, I had accepted a future for myself that included a normal day job and being, at most, a loyal opera fan and enthusiastic Met Opera attendee. I had dreamed that if I was able to perform, I could become a conductor, but given my physical limitations, this dream was more than likely out of the question. However, when Mrs. Crawford introduced me to musicology, I realized that there was a field of musical scholarship that I could pursue without the requirement to perform. From there, my vision for my future shifted, and I pictured my life as a writer and opera critic. I had finally figured out my way into the professional world of opera, thanks to Mrs. Crawford. Little did I know it would lead to building an opera company that showcases the artistry of performers, librettests, and conductors with disabilities.
When Mrs. Crawford suggested I propose an independent study, it was a groundbreaking idea for our music department. It was a chance for me to advocate for my passion and to explore a new way of learning. This process taught me the value of self-advocacy and the power of creative exploration, lessons that have been invaluable in my journey.
Through this independent study and my time with you, I learned how to write about opera and that there is so much more to opera than just Bel Canto. Of course, I mean no offense to the coloratura sopranos who go mad while singing florid Italian, but to be frank, I was at risk of only seeing one side of what opera could be before learning from you. I can still feel that joy I found when I discovered the Czech opera Jenůfa by Leoš Janáček with you. It wasn’t one of my familiar Italian operas, but by the time Karita Mattila sang “Salve Regina,” I was hooked. I thought to myself, “this is just like Raina Kabivanska performing ‘Vissi d’arte’ in Puccini’s Tosca.” You taught me that opera is more than just a story set to music; rather, it is a genre of theater in which music is the primary vehicle for emotional communication. I learned that to write about opera, you must focus on the music to understand the emotional depths of each opera and its characters. You kindly reminded me of this when writing that long-winded paper attempting to trace the evolution of opera from the 1780s to the 1920s.
Lastly, I want to thank you for your years of friendship since I graduated. Over the years, our visits have been cherished moments in my life. Whether it’s dinner and a show at Lincoln Center or eating pasta at home watching Der Rosenkavalier, our get-togethers have not only been explorations of opera but also of myself and my disability. You always have created the space for me to better understand my disability, and I’ve come to love the time we’ve spent sharing a drink and swapping wheelchair jokes in the process. Some may see our sense of humor as self-deprecating, but life with a disability is never predictable, so if you can’t laugh about it with a friend, what else can you do? It has been a pleasure to know I can always count on you to share in both the joys and difficulties of life with a disability.
You consistently give me room to be myself and inspire me to create a space for people to explore their passion for opera. For that, Jim, my dear friend, I wholeheartedly thank you. Congratulations on your retirement, and I can’t wait to see what life has in store for you next.
With enduring friendship and admiration,
Gregory Moomjy”
