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“НАШЕ ЖИТТЯ”, ГРУДЕНЬ 200 8 20 A Voice from the Choir As one of the post-war brats who grew up in the Ukrainian hromada, I lived in an environment suffused with Ukrainian cultural events, institutions, and traditions that were, in some respects, a microcosmic universe within the broader expanse of life in the Untied States. It was a comfortable existence, almost like living in a safe warm bubble where everyone knew everyone else and shared experiences that were somehow gentle because they were warm and constant and familiar. And while most of us were poor, we never knew it — our parents saw to it that our lives were enriched by an almost daily and lavish exposure to a world brimming with culture and beauty. Most of my childhood friends were hro- mada children too, and most of the extracurricular activities we participated in were sponsored and directed by hromada organizations or by a select group of individuals who had dedicated their lives to passing on to us their love of Ukrainian culture and their passionate devotion to art or dance or music. For me, the quintessential symbol of these dedicated mentors and teachers was Jurij Plevako Oransky. Born in Kharkiv in 1917, Oransky started his multifaceted musical career in Ukraine. He played and taught piano and violin, he conducted small ensembles and large orchestras, and he worked with choirs and with soloists. But those of us who were touched by his incredible talents and knowledge of music remember him best as a teacher, one with the skill and passion to make his students perform to the high standards he expected and even demanded of us. My first encounters with Professor Oransky took place in a dank and musty basement of an old church in Philadelphia, a basement that was the site of a weekly choir practice. It was a choir of young people, some in their teens and some younger, most delivered by parents who waited patiently in another room for the “proba” to end. Young as we were, all of us instinctively knew that this was not playtime or a cultural di- version. Each proba was a working session, cond- ucted by someone who was exacting and precise and brooked no laziness or carelessness. We had our assigned roles as altos or sopranos (first or second) and dutifully stood in our appointed places in ranks, good soldiers waiting for the signal to chime in and harmonize or be still at the wave a hand or the stroke of the baton wielded by our professor. And although we were children, the music that emanated from that musty basement was far from childish. It was an eclectic assortment of songs Видання C оюзу Українок A мерики - перевидано в електронному форматі в 2012 році . A рхів C У A - Ню Йорк , Н . Й . C Ш A.
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