What are the odds of finding a Metropolitan-Opera caliber voice teacher in rural North Dakota?  If I had to guess, I’d bet about a million to one…or perhaps more accurately 760,077 to 1 (factoring in the population of the state of North Dakota).  

While there are many talented musicians in the state, Maria Williams was second to none.  She taught me so much more than excellent vocal technique; she opened up the world to me as a fourteen-year-old. And in doing so, she instilled life lessons that I hold onto to this day.  

The summer between eighth and ninth grade, my dad drove me up to the International Peace Gardens (just under three hours from home), which are nestled between the northern border of North Dakota and Manitoba, Canada.  Established in 1932 as a symbol of peace between the two nations, the gardens also serve a bucolic setting for the International Music Camp Summer School of Fine Arts.  

A few miles to go on the drive, my father pulled into a distinctly western-style restaurant, with a heavy influence of Native American culture.  As we sat together in our booth, he drinking his coffee, and me looking around and eying other kids and families doing the same thing before getting dropped off at camp, I remember being excited, but also a little nervous.

Looking back on it, that summer changed the trajectory of my life.  It was the first time I was exposed to voice as an instrument, a craft that could be studied with the same rigor and refinement of technique as that of any other instrument. 

For some reason, we have an innate tendency to believe that people are born gifted singers or not, with little appreciation for what goes into the creation and refinement of the voice.  It’s unlikely we’d assume this for the piano. In contrast, we immediately appreciate the countless hours that must have gone into practicing technique when we hear a maestro play. 

I vividly recall my very first voice lesson.  It was in a log cabin with a musty area rug on the floor.  My teacher pulled out anatomical charts of the lungs and diaphragm, showing the intercostal muscles that run between the ribs and move the chest wall and the folds of the vocal chords themselves, highlighting their interplay with the chambers of resonance in one’s face, fondly referred to by singers as “the mask.”  As a kid who both loved to sing and adored all things science, I was sold.  

In the faculty concert the final night of camp, one mesmerizing performance had me on the edge of my seat.  When I asked who this soprano was, I learned that her name was Maria Williams.  She was a North Dakota native who had recently moved back to the area from New York City after performing at the Metropolitan Opera. 

For personal reasons, she wanted to raise her daughter (who was about my age) in her hometown of Grand Forks, ND, and had recently opened a voice studio there.  When my mom picked me up the next day, the first question I blurted out, almost begging, when I saw her was, “Can I PLEASE…pretty, pretty please take voice lessons from Maria?”  We had a long drive home to talk about it, and with unwavering support, my mom put the pieces in place to make this possible.

Over the next four years, weekly lessons with Maria would transform not only what I was capable of in terms of vocal production, but expose me to a mix of “big city thinking” while keeping my “three-stoplight town sensibilities” about me. 

Grand Forks was fifty-six miles away from home. With no traffic and a seventy-five mile-per-hour speed limit on the interstate I could drive myself there in just under an hour.  Because North Dakota is a farm state, I was permitted to get my driver’s license at fourteen years old. 

The deal with my parents was that they would pay for my gas and allow me to take the car if I could cover the cost of the music lessons.  I babysat and worked as an organist at the Catholic church earning $15 per Mass and occasionally $75 for a funeral or wedding.  It was a fair deal and I upheld my side of the bargain. 

My lesson with Maria was the happiest hour of my week, bar none, with the rigorous hours that went into practice not far behind.  She immediately introduced me to Italian arias, and soon after, German lieder and French art songs. Maria and I still remain close. In a recent text exchange with her reflecting on the impact she has had on my life, she put it simply:

“Sometimes the lessons we learn are not the ones we think we are paying for.” 

– Maria Williams Kennedy

As an organist, I had ready access to the sanctuary of the Catholic church during off-hours and relished filling the grand acoustical space, testing the boundaries of the “bigness of my voice.”  I don’t know if I would have found the same depth and pushed the envelope on resonance and projection if I had only been practicing semi-publicly in our bustling home with three siblings and parents mulling about.  My sense is that I would have erred on the side of containing things and keeping my voice small. 

In the presence of the Sacrament but otherwise fully alone, practicing at church allowed me the freedom to experiment, take risks, and discover how powerful my voice could be.  I remember it being a deeply spiritual journey, taking vocal breaks to pray and reflect on how I might use this instrument.  

My steadfast prayer during this period was an offering of willingness and service “to use my voice to touch and inspire others.”  At the time (and even now), I had very little sense regarding how this would ultimately play out and that the reach of my voice would likely be more influential in the non-musical sphere than in the performance settings I was envisioning. 

Still, it remains important to me that to the degree it can–that my voice is one that helps others on their journeys.  At the heart of it, this is the motivation behind sharing my story and the leadership lessons I’ve learned along the way.

How have you found and honed your leadership voice along your own journey?