A Loud, Strong Voice - Anita Coelho Diabate

When I think back to the strong women that shaped the experiences in my lifetime, aside from the amazingly courageous women in my own family, my mind quickly draws to Mrs. Barbara Lumbard.

Mrs. Lumbard was my fifth grade teacher and the theatre and choir director at Escondido Elementary School, nestled at the base of the foothills of Stanford University in Northern California. My school was within the Palo Alto School District, made up of a diverse student body from all parts of the world, whose students were the children of the international student body and faculty at the university.

I was in our school choir since the very beginning. The choir performed at various venues and backed the actors in our school plays like “Oliver”, “My Fair Lady” and “Our Town”, to name just a few with holiday seasons spent rehearsing traditional carols for the winter pageant, traveling to malls and senior centers spreading good cheer.

My recollections of her loudly snapping fingers and her stomping feet conducting a choir of wiggly, chatty, tone-deaf kids, are as clear as if it were only yesterday. She would wave her arms in the air and bring her tenor voice up louder than all the cacophony we could collectively muster, as her hands and feet guided us in keeping time and holding our notes true. “Remember, you stay loud and keep strong!” she would bellow. Her selective choices of musical repertoires ranged from Pop, Jazz, Americana and Blues to Classical, Renaissance and Baroque.

A marvelous and well-rounded musical education, to be sure.

A fierce advocate of fairness, Mrs. Lumbard was a small, stout woman with a warm smile and a character both kind and just. When not treated with respect however, just one a look from her could send a chill up the spine. She did not mess around, at all. When I entered her class in the mid-70s, already a veteran victim of unscrupulous bullying, she would have no part of that. That year, she became my tutor, my mentor and my savior. She taught me the flowing beauty of the English language and what it was to appreciate good music played well, but most importantly, what it meant to speak up for myself and for others so that not one injustice went by without raising a voice to highlight accountability where it belonged.

Many years later, after successfully playing professionally with my own band at some of the premiere Jazz venues in New England, I thought back to how Barbara Lumbard had shaped my own voice and self-confidence. I decided to look her up. I was not at all sure if she was still living or if she would even remember this skinny little kid from so long ago. I found a number for her in Los Altos, California and I pulled myself together to call, hoping to find her.

“Hello, Mrs. Lumbard?” I said nervously. “Yes.” she replied. “Mrs. Barbara Lumbard?”. “Yes.” she said again.

“This is Anita Coelho, from Escondido Elementary School. I am not sure if you remember me.”

“Of course I do!” “You were in my fifth grade class and did very well as I recall, in our choir too!”

My heart melted into a warm, familiar place. We spent a while talking as I told her of my life in Boston, my family and the musical endeavors that had brought me so much joy thanks to her. Before we ended the call, I finally had an opportunity to thank her for all she had taught me, what that had meant to me, and the difference to so many others that her influence had made. “I will never forget you, Mrs. Lumbard, for everything you did for me.” I said, with a bittersweet sense of finality. “It was my pleasure.” she replied, with that same twinkle in her soft, yet robust voice. “Take care of yourself my dear; your call has been precious to me.” “And always remember, you stay Loud and keep Strong!”.