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Call it courage. Or perseverance. At 70 years-old, Dennis Spencer is determined to learn the guitar and harmonica. “I’m not that good,” he likes to say. And when he’s nervous, he’s right. But he also works through those nerves and finds his spot, and that’s when he can play. And he’s getting better every day.
At a recent private performance at his home—he lives in a Berkshire County Arc home in Southampton, Mass.—he played a few Bob Dylan tunes. He doesn’t like to play sitting down, and he can’t stand long before his back hurts. But when it’s going well, he plays through the pain.
“Hey Mr. Tamborine Man play a song for me, I’m not sleepy and there is no place I’m going to,” he sang for his first song. Moments before that he put his guitar down and gave up, apologizing for his struggle to play. “I’m sorry, I’m not good enough to play in front of people.”
But after some light conversation and an earnest harmonica demonstration—he blows the instrument with his eyes closed—something kicked inside him. He stood up without a word, put the guitar over his shoulder, adjusted the harmonica, and started strumming and singing with determined energy. He sounded like a completely different player. No longer nervously picking at single notes, now he was strumming full chords, keeping time, and singing through it. All the while reading the lyrics and chord notations off the music stand.
Dennis enjoys the support–and company–he gets from residential staff person David Maina.
Later on he told about a time years ago when he performed for 140 people. “It was a thrill,” he said. “And this is a thrill too, taking lessons and learning to play all over again.”
A U.S. Marines veteran who has Parkinson’s Disease, Dennis lived in a nursing home until 16 months ago, when he moved into BCArc’s program with three individuals who also have brain injuries. On his desk he keeps a small pile of sheet music that he works on between his weekly lessons at Jerry’s Music Shop in South Hadley. Next to the music is his computer keyboard, where he slowly but steadily writes a journal.
He read out-loud a recent journal entry: “I’m sitting looking out the window at the white snow. It is beautiful to see.”
BCArc employee David Maina, who works closely with Dennis, affirmed that Dennis practices his music every day and looks forward to his weekly lessons. “The lessons are great,” said Dennis.
Asked about where all his hard work is leading—the renewed commitment to music and writing—he said: “These are hobbies that I enjoy. I’m not trying to accomplish anything. I’m doing my best, but I’m not going to play in front of people or anything.”
Having said that, he summoned the strength to rise again, put the guitar strap over his shoulder and play more. “I never finished this song.” He resumed “Tamborine Man” in mid-song, right where he left off before, with the verse: “And take me disappearing through the smoke rings of my mind, down the foggy ruins of time, far past the frozen leaves, the haunted, frightened trees, out to the windy beach, far from the twisted reach of crazy sorrow.”
Dennis doesn’t smile often, but here he looked up, gave a big grin, and went back to the song.
