By Jim Nichols

The chorus concluded the last notes, and the director dropped her hands during the silence. Immediately, applause erupted from the audience. The conductor gave a thumbs-up to the chorus, smiled, and turned to the audience and bowed. She stepped to the side and waved her hand to the chorus as the audience continued applauding. Then, the conductor pointed to a single person to the side of the stage at the piano, the accompanist. He stood awkwardly, gave a brief and self-conscious bow, and quickly sat down again on the piano bench.

This is a scene repeated often and you and I have come to expect it. 

My favorite groups are mixed males and females, whether younger or older. Hearing multiple voice ranges blending or conflicting and moving in harmony or purposeful dissonance is a thrilling experience. Those are enchanted times for many of us. We focus our attention, appropriately, on the chorus itself and secondarily on the conductor. However, there is one other person on the stage.

The accompanist has attended virtually every rehearsal and now has returned for the concert itself before returning to his or her life and subsequent practice sessions. After the performance, the accompanist will quietly put down the raised section of the piano, push the bench back to the front, and exit the stage with little notice from anyone. The accompanist’s contribution has been temporary, but fundamental to the final product.

If this is not a choral performance but, instead, a solo or small group with an accompanist, the scene is similar, though in miniature.

The choral conductor as well as the soloist knows the value of the accompanist; some of the chorus members do. Does anyone else?

Whether on keyboard, guitar, or another instrument, the accompanist is a central player in the finished musical product. Accompanists support and collaborate with the conductor, chorus, or soloists. They must be able to sight read well, usually have a large repertoire of songs, the ability to learn new songs, be adaptable, and a good collaborator. They are alert to the other performers and fine musicians in multiple ways.

Leaving music aside, our lives feature multiple non-musical accompanists. This is not to speak of basic guides we have such as our parents, other relatives, major professors, or mentors at pivotal points in our careers. This is to make note of those individuals who pass through our lives perhaps quickly, but who add pieces to them that make us possible to be the people we are—at that time and, perhaps, contributing to development in the long term. We may not even remember them years later, but they have been there playing almost hidden roles.

Who have been the accompanists in your life? There have been those who have kept you on pitch (to stay with the musical theme). They have been a temporary partner who has realized that you are out of tune with an aspect of life, and they have skillfully pulled you upward or downward to get you in harmony again. They have seen you dragging and stepped in to get you moving again, to get back in rhythm. You may not have even sensed it, but they were watching and listening. Our accompanists may have been the first to sense our discouragement, anger, worry, or frustration; their action would be a modifying one. 

Do you remember that man at the grocery store who reached for that can on the high shelf while you corralled your children? He was an accompanist. Do you remember those people who were sharing the preparation for that difficult test coming next week? You needed study partners, and they invited you to join their group? They were accompanists. Do you remember your college roommate who produced just the right joke or serious perspective when you were trying to figure out a dating relationship? Accompanist.

Not only do we have accompanists who pass through our lives, but we play the reverse role for others. Our smiles, encouragements, reality checks, and simple observations mold those around us as we accompany them.

Mr. Rogers famously promoted that we “look for the helpers.” May we not only look for them and appreciate them but be ones ourselves. 

Jim Nichols is a retired Abilene Christian University biology professor and current hospital chaplain