As a freshman in college, I wandered into the Princeton Chapel hoping to find a piano I could play once in a while to keep the old fingers working. They had a gorgeous grand in there, but it was locked. In my search to find someone with its keys, I met Penna Rose, who was the fiery director of the Chapel Choir. She completely ignored my request for access to the piano, but asked me to sing something because she was looking for more altos to add to her choir. Still hoping she might give me permission to use the piano, I croaked something in a low register and was amazed that she said I was accepted into the choir, and that they would pay me a small hourly stipend for our rehearsals in the Chapel’s crypt. I ended up staying in the choir all four years and managed to talk Kirsten Solberg into joining as well. She was a much more valuable vocal addition to the group than I was. I still can’t sing worth a damn despite those four years of singing lessons, but it was fun. Who wouldn’t want to enter such a beautiful space and belt out something at the top of their lungs every week?
- Julie Enright Furlan, friend from Princeton