About the Artist

Carleton Elliott:
Mr. Chancellor, Mr. President, Mrs. Whitehead, Madam Librarian, fellow musicians, and friends: May I ask you a few questions—questions to which you may or may not know the answers? And if you do know them, will your answers be objective or subjective?

If you knew Alfred Whitehead, they could hardly be totally objective, for they would be tinged with your kindly bias and love for this great man as his life touched yours.

Did you know Alfred Whitehead, the composer and arranger? His works, whether written for solo instrument or voice, or for double chorus with organ, run the gamut of emotional involvement, from joyful exuberance to sublime tranquility, with many shades in between. His folk-song arrangements, for example—many collected from new-Canadian immigrants he had befriended—portray a keen sensitivity to the folklore of their country of origin.

The words to so many of his songs and anthems were written by Staines Franklin. Had you ever heard of Staines Franklin? Did you know Staines Franklin was the pen-name of Alfred Whitehead, the poet? These combined talents of poet-composer have been heard in every English-speaking country of the world: in town, village, and city churches, in abbeys, as well as in concert and recital halls.

Did you know Alfred Whitehead, the conductor, whose small, intense, spastic gestures gave his choir unmistakable cues as to the music's every nuance, ranging from an almost inaudible whisper to a thundering climax? Did you know he was one of the first conductors—if not the first—to introduce Bach's now well-known "Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring" to North America?

And what do you know about Alfred Whitehead, the organist? A master of organ registration, every phrase was clad in a color best suited to portray its musical significance. Visually (that is, to watch him), he was a human octopus while at the organ, changing registration gradually, tastefully, sometimes as imperceptibly as a slowly-setting sun. Have you wept, as I have, when Whitehead, seated at the organ and with a choir before him, would point one finger in the air, indicating to the choir that this hymn-verse would be sung in unison? Then he would extemporize a heaven-inspired accompaniment, enriching the text with cascades of harmonies flowing from his facile fingers and feet?

And Alfred Whitehead, the teacher? Here I feel almost too close to describe him, for I learned from him for years after his retirement, as did many of his students. At all times he was more demanding of himself than of those he taught.

For instance, while teaching a class in Keyboard Harmony and Transposition, he took it upon himself to go through all of the forty-eight Preludes and Fugues of Bach's Well-Tempered Clavier, playing each in at least two different keys (one or two each day). We used to listen outside his studio and drool!

If you will forgive a personal reminiscence: on one occasion, a student had hurriedly dashed off (just before class, of course—sound familiar, music students?) an exercise in invertible counterpoint. This student passed it to him silently, shame written on every pore of his being. Dr. Whitehead examined it noncommittally for a few minutes, then he spoke slowly: "My dear fellow, I can see nothing technically wrong with this. But it is stagnant. It is like stagnant water. And do you know one of the characteristics of stagnant water? It stinks!!! I shall expect better of you in the future, young man." I gave him better!!

Did you know Alfred Whitehead, the philatelist? Do you realize that he was better known internationally as a stamp collector than as a musician? Did you know that he had one of the largest stamp collections in Canada, especially of the Squared-circle stamps of Canada, and that he wrote a book on that same subject—a book which required a second printing? Did you know he was a renowned authority on Pepys, the diarist, and he lectured far and wide on that subject, also?

Did you know Alfred Whitehead, the artist? From around 1940 until his death in April of this year, he was an avid painter. Never content to tread water, artistically, he was constantly exploring new avenues of expression in this field. The influence of his friend, A. Y. Jackson, is perhaps perceivable in his early paintings, done during Whitehead's twenty-five years in Montreal while he was organist and choir director of Christ Church Cathedral. After his move to Sackville, the later influences of his close friends, Lawren Harris as well as Ted Pulford and David Silverberg, sent him off on other tangents, but all indelibly the work of Alfred Whitehead.

Finally, did you know Alfred Whitehead, the man? A diminutive, stocky lion, possessed of a wit capable of embracing every subject from the sublime to the obscene, a brilliant conversationist—I use the term "conversationist" as opposed to "conversationalist," knowing Whitehead's love for economy of words and space—for instance, "contra-puntist" was right; "contrapultalist" wrong. He was a man very knowledgeable of the past and of the present, and often of the future.

He and his wife, Amy, were the ultimate in kindness to the many friends who found their way to their door. They showed—and Mrs. Whitehead still shows—an uncanny insight into, and interest in, the cultural and academic life of Mount Allison.

I have revealed to you only a few sides of the Alfred Whitehead I knew. Many former students—and many are here—could reveal other facets of this man and his kaleidoscopic interests and talents, and influences on their lives.

I feel privileged to have shared these few reminiscences with you. And Mount Allison is proud to dedicate this fine new Music Library in fond memory of so great a man.

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