Impregnated at Eastman

"I need to get him out of you."

This is the second in a series of posts detailing my first year at Eastman as a DMA student in orchestral conducting.

Since I started at Eastman, Neil was fixated on the fact that I had studied with Mark Gibson at the College-Conservatory of Music in Cincinnati for my master’s degree.

And before we continue, let me introduce Mark Gibson for some context.

Among other things, he once muttered that I was “the class bitch” in his graduate seminar.

During a lesson where I was studying “Dove sono” from the Marriage of Figaro - the aria in which the Countess laments her cheating husband - he said the question that was really important to my learning the aria was: “Have you ever been cheated on?”

He told me point blank that he sabotaged my doctoral audition to his own program. He said that - after two years of studying with him - my work just wasn’t good enough to continue.

But - he was willing to offer me remedial lessons. He thought they should be at his house. Because his office had become “too toxic.” (I declined.)

This is a very, very short list. Neither you nor I have the time for a full account of my time studying with Mark. But it gives you an idea of how concerning it was that Neil had become obsessed with my previous work with him. Everybody knows about Mark Gibson - including Neil.

One day, I was rehearsing the Eastman School Symphony Orchestra - on the podium working in front of sixty or more musicians.

Neil stopped me for a comment: “You’re Gibson impregnated,” he said.

“I hope not,” I shot back. I moved on and let it go.

(By the way, if you’re wondering what exactly he meant by that comment, you’re not alone. I answered a long series of questions from U of R attorneys about how, exactly, I interpreted the word “impregnated.” It is a strong contender for The Strangest Conversation I’ve Ever Had In My Life.

My colleagues, of course, got to use that time to study their scores, but I’ll bet they’re very, very jealous that I got such a wild story out of it.)

It kept going. Neil’s fixation became increasingly strange and uncomfortable, with comments like, “I need to get him out of you.” In one lesson, he got so hostile - including more comments about Mark Gibson - that I ended it after fifteen minutes.

The next morning I had a very long text - from Mark Gibson. I’ve avoided contact with the guy for years, and I had to stare at my phone for a good long while to even figure out who it was from.

It said that Neil called him the night before and they had “a long convo” about me. They discussed the fact that I was “challenging” but “worth the trouble” and that I needed to “just do what he tells you to do.”

(It reminded me of one particularly unhinged lesson with Mark in which he barked, “Just do what I fucking tell you to do.” Or the time he wouldn’t start a seminar until I sat in the seat he wanted me to sit in.)

To top it off, the text ended with a bizarre request that I include his name in my professional bio.

In the meantime, the studio’s group text was re-named “Gibson Impregnated” as soon as Neil made the comment.

After things escalated, I told the studio - on the group text, no less - that the situation had gotten out of hand, and I needed to report it. It barely registered. Nobody even changed the name. I had to do it myself.

The list of problems with Neil was already very long, and I know from experience just how fast these things can go off-road. So I decided to take it all to administration.

This was six weeks into the first semester of my first year. I reported it all to Eastman and was referred to its Senior Associate Dean and Title IX Coordinator, John Hain.

His first suggestion? «REDACTED.» For more information, see Cease and Desist.

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Cover art by Bel-estate.