Mr. Henderson’s copy of the Essentials of Music Theory: Teacher’s Answer Key was more than a book; it was a shield. To his ninth-period theory class, it was the Holy Grail, the only thing standing between them and a failing grade on the dreaded Unit 6 Harmony Test.
The "thief" didn't last an hour. Leo, a first-chair cellist who had been struggling with his circle of fifths, walked up to the desk. He didn't have the book, but he had a confession: "We don't need the key, Mr. Henderson. We just didn't want to be wrong." Essentials of Music Theory: Teacher’s Answer Key
The legend among the students was that Mr. Henderson didn't actually know music theory—he just possessed the only "Key" in existence. The "thief" didn't last an hour
Mr. Henderson smiled, pulled a fresh piece of chalk from his pocket, and turned to the blackboard. "Then let's stop worrying about being right," he said, "and start listening." Henderson
One rainy Tuesday, the unthinkable happened. During a fire drill, the classroom was left unlocked. When the bell rang for the students to return, the desk drawer was hanging open like a Slack-jawed yawn. The Answer Key was gone.
Should we try writing a , like a mystery or a comedy , centered around the book?
For thirty years, the book had lived in the top left drawer of his oak desk. Its spine was held together by yellowed Scotch tape, and the edges of the pages were softened by thousands of quick flips to verify a deceptive cadence or a secondary dominant.