Thank You, 'Ms. P': Honoring The Music Teacher And Her Impact On Us

FARMINGDALE, NY — It's been over a week since the tragedy that claimed the lives of two Farmingdale educators way too early. I haven't been able to stop thinking about Gina Pellettiere (Ms. P as myself and the rest of her students knew her) or Bea Ferrari (Mrs. Ferrari).

Since the bus crash, I've reconnected with a lot of old classmates I haven't spoken with in a decade. Some I met for the first time. We all healed together as we shared memories of Ms. P, a teacher who led us in marching band and/or wind ensemble.

Students shared memories and their favorite things about Ms. P. Some stories, I lived personally on the band camp field in Greeley, Pennsylvania or Ms. P's band room at Farmingdale High School. Others, I heard about for the first time.

The biggest comfort in all of it was that no story about Ms. P was surprising. Whether a student had her in 2009 or 2023, Ms. P never changed.

She had an unwavering belief in all of her students. If we were sponges and our musical talent was water, she wrung us dry. She motivated each and every one of us on a personal level. She had an uncanny knack for getting the most out of everyone.

I don't think I'm alone in saying Ms. P believed in me at a time where I didn't even believe in myself. At times when I doubted myself and whether I was good enough to play in her wind ensemble, she put those thoughts to rest with a "Way to go, dude!" "Dude" was her calling card. Everyone was her "dude."

I first met Ms. P when I was in middle school. She had asked our band teacher to enlist tuba and baritone players for the annual Tuba Christmas in Rockefeller Center. Tuba players usually supplement a band with deep brass sounds. We rarely, if ever, got to carry a melody. At Tuba Christmas, tubas were the melody.

I remember being greeted by the little ball of energy simply known as Ms. P. It felt like we were going into the city to play music with our friend. It was then I knew I wanted to play under her baton in high school. After starting with the symphonic band in high school under the talented direction of Mrs. Barbara Lieberman, I eventually made wind ensemble. Reaching Ms. P's wind ensemble was probably my crowning achievement in high school.

The music was a step up, but it was so fun to play. The Christmas shows were the best. Seeing our principal, Mr. Glen Zakian, dress up as the Grinch and get chased around the stage while we performed "Sleigh Ride" is something I will never forget. While the shenanigans played out in front of us, we in the band kept our focus. That's a testament to how well oiled a machine we were by the time every concert rolled around — all thanks to Ms. P. From "Sleigh Ride" to "Holiday Portraits," listening to everyone else perform was a treat for my ears.

We were proud to play for Ms. P. Every year we went to the New York State School Music Association festival, we wanted to earn gold with distinction not just for ourselves, but for our conductor. My colleagues and I recall her being angry about the judge who gave us gold in 2013. She was never angry at us.

When we did earn gold with distinction, nobody was happier about it than Ms. P.

To those who've gotten to read about the dynamo that was Ms. P over the past week, that shouldn't be a surprise at all. Whether it was band class or instrument rotations, Ms. P always kept everything fun and lighthearted.

It all comes back to the simple fact she never changed. Ms. P was Ms. P. You knew what you were getting: muffin jokes, breeze breaks, a passionate conductor, pranks, and a wonderful sense of pay off every time we took the stage for a concert in front of our loved ones.

It doesn't matter which of her former students you talk to, they'll all say that band camp sparked some of their most memorable times in high school. Every year, we would take that bus ride to Pennsylvania on a Thursday and go home Sunday.

In between, there were a lot of long days on the practice field. The hot sun, the cold rain, you name it. Ms. P was always there, standing on her perch overlooking us all, teaching us how to march and play instruments at the same time. We knew to get down to business. But we were also high school kids. When she felt our focus was wavering, she would tell her muffin joke.

"Two muffins are in an oven. One muffin says to the other, 'Is it hot in here, or is it just me?' The other muffin says, 'AHHH! A talking muffin!!'"

We heard it a lot. Yet, it never got old.

On the hot days, we would feel lucky to get that gust of wind. Not only for the temporary cool down, but the accompanying "BREEZE BREAK" that Ms. P would shout along with it.

The long days would end with fun activities like the annual DJ Night, meals together in the massive kitchen, ultimate Frisbee matches and hanging inside our cabin.

The four days were grueling, but the end result was we knew how to march and put on a hell of a show. And Ms. P oozed showmanship.

When meticulously crafting our marching formations, she would have us spell out things like "DALERS," or "FHS." Sometimes, things wouldn't go according to plan and we'd spell out "DALERO." Ms. P took it in stride, turning it into an inside joke we could all laugh about.

The end result was unforgettable moments on our home field, playing the halftime show during football games. Or Ms. P's Super Bowl: the Newsday Marching Band Festival. That was at least on par with the annual NYSSMA festival, if not even greater.

We were Ms. P's band, and we would walk into the fire for her each year and play our hearts out. That was what she meant to us all.

It's surreal to think that a window being left slightly ajar is what we have to thank for all our memories with Ms. P.

Rita Padden, the former Farmingdale fine arts director, gave a wonderfully touching eulogy to Ms. P at her funeral Mass last week. One of the things she spoke about was how Ms. P got the job at Farmingdale High School.

She so badly wanted a job teaching high school students. How badly? She abruptly ended her Europe vacation a day before the job application deadline, flew home, revised her resume and went to Farmingdale High School to hand it in. The problem? The school closed an hour before she got there. She searched the building for an open door but found a slightly-open window instead.

Ms. P forced her way into the building through the window, where a custodian was kind enough to submit her job application. The rest is history.

There was a second major reason Ms. P almost never got the job: She quit band when she herself was a middle schooler, Padden recounted during her eulogy. Her band director convinced her to stay. That came full circle, as Ms. P grew a reputation for preventing her own students from quitting band. Her dogged determination to keep students in band has led to happy memories, musical passions, and even a marriage.

That, to me, was the most beautiful part of Ms. P's story. What her old band teacher did for her, she paid forward several times.

There are so many heartbreaking things about the bus crash. Losing Ms. P and Mrs. Ferrari, who we all remember for chaperoning our band camp trips every year, is the most unforgettable one.

Band camp was supposed to be a happy experience for everyone who was on those buses that day. The trip was meant to be a time where students, Ms. P and the other teachers and chaperones got to explore their passion for music together. Instead, many suffered wounds both physical and emotional that they will carry forever. It's not fair to them, nor will it ever be.

And yet, the Daler Marching Band surpassed the wildest expectations: The band, including students who were on the bus that crashed, will be performing at the Farmingdale homecoming game this Friday — just weeks after the tragedy where they lost their director. Their resilience is shocking in the best way. I recall speaking with former bandmates and we all figured there would be no marching band this year. It feels wonderful to be proven wrong.

Then you remember that Ms. P left behind a 2-year-old son, Joseph, and that just shatters your soul. That a boy, through no fault of his own, was robbed of the memories he surely would've gotten growing up with an incredible mother.

The slimmest of silver linings in all this tragedy is that the Farmingdale community has bonded together in ways I've never seen. The outpouring of love and support for Ms. P's son, her current and former students, family members and friends has been a marvel.

People have treated one another with kindness, various fundraisers have been set up online or held in person — Mariano Schwartz raised around $8,500 for Joseph with his wonderful piano skills — and businesses have asked what they could do to support those most impacted by the crash.

School districts across Long Island, New York state and even the country — Arroyo Grande High School in California(!) sent Farmingdale its love and support after the district lost its middle school band director during the coronavirus pandemic — have worn Dalers green in honor of Ms. P and Mrs. Ferrari.

There's a sense of unity not seen in ages, and surely, we hope it will all continue.

That sense of togetherness was created by the lives led by Gina Pellettiere and Bea Ferrari. As a community, we must honor their memories by helping others with the same zeal they did. We need to continue to come together and support one another, help Joseph live the best life possible, and lift up every person on those buses that day.

That has to be our vow to those we lost.

Patch reporter Michael DeSantis was a student of Ms. P's from 2009 to 2013 at Farmingdale High School.