A voice shaped by faith, a spark passed through song
A Legacy Rooted in the Dust Bowl
Susan Mueller’s story begins in Stillwater, Oklahoma, where her father, Glenn Epperley, carried a dream that seemed improbable during the bleak years of the Great Depression and the Dust Bowl. Red dust blew across the prairies, farm fields lay scraped bare, but Glenn carried a voice that would not be silenced. Against all odds, he pursued a degree in vocal music, determined to teach and share what had been placed inside him.
“I know it had to be a God thing,” Susan reflects. “Because it didn’t seem to be a natural path without someone bigger than him steering him that direction. His parents were itinerant farmers with musical gifts, but my daddy had been given a voice, and he was determined to use it. Sacred music was important to him and played a role in shaping his life. My brothers and I were exposed to music throughout our lives, and we are living the legacy our father gave us.”
That legacy ran deep. Her oldest brother, Cecil, sang and played piano as a boy before moving into basketball under legendary coach Henry Iba at OSU, then into banking in Bartlesville. Her middle brother, Dr. Barry Epperley, became a conductor of the U.S. Army Chorus and later founded Tulsa’s Signature Symphony. For Susan, music became the same inheritance—a spark waiting to be fanned into flame.
“The music wasn’t just technical with me—it was part of my soul.”
The Spark Becomes Her Own
At age six, Susan began piano lessons with Margaret Nichols in Stillwater. Nichols’ gentle affirmations stayed with her: “The music wasn’t just technical with her. It was part of her soul.”
When her family moved to Bartlesville in 1969—her senior year of high school—Susan came under the direction of choir director Noel “Mr. K” Kaiser. He became one of those rare mentors who saw her spark and insisted she share it. “Mr. K gave me opportunities,” she recalled. “Not gushy praise, but the kind of trust and expectation that said, you can do more, and you should.”
Looking back, Susan sees that her spark wasn’t rooted in performance perfection—it was rooted in discovery. She laughs when recalling her senior piano recital: “It wasn’t a disaster, but it confirmed what I already knew. I was a teacher, not a performer.”
What mattered most were those opportunities—small doors opened by others—that allowed her to grow, step forward, and eventually create the same space for her own students.
Discovering Strength in the Music
Music became the place where Susan tested herself, failed, tried again, and grew stronger. “Over the years I’ve experienced many musical disappointments—only a few times when I was completely satisfied. But that’s the joy of engaging in music. The joy is in the doing. You realize it never is perfect.”
Her competitive streak—family-born and natural—pushed her. “Sports weren’t available to me in schools growing up, so music was the venue that stretched me. Music itself is a driver—the attainment of perfection is like a ball of light always out there in front of me. And I will fight for it, because I believe music is a God-gift to the world.”
Seeing the Spark in Others
As a teacher and conductor, Susan became known for spotting potential in voices others overlooked. She recalls two boys in high school choir: one with limited range, another who joined because a counselor suggested it might help his college application. Both worked relentlessly, giving up lunch hours for daily coaching. Both made all-state or all-district choir—not because of raw talent, but because of sheer desire.
“It’s not always the best voice you notice—it’s the hunger. The desire tells you there’s a spark worth tending.”
The same was true for girls who began incredibly shy, barely raising their voices above a whisper. Performance became their bridge to confidence. “I’m thinking of one student who was so quiet, but through singing and musical theater she became a leader in the jazz choir. Other students looked to her as the leader. The transformation was remarkable.”
Susan saw another student follow a similar path—reserved in everyday life, but fearless once the spotlight hit. “You watch them bloom on stage,” she reflected, “and suddenly you know—they’ve discovered something they’ll carry forever.”
For Susan, mentoring meant sacrifice. “Being the mentor is hard work—you give up your time to help someone reach their potential. But I knew what it felt like to be given opportunities. I wanted my students to feel that too.”
Music in the Midst of Tragedy
April 19, 1995, marked the bombing of the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City. Susan was teaching high school choir when the news broke. Grief swept across the state, landing at home in the high school classroom. That day, she gathered her students and led them in In Solemn Silence—a memorial anthem with words of mourning and hope: “Forget not those who have died without shelter from the cruel bombing and slaughter, children doomed to silence forever.”
Within a few days, Susan and her students traveled to Kansas City, where the Bartlesville Chorale joined Dr. Eph Ehly’s chorus at the University of Missouri–Kansas City for a scheduled performance of Verdi’s Requiem. Her high school choir attended the concert in full, watching their teacher step into a monumental performance.
The stage was massive—over a hundred voices rising in layers, the full orchestra stretching from strings to brass to the booming percussion that anchored everything. As the choir reached the Dies irae, dies illa (“Day of wrath, that day”), Susan stood in the soprano section just feet from the bass drums. Each resonant strike shook the hall, vibrations rolling through her chest. The silences between the drumbeats hung heavy, like the suspended grief blanketing Oklahoma.
“What had been just words and notes a few days earlier suddenly became spiritual,” Susan recalled. “It felt like Verdi had written it for that exact moment.”
For Susan, music has always been both personal and spiritual—an inseparable part of her faith and her life. And in that performance, she sensed it wasn’t just her. “I believe every person in that hall felt it,” she said. “That pounding drum, those words of judgment and hope—it was unforgettable.”
“Music can hold a community steady when words alone are not enough.”
The Dual Role
Susan’s influence stretched well beyond the high school classroom. For decades, she also served as conductor of the Bartlesville Chorale—a volunteer community ensemble that became one of the city’s cultural cornerstones. Balancing both roles meant her weeks were filled not only with rehearsals and contests but with evenings building a community of singers from every walk of life.
“The Chorale was different,” she explained. “It wasn’t about grades or contests—it was about belonging. Doctors, teachers, retirees, young professionals—we all became one voice.”
A Season of Lasts
Her final year of teaching was filled with poignant milestones. It was the year her last group of high school students made all-state and excelled in vocal contests, carrying forward the standard she had set for decades. And it was also the year she stood before the Bartlesville Chorale to conduct Messiah for the last time—a goodbye not just to a piece of music, but to a community of voices she had nurtured for years.
A Final Hallelujah
After years of serving as the conductor of the Bartlesville Chorale, Susan stood before the ensemble to lead Handel’s Messiah for the last time. The hall was filled not only with music, but with family, friends, and decades of memory. Her two sons sang beside her husband in the chorus, along with former students and longtime friends. “Looking into the faces of those who had carried this community choir for decades brought me full circle,” she reflected.
The Chorale, under Susan’s leadership, had long been more than a performance group—it was a community. One young professional, newly arrived in Bartlesville from a large city, found in the Chorale what he feared he’d lost: belonging. In a new place, among strangers, he discovered a community of voices that became family. Stories like his were not unusual. The Chorale provided a rare space where socioeconomics, race, religion, and other dividers dissolved—every voice from every background joining to create one unified sound. When the voices swelled in For Unto Us a Child Is Born, Susan heard more than counterpoint—she heard the threads of her life woven together. And when the Hallelujah Chorus rose, the entire room stood in gratitude. Trumpets rang, timpani thundered, and voices lifted in praise. For Susan, it wasn’t just Handel’s chorus. It was her own hallelujah, echoing back through every singer she had ever led.
Joy in Every Note
Now retired, Susan still sings faithfully in her church choir and with the Bartlesville Chorale under new leadership. She continues to play the organ, practice with discipline, and even share recitals in four-hands concerts alongside another pianist. “The music itself still inspires me daily,” she said. “Sacred music connects me to my faith—I can’t live without it.”
Her hope for the future is not that people remember her name, but that they remember how music made them feel—safe, seen, courageous, and alive.
Looking back, she knows her life has been shaped not only by music, but by the people it gathered around her: students who found their voices, colleagues who shared her fire, audiences who left changed. From the trembling hush of a high school audition, to the thunder of the Requiem, to the soaring Hallelujah Chorus of her final Messiah, her story has never been about perfection. It has always been about presence, courage, and connection.
Her spark carries forward—through family, faith, and community—and lingers in every singer who once stood before her baton, every friend who felt encouraged to try, every life touched by a note of grace. Joy in Every Note is more than the title of her story—it is the legacy she leaves: a life where music was both gift and calling, and where harmony was always about more than sound.
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About Susan Mueller
Susan Mueller, Hall of Fame music educator and longtime conductor of the Bartlesville Chorale, has spent her life shaping voices and building community through music. A graduate of Oklahoma State University and Southern Methodist University, she taught for 25 years in public schools and later at Oral Roberts University and Bartlesville Wesleyan College. Inducted into the Oklahoma Music Education Association Hall of Fame in 2008, Susan continues to inspire through her church music ministry, community service, and mentoring of young musicians.
About the Writer
I’m Angie Thompson—a fundraising strategist, brand storyteller, and published writer who believes in the power of words to spark connection, deepen trust, and move people to meaningful action. Whether I’m capturing a legacy story, shaping a compelling case for support, or helping nonprofits and changemakers find their authentic voice, my goal is always the same: to help good people do great work—and ensure the world sees it.
With more than two decades in nonprofit development and over 40 years in messaging and storytelling, I’ve written for national platforms, regional publications, and purpose-driven organizations. My work has appeared in The Office Professional Magazine (April 1996) and in countless community features that highlight the extraordinary impact of everyday people. I believe stories don’t just inform—they connect. They call us to see each other more clearly, live with deeper purpose, and step boldly into the work worth doing.
Copyright 2025. Angie Thompson Consulting LLC.
*This story is shared with permission and remains the creative property of Angie Thompson Consulting. To share or publish all or part of this story beyond personal use, please contact Angie Thompson. Thank you for honoring the work and the storyteller.
Disclaimer
The narrative presented in this story is based on personal interviews and the reflections of Susan Mueller. The views and memories shared are her own and are included with permission. This feature is intended to celebrate her life and influence through music as part of the Women with a Spark series.