(Continued from Page El)Among them is Mike Ackley, a data analyst at the county Board of Education.Drawn to the banjo all his life by its bright, springy boing sound, Mr Ackley built his own banjo in 1981 and began to take lessons. For him, last month's academy offered a rare opportunity to bask in the glow of greatness.Most of us brought our banjos, but then we just stood in awe and mystery at at the peopleleading the seminars/’ said Mr. Ackley, who favors biuegrass banjo to classical or old-time styles. All three were taught during the week end's 65 workshops, held in the nooks and crannies of a renovated orphanage. Meals were served at long tables and bunk bed-filled rooms were shared. Participants came from 28 states, Canada and Sweden. The closeness only added to the intensity, Mr. Ackley said.Pete Seeger sat at my dinner table Saturday night, he said. He was telling us how he doesn’t sing the high notes anymore,.”Mr. Seeger, 78, refused payment for teachingat the academy. Several other members offaculty with “whom the Nitchtes_frequentlycorresponded also refused money, knowing tfia^ Mrs. Nitchie wasn't making money off the event.1Having known her involvement in the Banjo Newsletter, perhaps, they sensed that she was jn it solely for the music. But they were wrong. “i'm a piano person myseif, admitted Mrs. Nitchie, who is already making plans for next year's Banjo Academy, which she hopes to hold in Annapolis. '‘With the banjo though, part of it is 1 like the people who play banjo. They’re down-to-earth. Real. They have this memory .of the music thev've heard It's a real treasure.