The Wonderful World of Mr. Radley
For no apparent reason, Mr. Radley set down his baton and asked the band, "Why are you guys still in band?"
There was some nervous shifting among all the sections. "No, I didn't mean that to insult you all. I'm just curious." Some upperclassmen and brave underclassmen tentatively raised their hands.
Considering that this was the last band, the replies were mostly, "My parents force me to be in here." Some actually enjoyed every single aspect of band, they just weren't very good at their instrument. A lone trumpet player's hand shot up, much like a person jumping about ten feet when getting a bottom full of porcupine quills. Mr. Radley called on that one.
"Because I like you, Mr. Radley!" the trumpetist announced proudly. While the freshmen looked at him like he was crazy, Mr. Radley shrunk back a bit; the movement was so subtle, no one else in the room noticed.
"Uh ... thanks," he stammered. "I like you too?"
Kayla waited patiently for her sister in the band hall. Both she and Leslie had private lessons to go to, but the drum major had a question about pit orchestra rehearsal for the spring musical. Tiring of parking her rump on a table, the bassoonist stood up and wandered the band hall, looking at the many shiny trophies and awards the band had been given over the years.
"Meet me at seven and we'll do it."
Kayla froze. Was that Mr. Radley's voice she heard just now? And did he just say that to her sister?! Inconspicuously, she edged her way towards the office, hoping that seven was the rehearsal time and not something else.
"That's was she said!" came her sister's chipper voice.
"... is that a yes?"
Kayla joined in the laughter pouring out from the office.
Being one of the more talented head band directors in the state, Mr. Oakley was often called away to judge contests and such. When this occured, Mr. Radley usually took over conducting for his bands. Today, he was with the third band (one step above the last band) helping them learn a piece they had sight-read the other day.
Many in this band had completely forgotten sections of the warm-up because Mr. Oakley skipped small portions of it every day. Unlike him. Mr. Radley insisted on having his bands play the entire warm-up. The fact that this was one of Mr. Oakley's bands did not seem to matter to him.
When the tubas went straight to the tuning note, Mr. Radley chastied them, saying, "No. You're used to Mr. Oakley's warm-up. You have to get used to me."
It wasn't until much later that a little flautist named Zephyr wondered, "Was that what she said?"
Mr. Radley picked up Allied Honor's score and flipped through it. Concert 1 (the third band) had sight-read this piece yesterday, and his instructions were to try to get it to UIL perfection. The band director looked out over the band and asked, "How many times have you read this before?"
"Once" was the unanimous answer.
"Okay, so this is your second time, my first time," he muttered.
Zephyr fought the urge to utter, "That's what she said."
It was getting towards the end of the period, and the reading was going pretty well. It wasn't up to Mr. Radley's extremely high standards, but it would do for now. He decided to leave them with a few reminders before they were released.
"Another thing to work on: tuning," he stressed. "Two people next to each other could be fifty cents apart!"
The first row (consisting of the three flutes and the first and second clarinets) silently giggled and quietly conversed amongst themselves about Mr. Radley's (completely fictional) secret love of rap. Kalie turned to Lillia and whispered, "Mr. Radley's a Fifty-fan!"
The director in question turned to the gossiping woodwinds and curtly said, "Hush."
Mr. Radley had taken over Concert 1 yet again, and this time, his instructions were to have them truly sight-read (complete with the seven minutes of complete silence and all that jazz). He had the band perform a short excercise involving them looking at the sight-reading piece for about ten seconds, then flipping it over and seeing what they remembered.
"Who saw the key? What did it change to?" he asked. Several hands shot up, but a sophomore clarinet by the name of Tetra shrank back and tried to make herself look smaller; Mr. Radley had a knack for knowing who didn't know the answer and calling on them.
Just as she feared, Mr. Radley glanced at her and said, "Tetra?"
"Noooo ..." she whined. Deperately trying to remember what sharps or flats appeared, she stammered, "Um ... A ..."
"Flat," Mr. Radley finished.
"Oh," she whispered in a defeated voice.
Even though everyone in the room had probably seen their shares of the sight-reading room, Mr. Radley still insisted on walking them through the procedure.
"And the judge will be up here saying things, and you won't be listening to him, like you are with me right now ..."
The band chuckled nervously.
Zephyr once again concentrated on the music. It wasn't that difficult, really - mostly eighth notes and almost no sixteenths in sight - but she still needed to be careful. She had let her guard down and made worse mistakes in the past: for example, her re-reading of "Sawmill Creek." She looked up at Mr. Radley for the start of the piece and found that he had put his finger on his nose.
"If I do this, it means 'remember your key signature,' not that I'm picking my nose," he justified.
Zephyr fought the urge to laugh.