I remember it like it was yesterday. The summer before freshman year was almost over. The temperatures outside in the scorching Arizona weather were pushing 115F, and I had to go to a "band meeting" to get all the information on band camp. Wow, that was coming up in just a week. Now, you have to understand, when I imagined a high school band room, I imagined this huge room, with lockers for every instrument, padded ceilings to soak up the sound, an office for the director, and a water fountain for our parched throats (after all this is Arizona). I was so mistaken.
I arrived at the unfamiliar school and was escorted by a creepy senior to this small little auto-shop garage.
"The real band room in under construction," he explained. "Welcome to the band garage." And that is exactly what it was too. Power cords dangled from the ceiling. A rusty sink took up space in the front of the room. Even a garage door decorated the oh, so pitiful room. There were hundreds of plaques and awards hanging all over the room, trying very hard to cover many monstrous holes in the walls. I would later find out that the band had created these gaping holes. Go figure: If not the auto-shop class, then a band would definitely be my second demolition team choice!
I was thrust into this little room with sixty unfamiliar faces. Gee, but they all seemed to know each other! They were busy chattering away about their summers, and inside jokes from last year. Then one girl started talking about how upset she had been when the band had received only an 89% at state marching band competition last year.
Marching band? I'd nearly forgotten. Oh the ultimate blow! Marching band? A bunch of geek spread randomly across a football field blowing obnoxiously into a piece of wood or metal. Joy! Oh well, I thought, there's no backing out now! Besides, if begging Mom and Dad to let me quit hasn't worked yet, it'll never work!
The director was new this year. Mr. Stevens. Boy was he a piece of work. H was tall and very thin, and had a stooped over body (not the typical musician's posture). His elbows practically rested on his knees. The man was obviously young, 30, maybe. But he has a bald spot right on top of his brown haired head. And interestingly enough, he also had a funny little patch of red hair right in the center of his head. He was a goofy looking guy, to say the least. But he seemed to care about what he was doing.
As the room quieted down, three creepy seniors made their way to the front of the room. They stood there behind Stevens, who sat stooped over on a stool behind a large metal music stand. Something about the seniors held my attention. One of the three was a girl, a very adorable girl with curly blonde hair, whom I would later learn was named Nicole. The other two were boys, very similar in looks. Tall and skinny, with dark hair and eyes, neither one of these boys smiled. This was Eddie and Nathan.
Those three seniors stood in a position that I though would surely break their necks if they were half as stiff as they appeared to be. Their feet were shoulder width apart, back straight as it could be, chin up in a dignified manner. Their arms were placed in front of them, meeting at the hands, left had over right, up against their bodies. Their eyes were straight forward. They didn't move. Not once! Not once during the entire hour we spent in the sizzling hot little room. And even if just their eyes moved it was to glare at a returning member of the band, with a disapproving stare that would make even the devil shrink to the size of a pea. And let me tell you, anyone who got glared at sure started paying attention to the meeting and fast! Gees, another wonderful aspect to marching band, I uttered to myself.
Rehearsal went smoothly enough. We played though a few songs placed in front of us. Stevens told us what we would need to have with us at band camp. He also explained to us his strict punctuality policy. "To be early is to be on time, to be on time if to be late, and to be late is to be left behind." Which roughly translated from Stevens' talk means: be there 30 minutes earlier than he tells you to, or else. Oh joy!
Well gee, it really wasn't that bad, now that I'm thinking back on it. But it was sure a shocking and scary experience then! Well there was one girl who was nice to me. Josephine Liu. Everyone called her Jo. She was the clarinet "section leader". Meaning she was there to keep me and the other clarinetists in line and make sure we had all the music and everything else we needed.
I didn't know what to expect from of band camp. And those three creepy "drum majors" as they called them, they sure were creepy! Stevens had explained during the meeting that the three of them were mini-versions of him. When they say jump you ask how high? And when they tell you how high, you jump even higher! Come on people! It's just marching band! Do you really expect a bunch of immature high school students to take orders from other high school students? Besides that, the drum majors are in charge of conducting the songs we play while on the football field. Right!
Well, band camp came soon enough. Let me tell you, waking up at five in the morning, to get on a two hour bus ride with 60 some odd band kids was the most interesting experience I had had in my life, up until that point, but that would soon change.