Originality

“Be yourself; everyone else is already taken.”  -  Oscar Wilde

            Some folks I have taught stand out from the others.  Their differences, quirks, idiosyncrasies, and even “weirdnesses” always came off to me as bravery.  Don’t get me wrong, there are those who are weird “strange” as opposed to “unconventional”.  You should always run from the “strange” ones as fast as you can.  For instance, talking to your flute is okay.  If your flute talks back, seek help.  I do, however, think we should celebrate the unconventional and, with that in mind….

            Sabina and Hannah Lin do not, on the surface, seem to be cruel and mean.  They always smiled, were helpful, and were well liked by all they met.  They also spent a great deal of their time torturing Ted Liang.  Ted, like the two girls, was happy, helpful and extremely intelligent.  He also had a few quirks (sorry Ted but no other word for it).  He would violently flinch when surprised by 4 foot tall Hannah.  He could be made to respond with an assortment of odd noises (hoots, whoops, squeaks, etc…) when certain things were said to him.  He was like a human “Bop It” toy.  Sabina, Hannah, and Jenny McDuffie would show him off to any who needed amusing.  I have it on the highest authority that Ted has outgrown all of this and has completed a doctorate in physics at Stanford.  For all of the uber smart stuff he does with the rest of his life, I hope he can appreciate the joy he brought to many of us by just being Ted.

            I already mentioned Renee Reyle in an earlier post where I recounted her semi-streaking during a rock-a-thon event.  For those who know Renee, it is probably not a surprise to find out this was not her only “near naked” experience.  One day, after a particularly hot and brutal rehearsal on the parking lot, a freshman boy was standing outside the instrument room in the old band room.  He was holding his trumpet and staring at the door.  Band had been over for a while when I asked him what he was doing there.  He said he needed to put his trumpet away.  I told him that going into the storage room was a good start and he said, “but I can’t go in there until…. Well, I just can’t go in there.”  I said, “Come on, son”, opened the door and led him in.  Lying on the tile floor, wearing only a sports bra and shorts, was Renee.  When I asked her what in the world she was doing, she said, as matter of factly as possible, that it was really hot and she was simply cooling off.  Education for freshmen boys comes in many ways.

            Renee, partly by virtue of being a drummer, had always come across as a tomboy.  She was drum captain her senior year and I was more than a little surprised when she told me she was entering the Senior Miss pageant.  I had never seen her dressed like a girl and was concerned.  She handled that part like a pro.  When it came time for talent, Renee walked out with a pair of drumsticks to an awaiting snare drum on a stand.  The next 5 minutes were AMAZING.  She played, juggled, flipped sticks, and entertained better than anyone else that night.  Unconventional – Yes.  Still, it was 100% Renee Reyle.

            The absolute queen of “being who you are” was a young lady I met on my first day working in the band room at Houston.  She walked in with some of her friends and just started quoting from the movie “Heathers”.  I mean the entire movie.  It didn’t make any difference that I had not seen “Heathers” or even knew it existed.  It amused her and that was enough.  Jennifer Jones went on to become my guard captain as well as Homecoming Queen her senior year.  She was tall and imposing and liked to make others uncomfortable with a sort of superior “death stare”.  One day, I was reading the newspaper on a Sunday morning and almost snorted my fruit loops.  There, on the back cover of the sports section, was a Splash Casino ad with three young ladies in bikinis.  One of them was Jennifer.  I would have assumed that you needed to be 18 years old for that sort of thing.  When I asked Jennifer about how old you had to be, she just grinned and said, “I lied”. 

Quite a few years after Jennifer graduated, I was having a marching rehearsal on the parking lot.  280 kids are in the middle of a tune when I notice a disruption.  Walking across the parking lot from the back left corner to the 50 yard line, front and center, was Jennifer Jones.  She had on really high heels, a red pencil skirt, was all done up real “purty” and was taking her own sweet time as she walked.  By the time she got to the front, the entire band had stopped.  All the guy’s tongues were hanging out (not from exhaustion) and it was very quiet.  She shakes her hair out, looks up at me and says, “Hey old man, you have time for a visit?”

            Sure I did. 

The Road Goes Ever On and On…..

 

            4 years at a time.  That is how long most of us got to spend together.  I cheated some folks out of 4 years by retiring while they were still there and a couple of my first (early 1990) classes did not have 4 years left.  Still, by and large, we usually got 4 years together before you each moved on.  “We all take different paths in life, but no matter where we go, we take a little of each other everywhere.”  Tim McGraw said that and I wholeheartedly believe it.  Whether for good, bad, or lack of a satisfactory therapist, I know I carry little bits of each of you with me everywhere I go.

            The biggest problem with getting too attached to the kids you teach is graduation.  That time of year from Spring trip until Band Banquet is a rough one.  The worst part is getting a graduation band ready to play on 2 rehearsals with most of your first chair players missing due to graduation.  Choir folks have it so easy.  They sing at baccalaureate with everyone (seniors included) available.  No extra practice and no emotionally gut-wrenching feeling of absence.  There were very few of you I was glad to see go when the time came (and you know who you were). 

            As often happens, I read what I just wrote and realize I have lied.  Graduation is painful, but at least you can see it coming.  The most painful experience is when someone comes to tell you they are moving.  Two things happen at one time.  The first is you hug the student and tell them how much you will miss them and that everything will be just fine.  At that same instant, your inner voice is screaming “Dammit, Dammit, Dammit, ….”.  If you get those backwards (screaming dammit out loud, over and over, while telling yourself with your inner voice that everything will be just fine), you can expect a call from an upset mom. 

            Over the past few years, moving away became a much more common occurrence.  Back in the day, the rarity of it made it much more traumatic.  My first experience was with Nadia and Tamim Sifri at the end of my first year.  We did not have tons of kids back then and losing 2 was devastating.  Combine that with the fact that Nadia was one of only 2 All State players that year and her brother (doofus that he was) was a very talented All West trombone player.  Their dad’s job had something to do with chickens and he got transferred.  I swore off chicken for a year in protest. 

            It wasn’t just the talent moving away that made all of this difficult.  The Sifri’s defined what it was to be in band at Houston.  They had many friends in the band and were involved in starting lots of the traditions that made us who we were.  And it wasn’t just me who was impacted by early departures.  When Kim Kenny moved (early 1990’s) I still remember how upset Helen Hawkins was.  When Jennifer Fortner moved (color guard / 2^nd year?) it happened in the middle of marching season, right after the Milan contest.  The entire color guard was much more upset about Jennifer moving than losing the contest.  It always seemed so unfair to me that everyone could not leave their kids in one place until they graduate (like Angie Ciuki’s folks did with her).  That is not to say that some kids didn’t improve their plight by moving.  Abby Burns (5 years ago) moved to Tampa, FL and joined a band that won BOA Grand Nationals.  As happy as I am for Abby, I selfishly wanted her here.  She would have made a huge difference.

            Christine Choi was the worst example of this for me.  She moved in late during her sophomore year and moved out after her junior year.  I can’t think of anyone who made a bigger impression on a program than she did in a short period of time.  She was immensely popular and tremendously talented.  She was the best sightreader I ever taught.  I briefly considered kidnapping her, dying her hair blond, and trying to pass her off as a Swedish exchange student.  If she hadn’t loved her family quite as much as she did, I would have given kidnapping a shot.

            It is that time of year again.  Kids are getting ready to graduate and move on.  Remember, in your haste to get out the door that if you have done it right, someone is really going to miss you.  No matter what path you choose, remember to take a little bit of band with you when you go.

Business

       It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.  Right now, it is the neediest of times.  The Houston Band Foundation was set up with 2 purposes in mind.  I wanted to support kids graduating from Houston who had supported the band, and I wanted to raise money for special needs for the band program itself.  In about a month, the Houston Band Foundation will award its first scholarship(s) to a deserving senior member of the Houston Band.  The biggest conundrum facing me is whether or not this will be an ongoing effort.  We have certainly collected enough money to award scholarships for the immediate future.  At question is whether or not we will have enough funds to make this a long term effort.  The math is pretty simple.  Take "X" amount of funds and (if there is enough) invest that amount such that the interest it earns yearly will support the scholarship effort.  We are still a little short having enough to make "forever" work out.

       6 or 7 of you contacted me to offer to donate in the future.  If it is possible to make that future "now", that would help.  I suspect a number of you just forgot that part of the reason for these epistles is raising money.  I set up the pay button on this blog and posted a mail address (several posts back) in an effort to make this really easy to do.  So you will understand my frustration, just under 900 folks read each of these blog posts.  Just under 40 have donated to the cause.  If this happens to be your first reading of a post of mine, please forgive the nagging and rather awkward nature of this one.  You can access the other posts through the archive function located just under the pay button (hint, hint).  Guys, I don't need huge donations.  In this case, literally every little bit helps.

        In my second or third year at Houston we were having a fundraiser that involved selling.  I sent home that typical “We need you to sell X number of this by Y date” letter filled with the usual prophesy of impending doom if you did not comply.  Cheryl Brown (mom of Lauren and Sam) was a new band mom.  She sent me a letter to tell me I had ruined her daughter’s life with stress and angst over selling whatever, that I was the director equivalent of the anti-Christ, and that everybody thought I was unreasonable.  Keep in mind, Cheryl turned out to be one of my best moms but this was certainly one of her worst days.  Since it was hard to talk to everybody about my so obvious shortcomings, I decided to make a few dozen copies of the note and post it on the wall around the band room.  The resulting distress from Cheryl was unfortunate (sorry Cheryl) but the end result was no more complaining from anyone about fundraising.  Over the years, as new generations of band parents would arrive, someone who had not heard of Mrs. Brown’s public flogging would write a letter I felt to be a little over the top so I would copy and post it to the wall.  Tradition born / problem solved.  By way of full disclosure, I promised Cheryl when I told this story at a band banquet that I would not tell it again in public.  Cheryl.... I lied.

        I am not trying to crush or disappoint anyone with my talk of money.  I will love all of you whether you can help out or not.  The next installment of this blog will be some other rememberance of silliness or stupidity.  I won't be revisiting the subject of "donations" for quite a while so don't flinch the next time you see a post.  If you can give, please do.  The kids and program at Houston are worth the sacrifice.

And Then A Hero Comes Along.....

            Maya Angelou said many wise and profound things.  Among my favorites is, “I think a hero is any person really intent on making this a better place for all people.”  Not that it needed framing, but this so perfectly describes a young man who is a hero of mine in every sense of the word.  Mike Petrina.

            For those of you who were not fortunate enough to know Mike, you missed out on an opportunity that for the rest of us was truly special.  Please allow me the chance to remedy that in some small way.

            Mike Petrina was a tenor sax player in the band at Houston and graduated in 2008.  His last year, he was our low reed section leader.  He was tall and strong.  I never met anyone who didn’t like Mike.  How could you not like him?  He smiled all the time.  He gave hugs that even intimidated me.  Mike was that rare mixture of extremely competitive and deeply caring.  He could get his section to do push-ups, not as punishment, but as a team building exercise….. and be HAPPY about it.  He turned loading the equipment truck into a party.  As literally as possible, to know Mike was to love him.

            Mike started a martial arts club for band members.  This accomplished much for the kids who participated.  It gave them an activity they seemed to enjoy, brought them closer together as a group, gave the “puny” among us a chance to pal around with giants like Mike, and (alluding to the quote above) “made this a better place for all”.  He put a lot of time into it but the benefits were almost entirely for others.  You see, Mike didn’t need the exercise, he was already the only one in the room that knew what he was doing, and he already had more friends than the average person could adequately service.  He did this to help others.

            I ran across a picture of Mike and a friend of his the other day.  Megan Reeves and Mike were painted up like “Braveheart” warriors to go to practice on a hot asphalt parking lot.  This is the sort of thing he did to make life more interesting for the rest of us.  His life was full of those little efforts.

            Like all of those band members before him, Mike graduated and went on to other stuff.  Unlike some of you bums, he visited regularly.  He graduated from college and became a Metro Police Officer in Nashville.  Upon his graduation from the police academy, Mike was presented with the Chisty Dedmon Spirit Award in recognition of the fine officer he had become.  He was truly the best of the best. 

            On May 10, 2014, Michael Petrina was killed while working an accident scene on I-65 in Nashville.  The circumstances are senseless and frustrating and not to be detailed here.  Suffice to say that Mike was doing his job protecting and helping folks that needed his help.  He was just being Mike. 

Today (April 7) is his birthday.  As fitting a day as any to remember all that Mike was to so many of us.  As I have spoken with Mike’s friends since his passing, I have noticed something that to me is special and profound.  All Mike meant to us, through the life he led and example he set, is still as strong and undiminished today as on that awful day in 2014.  For those of you who did not get to know Mike, regardless of when you passed through the halls of Houston, just take the person you most admired who was loved by everyone they met and you begin to touch on what Mike Petrina meant to so many of us.  He was kind, passionate, gentle, strong, protective of all who needed it and fiercely loyal.  Most of all (selfishly) he was my friend and I still miss him terribly.