<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0We always equated the beginning of the next school year with the start up of marching band in August. \u00a0The summer after my junior year, we had made plans to march in the Marquette Fourth of July parade as a prelude to taking a band trip to march in two parades at the Traverse City Cherry Festival the next weekend. \u00a0Did we think this moved the time table up making us instant seniors the moment school let out in June? Absolutely! Suffice to say that the entire Cherry Festival trip will have to wait for another day because the whole of this last segment of the Tatler series will be needed to tell the tale of \u2018The Senior Year\u2019 as gleaned from the pages of my high school yearbook.<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0With that said, I do have to start with the summer band program because the loss of my original HS band director near the end of my sophomore year affected me more than I realized at the time. \u00a0Looking back now, I spent too much time my junior year being angry about it and the recipients of this ire were my band mates and the new director. It wasn\u2019t that I had a diva personality, but it is very apparent to me now that I made life difficult for others in the band. \u00a0What snapped me out of it near the end of the year was a scene right out of the movie <\/span>My Bodyguard<\/span><\/i> when a senior buddy of a younger drummer suggested that it would be very good for my health to lay off of his little buddy. \u00a0It was offered more as a piece of advice and not an outright threat, but it made me realize what a putz I had been. I resolved to spend the trip to Traverse City and my senior year \u00a0repairing the self inflicted damage done to my reputation.<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The new band director had a plan: \u00a0take us to Traverse City so we could see other high school bands doing drum corps style field programs. \u00a0One of my not so pleasant junior year memories was dismissing this idea outright when the director told us what he wanted us to do with our football game halftime show the next fall. \u00a0As part of my atonement, the plan was to not only embrace this concept but to go above and beyond the the call of duty and do the routine flawlessly. In previous years, we either made an outline or two on the field or we just played in block formation. \u00a0Mr. Saari\u2019s plan involved lining up the band in segments of four. We would be marching from one end zone to the other while playing and executing spins, turns, and formations that required a certain number of steps between each move.<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0There were countless hours spent memorizing the drum parts on my own so the number of steps and turns were burned into my brain with the drum part we were playing. \u00a0It was a challenge and if memory serves me right, we performed the same program during a couple of halftime shows. Watching the video replay of our first show was a terrific learning tool because one trombone line managed to march right out of the camera\u2019s field of view only to came scurrying back when they discovered their error (and yes, we let them know it!). \u00a0It was challenging and the new me had to fess up to the director that my initial assessment of the concept had been wrong. The band was up for the challenge and it was fun to do a new routine.<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The other hold over from my \u2018poor attitude\u2019 junior year was the perception that I was the \u2018snare drum diva\u2019. \u00a0A couple of other section leaders cornered me and accused me of being arrogant in assuming that I was the only one who could play the snare drum. \u00a0They wouldn\u2019t take the bait when I suggested that they should swap places with the last chair players in their sections to see how it goes, but according to them, this wasn\u2019t the same as my offense of always being the snare drummer. \u00a0When marching band ended, I made the conscious decision to play all of the other percussion parts and let the chips fall where they may. There was not a cymbal, triangle, woodblock, or tamborine part too small for me to play. It was the most fun I had ever had in band and when Mr Saari asked me \u201cWhat are you trying to prove?\u201d, I gave him the truth: \u00a0\u201cNothing! Just giving everyone their shot at being \u2018THE snare drummer\u2019.\u201d It wasn\u2019t that I wanted anyone to beg me to play the snare parts, but there was a certain amount of satisfaction in being asked to play a particular part. Doing it right the first time after watching the younger kids stumble about was a good reminder to my accusers that there was a reason I was co-first chair with my buddy Jim. \u00a0We played one concert march with yours truly getting to play a zillion big, sustained cymbal crashes where one had to hold them up and let them ring. I wasn\u2019t trying to show anyone up, but when the same section leaders now accused me of \u2018showing off\u2019, I figured the tables had finally been turned. The only percussion part I didn\u2019t play was tympany as Tim Vanderburg had inherited that post when his brother Steve graduated after our freshman year. \u00a0\u00a0We weren\u2019t going to mess with Tim\u2019s legacy. As I said, it was fun playing various percussion pieces, but when the director told me to play the snare parts, compliance was my middle name.<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0If we had any inkling over the years that the \u2018judging\u2019 done for homecoming events were weighted to the upper classes, our fall homecoming parade entry gave us proof. \u00a0Each class was responsible for a \u2018spirit\u2019 float and an \u2018alumni\u2019 float for the homecoming parade. As the marching band led the way east on Magnetic Street, we were almost to the hospital block when we noticed a brace of fire trucks heading our way. \u00a0We parted like the Red Sea (we were the Redman after all) and watched the trucks rumble to the back of the parade where our paddle wheel steamer alumni float (\u201cWe Will Steam To Victory\u201d) was ablaze. A smudge pot used for the smokestacks had touched off the paper flower walls of the float. \u00a0An observant resident had managed to stretch our his garden hose to try and put it out but the float driver didn\u2019t know what was going on behind him and didn\u2019t stop until the fire trucks pulled up. Consequently, the garden hose didn\u2019t reach far enough and by the time the fire department arrived, the float, piano and all, were fully involved…and we still took third place in front of the freshman class. \u00a0When the drum line was standing in the endzone before we marched onto the field for our pregame program, one of the cheerleaders from the Sault Ste. Marie Blue Devils stopped to chat with us. I will never forget the horrified look on her face when we told her the tale of the burning float!<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0As for the final commentary from my friends and schoolmates, most were too long to relate here. \u00a0Something about graduating seemed to bring about longer yearbook entries. It is a shame that in our digitally connected world, inscribing yearbooks has taken a back seat to being bombarded by social media messages 24\/7\/365. \u00a0I doubt people will be digging out those messages in the years ahead to reminisce about the good old days. There were a lot of messages along the lines of, \u201cStay out of trouble and good luck next year in college.\u201d <\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0A few of my NMU bound bandmates said. \u201cSee you next year in marching band,\u201d which was in the back of my mind. \u00a0The clincher for me not joining the NMU band was the prospect of working at the Huron Mountain Club again. We signed on with the promise that we would work through Labor Day weekend and NMU\u2019s marching band began in mid-August. \u00a0By my college orientation in late July, it was apparent that my marching band days were over. That didn\u2019t mean that I wouldn\u2019t be playing the drums with a band again, it just would not be on a football field. My day off at the club was on Thursday that first year so I would come home late Wednesday evening and sleep in before cramming a week worth of activities before heading back to the club on Thursday evening. \u00a0The phone rang at 8 am on one of those Thursdays. It was the extremely enthusiastic marching band director putting on the hard sell as to why they needed me at the first band rehearsal in August. I explained the job thing the best I could but he would not take \u2018no\u2019 for an answer. He made me promise to \u201cthink it over\u201d but by the time the phone hit the cradle, my first year plan for college didn\u2019t include leaving my summer job three weeks early. \u00a0In the end, year two and year three working at the club were interwoven with playing in my own band, Knockdown. It was fun and we played enough that I was knocking down as much money as my buddies who were working at other jobs like bagging groceries at the Red Owl so I had no regrets about not joining the Wildcat Marching Band.<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The other event that came up more than once was the draft. \u00a0We were all entered in the one lottery that we didn\u2019t want to win so things like \u201cdon\u2019t get caught in the draft\u201d and \u201cgood luck with the draft\u201d showed up on more than one yearbook message. I got more advice from several people in the band with aspirations of becoming the next Dear Abby: \u00a0\u201cOf all the people I know, I probably understand you the least.\u201d Then there was \u201cAlthough we\u2019ve had our differences (my frosh year), I\u2019ve learned to cope with and understand why you sometimes weren\u2019t in the greatest moods.\u201d The ugly overtones of my junior year must have been cleansed some as my moods were analyzed more than once: \u00a0\u201cI know we\u2019ve had our differences but I really have learned and (sic) awful lot from you and not just about drumming.\u201d Another young drummer said, \u201cI don\u2019t thank you for being simply rotten to me, bad luck in the future,\u201d but still signed off with A.F.A. (and strangely enough, he wasn\u2019t even around for my junior year). The last entry with Dear Abby overtones was from Annie who wrote, \u201cWell, now you know that I do smile – & I\u2019ve observed that you\u2019re doing more of that yourself.\u201d \u00a0Sue Anderson summed up our shared drum section experiences going all the way back to Whitman Elementary: \u201cRemember good \u201cole\u201d Whitman and our tryouts with Mr. Schmeberg (sic) and his 10 \u00bd shoe. Best of luck . . . See ya around. Ex-cymbal player.\u201d In our freshman year, if band director Joe Patterson wanted a particularly big cymbal crash in a march, he motioned Sue\u2019s way imploring her to \u201cHit it honey!\u201d We never let her forget that.<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0I hope the poor clarinet player who used to pick up attendance slips during my Physics class isn\u2019t scarred for life: \u00a0\u201cWe have had our differences about Mr,. Adamson (Uncle Addy) and I\u2019ve learned to be brave and careful about that room.\u201d \u00a0Mr. A used to hold on to the doorknob with one hand and a Van de Graaff generator with the other. She would peer in the door to see if the coast was clear and we would always beckon her in and \u2018zap\u2019, she would get a static electric shock from the doorknob. \u00a0This went on for several weeks until we finally took pity on her and slid the attendance slip under the door when she refused believe us. Drummer buddy Jim\u2019s girlfriend Debbie was still apologizing for keeping her shoes in our band locker and signing off as \u201cThe Hobbit\u201d. \u00a0She went so far as to draw some Hobbit tracks, labelling them with \u201cHobbit tracks will haunt you forever.\u201d <\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0As I was working on the first draft of this article, news about the death of Marquette\u2019s mayor, Tom Baldini came up on the late news. \u00a0I turned to the faculty and staff pages in the 1971 Tatler and found that he had inscribed his picture with \u2018All the best – Tom Baldini\u2019. \u00a0It is hard to believe he was my Government – Economics teacher and was all of 27 years old that year. <\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Acknowledging that the pages of my Tatler yearbooks are full of people who are no longer with us might seem to be a sad note to end this series with, but we all move on eventually. \u00a0One does not have to be physically present to be remembered. A life well lived is a collection of both good and bad memories. Take the time to remember these accumulated experiences – I found this little trip down memory lane to be an interesting one. \u00a0I bet you would, too. Now go and find those yearbooks!<\/span><\/p>\n Top Piece Video:\u00a0 The sound track for the summer of 1970 – leading into my senior year!\u00a0 \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/span>