I never knew there was an alumni tent! Every October, my high school hosts a marching band competition, an all day event that involves scores of bands from the northeast. I drop in whenever I get a chance, and usually see a few familiar faces. Well, this time my friend Dan mentioned that there was an alumni tent. In fact, it was right next to where we were standing, a shrine to all things marching since the 70’s, with platters of appetizers and pastries, and my old band director Mr. M like the wizard behind the curtain except without the preceding bellowing voice.
This year’s show was dedicated to Mr. Banks, our drill instructor since 1984 who passed away much to soon this year. He was a fierce disciplinarian loved and feared by all. Mr. Banks had been a sergeant in Vietnam and often pressed us to perform as if we were at boot camp, but at the same time we felt like he was a commander who loved his troops and we knew listening to him would make us better performers. Every year, hours before we left for the final championship, Mr. Banks would give us a pep talk. This is when, for the first time all season, he’d actually mellow out and crack jokes. It charged us up and calmed our nerves at the same time, and that show was always our best of the year.
One day in my senior year, I had the low brass section dress up as Swedish Chefs for rehearsal. I believe this was during band camp, yeah…this one time in… Anyway, while standing at attention in formation on the field, Mr. Banks was making his way down the line inspecting our form. As he got to our row of chefs, he gave each member the sternest of faces. Then, when he got to me, knowing that I was the section leader, his stone face broke into a quiet laugh. I laughed, too, in a ‘guilty as charged’ kind of way and he moved on.
Each year, the band alumni march (well, not march…at this point none of us care to roll step) onto the field preceding the band. I dubbed Jen an honorary alumni so that she could partake in the same awkward not recognizing anyone action that I do. Luckily, there were some familiar faces that had graduated before me, but mostly it was a swarm of ‘05-ers and ‘06-ers.
They made a nice presentation to Mr. Banks’ family honoring his longtime dedication and contribution to the marching program at my school. He was brought in to whip the band into a well-oiled competing machine, and I owe a lot to him for his success at that. I originally started with the band helping with equipment. If they hadn’t been so successful and I hadn’t been exposed to the excitement of the competitions, I would not have taken up the saxophone in the first place. So really, my passion for saxophone all started here and he was a big part of it.
There is food in the alumni tent
This year’s show was dedicated to Mr. Banks, our drill instructor since 1984 who passed away much to soon this year. He was a fierce disciplinarian loved and feared by all. Mr. Banks had been a sergeant in Vietnam and often pressed us to perform as if we were at boot camp, but at the same time we felt like he was a commander who loved his troops and we knew listening to him would make us better performers. Every year, hours before we left for the final championship, Mr. Banks would give us a pep talk. This is when, for the first time all season, he’d actually mellow out and crack jokes. It charged us up and calmed our nerves at the same time, and that show was always our best of the year.
One day in my senior year, I had the low brass section dress up as Swedish Chefs for rehearsal. I believe this was during band camp, yeah…this one time in… Anyway, while standing at attention in formation on the field, Mr. Banks was making his way down the line inspecting our form. As he got to our row of chefs, he gave each member the sternest of faces. Then, when he got to me, knowing that I was the section leader, his stone face broke into a quiet laugh. I laughed, too, in a ‘guilty as charged’ kind of way and he moved on.
Each year, the band alumni march (well, not march…at this point none of us care to roll step) onto the field preceding the band. I dubbed Jen an honorary alumni so that she could partake in the same awkward not recognizing anyone action that I do. Luckily, there were some familiar faces that had graduated before me, but mostly it was a swarm of ‘05-ers and ‘06-ers.
They made a nice presentation to Mr. Banks’ family honoring his longtime dedication and contribution to the marching program at my school. He was brought in to whip the band into a well-oiled competing machine, and I owe a lot to him for his success at that. I originally started with the band helping with equipment. If they hadn’t been so successful and I hadn’t been exposed to the excitement of the competitions, I would not have taken up the saxophone in the first place. So really, my passion for saxophone all started here and he was a big part of it.