Travel with our band was always interesting, the word "interesting"
being like raising a red flag. Certain iron-tough parents tended to be the
chaperones on these trips, and they knew most of the tricks to watch
for. We did, however, manage to teach them some new things during
our years in the school band.
I recall one trip we went on, an "away" game to a smaller school
which had just built their first football field. The school did not have a
band, and had contacted our school to see if we would be willing to play
some music they wanted for the dedication of the field. Our director
agreed and we rehearsed the songs they requested. We also rehearsed
our halftime show, and, by Friday, we were ready. We left our school
in one of the worst rainstorms I'd ever seen, and there was talk of
whether we would march that night or not. I never took such talk very
seriously, being a veteran of many less-than-optimum performances.
I settled back in my bus seat, using my trumpet case for a pillow, and
proceded to grab ten winks. It was a long trip, and I didn't want to
miss all the fun.
I woke up about thirty minutes later, feeling quite rested.
Jonathan had finished reading his book by that time, and we got to
talking about one thing and another. At that moment, I looked up and
noticed that he had hung his zipper bag on the top of the window frame
and that water from the rain was dripping into the top of it. He let out
a small scream and opened the zipper bag, visions of paying for one
of our uniforms dancing in his head. It turned out to be both better
and worse than he had dreamed. It was better because his zipper bag
did not contain his band uniform, but only a dark blue sweatshirt and a
pair of paint-stained blue jeans. His family would not have to pay for
a mildewed band uniform. It was also worse because his zipper bag
did not contain his band uniform. With no uniform in his possession,
he would not be able to march that night, if we did march. It would
not look good on final grade day. Jonathan settled back in his seat,
both relieved and grumpy. Band members were all noted for their
conflicting emotional states.
Our drum major, James, noticed the events and asked what
was going on. When we explained to him that Jonathan had not
grabbed the right zipper bag off the rack in leaving the house, James
thought for a moment, then got this strange expression. He turned
around to check his own luggage, then turned back to us with the same
strange expression amplified. He had forgotten his baton and his
tall, furry hat. He squared his shoulders, no mean feat in the crowded
school bus, and went forward to tell the director. I could see that
our performance that evening was already sliding towards the disposal
chute. Since Jonathan and James were both feeling grumpy and not
inclined towards further conversation, I pulled out my book of UFO
sightings and spent the rest of the trip reading.
When we arrived, the school's "new football field" turned out
to be a de-comissioned cow pasture with some hastily constructed
stands for a crowd about half the size of the one that had assembled.
Our director took one look at the stands and refused to put us
up in them, for fear they'd collapse. It ended up that we were seated
in chairs at the sideline. The rain had stopped for the moment, but
the sky was still heavily clouded, and the announcer was reading out
tornado warnings over the public address system as part of the game's
opening festivities. After a quick conference with the drum major and
the majorettes, our director told us that we would not march our show
that evening, but that we would form up in the end zone and march out
to the twenty yard line in a block formation. We would then play the
music from our show, and the majorettes would perform. We would
then face about and leave the field to the thunder of drums. It was a
good plan, but the weather gods had more in store for us.
When halftime arrived, we formed up in the end zone, and tried
to march out to the twenty yard line. Unfortunately, a forty mile an
hour wind with gusts to fifty, had come up. We were facing directly
into it. We made it out to the twenty and got stopped, but some of
the band members were having problems. The sousaphones were
catching the wind directly down the bells of their horns, and it was
almost impossible to play notes, since the air pressure back through
their horns was higher than they could exert by blowing into their
mouthpieces. Further, they found that they had to march forward
to maintain their positions. This meant that we all had to march in
place. It became difficult when each foot accumulated fifty pounds
of pasture mud mixed with straw. We tromped gamely and gamily
along, staying in place, and began to play our music. The majorettes
did attempt to perform, but at the first high toss, their batons headed
for the next county, and one baton was truly never seen again.
They did their routine with no batons, but it lacked a certain pizazz.
Their skimpy costumes also looked strange with mud up to their
knees. We survived, there being little alternative.
As we were leaving the field, there was a mighty blue-white
flash of lightning and a peal of thunder fit for the end of the world.
Our director gave us the signal that meant, "Don't even stop, guys,
just march directly to the bus." It made us glad that the school had
bought the fiberglass sousaphones instead of the older brass ones.
Fiberglass being a little less attractive to lightning, the sousaphone
players had a slight safety margin that metal horns would not offer.
Still, they were the tallest things out there. We headed for the bus
like our pants were on fire and changed out of our uniforms. The
director asked us if we wanted to stay for the game, or if we wanted
to beat a hasty retreat. We voted to stay for the game, and so he
took us back into the "stadium."
By this time, the wind had picked up to a steady fifty miles
an hour, and the lightning was almost constant. Nevertheless, the
two teams took the field and the second half began. I've never seen
a kick-off like that one. It was directly into the wind, which was now
fifty with gusts. The ball traveled about fifteen feet into the wind,
then stopped and changed direction, hitting the kicker back in the face.
The announcer got back on the public address system to announce
that a funnel cloud had been sighted. At that moment, one of the large
metal speakers from the P.A. system fell off the utility pole supporting
it as lightning made a direct strike on the pole. Our director bawled
out for us to head for the bus. We left the game in a thunder of thunder
rather than drums. Our school bus was rocking crazily in the wind, and I
heard Mr. Bogard holler that he hoped it didn't roll over. I never did
find out who won that game. I think the it may have been abandoned.
The trip back was not so good. The wind was so bad that
Mr. Bogard could not steer the bus very well, and we kept tacking
into the other lane and had to dodge tractor-trailer rigs, log trucks,
and anything else that came along. Even worse, the constant lightning
kept washing out Mr. Bogard's night vision, so he could only see where we
were going on an irregular schedule. The high wind had also blown water
into the distributor, so the bus bucked and backfired all the way back.
Just as we were on the thin edge of making it back to our school, the
bus gave out a mighty cloud of steam, backfired three times and quit.
Mr. Bogard and our director raised the hood and found that one of
the radiator hoses had burst completely, shorting out the entire engine
electrical system. He got it back together with two rolls of duct tape
from a nearby convenience store, then took a paper towel to the spark
plug wires and the distributor cap, and got the bus started again. It
shook and rattled, overheating because it had lost so much coolant,
but we finally made it back.
My parents were waiting up. They told me that the news had
reported a tornado in the area where we had been. I didn't tell them
the details, but told them that we had been in some weather and had
not marched that night. I figured that they didn't need to know any
more than that.
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