When I reach my dotage and have earned the right
to sit in my recliner and cackle gleefully at any old memory
I choose, my memories of high school band will figure
prominently. I enjoyed it greatly back then, and I miss it
now, but band could be a headache at times. Rehearsals
would take up large amounts of free time, instruments
would develop problems at the most impossible times and
places, and the director would go on the odd rage now and
then. At times, band could literally be a headache. Even
a skull fracture.....
Our first chair trombonist, James, had only that
morning taken delivery of his brand-new Conn trombone
with the optional F-trigger attatchment. This meant that he
could use the large main slide less while using the smaller,
thumb-operated valve instead. It allowed him to do things
in the music that a standard slide-trombone simply could
not do. It was a fine instrument and James was justifiably
proud of it. He was looking forward to putting it through its
paces at the home football game that evening.
As we performed at the game that night, James told
us between numbers that his new trombone was indeed
everything he had hoped for. It played easily and had a
tone far superior to his old horn. James sounded like a
man in Paradise. Mercifully, he didn't know that the end
was only a few minutes away.
Our director soon called for "Jesus Christ - Superstar"
and we all spent a few moments rummaging through our
horn cases for the music. He then gave us a downbeat
and we ripped into it with a vengeance. The marching
band arrangement of that song starts out with a trumpet
fanfare, then goes to an eleven-measure trombone section
solo. After that, the trumpets explode back in with several
bars of screaming high notes. We cleared the fanfare
decently and the trumpet section sat down to give the
trombones a clear field. Right at the end of the trombone
solo was a very low note - probably the lowest note that a
trombone can hit reliably. James, forgetting the F-trigger,
realized that he didn't have enough room to slide out to the
extreme low-note position. He swung his horn up and
over, then down and out. Immediately as he was trying
to hit the low note, the trumpet section was standing up
and getting a deep breath for the explosion entrance we
needed to make. Dame Disaster recognized her latest
opportunity when it arose and availed herself of it.
Halfway through my deep breath, I felt something
about the heft of a runaway '56 Buick impact on the back of
my skull. There were crumpling sensations, a feeling of
something cracking, and, above all, waves and waves of
incredible pain. I didn't have time just then to figure out
what had caused the impact, being very busy trying to deal
with its effects. I fell forward from the impact, did a head-
somersault in the lap of one of the saxophone players, then
fell sideways and landed. I wiped out the entire clarinet
section, half of the saxophones, and two of the alto horns.
When I finally came to rest, I was flat on my back at the
director's feet with my trumpet still at my lips. I grinned up
at him foolishly while he scowled darkly down at me.
One of the majorettes helped me to my feet and I
began the climb back up the bleachers to my seat. It was
only then that I got the full story. James had been sliding
out for the low note when I stood up. Suddenly, his clear
space wasn't clear any more and his trombone slide
impacted on the back of my head at terminal velocity. In
addition to my own acrobatics, the impact had caved in the
end of James's slide and knocked James over backwards
and UP two rows in the bleachers. His misguided flight
took out the entire drum section and half of the top row of
sousaphones. The rest of the band struggled valiantly on
with the music, but, with all the important sections out of
action, it lacked a certain depth. When our director got
the final tally of injured people and damaged instruments,
including one fiberglass sousaphone over the top and
gone, he muttered something about "electrician's school"
and disgustedly dismissed us for the rest of the evening.
It took the local musical instrument shop almost a
month to repair James's new trombone, during which time
James was moody and snapped at everyone - especially
me. To this day, I have the dent in the back of my head
where James's trombone slide got me.
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