Our old high school band had an uncanny knack for
getting into the sort of situations that made "I Love Lucy"
the smash comedy hit that it was. If our bass drummer
wasn't rolling down hills or our drum major wasn't tripping
over the yardlines, we were playing the wrong piece of
music or showing up in the wrong uniforms. Marching
season carried chances of personal injury, but the indoor
concert season carried its own risks. At a football game,
the band was a sidelight, and we could get away with quite
a bit if we had to. During concert season, however, the
band was the primary attraction and everything had to be
perfect. At least, that was the theory...........
Our band, being from a smaller school, had to take
pretty much whatever talent came along. Usually, we
had to take a lack of talent and do the best we could.
Our director spent countless hours selecting music that
would showcase anything we could do right and that would
help minimize the things we had problems with. He found
a piece called "Overture In B-Flat" which we sounded good
with, and which didn't make any major demands from any
one section or person. He was greatly pleased with the
first playing of it one morning, and it soon found its way
onto our music librarian's "hand out every year" list.
This worked for some years, but it laid the ground-
work for an even greater problem. The wire supporting the
various pipes in the chimes was still in almost-pristine
condition, with one execption. Where it went through the
"B-flat" pipe, the wire was badly frayed, awaiting only a
good excuse to break. Our final Christmas concert was
coming up, the year of our graduation, and was the last
time we would all perform together. Being a sentimental
bunch of slobs, we all wanted to make the most of it. The
rehearsals had gone well, and we set up the stage that
night with high hopes.
As we performed the concert that night, things were
going well. My trumpet and I agreed on key and pitch to
an unprecedented extent and the music sounded more like
actual music than it ever had before. We then began the
third number, which made heavy use of the chimes. Just
a few notes into it, the first chime note came up and Paul
gave the "B-flat" pipe a firm stroke. That turned out
to be the one we had all been dreading. The worn support
wire snapped and the "B-flat" pipe fell out of the chimes,
denting the floor of the stage as it made a loud, mechanical "Bang!" Rather shaken, our director looked
quizzically at the drum section just as the wire tore
loose from the rest of the supports. Sounding like the
engine falling out of Popeye's car after some of Bluto's
handywork, the chimes fell completely apart right there on
stage during our performance. After an eternity of random
clanks, bangs, and clunks, all was quiet except for one
short high-note pipe rolling forlornly across the stage. It finally fell off into the audience with a final, hard, bright "Tink!" Being a true showman, our director mentally squared his shouldlers, pushed his cap forward, and went resolutely on with the program. We managed to control our giggles enough to get through the rest of the concert, but the spell was broken for ever.
After us, the intermediate band was scheduled to
perform. Our director, looking a bit frazzled, closed the
curtain and turned the stage over to the setup crew so they
could remove the wreckage of the chimes and get the
seats set up for the smaller intermediate band. Within
minutes, the stage was re-dressed and the younger band
was in place. As the curtain went up, no one knew that
the old brass sousaphone on stage was primed and ready
to shatter the recently restored calm. The director took a deep breath, raised his baton, and the music began.
While the music begins, I'll tell you what was wrong with that old brass sousaphone. Several days before, we had gotten into a paper airplane war in the bandroom. Before five minutes had passed, the air was thick with all possible types of paper airplanes travelling on every course conceivable. One mis-guided airplane took a funny turn and flew into our director's office, landing on his desk. This brought him out of his office, purple faced and ready to commit mayhem. All further flights were cancelled as he read us the riot act and demanded that each and every one of those airplanes be found and discarded. Fifteen minutes later, we managed to convince him that we had indeed found them all. He was right to doubt us, however, because one airplane, a jaunty aerobatic flyer made out of glossy red paper, was missing. We figured it was simply not possible for it to be in that old brass sousaphone facing the rear of the band room. Anyway, that old horn was part of the intermediate band, not ours.
Back to the concert now, if I may. The music is
starting and everyone is settling back to enjoy the show.
A few measures in, however, was a passage with a lot of
sousaphone. The player hit one particular note with much
emphasis and the red airplane launched from the bell of the
sousaphone like a missile from a silo. It performed one
perfect 360-degree inside loop, then winged its way out
into the audience, never to be seen again. Legend has it
that our director's face turned the color of a bad water-
melon as the airplane made its unexpected re-appearance.
The next fall, folks back home told me our director
had given up music and applied for the guidance counsellor
position that opened when Mr. Fincher retired. He was
reputed still to mutter, in his unsteadier moments, about
slide trombones, paper airplanes, and chime-pipe wires.
The band suffered a bit of a recruiting crisis as he began
to suggest study hall, wood shop, home economics, and
ROTC to everyone. Hopefully, when the proper time does
arrive, flights of angels will sing him to his well-earned rest. If there is any justice in this universe, there won't be any chimes.
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