During the end of my freshman year at Grandville High School I was invited to join the marching band for the next season. Being a drummer in the concert band, I couldn’t wait for the opportunity to strap on a snare drum and march at football games, Memorial Day and Fourth of July parades, and around the school parking lot during 3rd hour. I vividly remember the racket that the marching band made as they marched through the school hallways during the afternoon of the Homecoming game. I would also be hanging out with upper classmen and raising my social status and we all know how important that is during our school days. I wanted into that crowd badly, and I now had the golden ticket.
It so happ
ens that my mother marched for Grandville High Schools band back in the year..... well, before the Beatles invaded America. She was a majorette, swung a baton, and looked extraordinary in her uniform. I saw the pictures. Even at my young age, I felt proud to be part of a small town American tradition, marching down Prairie street towards the cemetery on Memorial Day. like a snapshot of a Norman Rockwell painting or the finale of the Music Man.
ens that my mother marched for Grandville High Schools band back in the year..... well, before the Beatles invaded America. She was a majorette, swung a baton, and looked extraordinary in her uniform. I saw the pictures. Even at my young age, I felt proud to be part of a small town American tradition, marching down Prairie street towards the cemetery on Memorial Day. like a snapshot of a Norman Rockwell painting or the finale of the Music Man.That su
mmer of ’74 I would also be attending that glorious institution: Band Camp. It was a whole week in August away from home, in the company of a hundred teenage musicians, living in an MSU college dormitory, eating in a cafeteria, staying up late, and being drilled, indoctrinated, conditioned and drilled again into the world of marching band. It was hard work and a lot of fun, unless you had to cart around a tuba, baritone, bass drum or snare.
I distinctly remember the first morning on the parched, brown grass of the parade ground, standing at single file attention with our instruments, as Commander Bob Brower barked his decrees and instructions to us through his trusty megaphone. It was early morning, but the August sun was already dazzling and throwing its heat onto the field. After a short series of drills and another line up, students would begin, one by one, to sway, stagger, then fall to the ground in a faint. There were a half dozen dropouts by noon the first day, but none, I’m here to say, from the percussion section.
When we were not on the parade grounds, our section was usually practicing our rudiments, tuning our drums, or teaching the Grandville High School drum cadence to the the new kids. Again and again we re
peated it until the rhythms became part of our metabolism. To this day I can play that cadence in my sleep, while driving, or holding a conversation with my parole officer. Kiding.
peated it until the rhythms became part of our metabolism. To this day I can play that cadence in my sleep, while driving, or holding a conversation with my parole officer. Kiding.We were drilled morning, afternoon, and evening for four days, and there was a mixer dance on Friday night, yet another opportunity for boys and girls to meet in a social setting to exchange awkward conversation and frivolity. During the week there were also a number of pranks committed that included water filled waste baskets leaning against doors, furniture finding its way from a third floor window to the lawn below, water balloons, shaving cream and a bowl of warm water, shorted sheets, toilet bowls covered with invisible saran wrap, and a host of other devious deeds.
It was strictly forbidden to leave the campus grounds, but there were the inevita
ble few who would find their way to a party store and acquire beer or liquor, bring it to the dorm and proceed to get inebriated. Some were caught in the act and immediately had their parents called to retrieve them, often in the middle of the night. I still can’t believe some of the antics that Mr. Brower and the chaperones had to endure from us during these weeks. That first year, as a sophomore, I watched in amazement at the delinquent behavior of some of my classmates. It was as if separating them from their parents for a week turned them into miscreants of the highest order. This is an observation I would make later in life when I joined a rock band that went on the road. Oh, those goofy musicians.
ble few who would find their way to a party store and acquire beer or liquor, bring it to the dorm and proceed to get inebriated. Some were caught in the act and immediately had their parents called to retrieve them, often in the middle of the night. I still can’t believe some of the antics that Mr. Brower and the chaperones had to endure from us during these weeks. That first year, as a sophomore, I watched in amazement at the delinquent behavior of some of my classmates. It was as if separating them from their parents for a week turned them into miscreants of the highest order. This is an observation I would make later in life when I joined a rock band that went on the road. Oh, those goofy musicians.I fondly remember band camp as offering me many things; discipline, camaraderie, musicianship, teamwork, leadership, responsibility and lots and lots of drums.
