The key to begin
our slow march from the gym doorway to center stage had been an introduction of
three VIP college professors, or some other such nonsense. Part of this was a setup, the band instructor
having recruited us to play the role. We
had made a sort of run-through earlier that day during band period.
It was the last
concert of the year. The musicians had
been to their spring contests. They had
rehearsed and practiced. They were in
peak performance mode. Being the final
performance, a feeling of relaxation and fun replaced the tension of playing
before judges with sharp pencils.
Pomp and Circumstances accompanied our
slow step-pause-step entrance. The song
ended before we had reached our place in the percussion section. Bill and I followed the principal’s lead and
continued our slow pace even though the music had ended.
We took our
place among garbage bags filled with inflated balloons, garbage cans with drumsticks
and mallets at hand. We took our time
getting the balloons arranged, the hammers close at hand, the garbage cans
within reach.
It wasn’t the
first time I had colluded with this band instructor. On another occasion I played the
man-on-the-street (think Don Knots, complete with the nervous shakes to be on
camera) selected out of the crowd to accompany a group of singers and players
on the piano. It had to be a simple
piece for me to play it, but I did it.
At another
spring concert, three faculty members joined the band in the rhythm section. I was the “Cymbal-Simon” who had one note to
play at the climax of the song, but just couldn’t get it right, until after three
or four tries.
Over the years,
I had joined many stage bands, filling in where there was a need or a place,
bass guitar, saxophone, rhythm guitar.
No one was particularly surprised to see faculty participation in a
concert, particularly the spring concert.
I think the band
played the 1812 Overture. It called for
sounds of war towards the end. The three
faculty members supplied the war noise by popping balloons, hammering garbage
cans, etc. The bass drummer helped out
with booms timed much more accurately
than our unorganized noise.
The script called
for us to spread out our balloon popping in order to last through the end of the
piece. But we had planned, the idea of
the principal, a little more realistic war noise at the end. He recruited three track starter pistols, complete
with shells that smoke prolifically so the timekeepers can see when the gun
fires.
Our robes
provided the perfect camouflage to smuggle in our arms without alerting anyone. At the right time, we started hammering
balloons and garbage cans with abandon.
We popped all the balloons, well ahead of schedule. At a
signal from the principal, Bill and I pulled out our track pistols and all
three of us began firing.
The first crack
of a pistol got the band director’s attention, but he caught on quickly and
didn’t miss a beat. Band students, those
that could, turned to look at us and the unexpected smoke and noise.
We ran out of
ammunition a bit before the song ended, but it didn’t matter. We were a big hit with the kids and the
audience. I’m not so sure how big of a
hit we were with the band man.
Unfortunately, I
have the opportunity to be reminded of this event far too frequently. I think of it every time there is a school
shooting.
What would
happen to anyone, let alone a high school principal and two teachers, if they
tried to pull a stunt like that now? Unimaginable.
It is easy to
say that that was a simpler, more innocent time. It didn’t seem simple and innocent when we were
living it. Can you imagine a time when
what we are going through now will seem simple or innocent?
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