One summer when I was in junior high I started playing bassoon with my cousin Pam and her cousin Miki (Marlyss) who took up French Horn. Miki did a lot of things with us and since her father was Pam’s mother’s brother we hung around as relatives even though we weren’t really related. Miki gave up French Horn shortly after that summer so she could get busy taking advance placement classes. Pam and I continued with the bassoon through most of high school. I was two years ahead of Pam in school, so after that first summer we were always in different band classes.
I don’t remember if the band learned enough that first summer to be in the marching band, but the next summer we did. Bassoons are not included in a marching band so I was always given something else to play. The next summer Mr. Faulkner, our band teacher from Meeker Junior High, set me up with a glockenspiel. This is a heavy kind of shiny silver instrument that looked like a liar with strips of metal looking similar to a piano that you struck with a mallet. I guess there was some kind of leather contraption that put over your head that had a place to support the instrument while you marched in the band. I doubt if there was any concern for which hand I usually used. The teacher probably put the mallet in my right hand as that is the way the instrument was loaded into the strap so you support it with your left hand and play it with your right. I’m left handed. I don’t think this instrument was too hard to play as all you did was play the melody line one note at a time. I’m sure if I hit the wrong note everyone knew it as this instrument really stood out with it’s high pitched sound when the band played.
Mr. Faulkner marched us in every local parade from here to Timbuktu. The junior high band kids wore white shirts, black pants and black Keds. One summer we marched so much that I worn out the front toes of my new pair of Keds clear through to the toes. My mom was concerned that these shoes were defective and we tried to get Jones’, the local sports store, to replace them as defective. I think they were kind of expensive for the time and Mom wanted to control her limited budget and get the best value. Well, the clerk at Jones’ just looked at us like we were crazy when she heard I was in the marching band. I must have gotten a new pair that day for which my Mom had to pay regular price.
We were in the Greeley 4th of July parade and another one in Estes Park. We must have played for the rodeo as I remember seeing the Greeley rodeo at Island Grove Park with all my band chums.
By the time school started, we were the band that supported the football players at the games. Mr. Faulkner had switched me over to an old silver soprano saxophone he found some place. He was probably tired of hearing that ting – ting – ting of the glockenspiel. I didn’t play with the regular saxophone players as the soprano had different notes similar to the clarinets. I remember I had a lot of fun at the football games talking and laughing with my co-band members.
One time we were leaving and Mr. Faulkner stopped me as I was coming down the bleachers. He said, “Did you forget something?”
I didn’t know what he was talking about until he pointed to the saxophone resting on the bleacher seat where I had been sitting. I guess that saxophone and I didn’t really bond too well.
The next season the teacher moved me to cymbals. They were big old things that at times you had to hold to swish quietly together in time with the drum beats. When you played them, there was a certain way you held them to really get a nice clear crashing sound. I liked playing the cymbals as I always got to line up with the boys who played drums. There were always a lot of shenanigans going on in the drum row. Those guys are probably in Leavenworth now.
During the regular school band classes and for performances I played bassoon. I was mostly 2nd chair of 2 or 3 people. It was fun and I had no plans to be a concert bassoonist so that worked out Okay. We sat right behind the clarinets, next to the oboes in front of the trumpet rows. The trumpet players were always the cute hard to talk to guys. They didn’t want anything to do with the bassoonist that sat in front of them. I always thought that trumpet players must be good kissers as they had to hold their lips so tight when they player their instrument.
By the time I went to high school I started in the intermediate band and then moved up to the advanced concert band, still with a lot of the same kids. You really get to be best friends when you sit by the same kids year after year. I joined the orchestra too and got to know a whole different group of kids playing violins, cellos and bass. We had the opportunity to perform at the annual school musicals. The first year I was singing on stage with a group of girls in South Pacific. Next year I was in the orchestra when we did Oklahoma. Another year we did Brigadoon. My mom was so great. She went to all those performances and sat through them to support me in my activities.
In the high school marching band things were a lot stricter. We practiced every morning; rain, shine or snow. We were out there on the football field to work through the various patterns that our teacher had developed. We had to step so many steps between each ten yard line in perfectly straight lines. No goofing off with this guy, whose name escapes me. He must have had a big budget for band as he had several of us playing cymbals. He bought these smaller sized cymbals with leather straps that we learned to flip and turn to the beat along with crashing together the whole lot of us in perfect time.
By the time Thanksgiving came along we were ready as the Greeley High School band had been invited to present the half time show at the Bronco game at Mile High Stadium. We had new dark black uniforms with those silly hats with big white feathery plums. We were great at this half time performance. All that early morning practice really paid off. They took us to the Continental Denver, which at the time was a pretty nice hotel restaurant at the corner of Speer Boulevard and Zuni Street. They had starched white table clothes and shiny plates loaded up with Thanksgiving dinner. It still can’t compare to a real Thanksgiving with your family.