Band Day

With the 4^th of July coming up I was thinking about marching band. Believe it or not (not hard to believe), I was in band almost all four years of high school. I played trumpet and was not all that bad when I tried, which was not often. But the thing I hated the most about being in band was marching band.

You were given no choice if you were in band you were forced to be in marching band. My high school marching band was dubbed the “Nicolet Marching Q-tips”, because we had to wear these giant wool white hats that resembled a Q-tip.

Plus the heavy, baby blue and white (it was a wimpy school) poly - wool uniforms were not flattering in the least bit. It would bind in the crotch when you did a high step, which made it easy to hit the high notes, but difficult to take the next step... Or the next step. For the most part, I just pretended to play as I morosely trudged thru the moves. All the while, being careful not to castrate myself.

My other big issue to the marching band issue was I that I was also on the football team. I was totally devastated to not make varsity squad my freshman year (again, wimpy school) but I was sure I would make the squad as soon as someone got injured. Just a matter of time. But in the meantime I was more depressed that I had to be in marching band.

All preseason I had to play on the JV squad and then play in the god forsaken marching band during the Friday night games. Which also meant practicing with the marching band.

Because I was larger than most of the band nerds (not hard to do, but I was 5'10” and 160 my freshman year) Mr. White (his actual name) asked me to play the freakin tuba.

The tuba had similar scale and fingering as the trumpet so I quickly caught on, plus I had to move less and be the “pin” on maneuvers when we played. But that damn thing was heavy. Still the band played on.

I knew, in my heart, that someone would be injured on varsity sooner or later. Truth be told we were more of a “country club sport” kind of a high school. We excelled at golf, swimming and tennis and of course debate and chess. The majority of the team was undersized Jewish kids or stoners that were on the team to get chicks (except the chicks were not impressed).

We one a single game in 4 years. How we won that one was a mystery.

But we had a great stand cheer that the students would let go when we were down by 40 or more points (every game but one) “That's alright, that's OK. We are gonna be your boss one day”.

Anyway, back to marching band.

The first game was about to be played and I was begging Mr. White to keep me out of uniform because I knew I was next up to go to varsity when someone got injured.

He said “you are on marching band and I need you to preform here. If you were to make the football squad we will cross that bridge when it arrives.”.... dick.

So the first game arrives and we are dressed in full Q-tip regalia on a 90 degree day.

So, do you have any idea what a bunch of sweaty band nerds dressed in poly-wool smell like?

Not good.

The Q-tips were playing “Come On Feel The Noise” in the stands, while the football team was getting creamed. Early in the second quarter Kyle Selak broke his leg and I was giddy with excitement! Not that I wanted him to get injured. But, I knew I was two behind him on the pecking order as a middle line backer (that's right, a 160 pound line backer). Which meant that I might get a nod from our senile football coach Grip.

Sure enough, while we were playing a rousing rendition of “Rock Around the Clock” coach Grip wandered aimlessly into the stands to find Mr. White. They spoke for a while and Mr. White pointed to me, while Grip pointed a a girl playing the flute and said “EDDIE STAPLETON GO SUIT UP!”

I so badly wanted to flip off Mr. White, but he had this warm, “I'm happy for you” kind of a grin on his face, which totally creeped me out. So I gave the tuba to the fat kid that picked his nose and I ran to the locker room.

The locker room was locked, because Grip had failed to mention to anyone that was was suiting up. So I had to run back to the field to get his attention. Once I got to him he looked at me in shock and said, “why is the band here? Is it half time!?”

An assistant ran back to the locker room with me and a key, he let me in and I went to my locker and threw off my Q-tip. Then I put on my football uniform and waited for the rest of the team to come in for half time.

When the team arrived I was totally psyched! Not so much to play football, but more knowing that I would have been marching if it were not for Kyle's fragile chicken legs (Kyle, if your reading this... well, I'm not really that sorry).

Soon half time was over and I was on the field where I belonged. Not in the stands dressed as a Q-tip playing “The Horse”

I was not yet playing football, but I knew the fat kid in front of me would tire out soon.

By the middle of the 3^rd quarter he was on the sideline gasping for air and Grip was pointing at a water cooler and shouting “STAPLETON, GET IN THERE!”

I did get into the game and I was thrown around like a sock by a rapid dog by some freak of nature farm kid from Cedarburg. I swear he was at least 26 years old. But it did not matter, because I was no longer in marching band!

Fast forward more than 3 years and a single win.

I was dating a girl that was a freshman at UW-Madison and Band Day was coming up. Band Day is where all of the marching bands from across Wisconsin travel to Madison, like a nerd lemming herd, and play during a Badgers game.

Where as I saw it as, “A free ride to Madison to see Karen!”

I was still in band, although it was obvious that I was not taking it very seriously and Mr. White really didn't care much for me or my “long hippie hair” (which he made me wear in a pony tail during concerts).

But I asked him if I could go to Band Day anyway, as a favor to Karen (who was in band for 4 years, and the main reason I stayed in it. Aside from the easy A).

I asked very nicely and sincerely.

Mr. White responded “well, Todd. You really have never been in marching band. I really don't think you should have the privilege to go”.

I was thinking “privilege to wear a giant Q-tip?” but I bit my tongue and said I was fully capable and I would even play the tuba. I went on to say there would be no marching other than a walk onto the field where we would play a rousing rendition of “Walking On Sunshine”. Plus I will be on my best behavior”.

He was such a sucker that he bought it.

So anyway, the day arrived and I was fitted (ill fitted) into a marching Q-tip and given a rented tuba with a big “N” on the bell. I had forgotten how degrading it all was.

The plan was to get to Madison and fill my commitment of sweating like a pig during a bad football game (the Badgers sucked almost as bad as my high school team back then) and then explaining to Mr. White that I was staying in Madison (in order to have sex with my girlfriend, but leaving that part out).

So I brought backpack full of “cool clothes” and some pot and booze.

Once we got on the bus to Madison I was quickly bored. I don't think we had left the parking lot of my high school before I was thinking about ways to smoke a bowl on the bus.

Before we got on the freeway I had opened the window. I was (of course) sitting in the back seat drivers side for optimum non visibility. Mr and Mrs. White were in the front seats a good 20 feet away.

So, I decided now was the time. Excitement and all of a long drive from Glendale to Madison, everyone else was talking about band moves and the BIG stadium. I brought out the one hitter and lit up. Then blew the smoke out of the window.

No one noticed.

So I did it again.

Suddenly Tom the Saxophone player was sitting next to me saying “Todd, give me a hit” and I was apprehensive. As I didn't know him well. But what the hell, so I let him have a hit.

I packed it a few times and we passed it a few times. Then I decided I was good to go and he was high as a kite.

Again, no one (aside from Tom the Saxophone player) seemed to notice.

However, I had also not noticed that I had dropped a “cherry” on the large woolen “N” on the front of my uniform. After a few more miles, my chest became kind of warm.

By the time I realized my uniform was on fire it was too late. My “N” had melted into a ball of blackend wool on my chest. Plus the bus (that did not notice the pot smell) really took note of the “burning cat” smell.

I tried to, or attempted to, straighten out the melted letter. But it looked like a moose had pooped on my chest. There was no way to hide this. Yet the bus kept going, closer to Madison.

Once we arrived at Camp Randell we exited the bus. I was the last one off and I used the tuba to hide the melted “N”. As I walked past Mr. White I mentioned “wow, the new renovations really look nice” so as to distract him from the moose terd.

He didn't notice.

We walked thru the parking lot and into Camp Randell. We were at our assigned seats, before the game started, when I saw Karen approach Mr. White (she was a total kiss ass). He looked around with a big smile and pointed to me.

Then the smile faded and his hand started to shake.

He continued to point at me and shouted, “Todd What have you done!? You have ruined and defaced your uniform!!”

I tried to play stupid, but it failed because it was not really an act.

Mr. White told me “I will not let you on the field in the uniform, you will have to stay on the bus for the game”.

So I apologized and told him, “I feel so bad, I really don't deserve to wear the uniform or ride the bus back. How would you feel if I were to just take off the uniform and leave it in the bus? Plus I will pay for the uniform (which I didn't know was $150!) and you don't need to worry about me getting home.”.

He said, “don't ever expect favors from me again Mr. Stapleman”.

Then Karen and I went back to her dorm and had sex.

It was fun, everyone was at the game.

I dropped band the next semester and sold my trumpet to pay the rent my sophomore year at UWM.

But I can still play “Come On Feel The Noise” every time I pick one up.