Once a nerd, always a nerd
“…And ball of the foot on the line; your eyes on the top of the school.”
How many times over the past 30 years have I heard those words pop into my head?
Saturday night I joined a bunch of grown-up band nerds to reminisce about days long past but not forgotten. Previously, when I have attended school reunions, I have invariably left somewhat disappointed. After visiting with a handful of people, I usually quickly realized that the people I wanted to see were not in attendance, while those with whom I was not close were.
This reunion was different. Rather than isolating graduates of a particular class, this started out as a group of band alumni that were in classes from 1978 to 1985. It quickly expanded to members of both earlier and later classes. Anyone that has been in band, choir, drill team, cheerleading or a host of other extracurricular activities knows that is where close high school friendships are often formed. These band nerds were once such an integral part of my life; these were the people with whom I was excited to reminisce.
While I have often wondered where my nerdy friends ended up, I had lost contact with many following a 1993 reunion. As the Ram Band Reunion 2009 approached, I almost decided not to attend. Then I recalled an email from an old friend who now lives near Boston. The email, received several weeks ago, was addressed to six or seven of us, asking if we planned to attend the reunion. She wanted to know that we would be there before she decided to make the trip to Texas. Remembering my affirmative answer, I knew that changing my mind was not an option.
Like any reunion, there were those that I recognized right away and those whose name tags I had to check before putting a name with the face. There was the usual round of hugs and catching up.
“I told my kids that I was going to hang out with a bunch of grown up nerds,” one former band geek commented. Hey, I resemble that remark.
Partway through the evening, the 100 or so people in attendance gathered into a common area as the person who bound us together was welcomed to our stage once more.
Robert Floyd was an icon in his time.
Starting off as a junior high band director, Floyd took over as Director of Bands at Berkner High School in Richardson in 1974. His first year there, he took 60 students to win the Class AAA honor band title. With the previous year’s saxophonist playing xylophone. During his tenure at Berkner, Floyd brought home 23 consecutive UIL Sweepstakes. The band also received 13 Best-in-Class honors. Floyd had a way of taking young musicians and making them rise to heights that neither he, nor his students, knew was possible.
Today Floyd serves as Executive Director of the Texas Music Educators Association. Saturday night he reflected back on his early days.
“I gave you hard music, and I was too stupid to know you weren’t supposed to be able to play it,” Floyd said.
When I started high school, most ninth grade students attended junior high. I was fortunate to attend the one middle school that sent ninth graders to the high school for a short period of time. By the time I arrived at Berkner, in what would be the last freshman class until 25 odd-years later, we were marching 180 in an eight-to-five style. Those were the days when percussion marched on the field, long before pits. Our flag corps had one uniform. We wore shakos that were tall enough to add almost a foot to our height and white spats that magnified anyone out of line. We marched in the early morning hours, the late afternoon and evenings. We practiced in the heat, and without instruments in the rain. We had two practice fields, the east side school parking lot and the park across the street from the school. Marching drills were designed by hand, before the aid of computers and props.
Though he wasn’t a tyrant - okay, maybe just a little bit of a tyrant, Floyd pulled the best out of each and every one of us.
Chuck Wagner, Class of ’74, shared a story Saturday night that was so indicative of the strength of character Floyd instilled in us.
Chuck was in a car wreck several years ago, which left him not only with multiple broken bones, but also in a coma. As he lay comatose, someone whispered in Chuck’s ear.
“Chuck, Mr. Floyd is waiting for you in the band hall, and you’re late.”
Somewhere deep in the recesses of his brain, this moved Chuck to action. He started running motions, like he was hightailing it to the band hall. Shortly thereafter, Chuck came out of his coma.
Floyd most often walked the field during practice with a megaphone in hand. Every now and then he would stop a marching drill to get one of us in order.
I remember the day that it was me.
“Are you having a good time, Tania Shirley,” his voice rang through the megaphone. “Are you comfortable? Shall I have someone bring you a Dr. Pepper?” he asked as my friend Schelly stared straight ahead solemn faced, like she hadn’t talked to me first.
My lowly freshman face turned red as I mumbled something and the drill started again. Life lesson: Don’t talk when you should be listening.
During Floyd’s short speech we remembered Jerry Brumbaugh, now passed. Brum was a private lesson teacher who helped Floyd during those early years – without pay – before later becoming an assistant director and flag corps leader.
The most moving moment of the evening came Floyd pointed out that music goes way beyond notes and rhythms and that the experience that still tied us together some 35 years later was something he would always cherish.
It brought tears to his eyes, and to ours.
As I write this, I think of the many ways that my high school band experience played a part in shaping me into the person I am today. One who, among many things, will never forget the mantra and underlying significance of “eyes on the top of the school,” and who knows that once a band nerd, always a band nerd.