It's Tour Time ...

... and as my little rookies hit the road this July 10th, I can't help but wonder what they'll find out about each other and themselves during this, relatively short but (trust me), life-changing adventure on which they're about to embark. It makes me reflect on my first tour of my rookie year.


1973

Davenport, Iowa –After several days of pb&j and cold cereal in a Dixie cup, the corps went to Bishop’s for dinner. Real food and fresh fruit -- each table had a little lamp on it that would bring the waitress running if you turned it on and they had self-cleaning toilet seats that whooshed up into an ultra-violet light chamber as soon as you stood up. After dinner my friend Ann Miller and I squeeze in a trip to the five-and-dime across the street for who knows what and end up getting back to the buses just in time to inhale the diesel fumes as they pull away. We jump and holler but only succeed in getting most of the snare line to wave amiably at us from the back window (and the seed of doubt regarding the intelligence of drummers, in general, plants itself in my little brain). At 18, Ann was 2+ years older than me and a vet. This made her an unquestionable authority in all things as far as I was concerned. She called the police, who picked us up and gave us a ride directly to the school. Whew! Thought we made it. Then I see GR waiting for us at the end of the school's driveway. No words. He just escorted us to the field where the corps was already an hour deep into rehearsal. We were late (a major sin) and wearing flip flops (a bigger sin). I remember wishing that the earth would simply open up and swallow me. Our guard captain made the evening a memorable one for us ... and I saw my very first firefly that night while doing a 30-minute mark time.

Great Bend, Kansas – I realize with horror that I've just left my full uniform bag hanging on the bleachers at the housing site we’re pulling away from. I sweat bullets for the entire bus ride to the rehearsal/show site praying someone picked it up for me. As soon as we arrive I go to my guard captain seeking help … and she tells me to talk to Royer ... omg. So I delay. I waited through the entire pre-show rehearsal block, dreading having to tell him, before I finally, finally realize I have no choice except to either make myself wildly popular by marching the show in a t-shirt, spankies and white marching boots ... or go to him and confess. I still remember what the grass patch looked like that I stared at the entire time I explained my problem to him. I don’t remember exactly what he said but I do remember his hand was very heavy on my shoulder and the words “dumb shit” were used. He’d seen my bag and put it under the bus and had, all day, just been watching me sweat. I learned that day that no matter how bad you screw up, they can’t kill you and eat you. You’ll just wish they had.

LaCrosse, WI – we’re there to make the McCormick film and march a show. We’re staying in the dorms at the University. It was a big deal and huge treat because we have unprecedented time off, no chaperones and only two rules for the four days we’re there …
#1 Be at rehearsals on time, in top-top form and,
#2 make sure we make lights out (the main doors lock at midnight).
To give you an idea what those four days were like ... LaCrosse was the spot where I sat at a bar for the very first time and got served an alcoholic beverage – a pink lady followed by a boil maker (okay 4) ... and I'm 15 ... a regular prodigy as I've learned with very little coaching how to stumble back to my room by midnight and get into bed without throwing up. It's a skill I still value today. It's our last night there and I’m awakened by this little click, click, click sound. It’s about 1am and my sleepy brain thinks the sound is rain hitting the window. Then it dawns on me that someone’s throwing things at my window … so I get up and go to the window and look down from the second floor to see my friend standing on the sidewalk below and pleading pathetically to be let in. He's a friend, so I sneak downstairs very carefully, employing my best ninja skills, cross the big, dark, empty lobby and open the main door as quietly and carefully as I can ... to Mr. Royer ... and he has his arm around my friend's shoulder. I don’t know what transpired on the other side of the door to put he and I in this situation, but that story “The Lady and The Tiger” always reminds me of this event.

Ah, drum corps ... where you learn life lessons that have absolutely nothing to do with drum corps.

I hope my little rookies have as much fun, learn as much and make as many life long friends on their first tour as I did on mine.

What their parents don't know, won't hurt 'em :)



.