The Musician in Me

I am a musician. I played the trumpet in grade school and junior high. I was good. My mother was very strict about practice. When the other neighborhood guys were out playing baseball, cowboys & Indians, or war, I was in my room practicing the trumpet with a 30 minute timer. Thirty minutes each day, no days off.

The reward for all that preparation came during the 6th grade talent show. I on trumpet, Dave Ranney on clarinet, Mike Giles on saxophone, and Charles Magruder on drums performed Dixieland Parade in front of the entire school. We practiced that song so much that I still remember the tune, and can still play it on trumpet. We named ourselves the M. Giles Band. Not that Mike started the band, but only because there was a popular group out at the time named the J. Giles Band. We must have thought that we could ride the coattails of that name to success.

The day of the talent show arrived and we were ready. We performed perfectly. Absolutely no mistakes. First place was assured. We waited around for the award ceremony. Much to our shock and dismay, we did not win. Neither did we place in the top 3. It was then that I learned a lesson, proved over and over by American Idol - talent shows are not about talent, but are merely popularity contests. Phil Wood had won first place. Phil was far more popular than I. He had better hair. The girls thought he was cute. Phil was just like David Cook and Kris Allen.

Phil was my nemesis in grade school. He also played the trumpet. His mother must have made him practice 35 minutes each day, with no days off, because he was slightly better than I. All the way through grade school, Phil was first chair trumpet, I was second. When Christmas concerts came around, Phil got the solo. I remember one year he played Sleepy Pedro, a trumpet solo. He was awesome, he hit every note of a difficult song. I was part of a duet with the band's only bassoon player.

Then came junior high. Along with a new school came a new band leader, Mr. Young. Mr. Young was not aware of Phil's long time ownership of first chair. Phil's better hair held no influence over Mr. Young. For a time we were on equal footing. During the very first week of junior high band, we had tryouts. I became first chair. I reveled in the accomplishment and associated acclaim. I was first chair trumpet player for the very first time in my life!

Then we graduated to the second week of junior high. Mr. Young began to more fully grasp the talent levels of individual band members. I was again relegated to second chair. I lost interest after my few days at the top of the mountain. I began a slow slide to the last chair trumpet player by the end of 8th grade. I would read a book instead of practice, occasionally blowing a note or two just to sound like I was practicing. My mother may have lost interest also, as she became less strict about practice time.

As senior high approached, I began to lobby for dropping out of band. My reason was that in high school you were required to participate in marching band. Marching band was nerdy. Only the pimply-faced ROTC guys were in marching band. I was far too cool to be in a marching band. It worked. My parents agree that I could drop out of band in senior high. Despite the promise shown during the 6th grade talent show, my chance for a career in music was nearly over.

Phil continued on to high school band, but found a way out of participating in marching band. He played football. He was the quarterback on our freshman team. I rode the bench.