Requiem For A Band Director

Last week, a somewhat cryptic post appeared on the page of a fellow graduate from my high school, some years older than myself.  A little digging made the context more clear:  my high school band director had passed away.

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Band directors, like rare other types of teachers, hold an odd place in the high school teacher hierarchy.  They are in fact teachers, and in that sense issue grades and provide instruction as any teacher will.  At the same time, they are seeking to pull from students a certain level of performance that is not strictly called out merely by the issuance of assignments, quizzes, and question and answer sessions.  They have to somehow get into the lives of students in a way that a "hard" scholastic subject teacher of math or science or social studies or English never completely does, at least on such a large scale.

Band directors, like coaches and any other teacher involved leadership role, end up spending a lot more time with their students than normal.  In a marching band season, there is Summer Camp before instruction starts, followed by the actual class or classes itself (in my time, Band and Marching Band in Autumn were separate back to back periods), and non-class rehearsals, and actual performances for games and travel and performance for competitions, then the shift as the season turns and concert season starts - less overall afterschool practices perhaps, but still instruction and travel and performances.

Over time, the Band Director inhabits a space where they are neither only a teacher nor really a peer in the sense that they are always with you during the activity.  They become a Presence, to be respected yet also included in the banter and life of a high school band in a way that other teachers may not be.  Perhaps in one sense, they become that "uncle" that families have, a figure from a previous generation that is involved in your generation's foibles in a way that your parents and others are not and perhaps never can be. They and their students inhabit a world which can only be apprehended by those on the outside, but is understood by anyone that has ever been in a high school band.

Ultimately - for all of the good ones, I suspect - they essentially become a mentor and friend.

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In retrospect,  I realized that I thought my band director was far older than I was in high school.  To be fair, that was partially due to encroaching hair loss and a beard (mysterious adults things to a recently minted teenager).  It surprised me - years later, of course - to realize that he was much closer in age to us than seemed possible at the time, perhaps a mere 10 or 15 years older instead of the 20 or 30 that I saw in my mind.

He had high expectations of all us, expectations that we probably often failed to live up to as much as we should have. I can still see him in his chair in the center of the band room, quietly waiting with his hands in his lap as we slowly brought ourselves down from the dull roar of teen age interaction and turned to the task of music as hand.  And yet seldom, if ever, can I remember him becoming truly angry at us (it happened, upon occasion - and as you might expect, the shame of disappointing such a man overwhelmed the actual event itself).

He was one of the best sorts of band directors in that he truly loved music.  Beyond the high school marching band and concert band seasons, he oversaw the Pep Band for basketball - but his true love was jazz, which was an invitation only group and to be honest, was the first time that jazz had even entered my consciousness.  And his activities with music did not end there:  he was forever involved in the local civic orchestras and music festivals - and himself not unskilled trumpet player who seemed to enjoy playing as much as he did instructing.

Until I had read the obituary, I had forgotten the fact that in the year of my graduation at the Spring Concert he - along with the Chorale teacher - announced their retirement from the musical side of their teaching duties.  Leading a music program is hard, and perhaps after 20 to 25 years he simply felt it was time to move on.  Timely for my graduating class, of course:  one of the most difficult transitions of all is for students to have a new band director, especially one that is previously unknown.  More often than not, the program always suffers a drop off as the new ways are never quite like the old ones.  The memories and the attachment often remain too strong.

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For some years after I graduated I continued to see him; myself, The Director, The Director's brother, and a rotating fourth person (we could never keep anyone more than two years) would do a form of instrumental caroling at Christmas, always ending at his house around 11 PM.  He and his wife and family would be there waiting for us.  We would play our requisite carols, then come in and chat for a while about the previous year and what had occurred.  It was nice to be able to have post high school contact with him in a way that transcended the student/teacher relationship, connecting with him as a friend and peer in a way that had never been possible as a student.

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He, along with - of all people - my Geometry and Trigonometry teacher, remain the two most influential teachers of my high school career - not only the ones I continued to keep in contact with, but the ones that were had the greatest impact on me (perhaps not surprisingly, they themselves were friends outside of work).

From my band director, I learned the basic practice of...learning to practice.  That seems like an under-rated skill, but I assure that for me, who was seldom able to keep with such things up to that point, it was a major achievement. It paved the way for me to learn that practice was the price of learning to do something, at least to do something well.

Something I realized I learned from him even now that I had not realized is his way of dealing with people.  He seldom raised his voice, seldom became angry - and yet, things were done, music was learned, and performances happened.  He first of all lead and invested his energy and effort in the task in hand and us - and we, of course, reciprocated.  He had the authority, but he seldom used it as such, much more focused on getting us to do those things that needed to be done by both leading us and showing us how do them - a useful skill for someone such as myself in roles where I often have minimal power but a need to see things done.

Finally, of course, he gave me a love of music.

I cannot know how many people passed through his music programs over the years.  It was likely in the hundreds, given a rather small high school district in a small town.  And likely every one of us walked away with some appreciation of music, even if we did not follow it as far or as long as he did. For me, that went through to college marching band and even beyond, to the harp.  And while I do not play nearly as much as I should these days, I can still take simple joy in the execution of a marching routine well done or a song well played across any genre.

It is not unfair to say that once a band nerd, always a band nerd.

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Even last week, when I posted the news of our relocation to New Home 2.0, he not only "liked" my news but took the time to comment on the upcoming adventure.  This, in what turned out to be a week before his passing, well over 35 years after I had been a student of his.  Even then, he was still following up on all of us and our lives.

It was not quite a "Mr. Holland's Opus" moment where the entire history of a teacher's life is brought together in a single room, but looking at the number of comments on the notice of his passing - many I had known in high school and many others that either preceded or came after me - one can see the rich tapestry of a life which was dedicated to others through music and ultimately, of service.

It is no bad things, paraphrasing J.R.R. Tolkien through Bilbo Baggins, to be able to celebrate the simple yet impactful life of one's mentor.