Bands of Brothers & Sisters

A Sure Sign of Football Season

It’s easy to tell when the high school football season nears. Just look for the marching bands; when they’re out rehearsing their music and moves, football players can’t be far behind.

I spent several great years in the Sam Houston High School Texan Marching Band. That time was the best part of those final school years in Arlington, Texas.

We were a big band, marching about 144. It took three buses to get us anywhere.

The marching band was a big deal back in the late 1960s; it was an integral part of Texas high school football. We were living “Friday Night Lights” decades before that book was written and the movie made.

My wife Terri performed on band color guards for Saltillo High School, some of whose current members are in the photo, and at Itawamba Community College; she, too, says band fostered some of her best school memories.

Our seasons started long before we marched onto the field for the opening game. It was midsummer when we began gathering on the empty parking lot of the school, where yard lines, sidelines, goal lines and hash marks were painted on the asphalt.

With midday temperatures generally above 100 degrees, band director Robert Rober had us come out a few hours in the early morning and return a few more hours in the evening. We studied elaborate field drills and practiced music separately, working on the elements until they were perfected; then it was time to bring them together.

We spent more weeks perfecting the whole show. About the time the football team considered itself ready for action, the band was ready, too. They hit the field and so did we.

There were good reasons I preferred the band to playing football. First and foremost, I could play music but couldn’t play football. Another reason I preferred the band is those buses I mentioned earlier.

When you played football, you climbed back onto the team bus after an away game and returned to school surrounded by dirty, sweaty football players. In the band, you rode back to school with at least half a bus full of girls, neither dirty nor sweaty. No-brainer? You betcha!

My high school social life, for the most part, revolved around the band. I hung out with my fellow band members and most of my friends were bandsmen; the camaraderie was palpable. In fact, my best friend Andy Miller was the drum major; he was tall like many drum majors tend to be, while I was short – quite the Mutt-and-Jeff pair.

Maybe best of all was the sense of accomplishment that came with performing. You could put that uniform on, march and play powerful music in front of hundreds, if not thousands, of cheering people and it was exhilarating.

These days I periodically get to spend time with a high school band or two during their summer practices, writing a story about their preparations for the coming football season. A decade ago, I had the pleasure of spending an afternoon with the Grenada High School band, one of the best in the nation.

Director David Daigneault drew students to his band like iron filings to a magnet; it seemed most of the school marched in the band. Football season was over and they were practicing to perform in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade in New York City.

The sheer force of their sound and precision of their moves was awesome. As they marched, I walked along with them, shooting pictures and relishing the moment. Like 30 years before then, the hair on my neck bristled and goose bumps popped up on my arms.

It was great to be back.
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