Finally A New Trumpet (Cont.)
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Since we were marching around the courthouse in a counter- clockwise direction, the left guides for each row were to serve as the pivot men when the band executed "column left" turns. Everything went well on the march straight ahead. We were all in step and the familiar strains of "National Emblem" were reverberating from building to building in the square; but trouble was soon to come on the "column left" movement. When the drum major gave the command--both by blowing his whistle and pointing the large baton to the left--the front row responded immediately with a sharp turn to the left, just as it was supposed to do. Then each succeeding row made its left turn when the left guide of that row reached the corner of the curbing. As left guide for the fourth row, I, too, was expected to turn left just after passing the corner. Now such an assignment does not appear to be too difficult, and it would not have been if we had been on familiar ground, and if I had not been proudly holding my new trumpet so high while playing. But all these things plus my excitement in playing for the first time at a county fair caused me to turn too soon--before I reached the corner. When my left foot pivoted and my swinging right foot hit the hard stone curbing, I lost my balance, and my whole body plunged forward through the air, with the trumpet still held high and ahead. It all happened so suddenly that the front bell of my horn hit the brick pavement before I could remove the mouthpiece from my lips.

Shock, pain, embarrassment and the sound of crumpling metal all came in quick order, and there I lay stunned and hurting at the feet of several little children who had been running alongside the band and clapping with the music. One of them looked at me with a frown and said quite innocently, "Mister, whadjuh do that for?"

My lip was split, a front tooth was knocked loose, and my head ached terribly. But as bad as these things were, none of them could match the horrible feeling I had about my damaged trumpet lying nearby. I was actually crying as I looked at the bell which had been bent back abruptly by the blow against the bricks in the sidewalk and at the valves which were then stuck tight because they had been twisted and thrown out of line by the accident. Not only had my day been ruined, I thought, but also the summer and my upcoming senior year at high school. For now I would have no trumpet to play, none at all, not even the old Carl Fisher one.

I forgot to mention the band. As all good bands should do, it marched on as if nothing had happened to its left guide in row four. Even the spectators went on with the band to the fairgrounds. A few of the onlookers expressed some sympathy at my plight, but even they didn't stay long.

A kind lady, however, did take me to see a doctor, after we picked up what was left of the trumpet and some of my music which had blown away. The doctor gave me a cursory examination at his office which was located close by on the square.

"H'm-m," he observed. "You've split your lip--and let's see, your front tooth is loose. Too bad; how did it happen?" Being in no mood for conversation or even courteous answers to superficial observations, I thanked him and left after he gave me an aspirin for the headache and put a Band-Aid on the split and badly swollen lip.

The next two days at Somerset were not happy ones for me. I did go the fair and sit with the band but of course did not play. Responding to "how did it happen?" questions and worrying about what I would do the next year without a trumpet occupied most of my time.

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