Mr. Day, a Band Director Not to be Forgotten
(A character straight out of Dickens)
Screen 1 of 3Mr. Day--I never knew his first name--was the band director at Kentucky Military Institute when I was a student there. This was only a part-time position for him. He came for one or two brief band rehearsals each week, and occasionally he would show up when the band was to play for a regimental review. Most of the time he was somewhere else.
I soon learned he had too much to do. He was a part-time director for several other school bands in the vicinity of Louisville; he played clarinet in both the St. Mathews' municipal band and in a small orchestra at radio station WHAS; and he also taught clarinet lessons to a large number of private pupils.
I will never forget the first time I saw Mr. Day. It was at an early September band rehearsal, scheduled to begin at three o'clock. Some other members of the band and I had come a few minutes early and were arranging the chairs and music stands when he arrived.
Huffing and puffing, he rushed through the door as the clock in the bell tower struck three. He was a sight to behold -- a character straight out of Dickens. With both arms wrapped around a huge baritone horn, he was also carrying a clarinet case in one hand, and in the other an old leather satchel full of band music, which promptly spilled to the floor before any of us could help.
There stood our band director. A black derby, too large for his small head, rested ludicrously on his protruding ears, and pressed tightly between pursed lips was a long unlighted cigar pointing straight ahead like a warrior's lance. He was perspiring freely, a fact made obvious to us by both our sight and sense of smell.
Even before he relinquished his hold on the baritone horn and put the clarinet case on the table, I could tell he was a short man--a very short man--certainly no taller than five feet, even though he was standing erect on elevated heels.
We all helped him pick up the music and put it on the stands while exchanging brief greetings.
Then without taking off his hat or removing the cigar, he stepped up on the makeshift podium and tapped his baton on the director's stand for attention. The ensuing moment of silence gave me another chance to look at this little man. I had never seen anyone quite like him. Here he was, actually conducting the band in all solemnity with his hat on and a cigar in his mouth. I had an urge to laugh but did not. Neither did any of the other cadets. Somehow, his obvious sincerity and dignity overshadowed his comical appearance.
His beady little eyes, sandwiched between the low hanging derby and the still unlit cigar, peered at us through horn-rimmed glasses in a delightfully pleasant yet demanding way. We sensed he expected obedience--and would get it.
His loose-fitting suit, narrow string tie, and pointed shoes were all black, and his once white shirt was wrinkled and soiled. He must have been in his fifties, but his tired look and disheveled appearance made him seem older.
"Everyone sound Bb concert," was his first full statement to us as a band, and we all responded together. The awful results were ear splitting. Obviously, some were playing wrong notes, and Mr. Day's baton cut sharply through the air like a knife to stop the noise.
After motioning us to put down our instruments, he tediously but patiently explained what "Bb concert" pitch is.
[CONTENTS OF VOL. 6]
[DAVID'S HOME PAGE]
- 30 -