The truth.
I’ve been a drum corps nut since 1976, back when PBS showed finals on TV. I saw Phantom Regiment and the Vanguard and that was that. I was in love.
A high school friend brought me along to weekly corps rehearsals beginning in early February 1978. The instructor learned that I had perfect pitch and he immediately put me on the smallest timpani, which was still far too heavy for my slender, still-growing frame. I survived months of weekly rehearsals and a couple of weekend sessions, and while it was fun it was also positively draining me; I fought just to stay upright and not pass out from fatigue.
My parents, who’d met as nightclub musicians, were not supportive. Their music dreams for me included things like singing in nightclubs and playing percussion in symphony orchestras. Rudimental drumming was just a silly hobby, not to be taken seriously.
Neither one of them ever came to see practices or shows. When my fatigue grew worse and I could not finish a parade carrying timpani, the instructor switched me to bells — still quite heavy, but more manageable.
I went on first tour, from mid-June through not quite mid-July. I could never eat enough calories to restore my energy. I drank water like a lake after a dam burst and it was still not enough. I ran to restrooms to avoid soiling myself, getting yelled at by staff and fellow marchers, and feeling like a weakling. I felt like I was wrestling with a weak character, and tried harder to build my stamina through repeated practices, parades and shows. Other kids got tanned, lean and stronger as the season progressed. I got skinnier and more fatigued.
Finally, during a practice session on the last day of first tour, I took off my bells, staggered in a crooked line to a tree for shade, and passed out for almost ten full minutes.
The staff realized I was not well, and pulled me from that night’s competition.
The next day we went home for a few days off before second tour.
The staff reported my issues to my mother, and asked her to bring a doctors note in order for me to go on second tour (which would include US Open in Ohio, and DCI Worlds in Denver).
My father was a nightclub musician and taught part time at a community college. There was no health insurance for us, so my mom decided that my drum corps experience was over, and took me home. I ate chicken soup, sat on the chaise lounge in the backyard, and slept half of each day away for a few weeks until I could resume my normal activities, like walking the dog and riding my bike.
I was sad the whole rest of the summer. And a tiny piece of me would remain sad forever, sorry that I could not continue with my drum corps adventures.
I have looked all over, and have never been able to find any photos of me participating in drum corps. I guess I wasn’t there long enough.
I continued to play drums and percussion, in classical orchestras and wind ensembles and then teaching high school marching bands and drum lines. What acceptance I could not gain through years of drum corps experience, I earned through taking a degree in music education and years of professional playing experience in professional pit orchestras. There was no pit when I marched, but my professional experience got me hired by the same corps ten years later as a pit instructor for their training corps.
I still love the marching arts. I marvel at the beauty and athleticism of modern corps. And I still feel some wistfulness at how truncated my drum corps time was.
In my thirties, I was diagnosed with Crohn’s disease, which immediately explained all my years of extreme fatigue and my inability to do athletic things. (The time I’d spent over-exerting in corps had likely brought on a serious flare-up, which my doctors pointed out could have been dangerous. Fainting had probably saved me from getting worse because it stopped me from continuing.)
I didn’t have a weak character; I had a weak body and its signals forced me to stop when I couldn’t continue. I wept at how hard I’d been on myself, for the wrong reasons, and found my diagnosis to be strangely healing.
Today, I sing for a living and play drums for fun. I have a great partner and a good life, and I’m grateful for all of my musical travels.
I have very few regrets, but my short time in drum corps is one of them.
And when Finals Week comes around, I still marvel at what today’s kids can do on the field, and thoroughly enjoy watching drum lines warm up. I still love drumming and will keep playing until my arms fall off.
If you are marching n a drum corps this summer, have a wonderful time in Indy.
The final scores do not matter.
Just by getting there, you have already won.
March On.
