Tooting My Own Horn

"Guess what, Mom!" I exclaimed as I came in the door from

school. "I passed the test to get into band today. Mr. Walheim

said I missed only one question. He said I can join band! He e-

ven said I can play trumpet!"

"That's nice, honey," Mom replied, "But we'll have to see."

Even as she said this, I'm sure she was thinking, "Only by some

miracle!"

One very big obstacle stood between me and band. It was

spelled M-O-N-E Y, or more exactly , lack of it. My widowed,

diabetic mother, my two younger sisters and I were barely get-

ting by on Social Survivor's benefits since my dad's untimely

death two years before. Mom had to wring every last cent out

of each check to provide just the necessities for us.

Sharon an older sister, lived at home with us, She was a

clerk and bookkeeper in a lady's apparel shop. She contribut-

ed in whatever way she could.

Even at this young age, I should have known better than to

ask for such a thing, but joining band became my obsession. I

spent nearly every waking hour trying to devise a way to make

it happen, all the while hounding Mom for m y latest fascina-

tion.

I had a memory of Sharon having had this same opportunity

before my dad had died.

In the short time she had a coronet, she'd learned to play a

short riff of "Cherry Pink and Apple Blossom White". That was

before she was forced, due to lack of funds, to give up the horn.

That was NOT going to happen to me. I didn't know when or

how, but I was going to be the first i nour family to be in band.

Daily, I wracked my brain as to how I could make this happen.

Just as often, I bugged Mom with, "Can I join band,PUH-lease?"

I must have finally worn her down. Soon, I was participating

in a six week instrument trial program through the local music

store.

I practiced daily in our minimally heated back room. Before

long, the honks,toots,and squeaks became musical scales and

simple songs. Even I knew, when the six weeks was over, we

wouldn't be able to afford the new horn I was using.

One day, while I was thumbing through a magazine, an ad

caught my eye. It read something like this: "Need money for

your organization? Sell Mrs. Leland's Golden Butter Bits. These

delicious candies are shiny, crunchy little pillows, containing a

creamy peanut butter filling. Sold in one pound decorator tins,

they're sure to be a hit for just a dollar a tin. Raise your needed

funds by selling Mrs. Leland's.

I ran to Mom with the enticing ad: "Look, Mom" I cried. "I could

earn the money for my horn by selling this candy!"

Either Mom saw some promise in this, or more likely, sick of my

incessant nagging about this band thing, she had a momentary lapse of judgment.

The next thing I knew, we were advertising in our local paper for a used trumpet or cornet. It wasn't long before we had a reply to our ad. A party in the next town was offering a Conn-Vic-

tor trumpet for fifty dollars.

Mom had to consider this for a little bit. In a few days, she made her way to the local bank to request a fifty dollar signature loan.

This was with the stipulation that it was MY responsibility to repay this loan. That same day, along with Mom's signature, I made out my order for Mrs. Leland's Butter Bits.

There was one hitch, though. In order to get the fifty dollars I

needed, I would have to sell one hundred forty-four pounds of the candy. I had no doubt this could be done.

While still faithfully practicing my horn, I anxiously awaited the

arrival of the candy. Almost daily, I'd come home from school,

asking Mom, "Did the Candy come yet?"

And daily , she'd tell me to have patience.

Finally, we got word that our parcel was sitting, ready for pick-up,at the depot in a nearby town.

"Mom," I asked, "Can we go pick it up today?"

"Go ask Roy," she replied.

Roy was my brother-in-law. He and my sister, Nancy lived in a

house on a street in back of us. He was obviously young, male, and strong.

We corralled him to take me to pick up my log-awaited package.

Arriving at the depot and getting a look at the huge container,

Roy exclaimed,"You didn't tell me the box was going to be that big!"

Looking back and forth between the behemoth box and the trunk of his "57 Chevy, we doubted we could fit it into that car.

But, after a lot of grunting, groaning, lifting and twisting that

box every which way, we finally managed to get it loaded. With

a like struggle,we later got the box into our house, landing it dead

center in our living room.

That oversized box was to stay in that position, occupying a

great deal of our living space, until I had most of the candy sold.

I solicited friends, relatives, neighbors, anyone I could think of

in an effort to sell that candy.

When all these avenues were exhausted and my loan deadline was looming, Mom decided it was time to scour the surrounding

area for some possible sales.

So, on at least one afternoon, leaving my younger sisters in the care of Nancy, Mom took me out of school to do some selling.

She had never held a driver's license. But she had learned to drive, on a straight stick, no less, in the steep hills of her native

northeast Iowa.

So, driving on flat land didn't scare her. Getting stopped by a

cop, maybe. But not the driving itself.

Undaunted, we headed out on our sales adventure. When we pulled into the first driveway, I grabbed one of the brightly col-

ored tins and headed to the door. Pasting on my biggest smile,

I began my sales pitch: "Hello! My name is Linda. I'm selling Mrs.

Leland's Butter Bits in order to buy a trumpet and join the band."

"The Butter Bits are a delicious, creamy peanut butter candy,wrapped in a shiny, crispy shell. Notice the pretty decor-

ator tin. Could i interest you in one for the small price of one

dollar?"

One more pound gone, one dollar closer to my goal! This was repeated over and over again that afternoon. Sales were running

hot. We were about ten miles from home and losing track of time.

Suddenly, it occurred to me. It was getting dangerously close

to suppertime. Sharon, due home from work soon, was going to

be furious! Mom could go into an insulin reaction at any time.

But she didn't. Not this time.

I got that candy sold, one pound at a time, and got the horn

paid off.

I was eagerly taking lessons from Mr Walheim. he was a very

serious young music,ian, known for his hair trigger temper.

Because of this, I spent many hours practicing in our frigid

backroom at home, so as to not incur his wrath.

Mr. Walheim used to say, "You're excused from practices and

performances only by a death in the family-YOURS."

This caused me no end of angst,due to my family's lack of

of reliable transportation. Though my mother confidently

drove the back roads, she shied away from the highway, which was necessary to get to the school, where most of our performances were held.

But, for the most part, all I had to do was ask for a ride from

any one of the area kids involved in band. Most of them knew our

family plight and were more than willing to help out when asked.

In our little school, participating in band usually meant marching band, pep band and concert band.

When it came to marching band I was not only less than en-thused, but also less than talented. I seemed to have two left feet. No matter what I did, I just couldn't stay in step.

I never did get used to the embarrassment of having the more

seasoned band members yelling at me, "Monnahan, get in step!'

Although I thought so, I must not have been the only one having

trouble marching. Mr Walheim devised a method to teach us less

than coordinated marchers how to stay in step and keep our lines

straight. This was something know as "marching through the pit".

The "pit" was a rope formation strung between short stakes, a bandwidth wide, with lines strung just wide enough to make marchers lift their feet high enough to stay in step.

The band practiced through this to the cadence of "One, two,

three, four, five, six, seven,eight!

Imagine my horror, when marching through this with the rest of

the band, I'd lose a shoe and nearly fall on my face. All the while,

I was being yelled or laughed at by my more coordinated band-mates. But, I stuck with it.

Our band performed at football games, providing the national

anthem at the beginning of the game, as well as the school song

whenever our team accomplished a touchdown.

We also performed elaborate half-time shows. Between these activities, we sat in the bleachers ,trying to stay warm, while

cheering our team onward.

Our band also marched in many parades during the season. A-

mong them were the local Memorial Day and Fourth of July par-

ades. After participating in our own, we were often bussed to neighboring communities to perform in their celebrations.

Another yearly marching experience was the North Iowa Band

Festival in Mason City ,Iowa. Most bands from North Iowa and

southern Minnesota participated in this event. Most participating

bands also provided a candidate from their ranks to run for the

title of Miss North Iowa.

In nineteen sixty-two, Mason City decided to honor hometown

son and playwright, Meredith Willson with the Music Man Band

Festival. At this time, Willson was enjoying success with a movie

of the same name.

In attendance for the event were Mr. Willson and his wife, as well as stars of the movie: Robert Preston, Shirley Jones, and Ron-

nie Howard.

This was back in the day when Ronnie Howard was a child star,

playing Opie Taylor in the Andy Griffith Show. He also played the

part of Whistlin' Winthrop Paroo in the Music Man.

With one hundred nineteen bands participating, the mile and a

half parade route took three hours to complete.

Even though we'd traded our black wool uniforms for white shirts and shorts, we sweated profusely as we awaited our time to

perform. A few band members fainted.

Those of us who made it through the parade route were treated to a meal in a church basement ,as well as ice cream and a movie,

compliments of the band festival committee.

That evening,as in all previous band festivals, all participating

bands gathered at roosevelt Field House for a mass band concert.

Among the selections we played was,"Let Me Call You Sweet-

heart" in honor of the new Miss North Iowa.

Bus trips taking us to and from out of town engagements are a

special memory. With a Oija board, a card game or two, and kids

cranked up on enough adrenaline and snacks, there was never a

dull moment.

When somebody would break out in "Ninety-nine Bottles of

Beer on the Wall" or some other equally obnoxious song, most

of the kids would join in. And it wasn't unusual for a high school couple to steal a kiss or two.

Three years after I joined band, my younger sister, Randi follow-ed suit. She started lessons on my horn, switched to a school owned horn, eventually playing a french horn.

As soon as we each had an instrument,we decided our little town needed a parade. This was the perfect opportunity for

our sister Nancy to show her creativity.

Soon she had a parade, complete with a band, a parade queen,

and a float mounted on a Red Flyer wagon.

Randi and I were the musicians. The band formation was rounded out by other town kids carrying toy guns. as well as

opur youngest sister ,Denise and a couple of her friends act-

ing as majorettes. Their costumes were courtesy of Nancy.

Our parade queen was, of course, Kim, Nancy and Roy's

three year old daughter. She sported an aluminum foil

crown and carried a bouquet of roses, compliments of

Nancy and Roy's neighbor, who had picked them out of

her garden.

After our little parade around town, each participant was

treated to ice cream, courtesy of our small town business-

man.

Meanwhile, our high school concert band was making quite

a name for itself.

One year, we were invited to perform for the Minnesota

Music Educators Convention. This convention was held in

the downtown Radisson Hotel in Minneapolis.

While waiting for our turn to perform, some of the mem-

bers of the band were playing hijinx with the hotel elevators.

They'd ride one to the top floor. get off that one, then hop

onto another one for their return trip to the main floor. This

was repeated over and over again.

Small town kids were easily amused.

I had a two or three note very high pitched solo in one of the

selections for this performance. I agonized over and practiced

a lot for this solo. But, when it was time for the solo, it went off

without a hitch.

After this performance, the band cut a record. This was part-

ially as a keepsake and partially as a fundraiser.

Pep band, meant the group was stationed either in a special section of the bleachers for pep fests, or during basketball games,

on the gymnasium stage.

We were always on hand to play the national anthem or the

school song at appropriate times, as well as half-time entertain-ment.

we trumpet players got a good workout, taxing our lips with

such offerings as "Sugar Lips", "Java" and "Kissin Cousins", as well

as many rousing marches.

The stage was the perfect vantage point for watching basketball

games. Showing our school spirit, we'd scream ourselves hoarse

during nail-biter games.

By my junior year, I was soloing in band for contest. After a very

nervous performance, Mr. Walheim teased me that he'd never heard such a vibrato in his life.

In chorus, I was part of a triple trio, solidly holding down the

alto part. In my senior year, I even sang a solo, "Bless this House".

No other subject held my interest the way music classes did.

At times, they were the very reason I stayed in school.