BOY WITH A HORN

After a year of renting my golden horn a friend of my mom, who was in the antique business, gave me a silver cornet.  One that he attested had actually been used in the John Phillip Sousa Marine Band.  He was sure because it belonged to his dad who played it under the baton of the great march king.

This should have given me the motivation to succeed.  But after a year I was still just blatting through my lessons.

My grandmother enforced my half hour of practice before I could go out and play routine each afternoon.  Most times I would sit and just blow random notes occasionally turning a page in my lesson book in case she was watching.  I don't think my grandmother ever knew this scam - she never mentioned it, but then again, she was very cagey about me when I strayed from the straight and narrow.

The Bacon Elementary School band "played in and out" the students as they marched by grade to their weekly assembly, which usually entailed a long oration from our principal Mrs. McCorristin and a grainy movie about hygiene or which country exports tin. Principal Edith M. prowled the stage like a lioness alerting us, in her high warbling voice, to the dangers of running in the hall or disobeying our AAA Patrol Boys on the corners.

We usually gave the fidgeting audience a new number each week - I scammed this too.

Most times I just sat there with the horn to my mouth and pretended to play.  This was for two reasons.  One I was afraid I would make a mistake.  And two I was sure I would make a mistake and hit a sour note - therefore, I didn't hit any.  Every once in awhile the first trumpeter - a burly 8th grader would look over from his prime seat and say, "Hey Iszard give us a hand here, won't ja?"  I would blush and then continue faking it.

One day my mother informed me that it was time I moved up and took lessons off the number one music teacher in town.  The ancient Mr. Leski, retired big band professional.  I guess she thought this might spark my musical enthusiasm ?

My first lesson with him was so different. After brief introductions which focused on the fact that I had been "playing" for over a year, we began the $2 dollar torture. For one thing he didn't use a song book - he wrote out all of the music on small music sheets.  He gave me one and asked that I toot a "test" for him.  I will never forget trying to play "Home Sweet Home" in 3/4 time.

"NO...NO...NO, he wailed!  Timing my boy, it's all about timing"!

"You must put into you head these phrases; he wrote below the notes on my music.  GET IT - for half notes, SAN FRANSICO for quarter notes.  This will help you hold the notes the proper time for which they are written.  Here's how you should think 'Home Sweet Home' when you play the notes think:   Get it, get it, get it, San Francisco get it get it.

Get It?"

No I didn't get it.  But for the next two years I filled my repertoire, not with old standards, but with an array of musical mnemonics in hopes that I would someday gain a smidgen of rhythm = Result, to this day I still have no rhythm; ask my dance partners.

Fact my mom had to face  - I am not musical.

However, by the time I got to 8th grade and was anointed second, first trumpet - I was actually playing along with the band and enjoying it, to some extent - albeit our leader would occasionally caution me to play softer and not drown out the other 20 players.

After 8 years of trumpeting I graduated to Millville Memorial High School and went out for football that fall  - and never touched my horn again.  I limited my music to listening to the radio.