"Aquarius" and the allure of tradition

 

I often talk about how much I enjoy being the public address announcer for various athletic teams and organizations at Wickliffe Upper School, which used to be "Wickliffe High School" and which I still often unconsciously refer to as "Wickliffe High School."

I'm in my 13th year as the announcer for the Wickliffe Swing Band. That's what we call our marching band, which isn't a traditional marching band but rather a "swing band" that incorporates a lot of energetic movement into its routines.

This swing style has been around for more than 50 years. Elements of it began to be incorporated in the early 1970s under the tutelage of legendary director Chuck Frank. It became the dominant style under the equally legendary Michael Elias, who was the director at Wickliffe when Terry and I were students there.

The swing style is so ingrained into the band's culture and sense of self that it would be almost unthinkable for the group to revert to being a more drill-oriented marching band.

I've heard that when the last few Wickliffe directors interviewed for the job, they were all told point blank they would be required to maintain the swing style. I don't know if that's true, but if it is, it doesn't surprise me.

If someone in Northeast Ohio happens to know anything at all about the Wickliffe Swing Band, it's usually that the band's longstanding signature routine is set to the song "Aquarius" from the 1967 musical "Hair."

POINT OF CLARIFICATION: We call the tune "Aquarius," but what the Wickliffe band plays is actually a mini-medley from "Hair" that combines two songs: "Aquarius" and "The Flesh Failures (Let the Sunshine In)." Few people these days know or even care about the distinction, but I thought I would mention it.

The Wickliffe Swing Band plays "Aquarius" every year. Year after year. For half a century. It always caps off their halftime performance at the homecoming football game, and it's their finale at every band festival.

The key moment in "Aquarius" is pictured at the top of today's post. The percussion section creates a little pyramid in which two bass drummers stand on their heads, two tenor drummers rest their instruments on the bass drums, and a cymbal player stands on top of that pyramid and bangs the cymbals together repeatedly while the rest of the band plays the soaring "Let the Sunshine In" chorus.

It's a bit risky. The cymbal player has to have a certain degree of leg strength to get to the top of the pyramid, as well as a good sense of balance to stay up there while playing.

I've watched this routine performed on muddy grass and pristine turf fields. In bright sunshine and cold drizzle. Probably 100 times or more in the last 40 years. I've never seen anyone in the pyramid hurt themselves, but it always concerns me.

The audience reaction to the "Aquarius" pyramid is predictable and enjoyable. There is loud applause and cheering, particularly from band members and parents from other schools. It's a fun and unique moment.

As I said, for many, it's what defines the Wickliffe Swing Band.

On the other hand...

I'm in the press box when "Aquarius" is played, so I'm often privy to somewhat different reactions. While there are still cheers and clapping, I also get to hear from those who aren't big fans of "Aquarius."

These are often band directors and music educators from other schools who have seen the routine many times. They occasionally say to me, in a semi-whisper with somewhat raised eyebrows and a derisive tone, "You guys are still playing that? When will you retire it?"

I never know what to say in response to these comments, but I understand them.

Some of these press box critics see "Aquarius" as a cheap novelty ploy for applause and cheers. Maybe they're jealous, or maybe they have a point.

Others wonder what students learn if they play the same song and perform the same types of routines year after year. And again, maybe they have a point.

Don't get me wrong: I still love "Aquarius." I love hearing the appreciative comments and seeing the positive reactions on social media. I'm proud to be a Wickliffe alumnus and a lifelong resident of the city. The response to "Aquarius" gives me immense satisfaction.

But I encounter these "give it a rest already" people far more often than I ever tell band staff, parents and students. Believe me, for every 10 people standing and applauding, there is at least one other person rolling their eyes.

It makes me ponder how the band should balance maintaining its cherished traditions on one hand and expanding students' musical horizons and helping them become more well-rounded musicians on the other.

I don't have the answer, nor is it my place to make any real decisions. I'm just the guy behind the mic. I work for the director, and I like it that way.

What I do know is, if a new director ever comes in and decides to retire "Aquarius," I may also be needed to step in and protect that person from the mob of Wickliffians who will inevitably storm the school in support of their favorite Swing Band routine.

(If you'd like to see "Aquarius" performed, this is what it looked like at halftime of the 2023 homecoming football game. The video, which will open in a new window, should start right at the mid-song percussion break just before the pyramid is formed.)

The old band uniforms in our living room are full of meaning

As recently as mid-November, these old band uniforms and hats were still sitting on a table in our living room.

Just before our local high school was torn down a year and a half ago, my wife heroically rescued a wealth of Wickliffe Swing Band artifacts that otherwise would have been destined for the dumpster.

Like someone pulling valuables out of a city about to be overrun by an invading army, Terry loaded up her car with old band photos, trophies, uniforms, recordings and other memorabilia.

The fact that the school didn't appear interested in making the effort to save most of it was somewhat despairing, but that's a different conversation for a different time.

The result was that, for many months, our basement and garage have been filled with band stuff. This has only been an inconvenience when I've had to haul around boxes of heavy old trophies and plaques from as far back as the 1950s. Those were the only times I complained.

Otherwise, I'm glad our house could serve as an impromptu storage facility for what I consider to be vital artifacts from our city's history.

Because all of these items mean something. They are reminders of generations of Wickliffe musicians and their directors, and of the hard work that went into countless halftime performances, Christmas concerts and jazz band performances.

They are not nuisance items to be swept aside in support of some vague notion of "progress." They are tangible remnants of an institution that has, for decades, been important to our community. They should be preserved. They should be with the people who care about them and about the band itself.

As I type this in mid-November, we still have most of these items in various places around our house. Terry was able to give away some of the uniforms to various alumni, and her plan is to give away as many of the other items as possible at some point soon (with an encouragement to make a donation to the band if you take something).

In the meantime, it's all still here. The trophy the band received for its participation in the 1981 Nordonia Festival of Bands, the plaque it was given for marching in the 1977 Fairview International Band Festival, the composite photo of band members from the 2001-02 school year, and countless other bits of nostalgia are strewn about our living room, our basement storage room, and our garage.

And I couldn't be more proud.

Any community or organization is the product of its own history. That history shapes us all. We really shouldn't be so quick to throw it away.

In defense of marching band

Photo credit: Mrs. Terry Tennant

"This one time at band camp" jokes aside, there is much to be said for high school marching bands.

They create a special atmosphere at Friday night football games. They perform at halftime, play the fight song after touchdowns, and bring an air of excitement to the proceedings as they march into and out of the stadium.

Just as important, though, is what the band – as both a school organization and a social ethos – does for its members.

For many, band is their strongest and sometimes only real connection to the school. They don't necessarily fit elsewhere, but when they get together with their peers in the band room, they feel at home.

Band kids are their people.

I was and wasn't a band nerd. I played the saxophone, but I never marched a routine in my life. Because I also played football, I was excused from marching band and wouldn't pick up my instrument until November when football season ended and we started rehearsing Christmas music.

So I never experienced the family atmosphere that is perhaps unique to marching ensembles.

It took having five kids (all of whom spent at least some time in marching band), a heavily involved wife and a now-10-year stint as the Wickliffe Swing Band announcer for me to really understand it all.

Every high school band endures its share of derision from other students, but that is perhaps less true at Wickliffe. The Swing Band is well regarded within the school and around our community, so its members are maybe a notch or two higher on the social scale than they would be in other places.

Still, in the end, a band geek is a band geek. Most of them gladly wear the title and wouldn't trade their high school band experience for anything.

For more kids than you may realize, band is the one thing that gets them through four otherwise miserable years of high school.

So go ahead and make fun of their weird hats, the corny songs they play and the faux military discipline on display at every performance. Call them whatever you want.

They're too busy playing loudly and proudly to even hear you.

A refresher course in the English language may do me some good

I've subjected blog readers to this image before, but it's the only one I have of me announcing. So...here's a picture of my big gaping mouth. Please enjoy.

I look forward to this time of year because it's the beginning of announcing season, which for me means a series of public address (PA) engagements at a range of high school (and some college) athletic events.

I enjoy every one of these games/matches, but unless things turn around, I'm not sure the people there will enjoy having me.

In sum, I had a rough announcing preseason. That "preseason" consisted of announcing a recent Miracle League of Lake County game (July 15), the Wickliffe Swing Band's home-from-band-camp performance (July 21), and the Wickliffe High School alumni soccer game (August 4).

I was, to say the least, rusty in every case. I flubbed words, forgot others, and misidentified people. These aren't professional sports or anything, but still, I really have to do better.

I'm not even sure what happened. When I left off with PA announcing back in the winter/spring, I felt I was at the top of my game. I hated for the season to end because everything seemed to be clicking.

Now, months later, I'm struggling a little. It's like I forgot how to speak my native language.

I'm sure it was just a case of being out of practice, but it is a little worrisome with 63 announcing gigs on my calendar over the next 61 days.

I get a lot of offers for PA work this time of year, mostly because I show up when I say I'm going to show up. Athletic directors and college game day operations people are constantly challenged to find reliable people to work their events, so if you're somewhat dependable, you'll get work.

By the way, those 63 gigs in 61 days include 31 soccer games, 12 band performances, 11 volleyball matches (two at the collegiate level), six football games, two more Miracle League games, and a Meet the Teams event for my friends at Riverside High School.

This coming Saturday alone I'll do a JV football game at 10am, Miracle League games at 3 and 4pm, and a girls soccer game at 7pm.

Not mentioned are the last-minute substitute engagements of the kind working announcers are called to do all the time, or an additional regular-season football game outside of the 61-day time period, along with the playoff games I'll work beyond all of that.

Again, I'm not announcing at Yankee Stadium, but everyone wants to do a good job, especially when it's an activity you really enjoy.

I choose to believe I'm going to quickly work my way back into form. The alternatives (that I'm suddenly too old or experiencing some sort of cognitive decline) are too unpleasant to consider.

Plus, I spent a lot of money on this announcing equipment. I've got at least 15 more years before this stuff starts paying for itself.

Learning (finally) to appreciate the memories while you're still making them

Thank you, Ron Kotar, for one of my favorite shots of drum major Jack!

We are in the midst of a 10-week period during which Friday nights in our family can only be described as chaotic.

For many years now, our Friday evenings from late August through the end of October have revolved around high school football games and halftime band performances. All of our kids have been members of the Wickliffe Swing Band at one point or another, and my son Jared also kicked for the football team for three years.

At the very least, that has meant hastily consumed dinners, getting kids to the school on time before a game, and dressing up in our finest Blue Devil gear.

But this year the chaos—I can think of no other appropriate word—has ratcheted up by a factor of about 10. To wit:

• Jack, who is enjoying his senior year victory lap, is both co-drum major and band president. These roles encompass a lot, not the least of which is trotting out to the center of the field at halftime along with his fellow drum major Clare, flinging a baton high into the air, and trying to catch it when it comes back down. All with 90% of people in the stadium watching the two of them. I don't know how nerve-wracking it is for Clare and Jack, but it's terrifying for me.
  
  
• Terry, who has long volunteered her time to the Swing Band, has taken her involvement this year to a new and presumably unprecedented level ("unprecedented," at least, in Wickliffe band history). She is not only in her second year as Band Booster president and her ninth year as chair of the uniform committee, she also recently took on the official title of "assistant director." Like, she's now an official Wickliffe City Schools employee and everything. It is risking gross understatement to say she is invested in the success of this ensemble.
  
  
• My Friday night contributions pale in comparison with Jack's and Terry's, but I'm in my ninth year as the Swing Band announcer as well as my first year as the full-time Wickliffe football PA announcer. The poor people who come to our games cannot escape the reach of my voice without running to their cars and driving home.

So fall Fridays are a production. They're also fleeting. If Wickliffe doesn't make the state football playoffs this year, after tonight we only have six games to go. Then, just as suddenly as it began, it will be over.

This time next year, Jack will be in college. Terry may or may not continue her involvement with the band, but it will be at a scaled-back level if she does. And while I still plan to announce, it won't feel quite the same as it does this year.

All of which is why I'm enjoying every second of this season. You would think, with five children (four of whom are out of high school and in their 20s), I would have learned long ago how quickly it all passes and to appreciate it. But until this year, I really hadn’t.

For the past decade and a half, we've always had at least one child at the high school, with the promise of more to come. Even last year we knew Jack still had his senior season ahead. So I just jumped from one event to the next without ever stopping to take in the moments and savor each one.

Now, with something of a life transition staring us in the face, I find myself pausing on Friday nights and just looking around. I listen to the crowd. I watch Jack march. I observe Terry in her element, doing everything she can to make sure the band is put in the best position to succeed. And I smile at all of it. I take a breath and acknowledge what a special time this is for us.

And how, in no time at all, it will have passed us by.

As recently as a month ago, I dreaded the thought of it ending. But now I don't really mind that much. Just being present in the moment and knowing it's a memory in the making changes the whole dynamic. It will end, yes, but that's OK. It's special BECAUSE it's going to end.

At the beginning of every halftime show, I get to announce Jack's name as co-drum major and Terry's name as assistant director (she's only just now getting comfortable with me doing that...not much of a spotlight-seeker, that one). Even counting upcoming band festivals, there are fewer than 10 such opportunities remaining.

With each one, I lean into "Jaaaaaaaaaack Tennaaaaaaant!!!" and "assistant director MRS. Terry Tennant!" just a little bit more.

What an incredible blessing this has been. And still is. And always will be.