"In my life I find that memories of the spirit linger and sweeten long after memories of the brain have faded."

Welcome back! I've been remodeling. As you can see, I've moved things around a bit, freshened things up, opened some windows and let some light into this place. Hopefully, it will be a bit easier on your tired eyes. I know... it even looks bigger in here. It's amazing when you choose the right color scheme how much brighter a place can look.

"Some of them were dreamers
And some of them were fools
Who were making plans and thinking of the future
With the energy of the innocent
They were gathering the tools..."
- Jackson Browne, Before the Deluge

Back in the summer of 1993, the world seemed so much simpler, for me at least. I was only a few months out of college and had gotten married at the beginning of the previous summer. We had been living in subsidized housing with jobs that paid only a pittance. My wife and I both spent the spring after my December graduation working for our college's education department. She was a secretary and I was an interviewer for the accreditation study that we were conducting. I also taught private clarinet lessons (clarinet was NOT my principal instrument and I barely considered myself proficient on it, but I have always had success teaching others how to play it well) and played in a rock band (Slightly Used), which cost a lot more than it paid, I promise.

As I've related previously, after much interviewing, wailing and gnashing of teeth, I secured a job most of the way across the state in a place neither of us had either lived previously. Also, neither of us had ever lived in a place so rural. Sure, my wife's family on her father's side had grown up in the country, as farmers, but we were both children of the suburbs.

"Let me tell y'all what it's like
Being male, middle-class and white."
- Ben Folds, Rockin' the Suburbs

We soon found ourselves living in a small town in the middle of a rural area. The school where I was going to be teaching was in a part of the county about 15 miles north with extremely high poverty and few other white faces. In the tiny town where the school was located, the white people that could, sent their children across the attendance lines to a predominantly white school in the next town, or to private school. I have never considered myself prejudiced, but I had never been seen as a minority before. The school was functioning under a recent court order to desegregate... in the 1990's... in America. They were under a requirement to hire a certain percentage of white teachers and staff and curb the problem of students crossing attendance lines. The school was short on funds and the building was in terrible shape, having once been the town's "colored" school in the days of "separate but equal" in which separate seemed to still be the case, while equal definitely wasn't.

When I moved into the band room, I noticed that the carpet was lime green shag. It was in a building all by itself at the rear of the campus, with no windows and, for most of my three years there, no air conditioning. It was like working, living, in a brick oven. We had no band uniforms. There hadn't been more than a half-dozen students in the band program for the past four years. The "music" they made on that first day made the inaugural notes of Mr. Holland's band sound like a symphony of angels.

"Playing music is supposed to be fun. It's about heart, it's about feelings, moving people, and something beautiful, and it's not about notes on a page." - Glenn Holland, Mr. Holland's Opus

When I received my class rosters a few days before the school year started, I couldn't believe my eyes. I would be teaching two middle school band classes and a high school band class. I would also be responsible for teaching the middle school band students physical education. The thing that astounded me was that the classes were nearly empty. They really weren't kidding. I had never done this before and I was going to be responsible for making the numbers grow from the six students on my class rosters to a musical ensemble that could give a Christmas concert for the student body in... what? Only about five months. Before that however, I was supposed to start putting together a marching band to perform in the stands at football games (thankfully, I would not be required to give halftime performances that school year... no field show). I had work to do.

“There's a time when a man needs to fight and a time when he needs to accept that his destiny's lost, the ship has sailed and that only a fool will continue. The truth is I've always been a fool.” – Ed Bloom, Big Fish

I started by looking at only a small group of select sixth grade students to be considered for admission into the seventh grade band class as beginners. No recruiting had been done, and it was not an easy task, since being in the band had an even worse, by far, stigma at this school than it does at most schools. I managed to recruit two sixth graders, one on trumpet and one on saxophone. Since the program was so small, my performances would have to combine all students of all ability levels, from these raw beginners, up to the more experienced high school students. While I was recruiting these sixth graders, I also began combing the classrooms of both the middle school and the high school, looking for students who had dropped out of band, or had been members of the band at a previous school. I managed to find a number of these students and convince some of them to join my band. I lured them into an open house in the band room with an instrument repair technician, since many of their instruments hadn't been played in years, and most were handed down... what the technician called M'uncle horns ("Son, where'd you get that horn?" "M'uncle played it."), and most importantly, my open house featured something no self-respecting teen or pre-teen could turn down... free food.

Soon, my band had grown to over thirty mostly warm bodies, including the high school principal's son, a member of the varsity football team, two cheerleaders, and a talented tuba player who had transferred in from another school. It was time for my first marching band practice. I rounded them up on the football field and began showing them proper marching techniques, just like I had been taught when I was in high school. They stared. They started laughing. The tuba player was helping me demonstrate. The principal's son was trying to get his fellow students to give it a try. It wasn't working. In less than thirty minutes, the "rehearsal" turned into a rout. Only a few students were still present. The rest marched straight to the principal's office demanding that this "crazy white man" be fired and replaced with a proper "black" band director. He left no uncertainty when he told them that the next practice I held, they had better be there doing exactly as I told them to do.

I was young, persistent, resilient. As Paul, the school's softball coach and as time passed, one of my closest friends during those years, soon taught me, "Not everyone's gonna want what you have to offer." He also taught me that "life sucks, grab a helmet."

I begged. I cajoled. I struggled. I gave every ounce of everything I had to get that program started. The principal got a former band director friend of his to put together an alumni band to "drum up" (pun intended) community support for the band program. I contacted the city newspaper in the nearest large city of Charleston and got a reporter to make the drive up to the school, about an hour away, to see the band rehearse. I chose an indoor music rehearsal, and the only song they knew how to play, "Under the Sea" from Disney's The Little Mermaid. My sense of humor and my rapport with the students quickly captured the reporter's attention. Since that ill-fated practice, we had begun to bond and work towards a common goal. One of my favorite quotes from that article was when I stopped the rehearsal for a moment, wiped my brow and said, "We need saxophones." One of my trumpet players quickly retorted, "We need Jesus!"

"Now let the music keep our spirits high
And let the buildings keep our children dry
Let creation reveal its secrets by and by
When the light that's lost within us reaches the sky."
- Jackson Browne, Before the Deluge

Not too far into the football season, we had a band that could perform a few simple tunes in the bleachers during football games. I bought used uniforms from a school halfway across the state and drove the school's battered activity van all the way there to pick them up. My wife carefully ironed patches over the other school's name on every single uniform. We both worked incredibly hard. By the afternoon of the homecoming game, I passed out on the floor of my office's private restroom. The hours were grueling. We gave everything. We developed pride... and discipline.

In late October I took the band on a long bus ride to the Lower State Marching Championships, the equivalent of a semi-final round, for high schools our size. I told them before we got off the bus that we were there to watch and learn. I looked around that bus and told them that we would be returning the following year... to compete. As they watched the bands march across the field, they were incredulous. Most of them had never been to a marching band competition before. They couldn't believe what they were seeing. They couldn't believe that these bands were using the same fundamentals, the same marching style I had been teaching them, and were putting together these amazing productions, almost theatrical. They couldn't believe the pageantry and discipline on display. As we boarded the bus for the long drive home that night, several students told me that there was no way we would be ready to do that in only a year.

"A teacher has two jobs; fill young minds with knowledge, yes, but more important, give those minds a compass so that that knowledge doesn't go to waste." - Principal Jacobs, Mr. Holland's Opus

As a matter of fact, that next week, one of my talented clarinet players, also a cheerleader, was overheard talking about our band in a very negative light at her lunch table one day. In class, I stopped rehearsal a few minutes early. I talked to them about how negatively we were already viewed by the rest of the school. I talked about how difficult it was to change that image when the members of our own organization were championing those negative views to their peers. I singled out the clarinet player in front of the class. It was silent. I told her how much it broke my heart that all the effort I gave, all the effort her fellow band members gave, was nothing to her. How could she talk about the band this way, I asked, now with eyes growing a little moist. She tried to argue. She tried to defend what she had done. I pointed out how it just made her look ridiculous, giving so much time and effort to this organization that she was putting down to her non-musical friends. I will never forget the speech, the impassioned plea I uttered that day. I can recount it, hear it in my mind like it was yesterday, instead of fourteen years past. "Give me one year" I begged her. "One year... If in one year, you feel ashamed to be a part of this band, then I will personally tell your mother that she needs to let you quit. Give me one year. If you still feel ashamed to have me as your band director, then I will quit. I will go do something else. Give me one year."

Kelly agreed. She told me that she would give me one year. There wasn't a dry eye in the room. We shook on it. One year.

When other bands ended their marching band practices for the year to practice for concert band performances and other engagements, we continued to have at least an hour of marching band practice three days a week, every week, in addition to our concert rehearsals. The next year, we marched at football games. We had a 32 person marching band and performed The Hits of Mariah Carey as our halftime show. I wrote the marching drill myself, in what was to become an annual tradition for the next twelve years after that first show. Yes, we did march in the 1994 Lower State Marching Band Championships. We finished dead last, but we performed. Kelly stayed with the band. She was never caught ridiculing band again. The next year, my third year at that school and the final year it was open, Kelly was one of the drum majors of the band. She stood on a podium at football games and competitions while the entire school watched her conduct the band... HER band.

"You love music and you made the kids love it with you." - Rowena Morgan, Mr. Holland's Opus

I have taught hundreds of students since that first year, but I will never forget that first group. I can see the faces and hear the names. I'm sure I learned at least as much from them as they learned from me. Actually, I'm pretty sure I learned much more than they did.

Yesterday, I noticed that the high school of a beautiful, small rural town nearby, a town we lived in and loved for the first five years I worked at the job I just left, is looking for a band director. My mind drifted back to the memories of my first teaching job... to those first students... to the simplicity of that life. I thought about how difficult that job seemed at the time, but how I also knew there was no way I could fail. I thought about how easy it had been to give everything, every ounce of my life, to that job, and to loving those kids. Then I snapped back into the present, mind once again joined to body and firmly planted in reality. Things which seem effortless at age 23 are not the same at age 37. I realized that, while I have the fond memories of those first years of teaching, I am now also fully aware of the cost. As the title, from the movie My Dog Skip, implies, I also know that I view those early days through the hazy lens of memory and the softening filter of time.

"I'm not sure all these people understand
It's not like years ago..."
- R.E.M., Nightswimming

The thought of rebuilding that band program, while exciting, fills me with feelings that are not welcome. Having to fight tooth and nail for every inch of ground the program gains is immensely rewarding, but physically and emotionally draining. The idea of establishing relationships with dozens of students, parents and teachers I have never met before and working tirelessly to gain their support would be a harrowing experience at this point in my life. I discovered that I'm just not interested. That is simply not what I am anymore. It is a part of who I am, just as anything I have ever experienced has shaped me, but I am content to savor my memories and leave this opportunity to someone else, hopefully someone who is just starting their journey, to create their own. I hope theirs are filled with joys and sorrows, sweetness and pain, just like mine.

"Some of them knew pleasure
And some of them knew pain
And for some of them it was only the moment that mattered
And on the brave and crazy wings of youth
They went flying around in the rain
And their feathers, once so fine, grew torn and tattered
And in the end they traded their tired wings
For the resignation that living brings
And exchanged love's bright and fragile glow
For the glitter and the rouge
And in the moment they were swept before the deluge."
- Jackson Browne, Before the Deluge

“Your heart is free. Have the courage to follow it.”

“Every man dies, not every man really lives.” – William Wallace, Braveheart

I spent more than seven hours today cleaning out my rooms and office. I should be able to finish it up by tomorrow night, I hope. I will have to put in a lot of hours tomorrow, but if things go well, I think I can get it done. Then I need to re-write my letter of resignation to reflect the meeting that took place after I wrote it. I also feel the need to address the claims against me, so I plan on going through the documentation and refuting and/or addressing them, especially the ones that are utter nonsense. I came to the conclusion today that he probably included a number of the things on that list so that I would be scared to leave because most school districts would not be willing to even consider hiring someone with the sheer number of items (about 15 - some of them fairly serious claims) I have on that letter. I guess its a good thing I don't plan on looking for a job at another school district. I plan to ask that my personnel file be sealed upon my resignation.

I completely finished cleaning three storage rooms today, and am about 75-80% finished cleaning the main room. After the main room is finished, I have two more storage rooms, a hallway and my office to complete. As I said previously, the office is going to be the most difficult emotionally. You can now stand in the center of the main room and look 90 degrees to either side of you and see bare walls and empty space. The posters advertising college music programs are gone. My autographed poster of the Boston Brass is gone. Every bit of my personality has been erased from that part of the room. There is actually only one corner that still shows any sign of my presence and that is the area I used for a music theory and music history classroom.

When I took that look around the room today, I couldn't hold back the tears. It all looked so lonely and empty. Anyone who has ever moved out of a house knows what I mean. This area, with all of its storage rooms and offices is larger than any house I've ever lived in, so its just becoming a big, empty space. The thought that came into my head at that moment was, "I'm sorry I've failed."

“I think that I am better than the people who are trying to reform me.” – Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

I had a nightmare last night. I don't dream often, so nightmares are not a common occurrence at all. In my dream, the previous band director, who was my high school band director and is now retired, came into my classroom as I was teaching and sat in the back. When the class ended and people began to leave, he approached me and told me that he'd been hired by the principal to reform my teaching. This is extremely significance, because eight years ago, during my first informal observation by my curriculum supervisor at the district level, the supervisor told me that I no matter what I thought, I would never be half the band director that my predecessor was. So, in my dream, my predecessor began criticizing my teaching, especially my music selections.

One of my greatest accomplishments this year was straight "Superior" ratings in all three areas of the program (marching, concert, jazz). This man, who was my mentor, told me in my dream that the only reason I got those ratings was because I selected laughably easy music. Now, I know this not to be true. The music I selected and performed was extraordinarily difficult. The students performed music that was extremely technically demanding, and performed it with such skill, that professionals awarded them the highest ratings possible.

When I say that this man was my mentor, I must admit that I did not have much in the way of role-models in my profession even as a high school student. Many of the reasons I originally became a band director in the first place were based on seeing this man do things that I knew in my heart were not the best things to do. I have hundreds of stories of things that he did that were ridiculously bad practices. I'm sure I will tell some of them here at some point. I've entertained at enough gatherings of my colleagues by regaling them with these stories than I care to remember, but now is not the time.I learned more from seeing things that I did not want to emulate than from seeing good examples. I've come to the conclusion that this is not the best motivation for a career choice.

I also came to the realization today that I never really dug in and did whatever it would take to become the best musician I could be. I have a lot of musical talent, but as a trumpet player, through high school and college, I usually did enough only to get by. I never excelled, or tried to be the most outstanding trumpet player I could be. I have never been a technical guru. It has never been a great motivation to me to possess an incredible technical knowledge of my field. If I had to fix some incredibly fine detail of a flute player's embouchure or tell a student an alternate fingering for a rare and difficult note in the clarinet's upper register, I would have to look these things up in a book, or consult someone else. I have never been able to keep those things in my brain, though I know many colleagues that can do this. I can remember song lyrics, poetry, all sorts of useless trivia, baseball statistics, a great wealth of knowledge, but not these small, yet important technical details that were a key part of my career. That should have given me some indication of what was to come.

“Why should we be in such desperate haste to succeed, and in such desperate enterprises? If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music which he hears, however measured or far away.” – Henry David Thoreau

Like Thursday, the cleaning today was much easier than I expected it to be. I have heard that when a person is doing what they are meant to do, things just come easy. This certainly seems to be what is happening here. I discovered another helpful book this week and added it to the list in the column to the right. It is called Life's a Bitch and Then You Change Careers: 9 Steps to Get Out of Your Funk & On to Your Future by Andrea Kay. I have found it extremely well written. It is practical, yet still leaves room for intuition and the Law of Attraction. There are excellent exercises to complete which are designed to help you find your "joyful skills" and eventually, the career that is "right" for you. I can't do these exercises when I first read a book. I have to read them carefully and contemplate them over time. I answer the questions over the days and even weeks after I finish the book. I am still answering the questions found in Martha Beck's Finding Your Own North Star. Of course, I am an amazingly fast reader who devours most books in a single sitting. Then I digest and process what I have read for some time after I complete the book.

"People rarely succeed unless they enjoy what they are doing."—Dale Carnegie

I must say that since I started this blog, I have enjoyed the task of writing new entries immensely. I look forward to posting every day. I am thankful for the support of my readers, my fellow bloggers. This is truly a vibrant and supportive community. I have participated in many newsgroups, forums and the like for many years and never have I seen such acceptance, support and kindness as I have seen here. Thank you all for providing this wonderful place to write and share my experiences. I have always loved telling my stories. To me, the music part of my career was just a gimmick. It has always really been about reaching people and sharing my stories, wisdom, knowledge and compassion to help them become the best they could be. I am really starting to get excited about the prospect of writing as a career. I have always had a deep love for literature and for telling stories.

“A man tells his stories so many times that he becomes the stories. They live on after him, and in that way he becomes immortal.” – Will Bloom, Big Fish

I would like to extend a special thanks to reader and fellow blogger Epimenides. This morning, he bestowed upon me a pair of awards. He awarded me the Schmoozer Award (a.k.a. The Blogging Community Involvement Award) and the Thinking Blogger Award. Thank you so much Epi. I'm glad that you find my blog enjoyable to read. I hope I live up to these awards and make Blogville a better place.

Now it falls to me to pass along these awards to 5 people each. I have decided not to automatically tie them together since the rules don't say I have to. Instead, I will award my 5 Thinking Blogger Awards today and my Schmoozing Blogger Awards in tomorrow's post. Before I share my recipients, its time for the fine print. If you are chosen for one of these awards, here are the rules:

1. If, and only if, you get the Thinking Blogger Award or The Power of Schmooze Award, write a post with links to 5 blogs that make you think, or have schmoozed you into submission (depending on which award you receive).

2. Link to this post if you receive the Thinking Blogger Award, or Mike if you receive the Schmoozing Blogger Award, so that people can easily find the exact origin of the meme.

3. Optional: Proudly display the ‘Thinking Blogger Award’ with a link to the post that you wrote (here is an alternative silver version if gold doesn’t fit your blog).

Ladies and gentlemen, the envelope please. Our five nominees for the Thinking Blogger Award are:

1. Anonymous Boxer

2. Manicmanicurist

3. My Rearview Mirror

4. Seiche

5. Faith Dance

Those are my Thinking Blogger Award Recipients. Congratulations! I will award the Schmoozer Awards when I post tomorrow.

"Here's to the crazy ones, the misfits, the rebels, the troublemakers, the round pegs in the square holes… the ones who see things differently — they're not fond of rules… You can quote them, disagree with them, glorify or vilify them, but the only thing you can't do is ignore them because they change things… they push the human race forward, and while some may see them as the crazy ones, we see genius, because the ones who are crazy enough to think that they can change the world, are the ones who do." - Richard P. Feynman, PhD.