Daughter, Beth, has told about bringing her college girlfriends home and warning them not be surprised if her Daddy burst out singing at any time.
A word or a situation often brings to my mind a song. Granddaughter Kelly was a little girl when she said to me, “Granddaddy sing that song you sang when we were herding cows in the Suzuki.” I said “What song was that?” She said, “Don’t let your babies grow up to be cowboys.”
The first movie I recall seeing was “Wizard of Oz”. “Somewhere over the Rainbow” brought tears. It’s a sweet song not to be belted out, which I’ve heard done recently.
Anna Maria Alberghetti’s musical movies came to the Majestic when I was about sixteen. She was about my age. I was spellbound by her singing. Sat through her movies multiple times.
From where did my lust for music come? I think it’s genetic. My Grandmother Powell played piano by ear. My Dad whistled while he worked.
Seventh grade at Hillsboro, Texas, school singing class, the other kids told the teacher to hear me sing. I did, in a falsetto voice. Afterward the teacher told me I would soon outgrow the falsetto. I never sang falsetto again.
At 16, I was a farm hand. Spent many long days driving a noisy tractor. I sang over the noise.
About eleventh grade I was the only boy in the Glee Club. At an assembly, I sang the solo in “Battle Hymn of the Republic."
My first Army job was at Brooke General Hospital. Among other jobs I was officer in charge of patient entertainment. Once I escorted Gene Autry around the hospital and introduced him at a show he put on for the patients.
At age 35, I saw Laura Weber on TV offering folk guitar lessons on TV. I sent for her book, bought a folk guitar and sat in front of the TV once a week for the lessons. She said that I should sing while I played. I learned about 15 folk songs. Rarely practice since starting farming. At 74 I can play only a few of the songs I knew before.
I sometimes say I know some of the words of every song and all of the words to no song.
Music jokes: A lady came over to the piano player and whispered in his ear, “Do you know your fly is open?” Piano player said, “No mam, but if you hum it I will play along with you.” OR “When I was a kid back on the farm we had a flood and Dad floated down the creek on the chicken coop. I accompanied him on the piano.”
In the ninth grade Mrs. Blackburn had us learn a poem which had a line that said, “The greatest race hasn’t been run and the greatest song hasn’t been sung.” I feel sure that the greatest song was sung several years ago. To me music is a matter of rhythm, melody and harmony. Melody and harmony seem missing from what many of the younger set call music these days.
A few years back I sang, “Good Night Irene” at a friend’s birthday party. I introduced the song by saying it had been on top of the Hit Parade three times. My friend called out joking me, “What’s the Hit Parade?” Everyone from our time knew what the Hit Parade was – it was an early day TV program featuring the countries top ten tunes of the week.
Posts
Harold, I enjoy your ramblings and miss reading the Temple Tribune. I wish there was some way of publishing it periodically on the internet.
ReplyDeleteI also have memories of music in junior and senior high school at THS. When I was in the 7th and 8th grades, we were "blessed" to have a Mr. Dean as our band director. He was quite a colorful character and probably a scoundrel, a least in the opinion of my mother who was the home economics teacher and who was sure that he was resonsible for the disappearance of her new coffee pot.
Our band room was in a room under the football stadium. The wood working shop was next door. Needless to say, the concrete floor, ceiling, and walls produced acoustical effects that were something to hear. I think the next year (1958), a new band room was built on the east end of the cafeteria building. The walls were covered with acoustical tiles and it even had individual private practice rooms. We had really gone up town.
The next order of business was to acquire new uniforms. Mr. Dean somehow cajoled (threatened most likely) some of us into going door-to-door all over town begging for money to buy the uniforms. My partner and I started out and eventually collected $10-12 before we knocked on a door answered by a very nice older gentleman who heard us out and then wrote out a check for $100. We were so flabbergasted that I doubt that we even said "Thanks."
I remember one year at homecoming when the football queen would be chosen. The candidates were supposed to ride on the back deck of a convertible in the parade downtown and also enter the football stadium in the same manner. However, convertibles were pretty scarce in Temple. There was none to be had except Mr. Dean's old yellow Studebaker, one of those models that looked the same whether coming or going. Nevertheless, they rode in the thing, but I don't know whether they thought is was an honor befitting a princess and prospective queen.
Later in the fall, Temple met the awesome football team from Fredrick. Fredrick High School had just combined with Fredrick's black school that year and gained several excellent players in the process. I can't remember the name of the black school, but I think it started with the letter "B". Several of the local wags started referring to Fredrick's team as "Fredrick-B..." Mr. Dean was one of those wags and he had the band practice making an "FB" formation all week during marching practice. This was going to be a part of our halftime show. Mr. Dean always did the half time commentary and when we went into the formation of the letters, he was supposed to announce that this was in honor of "Fredrick and add the name of the other school. However, when the time came, he chickened out and announced "Fredrick Bombers" over the PA. We were all so disgusted will him, but it was probably one of the few times he used what little tact he had.
Also during his tenure, we, along with several other bands, were invited to participate in a half time show at Cameron University. I think Lawton Douglas High School was playing Cameron in some type of exhibition game that night. Anyway, it started raining early in the game and by halftime the field was as muddy as a cow lot. All the visiting directors and bands declined to put their show on that night except for dear old Mr. Dean and the Tiger band. I guess he was determined that the show must go on, especially since we had traveled 35 miles to the game. Anyway, we slipped and sloshed through it in our white shoes. Occasionaly, there would be a distinct sucking, popping sound when someone stepped completely out of a shoe that was mired in the mud.
I'm sure I haven't even scratched the surface of tales about him. In '58 or '59 to most everyone's initial relief, Mr. Dean announced that he was moving to Texas when school was out. He was a hard taskmaster, drill sergeant, bully, and a strong, though not impartial disciplinarian. We were glad to see him go. But afterwards, I think we all missed him, and I don't think the band was ever again as spirited and capable as it was under the wild man.
Carroll Newberry (1962)
I believe my Mr Mize is the reincarnate of your Mr Dean.. He was a wonderful band director of the Mabank Panther Band, with the same temperment. I studied under him for three years, but the tales older bandmates gave to us during long busrides on the "yellow dogs" made us feel like we knew a much longer time. I remember an incident when we fail to live up to his expectations at an afterschool drill rehearsal and he started yelling and jumping around throwing his megaphone and sunglasses, telling us how much better we could have done it. It was a sight to see because he was very short and very stocky.
ReplyDeleteI cried when he told us he was leaving. And I never had the same amount of respect for the man that replaced him.
Heather Arnold
heatherbabe84.blogspot.com