Wherever in Texas there is a high school football game being played, there surely will be a high school band to play the team onto the field. This is the Friday Night Ritual.
Band was the best part of my high school experience. Loved the band trips to games, contests, and anyplace else we had to show up. Some of it was due to one of the great Directors we had: Norman Hemphill would probably be voted #1 by every musician he ever led. Remember the band’s collective groan, “Ohhhhh, DURN!” when there was a play gone bad on the field? Uncle Norm. When we wore a uniform, he wore a uniform. Mrs. Hemphill would occasionally drive the twirlers home from out-of-town games, bless her, and she was just as much fun as Mr. Hemphill.
We were led our Freshman and Sophomore years by the cold director Don Davis. No fun, but that’s the only time in our four years that we got a #1 rating at UIL marching contest. So….if you have to give up a fun time to get a “1” rating, include
me out.
But the largest part of the good times came from being part of a real team of kids. You don’t find many band members who are there because they need another class credit. They’re all there ON PURPOSE. If you don’t have a good time in band, it’s YOUR fault! I marched with the band Freshman and Sophomore years in the beautiful blue uniform, playing clarinet. About that uniform…it was wool, mostly. I roasted alive until the cold weather started, and froze to death thereafter. It was heavy and so was the hat. But when that drum cadence started and we filled the street on the way to the stadium, it was exhilarating! We had a mean drum section that could get your heart pumping. Did you ever hear Gale Sisco on a drum solo? For that matter, even though she was twirling more than playing, Sheila Davis was a heck of a drummer, too.
There is an adrenaline rush standing in the end zone with nervous anticipation, the crowd in the stands is completely silent, then the drum major’s whistle blows, the fanfare of the trumpets begins (Larry Harris, Gary Dorman, and Eddie Huddleston were terrific!), and you step out to a well-drilled routine. That’s where you get the REAL feel of performing—among the troops marching 8/5 (eight steps to 5 yards). I think it was Uncle Norm who changed it to 6/5. That’ll make your muscles scream! It’s harder than it looks, folks: take the exact number and size steps, remember which direction to turn on what note, play the CORRECT note, and hit your marks and notes all on time, in tune, and on location. Because if you don’t…EVERYbody in the stadium sees you!!! The Director HEARS you, and your comrades will snarl if you run into them. No pressure.
Practice, practice, practice. Up at o’dawn thirty during the school year to practice before class and after school until all hours sometimes. We had two-a-days in the pre-season just as the football team did. Up and down that 100 yards a million times a day. Oh, to be in that physical condition again!
I made twirler Junior year. A life-long dream! I had cousins preceding me, one a twirler and one a cheerleader in the '50s that I admired and wanted to be just like them. Clara mentioned the camp we went to at SMU. Man, was that fun! Bright lights, big city! I remember seeing the Packers get off the bus at the stadium where we had a twirling class. They were some of the biggest people I had ever seen, and so OLD! But the strangest thing that happened was that one of our instructors, a beautiful girl who was one of the Texas Stars (twirlers) at UT turned up later as my shorthand instructor at a refresher course I took at secretarial school in Dallas in the '70s. Small World Dept.
Neither rain, nor snow,….I have a vague memory of marching in Spearman (?) where it was bitterly cold, wind blowing 90 miles an hour, and snow flurries began. Fortunately, we were wearing the long pants to our white twirler uniforms, but there were many times we had the short-pants on in freezing weather…. Ever been in a West Texas norther in your skivvies? Not to be missed!
Practice, practice, practice. In addition to all that marching practice, the twirlers had to practice our show routines. We twirled fire, two batons, did dance routines, march routines, and won individual honors at UIL as a result of our hard work. In high school, it mattered a lot to us. We were pretty darned good, if I say so myself.
I was once a victim of my own football heroes. At the Olney game (don’t remember the year) we were setting up for half-time on the sidelines, rather than our usual entrance in the end zone. It was a preview of our performance we were taking to Amarillo for the upcoming UIL contest. Since the twirlers were entering the field last, we were lined up behind the band several rows deep. The last play before the buzzer began and the crowd was on its feet screaming. As usual, being of the short persuasion, I couldn’t see what’s happening. I have a vague memory of blue band uniforms and horns parting and a great scrambling going on, and then there were about three football players charging full steam in tackle mode. One of them got me with a shoulder pad and helmet, right in the mid-section and slammed me to the ground. The next thing I know, the doctor on call was waving smelling salts under my nose. A couple of people helped me up and found my hat. The show must go on! I managed to hobble through that half-time, but I think I was retired for the rest of the evening. This is the only game my parents missed while I was in school.
Marsha, Pat, Sheila, Donna, Tanya, and Brenda were great partners in the fun and work, and I wish I could see them all again. (I also wish that uniform still fit!)
Band was the best part of my high school experience. Loved the band trips to games, contests, and anyplace else we had to show up. Some of it was due to one of the great Directors we had: Norman Hemphill would probably be voted #1 by every musician he ever led. Remember the band’s collective groan, “Ohhhhh, DURN!” when there was a play gone bad on the field? Uncle Norm. When we wore a uniform, he wore a uniform. Mrs. Hemphill would occasionally drive the twirlers home from out-of-town games, bless her, and she was just as much fun as Mr. Hemphill.
We were led our Freshman and Sophomore years by the cold director Don Davis. No fun, but that’s the only time in our four years that we got a #1 rating at UIL marching contest. So….if you have to give up a fun time to get a “1” rating, include
me out.But the largest part of the good times came from being part of a real team of kids. You don’t find many band members who are there because they need another class credit. They’re all there ON PURPOSE. If you don’t have a good time in band, it’s YOUR fault! I marched with the band Freshman and Sophomore years in the beautiful blue uniform, playing clarinet. About that uniform…it was wool, mostly. I roasted alive until the cold weather started, and froze to death thereafter. It was heavy and so was the hat. But when that drum cadence started and we filled the street on the way to the stadium, it was exhilarating! We had a mean drum section that could get your heart pumping. Did you ever hear Gale Sisco on a drum solo? For that matter, even though she was twirling more than playing, Sheila Davis was a heck of a drummer, too.
There is an adrenaline rush standing in the end zone with nervous anticipation, the crowd in the stands is completely silent, then the drum major’s whistle blows, the fanfare of the trumpets begins (Larry Harris, Gary Dorman, and Eddie Huddleston were terrific!), and you step out to a well-drilled routine. That’s where you get the REAL feel of performing—among the troops marching 8/5 (eight steps to 5 yards). I think it was Uncle Norm who changed it to 6/5. That’ll make your muscles scream! It’s harder than it looks, folks: take the exact number and size steps, remember which direction to turn on what note, play the CORRECT note, and hit your marks and notes all on time, in tune, and on location. Because if you don’t…EVERYbody in the stadium sees you!!! The Director HEARS you, and your comrades will snarl if you run into them. No pressure.
Practice, practice, practice. Up at o’dawn thirty during the school year to practice before class and after school until all hours sometimes. We had two-a-days in the pre-season just as the football team did. Up and down that 100 yards a million times a day. Oh, to be in that physical condition again!
I made twirler Junior year. A life-long dream! I had cousins preceding me, one a twirler and one a cheerleader in the '50s that I admired and wanted to be just like them. Clara mentioned the camp we went to at SMU. Man, was that fun! Bright lights, big city! I remember seeing the Packers get off the bus at the stadium where we had a twirling class. They were some of the biggest people I had ever seen, and so OLD! But the strangest thing that happened was that one of our instructors, a beautiful girl who was one of the Texas Stars (twirlers) at UT turned up later as my shorthand instructor at a refresher course I took at secretarial school in Dallas in the '70s. Small World Dept.
Neither rain, nor snow,….I have a vague memory of marching in Spearman (?) where it was bitterly cold, wind blowing 90 miles an hour, and snow flurries began. Fortunately, we were wearing the long pants to our white twirler uniforms, but there were many times we had the short-pants on in freezing weather…. Ever been in a West Texas norther in your skivvies? Not to be missed!
Practice, practice, practice. In addition to all that marching practice, the twirlers had to practice our show routines. We twirled fire, two batons, did dance routines, march routines, and won individual honors at UIL as a result of our hard work. In high school, it mattered a lot to us. We were pretty darned good, if I say so myself.
I was once a victim of my own football heroes. At the Olney game (don’t remember the year) we were setting up for half-time on the sidelines, rather than our usual entrance in the end zone. It was a preview of our performance we were taking to Amarillo for the upcoming UIL contest. Since the twirlers were entering the field last, we were lined up behind the band several rows deep. The last play before the buzzer began and the crowd was on its feet screaming. As usual, being of the short persuasion, I couldn’t see what’s happening. I have a vague memory of blue band uniforms and horns parting and a great scrambling going on, and then there were about three football players charging full steam in tackle mode. One of them got me with a shoulder pad and helmet, right in the mid-section and slammed me to the ground. The next thing I know, the doctor on call was waving smelling salts under my nose. A couple of people helped me up and found my hat. The show must go on! I managed to hobble through that half-time, but I think I was retired for the rest of the evening. This is the only game my parents missed while I was in school.
Marsha, Pat, Sheila, Donna, Tanya, and Brenda were great partners in the fun and work, and I wish I could see them all again. (I also wish that uniform still fit!)
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