...But Music Was His Life

"Mr. Martin Tanner, Baritone, of Dayton, Ohio made his town hall debut last night. 
He came well prepared, but unfortunately his presentation was not up to contemporary professional standards.
His voice lacks the range of tonal color necessary to make it consistently interesting.
Full time consideration of another endeavor might be in order."

I first heard those words in 1990, Buffalo. It was WGI and I was 20. I had never hear of Harry Chapin, but after that weekend, I would never forget him. For most people, the Blessed Sac show revered the most is 1989, Gordon Lightfoot. Don't get me wrong. I adore that show and understand its absolute place in our activity. If You Could Read My Mind, set us on a path that would change everything we did. However, it was 1990 that would stay with me forever. I don't know if it was the lyrics of the song or the performance of the guard, maybe it was a combination of the two, but when I watched the show in prelims I knew I was changed. When WGI 1990 was over, I found myself actually buying Harry Chapin's greatest hits. This song that was released in 1973, would stay with me forever. I would spend the next three decades listening to it and analyzing it. Over time, I found that it mirrored a little of who I was and the activity I loved so much. 

Sometime in early January of this winter guard season, someone had told me that Avon HIgh School was redoing Mr. Tanner. My first thought was simple. "Oh my God." I spent all season avoiding the show on Facebook, avoiding conversations, and avoided every performance on FloMarching. I wanted to see it live, because I wanted to experience it like I experienced the first one. I wanted to experience it the way art should be experienced...in person. There was a time in our activity when we didn't have the means to share shows through social media and to be honest, there are times when I really miss those days. Back in my day, you would hear of a really cool show and have to wait until you saw it in person to know what it was people were talking about. You didn't go into Dayton knowing the nuances of the design or most of the equipment book. You just watched it as a brand new experience, in an arena filled with lovers of the same passion as you. 

"But music was his life, it was not his livelihood,
And it made him feel so happy and it made him feel so good.
And he sang from his heart and he sang from his soul.
He did not know how well he sang; It just made him whole."

Mr. Tanner speaks to me, because I'm guilty of trying to suppress what it is about me that makes me whole. And in the song, Mr. Tanner did just that after he was told that he should find another endeavor. I've always been a tech and when you're a tech, you spend your time in the marching arts behind the scenes of genius and that can become lonely. That loneliness has often turned to self doubt as I've surrounded myself by these artists who have talent I'll never realize. My own critic, the internal one that tells me I'm not good enough, silences my passion, just like the critics silenced Mr. Tanner. 


When you spend all weekend clapping through counts, there are times when you are lost in a world that doesn't seem real. You reach Monday morning and actually question where real life begins and where it ends. That's how we all feel after a weekend in Dayton. We get back to Monday and look around and can't believe there are people who don't understand that feeling of passion, of art, and of friendship. I always get back to work on Monday after Dayton and it doesn't matter how I explain it, I can't seem to get people to understand the history...my history. 

Ron Comfort, one of my best friends in the world, always asks at the end of WGI weekend, "How was your Dayton?"  A long time ago we realized that we can all be in the same city or same arena, and have completely different experiences. Dayton is different every year and I can never understand how someone could have a bad time. Even when my guards tanked I managed to find my joy, whether is was in the arena on Saturday night or in a hug of a friend I haven't seen in years. This year I had a completely different experience. It was prefaced by the fact that I have a new job where I work around people who believe their sport is the best. They believe in their activity and the life it has given them. They talk about it all the time. My job is one where passion meets the soul of the sport as they (we) literally fight everyday for its survival. I have found that the conversations of gymnastics is no different than the ones I have about color guard and drum corps. Passion is passion. We just all find it in different places. So this year, I was at work during prelims and watched much of it on FloMarching between meetings. I broke my rule and watched Avon, but I also shared it. I brought co-workers around my computer to watch what it was that I loved. These people who have watched Simone and Aly compete at the Olympics, watched Avon High School with me. Their reaction? Well...let's just say it was what I was hoping. Jaws dropped open and admiration from one sport to the other. "This is a high school?" They asked question after question.  I shared the love of color guard and it made me happy.I made it to Dayton by Thursday night and just in time to see some good friends and a few Independent A guards in Cincinnati. As the weekend continued I made sure to see as many guards I could...A, Open, World. I saw every class at some point during the weekend, admiring the art and the hard work. I enjoyed being a full time audience member for a change, because it allowed perspective. I was able to see friends and have a drink or two (or three or four), without anything holding me back from the experience. I never even acknowledged the scores or placements as I spoke to friends. I just wanted to enjoy their presence. I wanted to hang on to the moment.


"He came home to Dayton and was questioned by his friends.
Then he smiled and just said nothing and he never sang again,
Excepting very late at night when the shop was dark and closed.
He sang softly to himself as he sorted through the clothes."

Over the many years I took guards to Dayton, some seasons were better than others, as we have all experienced. There were times that what I thought was art, others thought was trash. I've said the phrase, "I'm done," more times than I care to count. For a little over three years now, I've been trying to find my way back. There were times I guess, I was looking to find my way out. There are many reasons for the soul searching, that included words such as discouragement, disbelief, skepticism, and exhaustion. Some of what I felt was a longing for the return to a time when we were a bit smaller as an activity and when I knew less. Some of it was my own personal need to expand my own horizons. The reasons aren't important. What's important is that somewhere alone with my thoughts, I sang softly to myself as I sorted through the clothes and within that song, I found my way back. 

"And it made him feel so happy and it made him feel so good.
And he sang from his heart and he sang from his soul."

And as for Avon? I didn't clap. I didn't cheer. I simply sat in awe. It was as if I was looking at a painting I had longed to see my entire life. It was flawless and what made it such, was the weekend that led up to that performance. Guard after guard came to win. The craft that so many have toiled over led to standing ovation after standing ovation in Dayton. Watching Avon allowed me to visit the past and the craftsmanship of 40 years of imagination and art. Through Avon I saw every designer, technician, choreographer, and performer that came before. When they were done, a simple tear fell down my face. I knew I had found my way back. When an activity such as this gives us all so much, it's important to have a moment where it all just flows over you. No analyzation. Just peace and reflection. 

To all the performers, designers, technicians, and choreographers of 2019. Thank you. 

To the Avon performers. You helped build a bridge where the past merged with the present and led us to the future. You will never be forgotten.