If You Could Read My Mind--The Show

I was there. I saw it live. It was a time in winter guard that for me, was innocent and pure. I saw nothing, but flags and rifles, and my favorite piece of equipment was a sabre. It was a time when World Finals occurred on Sunday morning, except we didn't call it World, we called it Open and the arena didn't sell out in the round. It was a time when the arena had a bit more intimacy and I was so wide eyed I didn't even know what Headquarters was or what it meant. The show was haunting and left an audience spell bound.

We all have that one show. It's the one that cements our time in the activity and whether or not we choose to continue along the pageantry path or not, it's how we see our time on the floor. I didn't march this show, but my God I was in the stands that Sunday afternoon when it changed the activity forever. I've been around winter guard since 1987 and in all my years have only missed one WGI. Since my first year I've seen a lot of shows, but this was the one that changed it all and there hasn't been another since. This show had such innovation that it changed the way we designed, spun, and cleaned and to this day, nothing has lead such a charge. Guards have tried, but not to this level.

"If you could read my mind love, what a tale my thoughts could tell."

They were Blessed Sacrament and the year was 1989. When I think back to that time, I remember a 19 year old girl wanting desperately to march in any independent guard anywhere. I really wanted to march State Street but, I also loved Pride and Miller's Blackhawks. Oh and then there was Alliance and San Jose. It was definitely a year to remember. It was Blessed Sacrament though, that sealed my fate in an activity that has kidnapped my time and creativity; body and heart. I remember watching the show live and to this day, remember where I was sitting and the silence in the arena as people feared to take a breath, because if they did, they might miss a moment. I remember the standing ovation that covered the arena like a slow wave, because most of us didn't want to stand up and cheer. When the show ended we just wanted to sit in our seats breathless and just take in the moment that comes so rarely in life. I was sitting in section 222.

Sometimes when I hear the song on the radio, the feeling is so palpable that I really feel as if I'm back there in that seat, in section 222. As the song plays, images that introduce the moment of the perfect rifle catch with a leap under it or the entrance of the white flags that left thousands of people breathless, play through my mind. I sometimes forget, which I think many of us do, that there was another song that played before that. No one ever talks about that song. We just call it the "Read your Mind" show. The one with the white flags.

"Just like an old time movie, about a ghost from a wishing well."

"In a castle dark or a fortress strong with chains upon my feet. You know that ghost is me."

"And I will never be set free, as long as I'm a ghost that you can't see."

I'm really glad that I saw that show when I did and at the age that I was. I'm glad I saw it before I started judging, because I fear if I had been judging I might have actually "judged it." I'm glad I saw it before I marched, because I was able to see it before I became their competitor. Mostly though, I'm glad I saw it before I became a little jaded and taught too many kids, judged too many guards, and played politics with too many people. I was just young. I was 19 and it was a perfect time to be introduced to what many of us would call the Renaissance of Winter Guard. In my opinion, Blessed Sac's 1989 show started the Renaissance, allowing for a flurry of talent and creativity to rise to the top of our hearts and giving us memories that will last a lifetime. That show paved the way for many of my guards to succeed as well. I often tell the kids I teach, that they will never grasp what those guards back in the "day" did for them today. All that soft pretty music A class guards do now?Well...we can thank 1989 to that. Ending flag features? Yep...1989. Solid silk flags? Once again...1989. Many of those moments came before 1989, but Sac put it all in one show and stamped the activity forever.

"Just like a paperback novel, the kind the drugstores sell."

"When you reach the part where the heartaches come, the hero would be me. Heroes often fail."

"And you won't read that book again, because the ending's just too hard to take."

Sometimes when I hear the music or someone posts the show on Facebook it makes me want to cry. I would do anything to feel that innocent again. I sit back and wish time would let me go back to that seat in 222, before I had a career, marriage, divorce, domestic violence, and kids; before I saw the activity from the corporate view. I wish I could take a breath of that moment one more time and watch as those white flags enter from the back. Each year in Dayton I sit in my seat and hope for a moment of innocence. It's hard, though. I know too much. I know how to judge the guards and read the sheets. I'm critical of not just the units, but sometimes the instructors as well. We know each other, too well and for that, our somewhat jaded eyes block the beauty. We are a little bit too connected and sometimes too catty. I, along with many others, have seen too much to go back. We appreciate. We value. We credit. We understand that time moves us forward and with time comes change. I guess that's what being old is. We understand it, but we might not always like it. Our perspective that time has given us, has also robbed us of innocent moments. I guess that's why I look for it in the young performers I work with. That's why I like the young ones.

"I walk away like a movie star who gets burned in a three way script. Enter number two."

"A movie queen to play the scene of bringing all the good things out in me, but for now love let's be real."


Sometimes when I judge the younger units, the ones we call, "the baby guards," I often want to say to them, "If you could read my mind...what a tale my thoughts would tell." I want the kids to hold on to it and breathe in whatever moment is theirs to breathe into. Over time I would eventually get my own moment on the floor as a performer and teacher. I think though, it was that Sunday afternoon in section 222, that is the one that takes me to a place where kids are just kids and we really were just flags in a gym. William Butler Yeats once said that the innocent and the beautiful have no enemy, but time. Well, one day time will take us all away, the ones that were in the gym on that fateful and memorable Sunday and the activity will be left to those who have their own 1989's. Some of us, many of us actually, are already gone. As the song says, "The story always ends." I just hope in the story, a a nod is given to the innocence that once was us and that an idea of simple white silks changed lives forever. Color guard can make the world a better place. At least it did for me.

Living Through The Renaissance of Winter Guard

The definition of the word renaissance means "rebirth." It is a renewal of life and an awakening of creativity and discovery. Some say that without the European Renaissance and its exploration of the human spirit, the modern civilized world would not be so civilized. Who or what would we be without Michelangelo's David or Leonardo da Vinci's, Mona Lisa? Literature, art, architecture, science, astronomy, and idea's came to life and set the stage for a new and modern world that is unmatched even today. It was the Renaissance that gave us the flush toilet, microscope and printing press...ALL inventions that not just influence our daily lives, but allow us to live as educated and articulate human beings. My God! Who would we be without the brilliance and free flow of ideas of that time? Shakespeare, Milton, and Dante. We are who we are because of these men. We still write books and make movies based on concepts and ideals of the literature of the Renaissance. It was the Renaissance that gave us Descartes who said, "I think therefore I am," and Shakespeare that said, "Cowards die many times before their deaths; the valiant never taste of death but once."

There once was a time when we as an activity experienced our own Renaissance. It was during the great Renaissance of Winter Guard that brought us tarp covered gym floors. We explored our bodies and space in ways never even considered at that time. We fed off of each other. In this time frame sometime in the decade between the late 80's and 90's, we educated ourselves on the intricacies of dance. The process of training changed to address space, time, weight, and flow. Lower body contributions started to enhance the equipment book as designers explored the concepts between drill and dance. At this time, costuming became an element of the design and not just an afterthought. Production value was a topic of great importance as many of us struggled to find our voice in the realm of this new General Effect. Painting floors grew to be an art form and then all of a sudden, Ensemble Analysis judges were discussing the "use of the floor" and the "changing of the stage" in reference to the tarp.

In the decade of the Renaissance, the activity freely explored music, It was a time before "THE LIST" came out and all music was up for grabs. With this exploration of music, soundtrack design became a topic over cocktails at the bar. Creativity in the World Class was expected and desired by the audience. The guards had unique looks and their shows spoke to identity first and the sheets second. We knew when walking through the parking lot of warm-up in Dayton, who was who. The Alliance of Miami looked vastly different than the San Jose Raiders and the San Jose Raiders looked vastly different than Blessed Sacrament. The shows were wicked exciting and finals gave us significant levels of diversity in approach and effect. I'll never, ever forget the year Bishop Kearney did Sybil. We all sat at headquarters like, "OMG! That bitch cut her hair!" And speaking of headquarters, it was even different back then. You think it was a party atmosphere now??? Well.........

I think though, my favorite part of the decade between 1989 and 1999, was that for the most part, a person who wanted to be a part of the activity at the World level could. The world staff's were fairly young, with minimal guidance. The judges and instructors were learning right along with each other and we were allowed to actually talk to each other. That dialog between judge and instructor...friends...was an invaluable element to the growth of the art. Every year brought something new, whether it was Blessed Sacrament exploring music subtlety in 1989 or San Jose exploring the movie soundtrack in 1992. I myself was a staff member at Shaktai in 1998 when the phrase, "Random Acts of Colorguard" was coined. Those random acts landed us in 6th place and you still see hints of it today. Looking back, it seems that exploration as an art was not just for those ranked the highest, but an expected norm in all the classes. At the time, staff members and performers stayed together...for years. You knew who taught who and where. Individual guards had styles and those styles stayed within that guard. It was also a time when making money on the back of the activity was rare. Some people did, but most didn't. It was a time before Pyware completely took over drill design, everyone owned a costume company, silks were produced at a premium cost and floors were designed in another state. This Renaissance forced us to learn to paint floors, sew flags, and design our own shows. With those skills, we were able to get dirty with the discovery of art. Most of us didn't hire big name designers. Some did, but it was a time in the activity that the average person could achieve finalist status in at least one of the classes with a little hard work, creativity, and technical training. We even designed technical programs that fit our style of show. We were forced to learn our craft! 

Now I know how I sound. "The old lady who walked in the snow to rehearsal, counting the show on an abacus," but that's not it. There is so much value to what is being achieved today. Kids today can out spin, out dance, and out perform any one of our guards from 1994. The designs border on professional art and we are now truly a performance entity first and colorguard second. I don't think this is a bad thing. I believe in evolution and I believe in change. The activity however, exists at its current state because of the Renaissance. You only see hints of it now, but it's there every time a floor is pulled out and a grande jete' under a sabre toss creates a moment of effect.

I'm writing this today, because for the past several years I've seen a trend of young people lacking an understanding of where their craft is truly derived from. I myself often pay homage to those that came before me. The activity is at an impasse. When you look at the A Class finalists from the past several years, it's rare to find a unit that got there without the paid help of a designer, not affiliated with the area the kids come from and its rare for those units to not be designed by an individual from the Renaissance age of the activity. It's hard to find a World guard that can sustain themselves in finals for multiple years in a row and when they do, their extraordinary budgets force them out faster than they hoped. Kids in the world class today are not kids. They are adults who border on professional dancer. We are in a dearth of training, because we have spent a decade focused on paid design over learning the process of spinning and those kids who are now adults, are struggling to understand how the equipment works. Part of this is because, as the activity becomes more sophisticated at its core, we aren't having the dialog needed to aid the instructor who marched World Class in this day of high design, transfer that refined design to the skills necessary for an awkward 14 year old to be successful.

We are in a time where there is a guard on every corner, allowing the performers to move on as soon as something doesn't go their way. We are in a time when there aren't enough staff members to sustain weekend rehearsals, because many are working first at the average high school that pays and the independent program that doesn't, second. Kids don't age out anymore, so failure and opportunity to learn doesn't come at  the ripe old age of 22 as it used to, but at 26 and 30 and 35.

If we as an activity are to see a new Renaissance, the young people of today must explore their own ideas and own failures. They must be allowed to achieve success in their own names. Now I'm not sure how to do this, since the A Class is not really a training class any longer and kids truly can leave any program and walk down the street to the next when they don't make finals. When staff members are trying to make a living off of the activity, without paying their dues working for free at the one program that allows them to play and explore, then they are forced into a system of accountability that comes with a salary, that they might not be ready for. In the end, what we get is a lot of average looking guards, that have moderate level training, moderate level design, and who all look very similar to each other. We have brilliance in this activity. It's absolute brilliance that I can't often wrap my head around, but much of that brilliance is coming from those of an earlier time. Some people might say this is a cruel statement, but the truth is hard and maybe when the activity starts exploring at deeper levels of their history and their present, then we will be able to truly move into the future.

Finally, let's always remember the lessons of the past and the words of Michelangelo, "The greater danger for most of us lies not in setting our aim too high and falling short, but in setting our aim too low, and achieving our mark."

Those Rare Moments When Life As You Know It Changes

On Monday, August 11th, the world stopped and held its breath as we heard of the death of Robin Williams. Many of us took to social media to collectively share our grief in what we hoped was some sick joke. In disbelief we stared at our computers, smart phones, and t.v. screens as the details emerged of his suicide. I sat with Facebook open on one device, while Twitter was open on the other, watching collective grief unfold. I myself couldn't type a status update for hours, because I simply couldn't find the words. I don't think anything I could say here on this blog could match the brilliant and touching words spoken by many others around the world, but just like everyone else, I have spent the week trying to make sense of a death that made no sense and here is what I discovered during this moment of reflection.

Somewhere between the years of childhood innocence and middle age, every person, every single person, whether they like it or not, finds that the world as it was explained  in fairy tales and Disney movies was a lie. We start to find that the magic of marriage, the romance of babies, the patriotism of the American citizen, the honesty of religion, and the heart of man, is not what "they" said it was and once we grew up and realized that Santa wasn't real, we realized that life; the world we live in, was a constant puzzle to unravel until the day we die.

It takes a moment like August 11th to shake us to our core, to wake us up to a reality we don't want to see. As children of the 80's, we saw nothing but sunshine and roses. The Gen Xers grew up in a time where money flowed freely to the middle class and war was a conversation our parents had about a time we knew nothing about. Our grandparents had Pearl Harbor and the Great Depression and our parents had hippies, Kennedy, and Vietnam. Nothing defined us. I can actually remember sitting with my friend Chris on top of the elevator of the music building, late at night on the campus of the University of Tennessee campus asking each other if we would be the forgotten generation of history. We didn't realize then, that our longing for "big life moments" would come to us in waves as the world kept getting scarier and scarier.

I have found that in life, the moments that define us are the ones that shake us to our core. As a nation; as a world, those moments are rare, but when they do happen it takes us sometimes from cradle to grave to truly understand. In the world we live in today, the moments I'm referring to are becoming more frequent. I remember the first national core shaker in my lifetime was Columbine. I was 29.  After April 20, 1999, we no longer lived in a world where children went to school safe. I was at work when it happened and watched as teenagers ran from the school and we all wondered, "What type of world are we living in?" Then came 9/11. Then came Katrina. By the time Katrina happened, Columbine seemed a distant memory of something we were just used to. Then came the first black President. Then, with all levels of horror, disbelief, and grief I can write, came December 14th, 2012. I remember watching the news flashes come across my computer at work and I couldn't breathe. We were now living in a world where elementary school children were shot to death as they colored and learned their ABC's. I stood with my co-workers in the break room watching the news and cried with them. The world would never be the same. We would separate our lives using the phrase, "Pre Sandy Hook and Post Sandy Hook." The concept of childhood innocence was gone. The world was truly frightening.

As time passes, many of us are realizing that these moments are coming to quickly. They are happening too often. The world is at war with itself and it makes Vietnam look like a party. We have a government that is bought and sold to the highest bidder and a nation that rears the head of hatred and bigotry more than we ever believed existed. As a guard director and judge, I have found that the activity shields me from the horrors of the world. Walking into the gym to teach a round of drop spins or sitting with friends to design the "next big thing" allows me to escape from the nonsense the world brings us. I have found that I can go through an entire winter season and never engage with the horrors of life. And if we are all honest with ourselves, we will admit that a side benefit to the pageantry arts is the disconnect to real life. Maybe, that's why so many hide in it for as long as they do.

When I heard of the suicide of Robin Williams I was devastated. I couldn't however, place my finger on the reason why. I mean, I never knew him. Never met him in my life. Hollywood gives us these brilliant artists often, just so we can watch as they die early. You would think after Marilyn Monroe, Janice Joplin, and Elvis, we would all be use to it by now. I remember the first actor's death I was truly disturbed by. It was Heath Ledger. Oh my God was he brilliant and I was stunned.

"How can someone of that level of talent die? We need him," I remember thinking.

Then, on February 2, 2014, we lost Phillip Seymour Hoffman. Another side of brilliance. I think I've seen everything he's ever done. I remember watching him in the movie, Copote, engrossed in the fact that I was watching art come to life. After thinking about it, I realized that when we lose such levels of talent, we feel like art dies. It's a part of us dying. We wonder if life is worth living, because in a world that practices violence and hate so blatantly wanton, it takes the death of an artist to wake us up to the beauty of life. Robin Williams, whether we realized it or not, helped us forget that we live in a world where people kill other people. He played characters that personified the human condition and those characters helped us heal. His movies helped bring us from whatever hell we were living and gave us something to smile about. After Sandy Hook, I remember watching the movie, Hook. I needed to see it. I needed to see a movie about childhood and the adventures of the human imagination. Twenty children lay dead and I needed to know that there was still good in the world. Coincidentally, Hook was the first marching band show I ever taught and designed.

When thinking about how I would write this, I knew I wanted to pay tribute to the things in my little corner of the world that has helped me heal over the years. In our activity called the marching arts, I have had many. We all have. Those shows were of pure brilliance and was a brief reminder that life was good. They had beauty that we seek with all our hearts to find, whether we realize it or not.  I remember watching Blessed Sac change life as we all knew it, when we saw a block of white flags enter from the back leaving an arena full of people breathless. There was Emerald Marquis dancing an Irish jig. There was Escapade presenting R.E.M. There was Pride bringing Alcatraz to life. There was the Blue Devils performing to Summertime. There was also however, San Jose Raiders presenting their tribute to the movie, Good Morning Vietnam. It was 1992 and it changed the activity.

If you didn't see San Jose in 1992 live, then you didn't really see it. I sat in awe, watching a movie come to life, hearing Robin Williams voice wake an arena.

"The Mississippi River broke through a protective dike today. What is a protective dike? Is it a large woman that says "Don't go near there! But Betty- Don't go near there! Don't go down by the river!"... No, we can't say "dyke" on the air, we can't even say "lesbian" anymore, it's "women in comfortable shoes. "

I went to the bar with friends repeating the phrase, "Women in comfortable shoes." It was Robin Williams voice speaking to an arena full of people in Ohio, making a bunch of silly guard people feel happy. It's something I bet he never knew existed, but I would do anything now to tell him how he made us all feel.

We are so lucky in this activity of ours. We have the ability to create art. We can analyze it, critique it. debate it, and emulate it. Art is pure and when performers bring it to life, it takes us to a place that is uniquely genuine. It is the reason we live. To feel passion through art is rare, but a rarity we must always strive for. It shows us that the human soul is truly good.

To Robin Williams, you were the embodiment of art. You touched our souls and it was pure. You could make us laugh and cry all within one movie. When we left the theater after watching one of your movies, we left a better human being. We left a human being that felt human again. When San Jose ended their show, they ended with the song, "What A Wonderful World," by Louis Armstrong. When I think of you Mr. Williams, I will think of that song, because it is a wonderful world and you helped us feel that.

Thank you for helping us see the world in color and helping us dream and if I may quote you, "Only in their dreams can man be truly free. 'Twas always thus, and always thus will be."

The Indubitable Force of the Smallest Colorguards

They wore backless dresses, with a plunging neckline. The dresses were the color slate; a mix between blue and grey. They had just one piece of equipment and it was a simple white flag, with a lame' purple circle to accent it. The floor was grey. Their placement was 8th place in Independent World, with a score of 88.55. It was 1992 and the music was Adagio for Strings. There were 9 performers on the floor and their simple essence filled an arena of thousands. Their name was San Marino Academy and they were beautiful. They were elegant and they were unforgettable.

It’s a numbers game. Sometime in the fall, guards all over the country host auditions in the hopes of a successful winter season. Success as we all know cannot be measured in scores alone and in fact, anyone who has taught in this activity any length of time will say that scores are usually the last measure of success. Any good program measures their success in a number of ways that can include the overall satisfaction of the performers to effectively balancing the budget. Any good guard director worth their weight in proverbial gold will create a budget at the beginning of every year of what they would consider their perfect scenario.

“If we have 30, then we can add one more show to the schedule and have a little left over to pay the staff.”

“I have this great show in mind, but it would really take about 18 performers to pull it off.”

“With all the props needed for my show idea, we would need a big guard to set it all up.”

It’s rare to hear a director talk about the desire to have a smaller guard. In fact, I’m not sure I've actually heard anyone say before an audition, “OMG I certainly hope we only have nine on the floor this year. I’m taking the nine most talented and cutting everyone else.” It doesn't happen and if it does, it’s very rare. We want the numbers. The more performers on the floor is usually a strong indicator of the amount of money that flows into the program. The more performers on the floor often times gives a program staff an over inflated sense of self importance of how young people see their program from the outside. “Wow…they have 30. This must be a program that other kids love to go to.” As a spectator we often catch ourselves counting the performers on the floor. I’ve done it. We all do at some point each season. “Dear God, how many kids are out there anyway? It looks like there are 50 kids on that floor,” you often hear yourself or a friend exclaim. In World Class, a program can be represented by 40 different performers. That’s 40 kids to fill the huge arena in Dayton. That’s 40 kids to pay dues. That’s 40 kids who are able to take a show concept and each take on a role and bring a complex story to life. That’s 40 kids, 10 extra than any other class and 10 extra pulling from the A and Open Class community. (I don't really have an opinion on that rule...wink.) Numbers are important and we all know it.

Large colorguards have a strong advantage…at least that’s what we have all been made to believe. When a guard has 25 to 30 members, they can fill a small gym at a local show in massive amounts of fabric and tosses. Their fans have the potential to outnumber every other guard in the gym that day to create a higher sense of crowd response. If one performer quits or misses a show, it isn't the end of the world. As a designer, when you teach a large colorguard you can play the “hiding game,” with a lot more finesse than you can with a guard with only 8 or 9 performers.  What is the hiding game? Oh my friend, we all know how that game is played.

28 performers are on the floor in the midst of a massive ending flag feature. It’s the big ending. It’s the exclamation mark at the end of a fantastically written book. It’s beautiful, except for one thing. Five of the 28 can’t throw the final toss. OMG! What is a designer to do?  “I know…Why don’t we turn all the performers in different directions on the toss, with the five who can’t throw it turning to the back 45?” the designer says.  "I have another suggestion," as the brilliant tech speaks up. “If we go back two sets, we can move those five people to the back corners and get them off the center.” “BRILLIANT!” The judges will never know. (ummm…ok, because scanning and sampling dictates that we only stay on the center five kids)

As an audience member there tends to be a tendency to react and respond to the numbers game. When a guard with 25 members attempts a rifle feature with all 25 of its members, with intricacies of layered movement and multiple tosses, then we all cheer.  We all cheer even when 5 out of the 25 catch the tosses on the half and we cheer even when on the final quad, someone drops, 3 people move to the side, 4 people plie’ on the catch, and the free hands were addressed as an afterthought. It happens every year and it’s a trap that even I as an audience member have fallen for, even when I should know better. They are games of the design and they are meant to fool you. As a staff member, I have taught guards that have done considerable rifle features when over half of those rifles never should have picked up a rifle to begin with, much less spin it in a world class show, but it was there and the crowd ate it up...as well as some of the judges.

Having large numbers on the floor is addicting for a number of reasons and I have taught both. I've taught the guard with 30 and I've taught the guard with 9. Both have been successful and both have failed. I’m here today to make the case for the 9 or the 10 or the 11, because those guards capture the performance arena in a way that is unique and lovely.

The guards I’m talking about here have less than 10 members on the floor and sometimes the random 11. You see them more at the local level then you do at the national level. At the local level and especially in the less experienced classes such as B or Novice, those guards are often pieced together by the last eight guard members to survive the marching band season. Some are made up of nine kids who half are from the band and the others are the lasting veterans of a school that was rezoned. Some of those guards are taught by the guard captain, because they don’t have the funds to afford a staff. Some are small simply because the student body of the school is small in comparison to its competitor across town. 

Then there are your independent guards; the small independent guards attempting to survive in a sea of 20, 30, and 40.  Some are from states such as Ohio, where the Independent World Class flourishes or Florida, where in any given season 18 to 25 independent units can be seen making the trek to Dayton. It’s a numbers game and in the course of two seasons a guard’s numbers can fluctuate from 20 to 10 in just a blink and all the analyzing of “why” will never increase those numbers, no matter how successful you are. So what do you do? How do you reconcile a limited budget and performers who have the weight of a program balanced upon their shoulders? What about designing for smaller numbers when your show idea entailed at least 16? We all grapple with it at some point during our guard careers and the response is an interesting study in resilience and creativity.

So who are they? Who are the ones that set the standard for the brilliance and eloquence of the small and mighty?

They go by the name of the 27^th Lancers…an icon. It’s 1988 and there are only 9 on the floor. They are aggressive. They are fierce and Mary…they have a rifle line that would rival some of the best world class guards today.  Nine performers who don’t shrink the challenge of captivating and audience of thousands with their skill and drill that doesn’t stop for five minutes, before a break is given to any one performer. The book includes body wraps, level changes, and the use of space that is often difficult for some of the larger teams. It is 1988 and they are in a class with the State Street Review, Cavaliers, and Blessed Sacrament. They competed against guards with male rifle lines who were able to get the crowd to yell just for being hot. They were up against guards that could create effect just by rotating a block, because that block was so massive. These 9 women competed in an era of mass and left the arena as rock stars.

They are a high school guard with a rich history. With reasons unknown to me, they came to Dayton with just 11 girls. Their name is Carroll High School and they were nothing short of brilliant. It is 1995 and a very competitive year for Scholastic World. It was a class to be reckoned with. It was the infamous year that landed Bishop Kearney in the history books with their interpretation of Sybil. Miamisburg was one of the cleanest colorguards to ever seen in any scholastic class. Northmont and McGavock were beautiful as they interpreted classics. It was Carroll though, that left an audience in true wonderment as 11 girls moved from prop to prop without stopping and without ever giving the audience a chance to count how few were actually performing on the floor. They left the arena that night with a medal around their neck, while making a statement that a few young women can prove to themselves and the world, that they can take on anybody.

To design for a small colorguard is a skill. It takes imagination, resourcefulness, and the ability to throw all former ideas out the window. It takes a special group of performers to know that every moment on the floor is their moment. There is no hiding in a nine person colorguard. Technically, they must be superb. Catching on the half is more of a no/no than in the world of the guards of 25 and 30. Each effect in contingent on all 8 or 9 or 10 executing their role flawlessly. Now, I know what the argument is. “Well, catching on the half is a no/no in any guard. No one should think it’s o.k.” True, but I ask you to think about this. In the process 16 count phrase that ends with a sabre five, how fast can your eye scan the entire floor of let’s say 20 performers spinning sabre vs. 8? Do you catch all 20 like you can all 8? In a flawless phrase, which guard is forgiven more for a drop at the end, the guard of 20 or the guard of 9? Before you respond, think about the crowd response when one piece of equipment hits the floor when there are 25 spinning vs.10? Think about the number of vignettes a guard of 30 can create during any phrase vs. the amount of vignettes in a guard of 9, knowing that vignettes are a wonderful distraction when the kids just don’t have the chops to pull off a phrase from start to finish. Think about a maybe "less than" experienced judge whose ability to sample is not at the level of their more experienced counterpart?

When researching this article I watched a lot of colorguards. I looked and I listened. I took notice of the intimacy. Intimacy: "a close association with or deep understanding of subject or place." A guard that lets you inside their world and really dig into their emotion, their character, and their skill is a rare one. You don’t see them often. It is a risk. “What if I put my 9 girls out there and just one of them doesn't live up to the role they have been given? I can’t hide her. I can’t cut her.” The beauty, the true magnificence of a small colorguard is their ability to let you into their world. You get to know the performers as if you could reach out and touch them. Their faces are real and aren't hidden. You become familiar with them as they open the door to their character and over time, they risk letting you know them and judge them as not a colorguard, but as who they are on the inside. That nine person ensemble knows that they are vulnerable in ways 30 and 40 are not and that’s the true secret and the true gift to the audience. 

Teaching a guard of any size is a challenge. Each size guard has their special challenges. Some say they would rather have a small guard over a large any day, because the drama is less. The numbers game is a scary one. When you have too many performers you risk clutter and you risk running out of time to proficiently train. A small guard may risk the words most of us loathe to hear from any judge, "thin." An injury of just one performer in a guard of 8 can devastate their season. All the kids and all the guards bring something to the table to value, but often times we overlook the complexities of the smallest of them. 

In the opening of this post I described one of my favorites, San Marino Academy of Dramatic Colorguard. I remember them like it was yesterday. I remember one flag and one fishtail that started in the back 45 corner of the floor and flowed from one performer to the next. I remember the pause as the last girl subtlety grabbed the flag, finished the final fishtail and just paused long enough for the audience to see a 9 person perfect turn out of the foot. They allowed us to absorb the intricacy of breath in that one moment. It was lovely and left us all breathless. 

There have been many of those guards, too many actually to mention here, but they don't always get the credit they deserve and aren't always remembered. A personal favorite from Florida was "Beyond" and I use to love to sit in the stands and watch as 9 girls brought Tracy Chapman's, "Fast Car," to life weekend after weekend. By the end of the season we knew them. We could feel their energy, because those 9 performers allowed the audience to explore who they were and with a road painted on the floor and no props to hide behind, we fell in love with them and watched them dominate in Dayton.

As we start a new season and start a new numbers game, I encourage directors and performers, judges and audience members to embrace those guards of 8 or 9 or 10, because you never know. You never know if you might just end up designing for, judging, or watching the next 1988 27th Lancers.