Dayton...It's a Verb (!)

I was 16 when I attended my first Dayton. I have found that over the years I have a hard time calling it "WGI." I call it "Dayton." Even in the years we were in Milwaukee and San Diego, I called it Dayton.

"It's coming up on Dayton time."
"While performing in Dayton..."
"It's time. Dayton's here."

Technically, the word Dayton would normally be considered a proper noun. A place people go. A place to be. For me, Dayton is an action verb. Dayton is something we do. Dayton allows us to experience a moment or a thousand moments. My friend Ron Comfort describes Dayton like this, "At the end of the week, we find that everyone's experience was unique and personal," and then he asks, "So, how was your Dayton?"

It was 1987 and it was my first ever Dayton. It was one of those years that people still talk about to this day. It was a time when the mannequins came to life and we played inside the fun house. Circle, cycle, circle...what? Dayton came alive with colors and we all learned to toss a rifle while making the square root symbol underneath. We explored Heaven and Hell and it was 1987, when I experienced triple finals for the very first time. At that time World Class was called Open Class and Open finals took place on Sunday.

Dayton. It's the one time a year when ordinary teenagers become rock starts and adults who spend their days as teacher and accountant, become icons. The alcohol flows freely and the laughter is boundless. I love Dayton and by the time Sunday morning rolls around and the last medal has been placed around the neck of the winners and the confetti cannons have been emptied out, we wake up to a reality that seems surreal and a little sad. We say goodbye to our friends with all the love in our hearts and tell them that we'll see them next year and we will miss them.

Dayton...the verb. It's a week filled with preparation from the moment you buy your first new outfit, to the final touches to a colorguard you are teaching. For many of us, Dayton is the time of the year where we leave the problems of home, the stress of the job, and the realities of day to day life, to go and play in a world where art convenes with sport and friends from long ago find their way back to the center of their soul. Dayton, the city...well, Dayton the city is nothing short of a a hell hole. I'll admit it. It's dingy, brown, and constantly under construction. It rains every single year. I find nothing interesting about the city of Dayton...the noun, but Dayton the verb? Well, it's a world that I live and breathe.

I love to see new faces in Dayton of the freshmen who are performing for the first time and the parent totally taken aback. I always wonder if their first Dayton is transpiring to be as exciting as mine was. I remember it like it was yesterday. I remember driving by the arena for the first time and David Baker my guard instructor saying, "There it is." I remember thinking...AND? And is right. To this day, that first moment of the arena sighting is like waking up on Christmas morning. I remember triple finals in Dayton and watched as Union did the mannequin show and if you weren't there, you can't possibly understand. It was stunning and mesmerizing and haunting. I knew then, right then, that I would be back. I often ask friends, "So what was the guard that did it for you?" I remember Sunday morning Independent Open Finals and sat in amazement watching Miller's Blackhawks and the colors come to life. When the boys entered on red...well...let me just say I was a 16 year old girl thinking..."They are so hot!" Then there was State Street Review...Heaven and Hell. Some of my best friends today were in that show. That's another thing about Dayton. You never know who will walk out on to that arena floor that you will eventually be having a drink with later in life. It's the Universe saying, "Pay attention. Your best friend just walked into your life."

When I went to Dayton for the first time, the souvie tent was less commercial. It seemed that it was more about the colorguards there to share a piece of their season. You could buy their show shirts or a button to wear in support. I had a button that said, "My color is red."   It was a time when warm up was in the tent. God I loved the tent! There was a special feeling about walking into the tent. You knew that it was on. The time was now. You were in the tent.

When I teach, I often use the phrase, "I'm not telling you it will be easy, but I will tell you that it will be worth it." The road to Dayton is a difficult one for every single person involved, whether it's the performer, the staff member, the judge, the contest staff or the parent who sits on the sidelines for support. Each and every one of us work hard and often struggle to get to that Dayton moment, whatever that Dayton moment may be, but the struggle my friend...Oh it is so worth it.


From the moment you arrive in Dayton, to the moment you say goodbye to the arena as you drive by for the last time, it's as if time stands still. You are lost in a sea of faces from the past and memories of shows and headquarters antics, that rush you upon the first step you take into the Marriot.

When I think of Dayton, I think of it as a black and white photograph from long ago. Dayton reminds me of a time I've only read about, but have spent a lifetime imagining and romaticizing. Landing in Dayton after a year away and seeing the arena, while eagerly anticipating the exit to Edwin C. Moses Blvd. is to me, like knocking on the secret door to a speakeasy in the underground of 1920's Chicago. Only a few people know about it and you have to have a secret password to get in. It's our world and it's our underground. We are the lucky few who found the oasis in the middle of a prohibition. We found the party when the world around us stayed dry. Music is the cornerstone to our nightclub and is a place where dance and beauty converge. Artisty lies in the dress of the attendees and the cocktails flow as if we only have today. It is magic and it is love. It is life!

There is one song, that when I hear it, I think of Dayton the verb. I think of the people and the shows. I see the arena and the Friday night party at the Marriot. When I hear this song, I think of every friend I've known and the history and love we share between us. When Sunday comes and the speakeasy closes among a sun rising on Dayton, we see that the verb has become the noun and the world is a little less interesting. So my friends, I would like to close with this song and know that I'll be waiting for you in this sweet hideaway called Dayton and let's make it one for my baby and one more for the road.


Quarter to three. there's no one in the place except you and me.
So set 'em up, joe. got a little story
I think you should know.
We're drinkin', my friend, to the end
Of a sweet episode.
Make it one for my baby
And one more for the road.
Got the routine so drop another nickel
In the machine.
Oh, gee, i'm feelin' so bad. wish you'd make the music
So dreamy and sad.
You could tell me a lot. but it's not
In a gentleman's code.
Let's make it one for my baby
And one more for the road.

You may not know it,
But buddy you're a kind of poet.
And you've had a lot of things to say.
And when i'm gloomy
You always listen to me,
Until it's talked away.

Well, that's how it goes.
And john i know you're getting
Anxious to close.
So, thanks for the cheer.
I hope you didn't mind me
Bending your ear.

For all of the years,
For the laughs, for the tears,
For the class that you showed,
Make it one for my baby
And one more for the road.
That long long road.

Championships...Somewhere.

This past Sunday morning I stepped off the plane in Tampa from a long, but glorious weekend in Raleigh, judging the Atlantic Indoor Association's circuit championships. As is every championships weekend in every circuit and every year, there is a collective feeling of exhaustion that comes from a year's worth of passion and emotion, balled up into one weekend together. When I walked out of the jetway into the bright lights of Gate C, on an early Sunday morning, my Ipod which was on shuffle played Barbara Streisand's, "Somewhere." I heard the dissonant sound of the opening chords and thought, "Wow. Here I am back in the real world and all I really want to do is go back to somewhere." 

There's a place for us. Somewhere a place for us.

Peace and quiet and open air

Wait for us somewhere.

When I go through my life, I look for and believe in signs. I don't believe the universe makes mistakes. So when "Somewhere" started playing as soon as I stepped into the light, I felt like it was trying to speak to me. You can call me the crazy lady channeling Shirley Mclaine or you can just go with me on this little journey of mine. 

There's something about Championships weekend that allows you to keep going, even though you want to collapse. It's the adrenaline, the stress, the sadness, the happiness, and the passion all wrapped into one 48 hour period. It's rare in life to experience that much emotion in one short time frame. The dopamine levels of the brain must be off the charts during a championships weekend, because only with that much dopamine could the brain allow so much focus, stamina, and vigor. It's no wonder that so many people report struggling at work after a weekend of such immense pleasure. It's almost like being in love. You don't sleep or eat. You can stay up all night and the body's response allows you to keep pushing through, even though you mind says, "It's time to stop." After a long day at the show, doing whatever it is your job is to make the day special, there is always this feeling of not wanting to let it go. You linger after retreat just a little bit longer and hang out in the hotel lobby not wanting to say goodbye. 

When I watched the kids walking on the floor for retreat, I just wanted to hold on to that moment. An entire season of intense passion was about to come to an end. As a judge, it's important for me to see that moment. I need that reminder of why we do it. I need to see the kids with their balloons and flowers. I need to see every kid I judged that day just one more time, all together standing for a common goal. 

While watching them, I wanted to tell them something. I wanted to say, "Remember this. Don't let it go." Because as the song says,...there's a place for us. When life gets scary, you can come back here. It's our place. We are waiting. Every judge cares. Every contest staff member. Every alumnus. 

There's a time for us. Someday there'll be a time for us.  Time together with time to spare. Time to learn, time to care. Someday, somewhere.

When I go away for a color guard weekend, I leave all my real world stress behind. There are no politics to debate and the cruelty of life is halted if only for a moment. We are one. There's not another place in my life that I can find where so many people come together for one common goal and it's never more apparent than retreat at championships. Win or lose, I never see the kids leave the floor angry. There is only joy. 

We'll find a new way of living. We'll find there's a way of forgiving.

A new way of living. I believe that when I was born, the universe gave me this gift of pageantry and it would be wrong to not do something with it. Whether it's the one kid who only got one year or us middle aged idiots that come back year after year, it's our way of living. There's a peace to it that comes from the honesty you share when you create with another human being. Your heart goes into these shows and only in that level of honesty can you truly find peace. I never take for granted the emotion the kids share with us from the cadet guard through the world guard. It's real and I often wish all of life could be that honest. I wish in my real life I could be as real as I am in the gym.

Somewhere. There's a place for us. A time and a place for us. 

At championships I always want to tell the kids that this is your time. Enjoy it and cherish it. Don't waste it! I often wonder if any of them realize that this place of passion and honesty, is rare. In life people hate and they are mean. People do things that are not in the best interest of mankind. People lie and they are hurtful. Life is cruel, but in this world we call winter guard, there's a fervor of love that is surpassed by almost nothing you will find in the rest of the world. 

Hold my hand and we're half way there. Hold my hand and I'll take you there. 

Some of the best people I know are in this activity. We have held each other's hands in our darkest hours of life. We've cried together and laughed until our sides hurt. I feel that when I'm with them I'm a better person. We look out for each other and the bond only gets stronger throughout life. There are people I see only once a year and it's like time has stood still waiting for our moment to come back around. Time is endless in this activity and I just inherently believe at the end of each season, that I'll see everyone again. Real life seems to stop in this amalgam of seasons and we are able to focus on what's important...each other.

Somehow. Someday. Somewhere.

In the movie West Side Story the song "Somewhere" is sung to relay this message that there is a time and place where we will all find peace with our fellow man. The bickering will stop and life will become tranquil. We will be as one. It's Championships retreat when I am reminded of that feeling. There is so much boundless joy that it often makes me cry. 

As the kids were walking on the floor for retreat, I was immediately taken aback by this image I had. In my minds eye, I saw a snow globe. I saw a world we have created for ourselves that allows for creativity, healthy dialog, friendship, passion, devotion, and emotion. In that snow globe are kids growing up to appreciate one another. The adults pass the knowledge on and value the lives of the kids entrusted in their care. This snow globe explores music and art. Color is endless. People work as one. Everyone is beautiful.

So, as I place my snow globe of 2015 on the mantel and shake it one last time, I see memories of the past falling down as the snow and as the kids look up to catch just one flake, they take their place in the history books of this world we call winter guard. 

In a New York Minute

In a New York minute
Everything can change
In a New York minute
Things can get pretty strange
In a New York minute
Everything can change
In a New York minute

Throughout my life in the winter guard activity, I have always wanted to design a show around the Don Henley song, "New York Minute." I've proposed it to just about every designer I've ever worked with and none of them will bite. They just look at me like I'm high or something and give me reason like tempo this or rhythm that. They humor me and say, "Well I'll think about it." Yeah...ok...whatever. In my mind, the show looks at the turning of life on a dime. When I hear the song I see the image of a woman hunched over a glass of bourbon in a dingy bar covered in thick smoke from a lit cigarette, and with bags under her eyes; similar to the infamous Joni Mitchell album cover. How do you capture that concept of on a gym floor and in five minutes? How do you convey that feeling of complete shock and the disabling of time that occurs in the instant that fate takes a hand, placing you on a path never considered or thought of? Maybe the no's have less to do with tempo and meter and more to do with the challenges of my questions. 


This past weekend, the USF Winter Guard was involved in an incident resulting in a bus fire, while participating in the WGI Atlanta Regional. I am not involved with this program, nor do I know the details, but whenever I hear about an event that involves a pageantry unit while travelling, the hair on the back of my neck stands up and a knot the size of a grapefruit forms in the pit of my stomach. On the outside and from what we were told, everyone managed to escape unharmed, barring the exception of the loss of property. I was judging in Orlando on Saturday when announcement after announcement was made describing the incident and asking for financial support from the audience. It's interesting, because I've heard that announcement before. In fact, I've heard it more than once and could almost recite it by myself and without thought. If you follow this blog you know that every so often the incident of McGavock High School, enters into my thoughts. I've written about it multiple times and the article I wrote  two years ago on the 25th anniversary of the tragedy, received over 10,000 hits. On a cold Sunday afternoon after a WGI regional, fate changed the lives of kids, instructors, parents, a school, and a community forever. In a New York minute everything had changed. Everything! 

If you stay in the activity long enough, it's inevitable that one day you will be trolling social media when you read the announcement. "Guard involved in accident." It also could be a band or a drum corps. Sometimes it's a dance team or baseball team. Regardless of the activity, the end result puts it all in perspective and that perspective allows us to see that the activity comes second to the lives in our charge. It's coming up on March 13th and it doesn't matter how much time has passed. I am forever tethered to that date, like an astronaut tied to the shuttle while floating in space waiting to be pulled back in. Unfortunately, our story isn't unique. When youth teams travel, the ultimate result is that the odds are not always in their favor. Marching bands coming home from a late night contest. Drum Corps travelling thousands of miles in one summer. Winter guards taking vans to the local show just an hour away. Judges who work all day, drive home with tired eyes and mental exhaustion. There are times when we have released kids to go home after a long rehearsal day or show and they don't make it there. Many years ago, a local band lost several of its members when a carload of kids left a football game and as many kids do, didn't go directly home and some in that car never saw home again. 

Too many times we drive when tired under the mission of "we have to get there by noon." If there was a medal for the most stupid guard person in the activity for driving when tired, I rank somewhere in a finalist position. Mental exhaustion, physical exhaustion, stress, alcohol, and anxiety all play a factor in our weekends and that combination can be deadly. Just two weeks ago I judged a fairly lengthy show and was offered a hotel room by the circuit, but really just wanted to get home. It was only 2 hours away. The show ends at 10. Piece of cake. Ummmm....Yeah no. Somewhere about an hour into the drive, my car drifted into the medium and with absolute brilliance I did what most of us do. I kept driving. 

The reality is that many, if not most tragedies can't be helped. Shit happens. We exist in an activity where travel is inevitable and necessary. The programs are underfunded forcing them to cut corners where they can. They hire not so reputable bus companies, if they hire one at all. Some rent vans and have volunteers drive. Sometimes the kids drive themselves to the show. It's reality. 

I get highly frustrated with the pageantry arts and can't for the life of me understand why we as an activity don't discuss safety nearly as much as we discuss the in's and out's of designing a good show. In most sports, coaches and volunteers must take a minimum amount of hours on the topic of risk. These topics range anywhere from how to maintain good boundaries with minors, to the protection against concussions, and how to maintain a safe environment while travelling. If we do this, will it change our behaviors? Will it help the fact that we still don't have enough money to hire a reputable bus company? What about our stupidity of travel while exhausted? Will it save the life of the kids who get into a car after practice and make stupid choices to text and drive? The answer to that question is easy. We don't know. We will never know if it helps until we open up the dialog. I work in social services and have my entire life. There isn't a conversation that is had, that at some point doesn't flow back to risk. We assess risk at every turn. We learn how to calculate risk to determine if what we are proposing is worth exposing ourselves to the liability. This weekend while judging, I pulled into the show site and there were 6 kids directing traffic into the school, without the presence of an adult. Minor risk? Sure. Chances are no one will get hurt. Smart? I beg to differ. 

It was March 13th and in a New York minute everything changed. Time would teach me that death is relentless and doesn't care how old you are or how much money you have. It was March 13th that taught me that fate will stop you when it chooses and force you to look at yourself in the mirror and ask why. The song says that the wolf is always at the door, so you better hang on tooth and nail to the people that you love. There has never been a truer statement. There were no more performances. No more rehearsals. Nothing the staff could have done would have changed the events of that day. There is no blame to place and no one to sue. There are lessons, though. Lessons that say all passengers should be in a seat belt. There is the lesson that 15 passenger vans are awkwardly weighted. A band program that lost members of it's ensemble might tell you that having better communication with parents might save lives. A discussion by the band director that says, "We care about you. Wear your seat belts and don't text each other," might just keep the kids alive. If you are a parent, you are trusting  the band staff with not just your children, but your very soul. When it is all said and done, there is nothing that can compare to the grief of a parent who has lost a child. It is incumbent upon us to have these discussions. 

"In these days when darkness falls early and people rush home to the ones they love, you better take a fool's advice and take care of your own, because one day they're here; the next day they're gone." 

I know some things just can't be changed, but if we were truly looking out for each other, we would talk more about the lives in our care during these weekends of competition and rehearsal. Before someone gets into a car to drive after a long weekend of teaching and judging, we would ask if they are o.k.to drive. If we lived up to our words when we use the word "family" when describing our guard friends, by working harder to ensure the safety of all was not an afterthought, but the first thought we have when planning a season, weekend, or show. We would have more dialog with young instructors on safety. We would ensure safety is the number one goal, ahead of winning and medals. A good risk manager will tell you that sometimes there is nothing you can do to stop a tragedy, but they will also tell you that leaving risk completely up to fate is simply irresponsible. Enter lawsuits. 

March 13th no longer defines me like it did for so many years. I rarely even think about it anymore. It did change me though, as does every event in life that stops you on a dime. My hope is that we learn from each other and don't fear the conversations, as we have so many times in the past and more than anything, I hope we never hear about performers caught in the throws of fate. 

The Indelible Force of Fear

Fear. FEAR! Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. 

It comes in all shapes and sizes. It comes in different colors, fonts, and styles. It is around us and here to stay. The quote on the left was sent to me by a friend, Nikki Booth. She asked me to write about it, because that's what we do in the pageantry arts and as I really think it through, it probably ranks at the top of the skills we learn and pass on to the performers we teach. 

The quote is very timely for me and I find it ironic that Nikki tagged me in it on Facebook. Last week I got the opportunity of a lifetime when I spoke at the National Bullying Conference in Orlando. Speaking at national conferences isn't new, for me as I have spoken at several before, and I have spoken at the National Bullying Conference once before. Speaking at conferences requires guts, because you risk your reputation while speaking in front of a national crowd. You don't know who is in the audience and you have no idea what their background is. This conference however was even more frightening, because I spoke on a topic that is often unique, controversial, and requested a call to action at the end. Advocacy at this level requires guts of immeasurable quantity and the ability to accept the naysayers, negative Nancy's, and pessimists who live a life of "it can't be done." In the end, the speech went well and my co-presenter Heather Rothman (another pageantry princess)  and I celebrated with a strong cocktail in the local pub. 

None of this however, would have been possible without the help of the pageantry arts. I've written about this before. The power behind the ability to perform in front of a crowd and to be judged takes nothing short of a miracle sometimes. We teach young people everyday in rehearsal that overcoming fear is probably the most important life skill a person can have. I've been teaching for over 25 years in this activity and the challenge of overcoming fear doesn't stop when the sabre is tucked quietly away in the closet with old dance shoes and medals. I believe the fear that comes from creating a product and presenting it to be judged, criticized, ridiculed, mocked, and placed value upon, is harder than performing ever could be. Even as I write this little blog post, I can't help but wonder how it will be received. In the pageantry arts we don't just compete. We create performance art and ask young people to step onto a stage to have others form an opinion of that art. With all of my years in the activity, it's been just in the past decade or so, that we have begun to call ourselves artists and with that title, comes creative fear. 

Years ago, when people would congratulate me on a job well done with a guard or ask what I did for a guard, I usually responded with some self-deprecating remark like, "Oh it' was nothing. It took a team. Yeah thanks." or my personal favorite, "I'm just the tech." It's not always easy, even when the art is good, to appreciate your own work and sense of value in the world of performance art. It's easier to judge yourself harder than the audience and put yourself down, because fear tells us that if we step up and say, "Hell yeah we were good!" or "I might not have designed that, but by God we couldn't have done it without the creative flow of a great technician," then we don't have to take full responsibility for the good and the bad. I have found that being humble is my defense against the fear of seeing myself as talented and good. Sometimes I put myself down, because fear tells me that success might not come again, so don't get use to it. As a woman in America, I've been subjected to the hidden messages that being bold and assertive was unbecoming of a lady. So, when you couple absurd gender based societal messages with fear; you get a person who hides behind a curtain of insecurity. 

In critique, I see instructors coming to the table unable to have an open dialog, because of fear that we as judges might actually say the words, "I really liked it." 

Instructors often start a conversation with, "Yeah it wasn't our best run." 

                                                             or 

"We were missing Sally Mae who had mono all week and well you know kids and their parents, so Betty Sue who is Sally Mae's exchange partner freaked out and missed count 5 after the exchange and forgot to toss, because well...I think she has mono, too."

"Time!"

Yeah, you just blew your three minutes by excuses, when all I wanted to say was, "I noticed that you had a hole during the exchange, but I really like where the show is going." 

It's fear. Fear allows us to make excuses and it keeps us from hearing the good and suggestions for growth. I see this not just out of young artists in the activity, but out of the most prominent designers and techs. I personally do it all the time. I do it at work. I do it as a mother. I do it as a writer. I do it as a judge and I most certainly do it as an instructor. 

Living the life of a creative person is a rough life and it doesn't matter what field those creative juices flow in. Opening your mouth, your heart, or soul to express a new idea just once, is more than most people do in an entire lifetime. In the pageantry arts, we do it every year day in and day out. I've been working in the field of social services since I was 23 and I can't tell you how many times I've begged colleagues to think differently. I'll ask the question, "So, if the statistics on bullying haven't changed, so then clearly the status quo isn't working. Give me a new solution. Give me something different." And in light of the lack of a creative response, I open my mouth, with the fear of ridicule and say, "I have a new idea. It's different and may not work."  I've learned over time that those that fear change or new concepts, will be the first to pick apart and blow holes through the idea. The truly creative people, the people that look fear in the face and say, "Screw You," will attempt to find the good in the new, before finding the bad. 

Fear. It isn't for the faint of heart and those who fear for the sake of fear, lead a life of comfort. They don't take chances and roll over into apathy. 

I thank God for the failures of the staff that taught me and the failures of my own creative process. They made me stronger and even more creative. They taught me how to stand up for myself and in front of a crowd to defend my ideas...the good ones and the bad ones. 

Last Thursday, when I spoke of new ideas in front of a national crowd, I had McGavock High School, the Star of Indiana and the Pride of Cincinnati to thank. Through them and every judge that told me I could do more, I stood with good posture, made eye contact, and opened my mouth to a different future. 

We are a wondrous activity. 

But He Didn't Pay His Dues...Whose Fault Is It Anyway?

Boy try's out for guard. Boy performs in guard. Boy makes finals with guard. Boy see's that the grass is greener on the other side of the gym. Boy tries out for new guard. Boy makes guard. Boy ditches old guard and leaves them hanging out to dry. Boy owes money...a lot of money. New guard takes boy on knowing of his debt. It's like a heart warming fairy tale and ahhh...it so warms my heart. Promises are broken, ethics are breached and everyone asks the question...Whose fault is it anyway?

To be clear, this post is about the issues independent guards face in the struggle to get young twenty something’s to pay their dues. This is not about under aged minors in the scholastic arena, whose parents are paying the fees at a public school. That is a different topic, with a much different argument.

Every year, EVERY SINGLE YEAR, since I have been teaching, I have been involved with or been witness to the obligatory fight of the kid who didn't pay dues and is now performing somewhere else. They almost always end the same way. Old guard gets mad at new guard. New guard doesn't know how or why this is their issue and performer gets his/her way and marches anyway. In the middle of the drama, lies adults on both sides spending their time arguing about a twenty something brat. And yes. They are brats. The idea of not paying dues and stiffing an organization for the balance is bratty, egotistical, irresponsible, and in some circles could be called stealing.

Now that I have skewered the performer, let's take a look at the problem and why the solution is multi-faceted and difficult. To give you some context, I have been teaching in the independent arena for the majority of my guard career. I like it. I like the freedom it give me as an instructor and I like the opportunities it affords me creatively. Independent guards however, have pitfalls and the biggest pitfall of all is without a doubt money. When I think about this topic, I often think about the aged old reason many of us do this. We do it for the kids. We do it to help them get a leg up on life and use the activity to help teach lessons. We teach teamwork, punctuality, leadership, respect for self, respect for team, and respect for community; all lessons needed to survive in life. It's the latter of the lessons however, where we tend to fall short. Each September, hundreds if not thousands of young hopefuls gather in gyms to audition for their favorite independent guard. They are offered positions, sign contracts, create the obligatory Facebook post sharing the joy with their friends. 

Somewhere in that year however, something goes awry. This excited performer realizes they are in over their head as they fail to fulfill the contract they signed, promising to pay for the services of the guard. I am always floored when we get to Dayton and I hear stories of performers who went into prelims owing dues into the hundreds, sometimes the thousands.  How did that happen? It happened, because the guard the person was marching in failed in their responsibilities as well. Period. The performer was allowed to miss payments, but keep rehearsing. They were allowed to attend shows, but continue to miss payments. They were allowed to buy the new iPhone 12 and take pictures of the guard with that iPhone 12, while not paying a dime. They were allowed to lie while saying, "Yes, I'll have you a payment this weekend," when in fact they never intended to live up to their obligation. In defense of the guards in question, often times the burden comes in when decisions have to be made that could negatively impact the actual show, in a time when filling a hole is not advisable. Independent guards are often caught between a rock and a hard place. We live in a time when the independent performer had the upper hand. The market, so to speak, is saturated with guards trying to be successful. These guards need to fill the floor with performers just so they will have the possibility of staying in existence. They make deals with the performers in good faith. Many performers know and take advantage of the fact that the contracts they sign really aren't worth the paper they are written on, because only a handful of guards actually follow through with legal action for failing to pay. It almost reminds me of the housing market bubble. Too many houses. Bad loans. Failure to pay. BUST!

My own child, as most children are, participates in a variety of activities. He takes karate lessons and plays baseball. I pay $175 for a season of baseball and $135 a month for karate. ALL PAID UP FRONT! It's not a choice and not an option. If my kid wants to play...I must pay. So why, why don't our independent guards function like a private business? If we as colorguards signed rental agreements, paid monthly insurance, hired instructors, and earned a living off of the sport, then you bet these kids...no adults...would be paying up front. But oh wait…we do rent facilities, pay insurance, and hire instructors. So what is it? Is it that many directors in our activity don’t understand that budgeting is not just about balancing what comes in to what goes out, but also the risk of nonpayment to the organization in the long run?

We as an activity say that our job is to raise responsible kids in the name of pageantry. It's practically our mantra, but when the biggest lesson of all must be learned, we oftentimes fall short. Sometimes it’s our own ego and often our own naievty that exacerbates the problem. When talking to directors about this, I frequently ask the following question. If we let this person fail to pay, what service are we doing to those who actually did pay? What precedent are we setting when others find out that one person performed on the backs of the responsible payee’s of the team? Most independent staffs work for free and pay their own travel, food, and lodging. They are volunteering their services in the name of the creative process and the joy of being a part of the organization, but what happens when those on the team fail in their duties? Winter Guard is no longer a small activity functioning out of the kitchen of Lynn Lindstrom. This is a multi-million dollar, multi-faceted international industry. Think about that. How many other industries with this amount of dollars flowing through it would allow this? No longer do "kids" make up the independent classes, especially the World and Open class. Many, possibly most, are adults in their twenties who are grown men and women capable of signing a contract and following through with said contract. If those adults fail to plan for their finances, such as calculating the cost of dues, gas to rehearsal, food during the weekends, extras such as rehearsal attire, jacket, and the obligatory end of season professional group photo, then maybe they need to not participate. It is not our job as an activity, at the risk of the units, to make up for their financial messiness. It is theirs. When an independent team takes on a performer who owes another team, what do you think they will do to you? I do agree with the argument that it isn't the new guard’s job to collect past dues for another, any more than it would be a new baseball team to collect past dues for my child. It is however, shortsighted and damaging to the activity as a whole. This system of ours breeds entitlement among the performers and we need it to stop.

As I write this, I'm reminded how often times in this activity we care so much that we forget that sometimes tough love is the best love. We are at our very core a soft-natured people. We don't want to turn anyone away and let’s be honest…we also don’t want to re-write a show. Many in this activity are more of an artist than a businessman, but any artist will tell you that without the business…the art will die. We are competitive and clamor for the talented kids and that competitive nature sometimes puts in positions with the membership that is damaging. When some young independent directors start a guard, they do so with the dream of one day being the next Pride. No one comes out hoping to be the next 30 year non-finalist. They see finals and medals and the art of design and the hope of infamy. They don’t see budget sheets and contracts and risk management plans, thus creating the beginning of the downfall. 

I have come to believe that the winterguard activity is more than just an art. It's a fine art. When I go to an art festival and fall in love with a  painting that costs let's say $1,500 and would look just perfect in my living room bringing me years of joy, I look at my bank account to determine if it is financially feasible for my circumstance. If after looking at my account I decide that paying that amount of money for a painting is out of my reach, then I must turn around and admire it from afar. I cannot, under any circumstance, pick up that painting and start running with it without payment. When we have performers who sign a contract to pay and then do not and don't make payments toward that debt, then they are stealing our art and that is in fact wrong.  

Pageantry and the Neverending Dance of Self Esteem

Sciamachy--An argument or battle with an imaginary opponent or in other words...your internal demon.

Yesterday, I attended what was my 29th year in the winter guard activity. For the first time in as many years as I can remember, I wasn't at the show representing any particular unit. I wasn't there as a judge or board member. I was just there with my 7 year old son watching. Now to be fair, I will be judging many of those units this season and I still consult. But yesterday, it was just about me as spectator. As I sat there watching guard after guard, watching staff members move on and off the floor making their way up top, I couldn't help but think of the many years I've made that trek to the top of the stands at the first show of the season, praying that the show I had spent weeks putting together wouldn't result in a total performer first show meltdown or a score indicating that I should slink away with my head held down in shame, because the design was nothing but a bag of proverbial ass. As I sat there into the night with my 7 year old giving his own commentary that he liked the horse show better than that show with the green flags, I couldn't but think and reminisce about all the guards and staff's I had been a part of. I found it interesting that with all my success, it was my failures that kept coming back to me.

Now, I realize that the term "failure" is as subjective as the shows we judge and I realize that what we as individuals see as failure, is oftentimes a success in the eyes of our fans. I also realize that my inner demon is harder on me than any judge could possibly be.  (Bob Thomas that sentence is specifically for you. Kisses. And yes...you were usually right.)When I consult with a guard I constantly think, "God please don't let me lead them down the wrong path." I give advice, but can't often second guess myself long after I've left the gym. Self-esteem is a killer in this activity and most of us struggle with it. Yesterday, I was asked by three guards to take a look at their video or come to their gym and offer feedback. Someone even said that it would be an honor to have me evaluate their show. My mind said, "Yeah. Whatever Shelba. You couldn't possibly offer them what some designer somewhere with a closet full of medals could." On the outside I said, "Sure. I guess."

In the pageantry arts, our lives are dictated by the seasons. A new year starts in mid-January or mid-June...not January 1st and just like New Years Eve, we often find ourselves evaluating our lives and what it all means. This year has been no different for me. Finding myself moving on with life, with less colorguard and more "real life," has made this season even more reflective. The colorguard I was with for a decade went on without me in Orlando and I had mixed feelings of sadness, joy, and anger. Guard members that I taught in the 90's not only have their own guards, but their own children as well. Time goes on and with time, means emotional and spiritual growth...if we let it.

Sitting and reflecting, I realized that I'm tired of being so hard on myself. Why can't I just let someone compliment me without the internal negative dialog? Is it because I'm not a designer in a world that covets designers over all else? Is it because I'm a woman that have been called a bitch more times than I can count? Is it because I don't have a closet full of medals? Is it because I was once a WGI judge and now I'm not? (Yes I said that out loud). Is it a feeling of not often being appreciated for much of the behind the scenes work that often goes unnoticed? Maybe it's simply because I've seen finals more times from the stands than not. There are goals that haven't been reached and it still gnaws at me, no matter how much I've accomplished. It could be that my personal career hasn't reached the heights that I had hoped and colorguard is a projection of that. Perhaps it's all of it. What I realized is that we live in a world that is dominated by scores and right or wrong...those scores matter. We have a judging community struggling to find its voice and what we hear is the joyous glee of Facebook posts with judges flying to Europe, Vegas, South Florida and the likes, in their first class upgrades and Delta Sky Lounge. (While many of us are heading to equally exotic places like Springfield, Mo.) Facebook has been a great place that pulls us all together, but it's also somewhat a torture ground in the modern version of Dante. You rarely see the Facebook posts that say, "Well...my guard scored ten points lower than I thought they would today and now my life is a lie." What we get is, "Well...it wasn't the results I wanted, but it was a great first day and I'm so proud of my kids." Those comments always make me wonder what the instructor is really thinking and can also make me wonder if maybe I'm just not as Zen as the rest of the activity. To be honest, I often look at a recap and think, "Dear God! F*** Me!" I can't put that on Facebook, however.

I looked at all the guards on the floor last night and realized that over half of them were taught by someone I taught. That made me smile. When I looked into the stands at the judges, I realized I had been on a panel with all of them at some point in my history. That made me proud, as they were some very brilliant individuals. Whenever I would go out into the hallway, someone would stop me to talk. I never got a moment of peace. That too, gave me an internal smile. I realize that it's up to me to start looking beyond the numbers and look at the legacy. Most people in this activity will never be nominated to any Hall of Fame and most of us will never know the joy of knowing that every time our guard walks on the floor we will be successful. As a judge, I have similar issues. I was told two years ago in critique that my commentary was not nearly as important as a someone who judges a regional. (True story). That night after the show I went back to the hotel and let the cruel comment go...under the auspices of many a strong drink...and later in the season realized that I never really grieved for the way that comment made me feel. I did with that comment what I do best and shoved it in the back of my soul and let it fester; dragging my self-esteem down with it, because it's an activity where we get use to taking it on the chin. And unlike the instructor who said it, I actually felt bad watching the guard struggle all the way to Dayton. When I think about it, I have more experience than most judges today in terms of clock hours in the gym and have much to offer, but the comment still hurt.


When I watched the guards last night, my self-esteem took a huge hit when I realized that A Class has become this enigma that I no longer grasp. I seriously couldn't figure out what it was the class is trying to achieve and thought that maybe the activity has just left me behind. A Class has become (as I've written about often) a breeding ground for the World Class and not the training ground for young instructors I came to value so much. I felt like a big question mark dangled above my head as I internally tackled the idea that a sabre release from the tip, caught in a back hand on the hilt, by an ensemble, on the move, with a triple toe loop, was an A class skill and with and then I couldn't help but remember that cruel instructors comment from critique. "You're commentary is worthless." That's not what they said, but it's how I heard it.

Driving home, my thoughts drifted in and out of love for the activity, pride in my former students, pride for the work I've accomplished both in the gym and out. I would be lying if I said that I didn't feel a little nostalgic for the old days and a little sad, but I guess that's what aging is. We exist in an activity where the older you get the choices get harder and harder. Do I quit and move on? Do I consult? Judge? Band mom? Board member? Spectator? I guess that it's a mix of it all. The corporate world has taught me that reinventing myself every couple of years is a necessity to staying employable. The performing arts is no different. It isn't prudent to stay in the past. You will get left behind. Two years ago I started this blog as an attempt to show the world of the pageantry arts that I'm more than that bitch tech that sat in the shadows of many a designer. I wanted to show people that I have a history, with a rich and deep love for the people who created and continue to recreate this wondrous activity. I wanted to give a voice for those who feel their voice has been oppressed by their own inner demon that tells them they aren't worthy of the accolades of the activity.

So this season, I will seek to find all that is good within me and accept every compliment without my own judgment and my hope, is that you all do the same, because as was so evident last night...you're all worth it. In the end, this activity of ours is nothing but a microcosm of the real world, where our own worth is often times derived from the success or the perceived success of those around us. We judge ourselves, based on the shell of what someone else wants to show us.

There is a Helen Reddy song called "Peaceful" that I just love and speaks to our own internal peace. Its lyrics, "Cause it's oh, so peaceful here, There's no one bending over my shoulder, Nobody breathing in my ear, oh so peaceful here," is the mantra I take with me on the road and this year is about a peaceful mind that will find its way to self appreciation where the negative voice can no longer breathe in my ear.

Good luck to you all and I'll see you in the gym.

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."

On Being A Judge: The Facts

Yesterday, I had the honor of judging the Oklahoma State Championships. This is a show I've been a part of now for the past three years and each year, I learn a little bit more about myself as a judge and as a person. I'm writing this today as a shout out to all of my judge friends and colleagues, who every weekend, every season, make a choice to step behind an audio recorder and  make judgments on the hard work and sweat of the young people of our activity.

For the record, I am not one of the judges that do the activity year round. It's a choice I've made to keep a bit of sanity in a life that sometimes is filled with chaos. I go heavy in the winter, spend my summer drinking sangria at the beach, and in the fall try to find a good mix between real life and marching band. It's my system and it works for me. Other people I know are weekend warriors only and others are year round explorers of football fields and gym floors. Some are just starting out and others have been judging the marching arts for decades. Many are national based, while others are national hopefuls. Many are local. They are professionals of music and dance and life long lovers of the activity. All of them, regardless of their path, are caring individuals hoping to give something back to an activity that gave so much to them.

Yesterday after the show, a long day spent outside in wind and frigid temperatures, the judging panel was standing in the parking lot waiting for our rides back to the hotel. It was late and we were tired. While standing there, our attention got drawn to the props of a very prominent program in the activity and we wanted to take a closer look.

"How was it made? How much did they spend? What do those props mean anyway? Can I get my picture with my head in one of them? O.K. probably not. That might me taking it a bit far."

While looking at the props, a parent of the program came up to me and asked if we were judges. He thanked us and was grateful for our hard work. As visceral of a response than I've had in a while, I shook his hand and said, "Are you kidding! It was an honor to judge these kids!"

The interesting part and something many people don't realize, is that when it comes to judges, we are just as much in awe of an activity that year after year continues to push the creative envelope, as the audience members who pay hard earned money to watch this version of entertainment.

I've heard a lot of myths about judges over the years. Some are based in possible reality, others just simply based on emotion. In this world of the marching arts, a subjective sport and one fraught with potential missteps, I've learned a few absolutes about the life of a judge.


FACT 1: They Have The Highest Respect For The Kids And Staff

All them! Not just the great programs, but all of them. Every judge I have ever known has the deepest respect for anyone who has the guts to step out in front of an audience for judgment and critique and show months of work, sweat, and tears. The reality is that judges who don' t have an honest and internal respect for the programs, don't make it very far. Sure, we have some in the pageantry arts that have forgotten what it's like to spend a week at band camp for 12 hours a day, trying to teach freshmen what a down beat is. Some of them, in fact most of them, couldn't do some of the work that the kids are attempting. Sometimes I judge a colorguard and see a phrase that catches me off guard and in my brain I'm thinking, "WTF was that! I mean seriously. Did they just levitate a girl while spinning sabres with their eyelashes?" Openly, I'm trying to critically analyze whatever it is I just saw. Internally I'm thinking, "Wow. Just wow!"



Sometimes, the smallest team can bring a tear to our eyes just because the freshman who has dropped the solo toss all season, finally caught it and the look on her face is all we needed to bring us to our proverbial knees.

FACT 2: Some Are Great, Some Are Good, And Some...Not So Much

Yep. It's true. Some judges are fantastic, while some are not. It's just like any profession out there. Some are great, some are good, and some...not so much. As an instructor in this activity, I sometimes like the lesser known judge far better than the big name. The lesser known judge seems to have a vernacular I relate better to. That's me, though. Some people only like that national folks. In this activity, we often times (a lot actually) get caught up in the "who" vs. the "what." There have been days, where I listen to the commentary of a judge and I'm like, "What language are they speaking! Is this English?"

"As I look over at the stage left flags, my eye is drawn to the propulsion backfire of the neuroplasticity in the sensory input patterns."

Some know exactly what they are talking about, but speak so technically the average person can't possibly understand them. Sometimes I hear a tape and wonder if the judge was actually watching my show. Some judges are ineffective because their tone seems condescending. Others simply don't have the experience as judges or expertise as instructors to help me take my show to the next level. Some are great, but their perspective is off, because they don't see the same level of groups often enough to offer a comprehensive view. In the reality of the activity, there are some judges who are dated; lost in a different time. Some haven't stepped foot in a competition arena for over a decade. Most can't do what the kids are being asked to do. Some are so arrogant that their information gets discounted in their smugness and false presentation of their name. However, it doesn't make them wrong. It might make them the person you just don't like to see on a panel, but really need to see on a panel.

The mistake many instructors make is discounting the feedback from the lesser known judge or giving to much value to the national name when it comes to internalizing the information. It's difficult to distinguish the good from the bad, but my belief is that every one of them offers something of value. Even if all they do is catch the one kid in the back of the field whose shoulder orientation is distorting the form; a performer you've never paid attention to, then that piece of information is enough to warrant your time.

FACT 3: It Is Stressful

For me, it starts on Thursday night when I'm trying to figure out what I'm going to wear all weekend, how I'm going to duck out of work early to catch a flight, all while helping my son with his homework. Throughout the week of the show, I review the caption I'll be judging, the teams in attendance and the pertinent information such as flight schedule and show times. It's more than that, though. A good judge will tell you that as a human being they feel some level of stress going into a show, just in the idea of putting the right numbers down, getting the teams in the correct places, and making sure the information is accurate, positive, and critical. I would be lying if I said that I didn't get stressed out when I see some unit at the show that medaled at nationals the year before. "What am I going to tell them?" "Why do they want my information?" I once knew a judge that threw up before judging WGI finals, in just the thought of screwing it up.

When it's all over, the show doesn't really end for a judge, any more than it ends for the unit being judged. There are emails as to the "Why?" "Why did you put us 5th instead of 3rd?"

"What did you mean when you said that you didn't understand how the girl levitating and spinning a sabre with her eyelashes didn't make any sense in a show about the political dominance of the blob fish?"

We fuss over recaps after it's over, hoping beyond hope that we weren't the lone judge that kept a team out of finals. We are given the unwritten instructions that Box 1 and 5 are off limits and secretly wonder why in the hell those boxes actually exist to begin with.

Then there is critique.

"Oh dear God," we think. "I gave the super duper wonder team and collector of gold medals THREE TENTHS LOWER THAN THEY GOT THREE WEEKS AGO! THEY WILL CHOP MY HEAD OFF! I WILL NEVER JUDGE AGAIN!"

In reality, things usually turn out fine. No one ends up decapitated and cocktails are had by all after show time, but the stress we put ourselves under is real and often terrifying. The catch 22 of judging is that we are all judges. Every last one of us. The instructors judge the judges, while the judges judge the instructors. We are all judges in this world of pageantry and the stress is shared equally.


FACT 4: It Is Exhausting

As I sit in the floor here in the Dallas airport, Sunday morning, recovering from a 12 hour day of judging on this three hour layover, my body is screaming at me to slow down and grow old like a good little middle age mom should do. I missed Halloween with my son, to be on a plane headed to Tulsa. I felt guilty...very guilty. Before I started judging about 12 years ago, I use to be the person that said, "I don't think the judges have any idea what it's like for performers anymore."

That statement was lost in arrogance. The physical and mental aspect of being a judge is often times over looked as many people see a group of people sitting on their rumps talking into recorders, acting as supreme beings of pageantry. The mental toll of numbers management, emotional investment of the commentary and physical toll of travel can wipe a person out until Wednesday of the following week. I have never met a judge who didn't take their job seriously and most as seriously as the unit directors take theirs.


FACT 5: We Still Have A Job To Do As Part Of The Game

There are 6 major stakeholders that make the pageantry world go round:

Performer, Instructional Staff, Support, Governing Bodies that set the rules and plan the shows, Paid Audience Member, and Judge.

One simply can't exist without the other and we can't discount any one part of the formula, yet we do it all the time. We as designers forget that sometimes the shows lack any connection to the audience, thus pushing away the financial and emotional aspects of the activity. Sometimes our governing bodies forget that their job is more than just to make money and host a good show, as some have lost the mission and original vision of the activity. Sometimes judges forget that their job is to not just engage in numbers management, but to also foster that first year band director with only 35 performers. Sometimes the audience forgets that their job is to cheer and clap, regardless of whose team is on the field. One does not work without the other and is a combined effort that must work in harmony with the other.

The judge has a job to do. They must pick a winner and pick a loser. Someone will walk away with a trophy and someone will just walk away. They must be fair. They must be knowledgeable. They must be humble. The reality and fact of this statement is that most are. All of them at some point in time have sat on the other side of the table and walked away without the trophy. They know what it's like to lose and their personal experience with that disappointment helps guide their hand when they know there is a choice to make between someone who will go on and someone who will go home.

I've been so lucky in this activity to sit on both sides of the table. I've learned to humble myself in the hard work of the performers and I sit in awe at the new designs that test the limits of our imaginations. I often question my relevance and wonder if my offerings of information will be useful to the units I judge. As a judge, you can go all season and never hear how teams have used your information, if they used it at all. If we do hear anything, it's usually for a clarification on a comment or a complaint on a score. There is no winning judge and we don't walk away with a score. So my advice. When you hear a comment that you found insightful, useful or helpful, drop a quick note to the judge and thank them. If you enjoyed how they spoke directly to a part of the show no one else had, then tell the show sponsor so you see that judge again. When you find that someone has created a tape that the kids can listen to and in turn you can respond in rehearsal with, then send them an email. You would be surprised how incredibly happy it will make them.

The Silent Thoughts of a Seasoned Guard Instructor the Night Before the First Show

Last Saturday I celebrated the start of my 20th band season in Florida. On this somewhat august occasion, the eve of the Seminole Sound Spectacular, I ran through all the shows I've taken to Seminole. I thought about the bands I had been with; some good and some bad. I thought about the many hours I have stood behind the middle school across the street from the stadium, warming up this colorguard or that one. Counting, clicking, 5,6,7,8ing. I am 44 years old. Some would say that I'm a little too long in the tooth to be standing out in the hot sun, warming up 15 year old's holding flag poles. On the night before, I was thinking and planning the day, when I had a frightening thought. I looked over at my seven year old son and thought, "Dear God. There are kids in the guard who were 6 when he was born. Six!"

So I was picking out my outfit for the day, when I wondered what my peers were thinking and if their thoughts were the same. Mine went something like this.

 "I wonder what I'll wear tomorrow. Who will I see? I should look cute."

 "Who am I kidding? I'm 44 years old. It's going to be 150 degrees outside. Can I just wear the same thing I'm wearing to the morning rehearsal? No. That will look tacky."

 "Crap I have rehearsal tomorrow morning. I have to get up around 7 a.m...on a Saturday. I'm so over this lifestyle. I have to go to practice, come home, shower, get ready, drive to the show, warm up the guard. When will I get to eat?'

"I guess I'll wear something cute, I never get to dress cute anymore."

"When's the earliest I can have a cocktail?"

"The Hunger Games comes on tomorrow night. I really want to see the Hunger Games. I should record it. Nah. I'll be home. I can't deal with all the other bands. I'll come home after we perform, but not too soon. I want to seem supportive of the other teams."

"So I have two hours with the guard at practice tomorrow. What do I want to accomplish? It's going to be so hot. I hate the heat. While I'm at it, I hate Florida. Why is it so hot in October here! Just once can we get the first show where it isn't 95 degrees in the shade?'

"Will 8:00 a.m. be too early for a cocktail?"

"We haven't done the opener since band camp. I should probably work on that. I hope I can still remember the counts. I don't have time to deal with the counts. I'll just yell at them and tell them to blend."

"Come to think of it. We haven't really done basics since band camp. I'll just tell them to blend."

"Who is in our class? Who can we beat? I really don't have time to deal with the opener. We barely got the 3rd song on the field last week. I hope they practiced it. They didn't practice. I have to work that first."

"Crap. We still have to work getting on and off the field."

"Who is on the panel? Oh I don't care. If we can't get on and off the field it won't matter whose judging us."

"I wonder if anyone will be there who will hang out with me."

"If there isn't anyone to hang with, then I could easily go home after we perform and no one will care. I could be home in time to see Hunger Games; with a pint of Haagen dazs and a cocktail."

"My life is sad."

"Wouldn't it be fun to win guard? Who am I kidding. We won't win guard. We don't even know how to get on and off the field and the opener is still a mess."

"Just once I would like to go to the first contest with the entire show finished. Why does it take so long for bands in Florida to get their shows done? Why do marching band shows have to be so long? Do we really need 5 songs?"

"I can't do this anymore. I'm too old. I'm too tired. I hate standing outside in that hot, never ending, scorching, blistering sun."

"Everything I have in my closet makes me look fat. I need to go buy something new after rehearsal."

"No. I refuse. Not for marching band. I'll just wear jeans. No, jeans will be too hot. I'll wear shorts."

"I need to go to bed. 7:00 a.m. comes early. I should stop at Dunkin Donuts and get coffee."

"I need to have a drink before I go to bed. No telling when I'll get another one."

"Why don't they sell cocktails at band contests?"

"I hope the kids get some sleep tonight."

"Please. They probably went out after the football game to God knows where, to do God knows what."

"Yeah. I need a drink before bed. I'll be up all night if I don't."

"I can't believe tomorrow is another Seminole Sound. I was 28 years old doing my 4th Seminole Sound, when my guard captain was born. I am so freaking old."

"Yeah...I definitely need a drink before I go to bed."

"I need to get psyched up for this. Change my mindset."

"I hope they are ready to go. I can do this. We can do this. Get it Shelba. You've got experience. You've got wisdom. Woman power! Get it girl!"


5 minutes later...

glass...ice...Absolute...orange juice...cranberry juice...mix...shake...pour




"Cheers! And may the odds be ever in my favor!"