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Drummer (part 2)


I was obsessed with becoming a better drummer as I began my sophomore year. I had taken lessons at Indiana University and practiced every day during the previous year.

                Bloomington High School had a gifted band teacher who motivated his students to pursue music as a career. At the beginning of the year Mr. Traub placed me in the band room during an hour the classroom wasn’t being used so I could practice and he monitored my progress. He noticed my improvement and by mid-football season he started me through the ranks. I was placed in the marching band as a tenor drum player and by the beginning of the second semester I was the first- chair snare drummer for the Symphonic Wind Ensemble. This was the equivalent of joining the college orchestra.

I met Karen while in the band that year too. She was an aggressive red head. She knew what she wanted. I had been a sheltered, reclusive and socially clumsy kid. A whole new world opened to me. Karen always had something in mind and she knew exactly what to do. After school and all summer long, she taught me all physical aspects of relationship between the sexes. Eager to be with her, I would do almost whatever she wanted me to do.

This university town had no jobs for a fourteen-year-old because of the abundance of college students. It was early summer when the Deggeller Shows brought a bunch of carnival rides to the university campus for the Fun Frolic. I was there early looking for a job. Despite this not being a traveling circus, it did qualify as show business.  I got a job helping set up the Merry-Go-Round, working with a man and his son with whom I became friends. Together we worked and eventually hung the last horse on the ride. We then started to assemble the kiddie rides. Unloading the specially-shaped steel components from trucks with broken bulb glass on the floor revealed an interesting contrast to the form of show biz I was familiar with. Behind the scenes, I was seeing the amusement business as it really was. Once the rides were ready, I returned home to clean the dirt and grease off of me. I was told to return the next day, so I must have done a good job.

When the festival started, I ran one of the kiddie rides. My job was to stand at the controls, welcome the patrons, and make sure they were settled into their seats before turning the switch to start the ride. If no one was waiting in line, I gave my passengers an extra-long ride. I was grateful to have employment for the week and it filled me with a feeling of accomplishment.  Karen hung around while I worked, but something was clearly bothering her.

“I think it’s terrible,” she wailed, “that you work all the time.”

Her inability to empathize with the value of this opportunity combined with a feeling of frustration that grew in my gut. This strong sensation literally reached up inside me and grabbed me much like the reaction that took my voice when I watched bullies pick on my brother. Karen maintained this negativity all the time I did my job. She insisted that I take a day off and accompany her around to all the rides. Reluctantly, I did what she asked.

The next day, I explained to my boss my plans to escort her around the festival grounds instead of returning to my post. When I returned the following day, I discovered my job had been filled. I learned two valuable lessons on one day; never let them discover that they can get along without you, and career always comes before girlfriend.

While excelling at math, John learned the machine language computers spoke. At Bloomington in high school, he wrote elaborate programs using punch card sequences that would solve mathematical problems. He understood and developed a mastery of complicated systems using binary code.

My father’s climb through the ranks and his ambition with newly acquired graphic skills landed him a job in the Lutheran synod offices in downtown Chicago. The family would move again, this time to the suburbs of a sprawling metropolis. My family moved twice during my high school years. First to Bloomington, Indiana so Dad could expand his skills at Indiana University with a second Master’s Degree. Then, two years later to Chicago, Illinois so he could fill an important role downtown. He used the Airstream to move the bulk of our possessions, with the exception of the piano.

John graduated from high school as the family moved from Indiana to the Chicago suburbs.  John stayed behind and began his college years at Indiana University. The students were older but still mean to John. He chose to withdraw and excel academically. He took classes for many years until exhausting the curriculum. From there he launched his career as a computer programmer.

All the summer school college students eventually went home. A short window of opportunity existed so I started looking for a job. I went into the Lucky Steer Steak House. The boss asked me if I could start immediately. He then showed me the dish room with hundreds of dirty dishes piled up to the ceiling. I started immediately. Three days later I was cooking steaks. Dad learned of and appreciated my ambition. He was busy moving the family’s belongings to Chicago with the airstream and waited for the last minute before taking me with him.

I arrived at our new home late at night and slept a few hours. The next day was my first day of school. In the morning, I was dropped off early in front of an unfamiliar school. I received my class assignments at the administration office at Arlington Heights High School. I searched up and down the hallways for the room numbers on my list, and finally gave up. I could not find them.

Not knowing which way my home was, I had no options. Frustrated, all I could do was sit down on the front steps of the school while the classes were going on. A friendly counselor saw me from a distance and came to sit down next to me to find out what was going on. He looked at my admissions card and he too realized that I had been given room numbers that did not exist. Confusion at the Chicago school system started with this debacle on my first day and spiraled down from there. As I entered my junior year, the tainted perception of my new school and surroundings bred a new-found apathy and defiance.  Expecting the same positive experience that I enjoyed in band in Indiana, I soon realized that Fritz Shmoyer, the band teacher, was incompetent and simply coasting along on tenure. He was apathetic about his job and didn’t encourage any students. Because I made this comparison, I knew he was a slug and began my defiant response to his pathetic efforts.

Fortunately, John stayed in Bloomington. Paula and I were relieved that none of our new colleagues would ever know about our brother, but we found a new set of frustrations. The big city pace of suburban Chicago, the dysfunctional school system, and the beat among our fast-paced peers had its own mix that led to a new exasperation for myself and Paula. 

Also fortunately, the art department at my new school was outstanding and far better than any previous art classes. Mr. Pink became an advocate for my ambitions. He encouraged my emerging skills and created many artistic opportunities for me.

Posted on

Drummer

I was obsessed with becoming a better drummer as I began my sophomore year. I had taken lessons at Indiana University and practiced every day during the previous year.

                Bloomington High School had a gifted band teacher who motivated his students to pursue music as a career. At the beginning of the year Mr. Traub placed me in the band room during an hour the classroom wasn’t being used so I could practice and he monitored my progress. He noticed my improvement and by mid-football season he started me through the ranks. I was placed in the marching band as a tenor drum player and by the beginning of the second semester I was the first- chair snare drummer for the Symphonic Wind Ensemble. This was the equivalent of joining the college orchestra.

I met Karen while in the band that year too. She was an aggressive red head. She knew what she wanted. I had been a sheltered, reclusive and socially clumsy kid. A whole new world opened to me. Karen always had something in mind and she knew exactly what to do. After school and all summer long, she taught me all physical aspects of relationship between the sexes. Eager to be with her, I would do almost whatever she wanted me to do.

This university town had no jobs for a fourteen-year-old because of the abundance of college students. It was early summer when the Deggeller Shows brought a bunch of carnival rides to the university campus for the Fun Frolic. I was there early looking for a job. Despite this not being a traveling circus, it did qualify as show business.  I got a job helping set up the Merry-Go-Round, working with a man and his son with whom I became friends. Together we worked and eventually hung the last horse on the ride. We then started to assemble the kiddie rides. Unloading the specially-shaped steel components from trucks with broken bulb glass on the floor revealed an interesting contrast to the form of show biz I was familiar with. Behind the scenes, I was seeing the amusement business as it really was. Once the rides were ready, I returned home to clean the dirt and grease off of me. I was told to return the next day, so I must have done a good job.

When the festival started, I ran one of the kiddie rides. My job was to stand at the controls, welcome the patrons, and make sure they were settled into their seats before turning the switch to start the ride. If no one was waiting in line, I gave my passengers an extra-long ride. I was grateful to have employment for the week and it filled me with a feeling of accomplishment.  Karen hung around while I worked, but something was clearly bothering her.

“I think it’s terrible,” she wailed, “that you work all the time.”

Her inability to empathize with the value of this opportunity combined with a feeling of frustration that grew in my gut. This strong sensation literally reached up inside me and grabbed me much like the reaction that took my voice when I watched bullies pick on my brother. Karen maintained this negativity all the time I did my job. She insisted that I take a day off and accompany her around to all the rides. Reluctantly, I did what she asked.

The next day, I explained to my boss my plans to escort her around the festival grounds instead of returning to my post. When I returned the following day, I discovered my job had been filled. I learned two valuable lessons on one day; never let them discover that they can get along without you, and career always comes before girlfriend.

While excelling at math, John learned the machine language computers spoke. At Bloomington in high school, he wrote elaborate programs using punch card sequences that would solve mathematical problems. He understood and developed a mastery of complicated systems using binary code.

My father’s climb through the ranks and his ambition with newly acquired graphic skills landed him a job in the Lutheran synod offices in downtown Chicago. The family would move again, this time to the suburbs of a sprawling metropolis. My family moved twice during my high school years. First to Bloomington, Indiana so Dad could expand his skills at Indiana University with a second Master’s Degree. Then, two years later to Chicago, Illinois so he could fill an important role downtown. He used the Airstream to move the bulk of our possessions, with the exception of the piano.

John graduated from high school as the family moved from Indiana to the Chicago suburbs.  John stayed behind and began his college years at Indiana University. The students were older but still mean to John. He chose to withdraw and excel academically. He took classes for many years until exhausting the curriculum. From there he launched his career as a computer programmer.

All the summer school college students eventually went home. A short window of opportunity existed so I started looking for a job. I went into the Lucky Steer Steak House. The boss asked me if I could start immediately. He then showed me the dish room with hundreds of dirty dishes piled up to the ceiling. I started immediately. Three days later I was cooking steaks. Dad learned of and appreciated my ambition. He was busy moving the family’s belongings to Chicago with the airstream and waited for the last minute before taking me with him.

I arrived at our new home late at night and slept a few hours. The next day was my first day of school. In the morning, I was dropped off early in front of an unfamiliar school. I received my class assignments at the administration office at Arlington Heights High School. I searched up and down the hallways for the room numbers on my list, and finally gave up. I could not find them.

Not knowing which way my home was, I had no options. Frustrated, all I could do was sit down on the front steps of the school while the classes were going on. A friendly counselor saw me from a distance and came to sit down next to me to find out what was going on. He looked at my admissions card and he too realized that I had been given room numbers that did not exist. Confusion at the Chicago school system started with this debacle on my first day and spiraled down from there. As I entered my junior year, the tainted perception of my new school and surroundings bred a new-found apathy and defiance.  Expecting the same positive experience that I enjoyed in band in Indiana, I soon realized that Fritz Shmoyer, the band teacher, was incompetent and simply coasting along on tenure. He was apathetic about his job and didn’t encourage any students. Because I made this comparison, I knew he was a slug and began my defiant response to his pathetic efforts.

Fortunately, John stayed in Bloomington. Paula and I were relieved that none of our new colleagues would ever know about our brother, but we found a new set of frustrations. The big city pace of suburban Chicago, the dysfunctional school system, and the beat among our fast-paced peers had its own mix that led to a new exasperation for myself and Paula. 

Also fortunately, the art department at my new school was outstanding and far better than any previous art classes. Mr. Pink became an advocate for my ambitions. He encouraged my emerging skills and created many artistic opportunities for me.

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Homecoming Displays

As a child, I observed endless activities taking place at the nearby fraternity and sorority houses. Once a year they built elaborate displays to celebrate the annual Homecoming festivities that culminated with a football game. These displays depicted the university mascot, the tiger, doing a variety of things to their rival, and any number of other motifs thought to improve the morale of the school. Current events and popular songs also became themes. The “Purple People Eater” referred to the popular song of that time. Another clever idea was a huge cow straddling a simulated barb wire fence entitled “udder disaster.”

Not to be outdone, I imitated these efforts by building a homecoming display in our front yard. The first one occurred when I was six years old. I made a simple crayon depiction of a tiger, the Wittenberg mascot, on a large cardboard box. DaveHomecoming6

I learned to assist the college kids when their displays were being dismantled so I could drag building materials home for my use the following year. Gradually, I learned to sculpt chicken wire into the shapes of characters and stuff the holes with colored crepe paper. Each year my display became more sophisticated. Gradually my striving became mechanized, illuminated and by the time I was eleven, had an accompanying soundtrack that repeated a little ditty that Mom suggested and recorded the three of us singing: “Oh, hang ‘em up to dry, oh, hang ‘em up to dry, Ohio Wesleyan, Hang ‘em up to dry.”  This recording played all weekend alongside my display of a mechanized tiger with a washtub.Eat-The-Pie-On-Ear(s)-4-dupe

Being bitten with the drive to create, paint and a dose of insatiable curiosity, my energy focused on a variety of personal ambitions. I explored the neighborhood in search of insects for my science fair project, salvaged components for my annual homecoming display, tree house or fort and developed components for my summertime circus production.Aim-In-Fer-Victory-5

Like most little girls, Paula liked to play with dolls, toy ponies and aspired to compose stories. She once drew a comic strip with a pony as the main character. But she did not understand how to draw the hoof and ankle of a pony’s leg.  That did not stop her. She simply made the lines of each leg go down to a point, and “Pinfoot the Pony” was born. She made several adventure comics books during her young career as a cartoonist with this clever equine personality.

We discovered a litter of kittens born in the window-well of a nearby fraternity house. This started our relationship with “lucky” the cat, who became part of the family. Later, our childhood was blessed with her four offspring we named “Salt, Pepper, Sugar and Cinnamon.” After having the litter of kittens, Lucky’s personality turned anti-social and sour. So, she was sent to a local farmer who needed a mouser on his farm and we kept one of her kittens. Pepper became a source of joy for the whole family for many years. 

Mother loved singing and rose early to practice. After school, Mother was either teaching piano, voice lessons, or rehearsing for another upcoming opera. We had to be quiet while inside the house, so we learned to invent our own creative activities.

Dad planted a garden in the back yard every summer. One year I was delighted to find a herd of caterpillars devouring his parsley. I disclosed my discovery at dinner. My dad waited until I had gone to bed before thinning out my crop of caterpillars. The few that remained became plump. Then they found secluded places to attach themselves and transformed into a chrysalis. He knew about my interest in insects and found three one-gallon glass jars and placed a stick with a chrysalis in each one. Three jars, one for each of us to take to school.

In the spring of that year both John and Paula’s butterflies were born in their classrooms. Mine never did. I found out later that during the dead of winter my teacher had stupidly placed my jar on the steam radiator to keep it warm. You would think that a teacher would know that this organism was created to withstand the rigors of winter outside without any need for her help.

A year later, while in third-grade, the principal of the school came into our room, had a brief talk with our teacher and pointed directly at me and signaled for me to come with her out into the hall. Out in the hall, I saw two other students waiting with puzzled looks on their faces. We were taken to the gymnasium and given paints and brushes. We were then instructed to decorate the background scenery for an upcoming school play.

I became filled with creative delight as I immersed myself in this large project. At the end of the school day, I returned to my class room to find all my school mates crying. The television in the corner of the room revealed the reason. That day in Dallas, while I was painting, a sniper had shot and assassinated president Kennedy.