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My Mom assured us that once school started we would meet people and get more involved so I walked off to 7th grade at the middle school as my brother began his sophomore year in high school that September. Mom made sure that my brother was enrolled in band since that had been a successful venture for him in our previous home. She kept asking him about playing at football games and getting his uniform cleaned and his sullen, mono-syllable replies assured her he was on target for this. When the first foot ball game rolled around he grabbed his French Horn and walked off to the game (they played at the middle school until they could raise enough money to build a field at the high school).

“But where’s your uniform?” demanded my Mother as she bundled up to go watch a portion of the game while she waited for her son’s performance.

“This is it” said David, pointing to his jeans and plaid shirt, “They told me to just dress comfortably for sitting in the stands.”

“I’ll need to see this for myself” said Mom and off we went to our first Lancaster High School Red Devils football game.

The band sat together in the stands and played one song, the fight song. They played it at the beginning, at half-time, and if they had enough band members still in the stands, they’d play it at the end of the game. There were about 20 band members representing the student body of approximately 400 students in 8th-12th grades.

Some say a woman scorned is a force to be reckoned with, but in my world a Mother on a mission will lay her flat every time. My Mother had her mission—return the marching band to Lancaster County.

The Goal

She started by forming a band boosters and getting the power of parents behind the idea of a marching band. Then she went to the school board and convinced them to hire a full time teacher/band director instead of the part-time businessman than held the job currently. She coordinated the search to hire a director and assisted in recruiting a young, ambitious talent from Western Virginia named Ernie Craig. Ernie was not only the right talent for the job, but he came from a depressed area that made the Lancaster salary look appealing. Ernie’s family was uncertain about a move to this flat place 7 hours away and his wife and young daughter waited a few months before coming out to join him.

Mom worked hard to get Ernie and his family settled and happy so that he could concentrate on this new venture starting in the summer of 1974. When they went to check out the uniforms that had been packed away a few years back, they were faced with crumbling yellowed fabric and mold on about 10 full uniforms. This would not do, they weren’t even red. So the campaign began for new uniforms.

Mom headed back to the school board to tell them she needed $10,000.00 for band uniforms. The school board members that could stop laughing long enough told her if she raised half, they’d match it—fully believing this woman had good intentions but no idea of what she was doing.

And so began the summer of the band. Band practice started before football practice that summer. Ernie deliberately lined us all up in the front yard of the high school where as many passing cars as possible would see us. He brought in a majorette coach and six majorettes essentially recruited by word of mouth and including me as rising eighth-grader with no instrument experience. He practiced without instruments as much as with them so we could all learn to march in a straight line starting with our left foot. Which one is left M. Ray? The one that hurts because Mr. Craig just stepped on it!

The band learned one song that summer, “Sweet Caroline.” The majorettes learned one routine, “Sweet Caroline.” In between practices that summer and for the entire next year we held fund-raisers. It felt like we washed every car in the county, we sold every ounce of flour ever baked into cupcakes and we just kept working.

By the first football game we had earned enough to clothe the entire band in sweatshirts and the majorettes in matching tee shirts that said Red Devil Marching Band. We paired them with jeans and we wore them with pride as we marched onto the field for our first half-time show—a rousing rendition of “Sweet Caroline” with fancy (well at least coordinating) footwork and twirling batons. We were led on field by the arched back and fluid movements of Keith Wood, a tall handsome sophomore with enough presence to fill a stage by himself and enough rhythm to power a drum line.

We continued to raise money and Mom placed a big thermometer in town with fundraising goals and achievements painted in. She and Ernie selected the uniform for our band and had a sample made to fit my rather unwilling model of a brother. The newspaper published pictures, the practices and the car washes kept going. The band traveled to away games and performed, we began learning parade formations, and a few more songs too like the “The Horse” and a new arrangement of the fight song.

Our First Overnight Competition

We were having fun. The more fun we had, the more people that wanted to join in. We moved into basketball season with a few new members and growing enthusiasm. We began traveling to parades in the spring and competing against much larger, more uniformly dressed bands. The competitions were tight, but we found ourselves winning a few and feeling like a million dollars. Ernie decided he wanted to take the band to the Apple Blossom Festival in Winchester, VA. This was one of the largest band competitions and parades in the state. He went to Mom with his idea and the need for housing and feeding costs before he went to the school board for permission and transportation.

A few phone calls later, Mom had arranged for housing and meals at the United Methodist affiliated school, Shenandoah Conservatory of Music. (It pays to be the preacher’s wife). The school board allotted the buses and drivers with the codicil that we must have enough chaperones and we were on our way to Winchester where, for once, the apple blossoms really were blooming for the festival.

We had practiced around the parking lot for weeks to prepare for the 7 mile march in Winchester. We were so excited about an overnight trip we could hardly stand ourselves. I remember silly little details like the majorettes all wearing their hair in a bun like “real” majorettes for the parade. We were fortunate enough to have a feature twirler, Robin Rogers, Miss Majorette of America, to perform with us sometimes and lend us much needed guidance. Robin and her mother both attended the Apple Blossom Festival with us and walked the entire route.

When Robin’s elegant and seemingly unerring mother tripped over an orange traffic cone she just said, “That’s why they call me Grace.” as she smiled and kept going. There’s nothing like having your Mom along on a school trip. Mine was keeping pace with the horn section and beaming with pride.

We reached the judges stand near the end of the route where Keith called us to attention. At the sound of his whistle and the wave of a baton we played and twirled our hearts out for those judges. It was only about 3-minutes, but it felt like the most incredible merger of sound and movement I’ve ever experienced. I was with my family, my best friends, my first boyfriend, my most admired teachers, and I was part of something so much bigger than me. It was amazing.

After performing and saluting we moved forward and practically flew back to the dorm to change clothes, eat, and wait for the scores to come in. No matter what we scored, against all those bands that seemed to have so much more than we did, we knew we’d done something special that day. Finally the scores were delivered and we all shouted until we were hoarse when we heard that we’d ranked number 1 in our class and the judges’ comment was, “The little red band with the great big sound.”