Nostalgia and music

I was still bleary-eyed with a stuffed head when I hit the Loop with The Boy. It's Road Removal season, so we had to take the long way around, but I parked in the big public lot behind Cicero's, in a spot sort-of in the middle. We walked through the Market Pub area on our way to Cheezology, and saw someone putting up folding chairs.

Oh! Some kind of performance tonight?
I saw a sign for this:
http://www.ucsummerband.org/

It was the final concert for the University City Summer Band.
Conductor: Tom Poshak

Why would this be significant?
Mr. Poshak was my high-school band teacher.

Or one of them, anyway. I had no idea that he was still directing bands, and was tickled pink to see that he was the steady hand at the tiller of the UC Summer Band!
The Boy and I had enough time to eat food and return to the spot as the band was warming up and settling in. I walked right up to him and said, "Hi, Mr. Poshak!"
He shook my hand, greeted me warmly and I supplied my name. "Of course!" he replied.
"I was one of your Drum Majors." Real recognition dawned. "My goodness! How long has it been?"

Dear God. 20 years. I graduated in 92. I visited in 93 and guest-conducted the band for the fight song at a pep rally. It's really been that long.

I introduced The Boy, we chatted about Band stuff (that The Boy had been in band, too, and Mr. Poshak knew the director of course) mentioned The Girl, and went to have a seat.
I also called each of my parents; my mom was ticked to know about this. I tried to catch my father on his way back to the middle of the state but my Stepmom had to be at work tomorrow at 7am. I told the both of them where I was and what I was doing. My father expressed his regret that he couldn't be there but told me to share greetings on his behalf.

Then I noticed the First Clarinet.
No.
Way.

In high school, the band was a bunch of cats being herded by Mr. Poshak, Mrs. Boyd (RIP), and Mr. Baumann.
Mr. Baumann was playing clarinet in this band!!! OMG!!

I'm going to embarrass myself here. I admired and respected each of my band teachers. Mrs. Boyd was my original band teacher, the woman who taught me flute in the first place. I cherished her and went out of my way to play in "her" concert band during the non-marching months. I also took her Chorus classes, whenever possible.
Mr. Poshak was the King of the Realm, and I looked up to him and felt the ground tremble beneath his feet. He was kind and gracious and had a very delicate touch with his baton.
And then there was Mr. Baumann. Dude. I wanted to be him when I grew up. I might even have been harboring a weird secret crush on him, on HIM, of all the teachers I worked with over the years. He was the assistant to Mr. Poshak's Mad Science. He was the one you could take your busted instrument to and he'd fix it. Mr. Baumann was *cool*.
He led the Jazz Band, for example. He was laid-back and clever and could fix things.

So at the intermission, I wove my way to the front and bothered him.
I shook his hand, reminded him of my name and the year I graduated. He was delighted to see me, asked me about where I was living and what I was doing. I was embarrassed to admit that I hadn't known about this band or the concert series. I also complimented him on his (gorgeous, flawless, amazing) solo in the first half. He chuckled and said,"Sometimes you get lucky." I pointed out that we never got to hear the teachers *play*, and that he was always, "In the back, fixing our stuff."
He laughed even harder and admitted that he'd had to learn that part on the job. I grinned at him and told him that I got that totally; I now fix sewing machines and have a reputation about it that mirrors his own as the "Band Instrument Doctor."

The concert was charming. Several shorter pieces representing "Jazz/Pop". They played the St. Louis Blues (a favorite of my S.O.), Sing Sing Sing (a favorite of mine and anyone alive who has ears), medleys from the Beatles and Chicago (the band), and a few other pieces. Mr. Poshak did commentary between pieces and joked around with Mr. Baumann (and a few other people in the band.)
I turned to The Boy and whispered, "This is exactly what band was like. All four years." He grinned back at me.

Unfortunately, this was the last installment of this concert series. I had a strong temptation to dig out the old flute and sign up for next year.


Minor problem, though: They rehearse on Monday nights. Bummer.
At least I can make an effort to hear the whole series next year.

Now, if you want to know why he had a nickname of "No Pants Poshak", you have to ask minidoc. I wasn't there that year, but heard it from time to time.

This was a good end to a hard day. Who knew?

His Legacy

My uncle D did not have any children of his own.
I don't know why. He was married to his soul mate for most of his life. It's possible that there were fertility issues, or that they decided not to have kids. I never knew and I figured that if it was my business I would have been told.

But there are three boys and seven girls in that family. Other than Uncle D, they all have children now. And he was a good uncle to us, too. He liked kids and would talk to them rather than down to them. He indulged us and loved to hear us laugh. My aunt said something today about how he loved to see the new babies "and smell them. It's what he did."

You know, that sounds creepy when I say it here, but I think she was just remarking about his love for that new baby smell.

Anyway, I had been thinking that if uncle D had a son, he'd look just like my cousin M. Cousin M resembles him greatly, and has some of his flair and flaws. Indeed, though my cousin had a different last name at birth (he's my Aunt A's son, and therefore had his dad's last name) he changed it to match the family title when he hit adulthood. (See: allura629 is right. It's not so much a surname as it is a title.)

But then it also dawned on me in my addled state that we, the cousins, are his legacy.
I am part of his legacy.
My brothers are part of his legacy.
My cousins are part of his legacy.
Hell, our kids are part of his legacy.

This is a peculiar comfort to me at the moment.

But after all, he and my father were a mere 6 weeks apart in age. They were Same-Age-Brothers. No wonder Uncle D's death hit me like a ton of bricks.

I'm not ok, but I will be.
I'm not in the mood to talk about it out loud, but I will be soon.
I might need a bit on my own, but feel free to email me in the mean time.

I am his legacy. I'll do my best with that.