January 5, 1973
It was the start of Junior Band Clinic at the University of Arkansas at Little Rock. The previous weekend, hundreds of young musicians had auditioned (“tried out” in band parlance) to earn a place in the two bands representing the best of Pulaski County junior high music programs.
I made First band, second chair tenor saxophone, indicating the judges believed me to be the second best tenor sax player who had tried out. However, I was a bit annoyed that I was second chair. I felt I was a better player than the boy who made first chair, whom I recall uncharitably as the nerdy kid from The Far Side cartoons.
I had been playing saxophone for only 12 months, so it was cool that I made the first band at all. The only reason I did was because my friends Clark Isaacs and Richard Manson, both far superior musicians in every way, tried out for Senior Clinic instead of Junior Clinic, so there were more openings for tenor sax players of modest ability.
One of the pieces we played was “Cherish,” a saccharine love song with possibly the dullest melody ever written (the first 11 notes are the same!). Music historians remain puzzled about two events from that era; how “Cherish” became a hit, and why anyone thought “The Funky Penguin” was a good idea for a dance song.
The saxophones played the insipid melody at one point in the “Cherish” arrangement. The band director instructed the tenor saxophones to play louder, but not too loud, because when saxophones play too loud, they “honk like ducks.”
As autocorrect would say, this forever ducked me up for playing loudly.
It was an unforgivable thing to say to students seeking instruction and encouragement, especially naturally timid ones like me. As far as I was concerned, the guy earned eternal torment in Band Director Hell, conducting first day beginner band students sight-reading “I Love You, You Love Me.”
During lunch, I went exploring with a fellow Cloverdale bandie. Throwing caution to the woodwind, we crossed heavily trafficked Asher Avenue to the old Asher Drive-In Theater. There I found a large, red plastic letter “R” that had fallen off the marquee. Although it was a treasure beyond imagining, it did put a stutter in my strut when stuffed into my bell bottoms.
I planned to display my scarlet letter when I received an “R” rating from the Motion Picture Association (for Sexual Themes, naturally). Sadly, the best I could score was PG-13 for mild profanity and rude humor regarding where someone could stick his baton.
