Editorial License

Rob Hammerton, music educator etc.

Under the Influence

Lately, happily, I’ve received a number of comments about my posts here that were very kind indeed. Arguably, overly kind! One or two have rendered me speechless (with gratitude and amazement!) – and if you know me at all, or my writing, you know how rare an event that is.

It got me to thinking about where my style of writing came from. Every so often, I’ll write something, just a phrase or a sentence, and read it back to myself, and think, “Well, that was very…” [whichever author I had just emulated or imitated or committed thievery upon]. The advice to writers has always been, “write what you know”; similarly, you can’t write in a style that isn’t yours, or at least you can’t write well in a style you don’t know very well.

So… here’s a page of navel-gazing in the guise of trying to trace my writing’s ancestry, to wit: authors whom I’ve read extensively, or writers whose style has made enough of an impact on me to affect what rebounds back out of my brain after I’ve read their stuff.

First things first: I had to learn to read, and I had to learn that reading was the thing to do. Mom and Dad were steadfast in carrying out their responsibilities: teach the toddler to read. Make sure he shows up to first grade ready to go. So: gigantic poster-paper flash cards, seven inches tall by as much as three feet long, containing various fun words to read.

Next: the teachers who didn’t just assign books to read, they found us fun things to read and then sent us off to find our own.

[] Joan Baird was my first-grade teacher; she put me in a reading group of exactly two people (and herself). We spent time reading the textbook full of stories and just took off. Pretty soon, we were making regular pilgrimages to the school library to find books we wanted to read. For me? Significantly, I think, the first book I remember pulling off the shelf and being intrigued by: “Tom Corbett, Space Cadet”. Insert punchlines here…

[] Barbara Howe was my third- and fourth-grade teacher (she had a weirdo experimental combined third-/fourth-grade class which was about thirteen different shades of awesome), and she was the first teacher who gave me packets of pages with prompts and empty lines upon which to write creatively. I probably have those packets buried in a closet somewhere, and I probably don’t want to read what at the time (at the age of 8) I thought was clever – but it was undoubtedly the moment I figured out that as cool as reading was, it weren’t nothin’ compared to writing my own stuff.

First major literary influence? Interestingly, a comic strip; but not surprisingly, Charles M. Schulz. I acquired curiosity about World War I while reading about Snoopy’s imaginary flying-ace exploits; I got early theological training from Linus Van Pelt; and I remember very clearly reading Peppermint Patty’s dressing-down of Charlie Brown, “C’mon, Chuck!” and trying to pronounce the first word “see, mon!” How much more than just a comic strip was Peanuts?

Summers at the Charles River Creative Arts Program in Dover, Massachusetts ended up cementing my love of musical activity, but they started out with a pretty firm pursuit of writing, creative and otherwise. The arts day camp’s daily newspaper, “The Daily Double,” featured a number of luminaries (who to the outside world probably looked like 14-year-old campers and high-school-/college-aged camp counselors) who already wrote like nobody else I knew. David Zakon introduced me to the voice of the cynic – writing with a perpetually raised eyebrow. Mark Tavares’ writing voice I couldn’t even classify but it was some of the most inventive forms of self-expression I’d bumped into to that point. And Julie Sade represented the voice of cool, calm, collected journalism, with a slight edge of goofy.

And possibly the most ridiculous concept ever, which the CRCAP world perpetrated twice a summer, was the production of a complete musical theater show (from auditions to curtain call) over the course of a three-and-a-half-week camp session. The shows were usually written by the camp’s playwriting class, led by a writing department counselor who would thereafter polish the script. Add musical score, stir and serve. Some of the results were at best “workable”; some of them were very good considering they were the writing equivalent of short-order cooking; and a few were just plain brilliant. David Downing’s script, called “Food For Thought”, was a cautionary tale about nutrition choices, and if that sounds bland as tofu, you haven’t seen the show. On top of which, “Food” features a musical score by Tom Megan that includes a finale so good (with wise lyrics and music that is a hybrid of Dave Brubeck, 70s soft-rock and Claude Debussy) that if you heard it on its own somewhere, you’d be shocked to know it came from a children’s musical.

The other show that you never forgot, if you were involved with it, was called “The Titanic Goes Hawaiian -or- The Great American Disaster Musical.” Talk about a script that swerved crazily from one topical parody to another, from one awful pun to a worse one ten seconds later. Sam Abel was the writer, able to manage wisecrack and wisdom like Joe Torre juggled the various monumental Yankees of the late 1990s. And I learned from his play “Left Out” two summers later that one can write a deadly serious play with very funny lines in it.

Meanwhile… I’ve been thinking of published authors whose material so struck me that the style of their writing made it firmly into my own…

[] Whoever it was who wrote the Marx Brothers movies. The Marx Brothers, probably. As a fourth-grader, I discovered Groucho Marx cracking wise, and it was a discovery that no one else really grasped, in the circles I ran in. So I just walked home from school, put my “Three Hours, Fifty-Nine Minutes and Fifty-Seven Seconds with the Marx Brothers” record on the turntable, and snickered.

[] David Gerrold. Again, my 11-year-old nerd self bought the book that Mr. Gerrold wrote about his 1967 Star Trek episode “The Trouble With Tribbles”, partly because I was (and still am) a nut for anything “behind-the-scenes”. Also because that Star Trek episode was going primarily for laughs, a rare thing indeed. The wry humor contained therein kinda struck me. It also set me up for life with a propensity for writing single-sentence paragraphs for dramatic effect.

That propensity dogs me still.

[] Ogden Nash, most famous for punchy, pun-laden short poetry, e.g. “A wondrous creature is the germ / Though smaller than the pachyderm” and “Why did the Lord give us agility, / If not to evade responsibility?” A couple of years ago I wrote a children’s musical, and some of the lyrics, now that I look back at them, were Nash all the way:

In the ancient of days, back before you were born / Our poor planet was quiet from evening till morn

Not a life form was stirring, not even a germ / Or a virus or fungus or insect or worm

Not a thing there would scurry or amble or crawl / And it wasn’t inspiring; ‘twas nothing at all

Did the Earth wonder to itself, “what’s this about?” / As a thunderstorm gathered and ended the drought?

Then the lightning flashed once and things started to swirl / And we started evolving toward boys and toward girls

Soon the bugs became fishes and lizards and such / And the moment had come, and it didn’t take much

[] Bob Ryan, acerbic sportswriter for the Boston Globe (back when he was pushed to write better, by Globe sports page competition on the order of Peter Gammons and Leigh Montville). His columns about the Boston Celtics of the 1980s never disappointed; his “cleaning out the desk drawer of the mind” quick-hit pieces still stick with me.

[] Garrison Keillor – not so much when he’s spinning tales of Lake Wobegon, but more when he’s quietly laying out political leanings and personal philosophies in something like his book “Homegrown Democrat”. If I get going on topics like inexplicable politicians, or a lack of common sense on display (or my early writing influences), his voice informs mine.

[] An undeniable influence on my writing has been the curious, humorous, theatre-of-the-absurd turns of phrase created by Douglas Adams. As a high-school freshman nerd, I discovered the radio drama version of “The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy” and knew I’d found utter perfection: science fiction that was really, really funny. And English. Adams’ work has been called a cross between “Monty Python” and science fiction. I go back and forth: sometimes I agree; sometimes I think it’s too easy to label English humor as strictly “Monty Python”. But if some weird literary catastrophe happened and all that remained of Douglas Adams’ writing was his spectacular adverbial creations (“Now it is such a bizarrely improbable coincidence that anything so mindbogglingly useful could have evolved purely by chance that some thinkers have chosen to see [the Babel Fish] as the final and clinching proof of the non-existence of God”), it would be enough.

And then there are a few authors whose writing I would one day like to be able to emulate and incorporate into my writing without being accused of plagiarism!:

[] Molly Ivins, whose Texas drawl came through loud and clear in her political commentary. There are elements of Texan-ness that I have trouble with, but not Ms. Ivins.

[] Harlan Ellison, except I can’t muster up the kind of vitriol he can put into his commentaries when he gets aggrieved (righteously or otherwise); and I can’t invent speculative fiction storylines anywhere near as great as his.

[] Roy Blount, Jr., whose style of writing or speaking I cannot hope to emulate as I am not nearly as Southern as he is (highly recommended is his “Long Time Leaving: Dispatches from Up South”).

[] Bob & Ray‘s quiet lunacy.

[] Raymond Chandler. I’d love to say I can write like he can. I can’t. I’ve tried, and it sounds pale and paltry by comparison. I love the hard-boiled private eye detective fiction sound, but even Garrison Keillor’s “Guy Noir, Private Eye” radio ad libs are better than my finely crafted fake Chandlerisms.

Okay. Navel-gazing over. But if I am to be subjected to compliments about my writing, I must acknowledge the people who helped me get writing, because I must acknowledge that whatever writing style I may have didn’t just spring forth from Zeus’ head. (See, I did retain something from my high school Classical Literature class.)

May 28, 2011 Posted by | books, education, journalism, literature, writing | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

Sphere of Awareness

I suppose I could start this with, “What another week.”

My previous post here, about the tumult surrounding the announcement of the UMass band’s new director, has met with some very kind and thoughtful responses, both here and on the wider Web / Facebook machine. A writer is not necessarily always aiming to express thoughts so that other people can then say “that was exactly what I was thinking!” It becomes an echo chamber if one writes something and everyone else agrees and I am right and you are right and everything is quite correct.

And we have more than enough media echo chambers.

But it’s nice to hear that one has summed up someone else’s feelings. It may mean that perhaps one isn’t stuck inside one’s own head – that one can expand one’s sphere of awareness, observe unexpected things and possibly, possibly adjust one’s own viewpoint to account for that.

Speaking of which … let me try this one on you.

It’s worth remembering that as hard a job as it is to be a new leader of an organization, it can also be a tough job to be a member of an organization that is getting a new leader. (Hold that thought, please.)

When I was a high school freshman, my high school band got a new director. As it happened, I knew who the previous director had been and I was thrilled, THRILLED that he was gone – I thought he was mean and condescending, didn’t care a toot about kids or know how to connect with them, and I thought this at the clear-headed age of 14. To this day, I still think I was right. And the new guy was everything great that his predecessor wasn’t. I have no idea whether every upperclassmen thought this, but we all seemed to have a good time, particularly during jazz band rehearsals.

When I was a sophomore, we got a new band director, again. When I met him, I thought, yeah, okay, he might work out all right. This I thought at the clear-headed age of 15. (You think I’m pretentious now?) The “new new guy” was different in many ways from the “old new guy”. We heard an anonymous, unattributed, possibly apocryphal rumor-quote from (allegedly) a band parent in the town where he’d previously taught, saying, “Oh, him? He’s trouble. He’ll destroy your band program.”

Predictably, some of my band colleagues liked him fine, many didn’t so much care for him, and some of them cared for him not at all, though I don’t remember that we lost very many band members going into that year. He introduced us to corps-style marching, and being called to attention and shouting “one, two”, and other similar things which many of my colleagues thought were the dorkiest things they’d ever been asked to do. I didn’t agree with everything he did, and occasionally wished (for his sake) that he’d phrased a thing or two differently; but he wasn’t trouble, and he didn’t kill our band program. By my senior year, our band had nearly doubled in size. (Of course, the year after I graduated, the band had drum majors and tonal bass drums for the first time, dang it; but by that time I was wearing the UMass uniform. Life goes on.)

Not because of that story, but inadvertently in parallel with it, in my previous post last week, I wrote this:

The last thing we as a band community need to do is beat on the new guy before he’s even set foot on campus, for heaven’s sake. I do hope Dr. Anderson … experiences the kind of hospitable and supportive reception that I got at Holy Cross.”

So, gradually, as Band Alumni have had time to digest and adjust to the reality that the UMMB now has a different director than George Parks … regardless of who they thought it should be … many of their online posts are beginning to reflect that adjustment, and the re-assertion of our slogan, “The Power and Class of New England”. With emphasis on the word “class”. Better than unfettered ranting – which will produce nothing except ill will toward a group of people who may not all be ranting. It will be awfully important in the near term to make sure that the new director is “assimilated into the collective”, to connect with him constructively and positively (before any other University players get their hooks into him!!).

Never thought I’d be playing the role of the Borg in an analogy, but here we are. This is the brave new world we live in now.

But, recognizing that it’s pleasing to see a gradual return to “trying to play nicely with others” within the Band Alumni community, allow me now to paraphrase one of the last paragraphs of my previous post, with italics added to indicate the new changes:

There are … people who are now trying to play the part of the grownups in the room (admirable), posting messages online that say ‘the decision has been made, and we should support the new guy’ – which is true! But a lot of these messages neglect to note that band members are still struggling with the fact that Thom Hannum is not the new guy – which is no less true. The returning band members should not be merely collateral damage. … In terms of human feelings, we are not the most important player in this little subplot. I think we come off as arrogant if we think that if WE come to terms with the fact that the University didn’t name Thom as UMMB director, then the issue is settled.

If you were in band members’ shoes, would that settle the issue for you?”

Have you ever been in that situation? Of course you have. We all have. If you loved your kindergarten teacher, didn’t you wish your first-grade teacher was just as wonderful? If you voted for Gore or Kerry, did that settle your feelings about Bush 43 being president? If you voted for McCain, did that settle your feelings about Obama being president? (And no, I’m not injecting politics into this; I’m making an analogy. Have a seat, please.)

In my previous post last week, I also wrote this:

…[D]espite the phenomenal performance in Michigan [that same weekend], despite the fact that the UMMB completed all its performances last fall in its usual glorious fashion, despite the vast show of support from more than 900 marching alumni at Homecoming,… of course that band is still a very fragile group of people.”

I recently had an online conversation with one of the members of the 2010 UMMB, who has given me the OK to talk about our conversation. Which member it was is irrelevant; this member is a human being and enjoyed being in the UMMB while it was led by George Parks and Thom Hannum. And s/he was not especially pleased that the University saw fit to select a director who was not Mr. Hannum, in part because of the role that he played in helping the UMMB survive Fall 2010.

This was part of our conversation:

…[A]t this point it is more of the fact that Thom got swiped and the university didn’t take into account of how we are mentally – which is not necessarily stable. I think if they really considered our feelings and how emotional we have been they would not have thrown us into the situation we are in, which quite frankly, I think is extremely wrong. Not putting the students[‘] mental health first is something that I’m very frustrated and sensitive about to be honest.”

Sadly, most hiring decisions (whether in the academic or corporate worlds) are not made by people who are paid to take these sorts of things into account. This isn’t right, not by a country mile, but it’s true. And, as I detailed in my previous post, in this particular case, it should have been in the forefront of the University administration’s collective mind.

Our conversation continued. This paragraph grabbed me by the throat:

Honestly, at this point I’m starting to feel hurt by some of … those that are just saying ‘get over it’ or ‘just be powerful and classy’ … because we still are not over it, by a long shot. You can disagree with something in a powerful and classy way. Many folks are, and I just don’t think they understand how hard it hit us that night. The 350whatever of us in the room went through a traumatic experience that we will never forget for the rest of our lives – and a few of us … actually saw GNP pass. Many of us (including myself) have [sought] therapy and additional help over the events of September 16th. I don’t think it’s right of some alumni to be telling us how to feel. So at this point, I just hope they take into account the sensitivity of the situation because it still greatly affects us for the rest of our lives, even after we graduate and move on from the band.”

Some of the members of the 2010 Minuteman Marching Band may not return in 2011. I can understand. Some of the members of the 2010 Minuteman Marching Band will return. I hope that many, many do – although I recognize that, again, it’s going to be a really tough job to be a UMMB member (and to be a UMMB student staff member), and not because Dr. Tim Anderson will be a great director or a terrible one. Whoever the new band director is, except for Thom Hannum, he or she isn’t Thom Hannum. No one is. Which means that this would be – will be – a difficult job for anyone, in this particular context.

It will all be difficult, for absolutely everybody. But it may be helpful for us Band Alumni to remind ourselves that we need to get out of our own heads, where we can, where it’s appropriate, and keep in mind a paraphrased lyric from a Stephen Sondheim song, which I wish wasn’t called “Sunday in the Park with George”, but it is called that …

Hello? … There is someone in this uniform.”

May 24, 2011 Posted by | band, marching band, music, social media, Thom Hannum, UMMB | 2 Comments

Change, and Related Topics

What a week.

For my kind readers who are not connected with the marching band at the University of Massachusetts at Amherst, you have homework! … in order to have a clue what I’m writing about.

First, this current event from last fall (or read these blog posts from September 2010).

Then, this, about Mr. Parks’ interim successor. Or, if you prefer, this.

Then, this, about the naming of Mr. Parks’ permanent successor.

With the exception of just two little tiny quotations, I’ve not posted online about the selection of UMass’ new band director this week.  If I had a dime for every time this week I’ve physically held my hands up over this keyboard, and then said to myself, “no.  Not now, not yet”, I’d be able to take my whole extended family out to dinner for a month.  I wanted to “get this right”, to express myself utilizing actual facts, rather than going on just knee-jerk emotion (thus avoiding opportunities for misinterpretation that no emoticon can solve).  But I didn’t want to betray the confidences of a few people who knew more than your average observer and were willing to share what they knew with me.  About which I am more than humbled, so I endeavored to shut my yap.  I didn’t want to step on toes, to break news that wasn’t meant to be broken.  There might be more important things in this world than relationships, but I can’t think of any at the moment.

As the week went on, more news broke without my help (I used to be a journalism major, but still I was OK with this), and it wasn’t sweetness and light.  By week’s end, I was as coldly furious as I have ever been with any institution or agency or person.  There are great huge open plains of wrong out there, which either I’ve gotten my first look at, or I’ve been re-introduced to, or I’ve discovered by putting two and two together and getting about five and a half.

So, now, here’s the upshot: Thom Hannum deserved better.

Some personal experiences inform this next:

I’ve been “the new band director” at two schools.  At one school, I had no immediate successor (in fact it was my job to re-build the membership from scratch), so I didn’t experience what I’ve called the “Mr. Hoffman did it THIS way” effect.  This can be helpful – with all the work one has to do to get a music program up and running, one just doesn’t have time to put out all those brushfires.  So, my students and I lived in ignorant bliss, and had a great time doing good work!

At the other school, I was the successor to a gentleman who had been the band director for more than 20 years and was basically the only director anyone in the “modern era” of that band could remember.

Sound familiar?

Fortunately for me, Robert A. Principe, the former director of the Holy Cross Crusader Marching Band was helpful, gracious, supportive – even though he was still on campus, in another role, when I came on as “the new guy”. That could have been very very weird, or worse.  But he made himself constantly available as a font of information, advice and assistance; and in a gesture that I’m not sure I could achieved, he didn’t come to a single rehearsal, and the first game he did attend was the last home game of that first season.  Throughout the season, I said to him, “Bob, come to a rehearsal!  Your kids miss you!  They’d love to see you!”  And he consistently replied, “nah, Rob, they’re your kids now.”

When I reached out to the band alumni, the alumni that responded were unfailingly gracious and supportive themselves.  I got to know a lot of them quite well via Homecomings, eMail exchanges, and the fact that they loved to come back and play with the pep band during winter break.  For a group that can often appear extremely tradition-bound (and I say that with love and respect, I promise!!), they were willing to embrace the change… to welcome the new guy.

Here’s the major difference, I think, between that college band “new-guy” situation and UMass’s current one, though:

My predecessor didn’t die.

Not to be blunt … oops, too late … but: Holy Cross band members and band alumni were warned well ahead of time that their director of many decades was going to retire from the position; they knew he was still going to be on campus, so they could go and visit his office anytime; … and he was still alive.  The separation anxiety and trauma happened over the course of a school year.

The 2010 Minuteman Marching Band went through that trauma over the course of a weekend.

And it was left to Thom Hannum (and his staff) to pick up the pieces, to help the band survive, and thrive.  And he did.  In spades.  In ways that impressed even those of us who thought we knew Thom pretty well.

But despite the phenomenal performance in Michigan, despite the fact that the UMMB completed all its performances last fall in its usual glorious fashion, despite the vast show of support from more than 900 marching alumni at Homecoming, … I imagine that that band still feels pretty shaky.

Monday it was announced that (after 30 years of service to UMass, with the thirtieth being a monumental challenge well met) our colleague and friend Thom Hannum was not selected to be the new band director, and the reaction was… strong.  Reportedly, at least a few UMass band members reacted emotionally and strongly. Many members of the band alumni community have, as well; some in a more measured way than others.  Under the circumstances, should we have expected anything else?  We claim to be “the power and class”, and have ever heeded George Parks’ emphasis on “class”; but we also are human beings.  So is it possible we could be forgiven for having a moment of disappointment?  (A moment which doesn’t necessarily have to encompass whoever it was who was chosen instead, which I’ll get to momentarily.)

Humans react to change instinctively.  In ancient days if we didn’t react to change we might have become dead at the hands of saber-tooth tigers or new and poorer planting conditions.  More recently, humans have invented terms like “going outside our comfort zone” to describe this; but change is upheaval, whether it’s a change in
who’s the band director or a change of dinner plans.

For some Holy Cross people, I represented a new variable in the equation and Bob Principe represented their comfort zone.  The people who remained active band members, and the band alumni who gave the new guy a chance, were great people to have around as I began my time at Holy Cross.  As for the people who stepped away from the organization, I could never blame them for being humans.  (A few of them even came back.)

This all has nearly nothing to do with Tim Anderson.  ANYONE from outside the UMass community who had been named the new director would be dealing with the same challenges that Dr. Anderson has already faced and surely will face.  The last thing we as a band community need to do is beat on the new guy before he’s even set foot on campus, for heaven’s sake.

I do hope Dr. Anderson (or whomever else had been selected as the new band director instead) experiences the kind of hospitable and supportive reception that I got at Holy Cross.  If he does, he’ll quickly grow to love the organization and the people who make it up.  So, in this analogy, I suppose Tim Anderson represents the new variable in the equation and Thom Hannum represents the decades-long comfort zone.

Except for one tiny but crucial detail: Bob Principe got showered with accolades, receptions, press releases, and the like; and at this year’s celebration of the 100th year of the Holy Cross Band performing on the field, he got a special award from the College.

Thom Hannum got two sentences at the bottom of a University press release about someone else.

He deserves more than that.

Perhaps it’s not yet time for the University to issue a separate, dedicated press release that expresses gratitude for, and extols the virtues of, Thom’s 30 years of service to the University.  But somehow I doubt it will be forthcoming.

The UMMB completed its 2010 season looking for all the world like a band that had not actually lost its director mid-season.  They did so in large part because Thom Hannum offered leadership, inspiration and comfort to them in a very difficult moment, and because he was the one person who had the best chance to do so successfully.  But the UMMB still must be a very fragile group of people.

And it doesn’t look to me like the right people – the people who were charged with determining who was the right person to lead, not just any band, but this particular band – cared about that, not a bit.

Based on admittedly second- and third-hand reports that I have heard from a small number of very trusted associates this week, I remain very suspicious about the integrity of the hiring process and the motivations behind the decision not to hire Thom Hannum or Heidi Sarver (a UMass band alumna), or [and this is my own conjecture] potentially to consider anyone remotely connected with George N. Parks.  Recent news of the UMass Music Department asserting a claim on the newly-constructed George N. Parks Marching Band Building, a project which was funded partly by contributions from people who were of the understanding that it was to be dedicated to the operations of the Marching Band … does nothing to dispel this impression.  I suspect that the hiring process was more than tinged by a history of antagonistic relations between certain institutions and persons at the University of Massachusetts; and I am most saddened that this is even now having an impact on the most important people in this equation, in this moment: the band kids.

Finally, I guess, this is what is making me the craziest, and what is being passed over in some quarters:

There are plenty of people who are now trying to play the part of the grownups in the room (admirable), posting messages online that say “the decision has been made, and we should support the new guy” – which is true! But a lot of these messages neglect to note that people are still struggling with the fact that Thom Hannum is not the new guy – which is no less true.  Thom should not be merely collateral damage.  The part that Thom has played in the events of this past week – and the effects of this week on Thom professionally and personally – assuredly should not be just swept under the rug or forgotten or set aside.  In terms of human feelings, we are not the most important player in this little subplot.  I think we come off as arrogant if we think that if WE come to terms with the fact that the University didn’t name Thom as UMMB director, then the issue is settled.

If you were in Thom’s shoes, would that settle the issue for you?

I understand that change happens.  I understand that we don’t always get what we want, or what we think would be appropriate for a given situation.  I understand that someone else may consider a decision that I find mystifying… a perfectly reasonable decision.  I understand that I may have to wait for awhile to discover whether life will go on and everything will be okay, or whether it won’t.  I understand that sometimes, protesting or moaning or writing angry letters or stamping my foot and crying “but it’s no FAIR!” won’t change a thing.  I understand that life is not always fair.

I understand all that.

But I don’t have to like it.

May 15, 2011 Posted by | band, GNP, marching band, music, social media, Thom Hannum, UMMB, writing | 4 Comments