Editorial License

Rob Hammerton, music educator etc.

Significant or Successful?

And so, my annual Drum Major Academy teachin’ fortnight draws to a close.

(Actually, it did so a good couple of weeks ago, but life careens onward. You know how that goes.)

To be honest, although I’ve been a part of that rarefied world for seventeen summers, I’m consistently startled at the regularity of one thing: every summer, one thing in particular strikes me as important about what I just experienced … and every summer, it’s a different thing.

One year, it was an appreciation of how DMA staff members take care of business, and take care of their students, and just as importantly take care of each other in moments of crisis (as well as in every other summer moment, and outside of the mere delivery of the curriculum). One year, it was an appreciation of the DMA students, and how social media has allowed them to be their own best support systems, even after the week of instruction is over. One year, it was the recognition that if more groups of teachers were as silly and lunatic and creative as the crowd I get to work with … lots of parts of the world would be in better shape.

In each case, it was an acknowledgment that a DMA week is an intense and concentrated thing, one which has a lasting impact on people – and this is clear not just while six-member student squads do group hugs after the end of the final demonstration for the parents, and not just while the “veterans” (the second- or third-year high-school drum majors who are “crazy enough to come back and do this thing again”) link arms and shed a tear or two or thirty when we play them that song on the last evening.

Talking of veterans and rookies …

I guess I count as a vet, here. Crazy enough (or perhaps it’s some other motivation; yeah, I think) to come back and do this thing thirty-four times now (West Chester and UMass, times 17 summers; because math).

When the staff is briefly introduced to the students by name, early in the week, everybody looks up at the Powerpoint files projected on the screen above the assembled staff’s heads and reads the summary of what each of us do, where we’re from, and how many years we’ve been doing this DMA thing. With very few exceptions, the staff is introduced from newest to most-experienced. And in the last two or three years, I’ve found myself about third-to-last on a bench that usually is twenty or thirty people deep.

Heh. Means I’m old.

It does not, however, mean that I lack for moments in which I definitely don’t feel like a vet.

I’ve run indoor conducting-video analysis sessions a-plenty [side note: who else uses that word anymore?] … I’ve judged tons of squad marching-and-commanding competitions and led lots of pretty productive “postgame” discussions. Lately I’ve even begun to teach mace to absolute beginners (which, for this two-trick pony, is probably about right). But – maybe it’s a little bit about how my brain is wired, but – I look around that room and see so many people whom I consider teaching role models, the quality of whose work I would someday like to at least emulate.

I’d like to think that’s because teachers are always their own toughest critics – always looking for ways they can run that session just a bit better next time.

That feeling doesn’t completely dominate my perceptions all week. When collegiate members of our team, the “IMPACTs” or “CLIP staff”, are assigned to hang out in my TV room or with my company of competition squads, we each seem to learn a bit from each other, and they’re always very kind to suggest that they’ve gotten something out of watching me do my thing. Self-deprecating I may be, but not quite to the point of lockjaw. Shortly many of these kids (and sorry, but they are kids!!) will probably surpass their teachin’ elders, and it’s definitely better that way. Beats the alternative – not least for the sake of DMA. If I can do any tiny thing to make their experience one that they would wish to continue and even pursue as a vocation, … then great.

Two moments from this past two-week summer teaching hitch struck me particularly, with regard to this topic.

First, the out-of-this-world leadership speaker and music-education advocate, Dr. Tim Lautzenheiser, spoke to the West Chester students. He always slips the absolute universal truths in between the belly laughs. Addressing the precarious leadership role into which we’re placing teenaged people, he talked about the “why do you want to be a drum major?” and “are you doing this for the right reasons?” questions. Do you understand that you have the chance to make a difference in people’s lives, or are you just in it for the uniform and the glory? Is it for them or for you? “Do you want to be significant, or do you want to be successful?”

And then, on the last evening of the UMass week, the stellar lead clinician Heidi Sarver had her annual conversation with the students about their opportunity, the biggest of anyone at their school, to make the biggest impact on people in their school. After asking them to remember the people who were important to them when they were rookies – freshmen – she turned it around on them: a few years from now, I’ll ask the DMA students to think about that same subject, and they’ll imagine you.

It’s a pretty effective moment, because suddenly the DMA kids are fully aware that they’re part of a continuum.

And, it occurred to me even more strongly than usual that evening … so am I.

In the summers of 1999 and 2000 and 2001, when I really was a DMA staff rookie, there were people who took me under their wings … gave me a clue … helped me figure out all the mysterious elements that go into teaching at DMA.

I got to hang out in Heidi’s TV room. I looked over Fred’s and Darrell’s shoulders at their “squamp sheets”. I got to watch Jen run her mad, mad, mad morning-calisthenics routine. I got to just generally pick the brains of Jess, and Scott, and Jamie, and Mona. (And, yes, there were numerous others. I think these folks are nicely representative; but I’ve definitely left people out, which is not a good plan. You know who you are; you really do.)

Think of the people who made DMA special for you, my brain translated for me, that evening. And see if you can turn around, just like all those DMA students, and help the next generation as best you can. “Pay it forward” is a nearly-cliched aphorism at this point, but … that’s how this thing survives, and thrives. DMA, and band, and, ideally, the rest of the world too. Boiled down, that’s the point of this fortnight.

Which, ultimately, is thanks to the efforts and inspiration and forethought of the gentleman who thought the whole project up. Who made DMA special for everybody, and continues to do so. Who made it both significant and successful.

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August 19, 2015 Posted by | band, DMA, drum major, friends, GNP, marching band, music, Starred Thoughts, teachers | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Today’s Brief Lesson in Maturity

So last night, the NFL New England Patriots defeated the Indianapolis Colts, 45-7, in the AFC Championship game, to earn a spot in the 2015 Super Bowl.

It was just as firm a victory as the score would indicate. In spite of this, and in spite of the fact that both teams were playing very hard until the last couple of minutes, there were no mini-brawls between the two teams. Patriots coach Bill Belichick was shown on TV taking a rather long time searching the field for Colts coach Chuck Pagano so that the two could shake hands and exchange pleasantries afterward. Similarly, Patriots quarterback Tom Brady spent a bit more than a perfunctory couple of seconds and a curt “good game” with his counterpart, the promising Andrew Luck.

In other words, everyone was playing “the grownup in the room”.

After the game, two NFL kickers weighed in on the contrast. Here, I believe, was a tiny yet grand demonstration of the difference between playing “the grownup” and not playing “the grownup”.

According to a report on the New England Sports Network’s website, entitled “Adam Vinatieri Admires Patriots Despite Nasty Taste of Colts’ Loss”:

Adam Vinatieri watched Sunday as several of his former New England Patriots teammates pumped up the Gillette Stadium crowd. The scene sparked wide-ranging emotions within the Indianapolis Colts kicker, but his overriding sensation following the Patriots’ 45-7 AFC Championship Game win was one of disappointment.

For the last decade and a half, two decades, whatever, they’ve been as successful as anybody out there,” said Vinatieri, who played 10 seasons with New England from 1996 to 2005. “Obviously, this is another Super Bowl appearance for them, and they’re a really, really good team. I can appreciate what they’ve done. It leaves a nasty taste in my mouth today, though.”

By contrast, over on the Twitter machine, former New York Giants kicker Lawrence Tynes posted this:

The Pats have learned to celebrate the hell out of those AFC Championships because the[y] know what comes 2 weeks later. #0-2inGlendale

Of course, Patriots fans are probably seething. And of course, this morning many national sports media outlets (ESPN and The Sporting News amongst them) published accounts of this Tweet with seeming admiration for the audacity of the insult.  Burn!

(Lawrence Tynes is no stranger to taking shots while expressing supposed admiration for his pro-athlete colleagues: earlier this season, after Peyton Manning broke Brett Favre’s all-time record for passing touchdowns, Tynes posted this Tweet: “Congrats to Eli’s brother for breaking the TD record. #elihas2 #peytonhas1 @giants @broncos”. Of course, Peyton’s brother Eli, Tynes’ former New York Giant teammate, has two Super Bowl rings, while Peyton has just the one. See what he did there?)

Just to round out the box score on this one:

Mr. Tynes participated in two Super Bowl wins (2008 and 2012) with the Giants, both over the Patriots.

Meanwhile, Mr. Vinatieri participated in four Super Bowl wins in the space of six seasons: three (2001, 2003 and 2004) with the Patriots, and one more with a completely different team (2006), his current Colts.

Mr. Tynes, age 36, was recently released from the Tampa Bay Buccaneers.

Meanwhile, Mr. Vinatieri, age 42 (the oldest active NFL player, with ten Patriot seasons and nine Colt seasons), was still playing as of last night.

Mr. Vinatieri’s actual team participated in the AFC Championship game, and he made his postgame comments at Gillette Stadium, after having spent four hours in vile weather conditions, probably looking ahead hopefully to next season’s competition.

Meanwhile, Mr. Tynes’ actual current team did not make the playoffs this year, and he made his postgame comments … probably from his couch.

As one of my favorite teachers once said, “…see, there’s the whole maturity thing again.”

January 19, 2015 Posted by | celebrity, Famous Persons, football, Internet, media, social media, sports, Twitter | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Attitudes and Mannerisms

I read a New York Times article this afternoon that gave me pause. It also made me pleased that I wasn’t standing at that moment in a war zone, although I would have been pleased about that in any case.

It was about Blackwater, the company which was sub-contracted to provide protection to US government personnel at the beginning of our government’s foray into Iraq, eleven years ago. It was about an investigation into Blackwater’s activity in Iraq, specifically whether it had done some things badly, as well as whether it had done some bad things it shouldn’t have done at all, and on top of which whether the company’s personnel had taken a literal and metaphorical oath of loyalty to someone or some company that might put them into conflict with the people they were protecting.

And it was all very unnerving. In part, because guys holding automatic weapons can be unnerving even if they don’t actively mean to be. And guys holding automatic weapons who appear to be beholden to a company and not the government personnel they’re supposed to be protecting can be very unnerving.

It can also be even more unnerving when other government people come to investigate them, to see if reports of them doing bad things are true … and the guy in charge of the guys holding the automatic weapons basically tells the investigators to scram, but not before telling them that he “could kill them at that very moment and no one could or would do anything about it”.

Unnerving, comma, very very.

From the Times article:

The next day, the two men [Richter and Thomas, the government inspectors] met with Daniel Carroll, Blackwater’s project manager in Iraq, to discuss the investigation, including a complaint over food quality and sanitary conditions at a cafeteria in Blackwater’s compound. Mr. Carroll barked that Mr. Richter could not tell him what to do about his cafeteria, Mr. Richter’s report said. The Blackwater official went on to threaten the agent and say he would not face any consequences, according to Mr. Richter’s later account.

Mr. Carroll said that he could kill me at that very moment and no one could or would do anything about it as we were in Iraq, Mr. Richter wrote in a memo to senior State Department officials in Washington. He noted that Mr. Carroll had formerly served with Navy SEAL Team 6, an elite unit.

Mr. Carroll’s statement was made in a low, even tone of voice, his head was slightly lowered; his eyes were fixed on mine, Mr. Richter stated in his memo. “I took Mr. Carroll’s threat seriously. We were in a combat zone where things can happen quite unexpectedly, especially when issues involve potentially negative impacts on a lucrative security contract.

He added that he was especially alarmed because Mr. Carroll was Blackwater’s leader in Iraq, and organizations take on the attitudes and mannerisms of their leader.”

Great heavens. Sounds like dialogue from a movie scene – the sort of scene that features a frowning Benedict Cumberbatch using that low, even tone of voice, and having that slightly lowered head and those fixed eyes. (I have no idea why that analogy should come to me.)

I have observed this phenomenon, the effect of attitudes and mannerisms equal to or greater than that of mere words.

Not in any situations involving automatic weapons, you understand; no indeed. Rather, happily, I’ve observed the truth of that last sentence in far more positive ways than negative.

I’ve seen groups – musical ensembles and others – whose way of operating clearly drew encouragement and inspiration and direction from their leadership.

That can cut both ways.

You may read that last sentence in the context of a performing ensemble which makes sloppy-sounding music and in which not everyone wears all their uniform parts correctly, or at all – and its director looks and acts the part, as well.

Or you may read it in the context of one of the world’s elite soccer teams, which meets an upstart’s challenge, plays well, and wins an important single-elimination-round match – after which many of its coaches and players strive valiantly to console the losing team’s seemingly inconsolable, openly weeping star player.

The members of each of those groups may have tended toward those behaviors anyway, to start with … but, one would suspect, their coaches or teachers or leaders or mentors will have encouraged – indeed, modeled – them, consistently.

As my grandmother used to say, “It ain’t off the ground they licked it.”

I once heard a saying: technology isn’t good or bad – it’s what you do with it. It’s the direction toward which you take it. And in this case, as the great Dr. Tim Lautzenheiser has said, “you will move in the direction of your attitude – positive or negative”.

I take all this as a healthy reminder, as I head into the summer drum major clinic teaching season, that a teacher is on stage every moment (except, perhaps, after the students have been properly room-checked and lights are out and we’re all on our isolated staff floor and giggling like idiots at some silly joke because we’re a little tuckered out from the day’s exertions but we don’t want to go to bed yet ourselves even though we really, really, really should).

And a sizable majority of what we show the people in our organizations comes from what we do and how we do it – not so much from what we say, although how we say it matters too.

I’m thankful to have been brought up in organizations whose leadership took me in what I would consider a very positive direction.

Such as, but not limited to: the summer arts program that will celebrate its 45th anniversary at the end of this week, with a staff reunion that will doubtless feature a whole lot of people remembering a whole lot of accomplishments and friendship and fun. And there’s a reason why the atmosphere of the place, at the very least in the 1980s when I was a camper and then a counselor, was so supportive of our efforts and our camaraderie, and it wasn’t a mystical haze of good luck; it was Priscilla Dewey.

Such as, but not limited to: the college marching ensemble which – on its way to winning a Sudler Award and participating in Presidential inaugurations and national band competitions and a Macy*s Thanksgiving Day Parade – has turned out a great many of the finest people I know, as professionals and people, whether they’re my lifelong friends or people that I still admire from afar, having never actually met (and the kind of people who would gather to accomplish things like this). It wasn’t an accident; it was (in great measure) George Parks.

Such as, but not limited to: … … well hi Mom! And Dad. (And my grandmother, she of the Killer Quote.)

Because it could all tip the wrong way. Matters could become at least sloppy and at worst truly awful, unless we pay attention and work on pointing people the right way, consciously and attentively.

Take a deep breath … look around to see who needs your help … treat people well … and the curriculum may not take care of itself but it’ll have a much stronger foundation on which to stand.

And far less unnerving.

July 7, 2014 Posted by | CRCAP, current events, DMA, education, GNP, news, Starred Thoughts, teachers, UMMB | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment