Essay: Reflections of a Senior Cardinal

Reflections of a Senior Cardinal

"After all the hard work you've put into this, it will all be over in 15 minutes."

That was the last thing Brian Collicott, one of our two directors, said to me that night. As I stood there in full uniform, clutching my clarinet tightly in my right hand, I thought about those words. Four years of dedication, hard work, pain, laughter -- everything was all put into this moment. I knew in 5 minutes that I would take the field with the rest of the band, but I would play louder at this State competition than at any of the three before this. I knew the immense crowd would look at me as just another member of the band, but to the marchers beside me, I would be recognized as a senior marcher. After this I would be done. Finished. Four years completed successfully.

Someone nudged my shoulder and hushed whispers of "we're moving" hissed throughout the 173 Marching Cardinals. Silently we moved into the open area of the Perkins Stadium at UW-Whitewater. The cadence of the Waukesha North drum-line pierced through the crowd's eager cheers, but I didn't concentrate on it. My mind was on the show I was about to perform; the music I was about to create.

I took my place on the field like I had so many times before, and Collicott took his place on the field expertly leading us through our warm-up. The memorized notes seemed to move my fingers before my mind could think about it, and I hardly noticed the passing of time until I found myself snapping my small clarinet down to an "at attention" position.

"Good luck everybody!" Collicott said, only loud enough for us to hear.

Then he left the field to take his seat beside his co-director Doug Greenhalgh, or G, as he was affectionately called.

The drum major raises his arms and his voiced echoes out a count-off. Behind me I hear the low rumble of music, vibrations pass through my body, and my feet automatically move with everyone else's. My mind, although focused on my movements, wanders to scenes of the movie, Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves from which we took our music.

We spin around to face the crowd while at the same time our music reaches a sudden climax, and it's as if the only thing the entire crowd sees is Robin Hood himself standing on the field where we march. I easily picture him in glory standing with one foot up on a rock in the middle of the 50-yard line. The music describes him as heroic, even without the words. We march faster and more confidently as the song passes. Each note we play seems to mesmerize the crowd as they applaud louder with each difficult move or formation we make. The music wraps around us like the air itself seeping into every crack and crevice of the stadium.

We halt. Just like that. Everyone stops, but we are still playing. Together we raise our instruments up to the press box letting the notes ring all the way up to the judges. Then we turn. Adrenaline rushes through me as I hear the cheers of the crowd behind me. We're marching to the back now. Although I'm completely focused, I turn part of my attention to the huge banner we've put up in the backfield stands. Nobody is allowed to sit back there, so we put the big triangular black, red and yellow symbol across the stands for the rest of the stadium to see. I look at it more than usual this year. I remember hearing that "G" sewed it together himself, making it the symbol of us --The Marching Cardinals.

I think of our symbol all the way to the end of the first song. The music reaches the loudest note at the very end, and our instruments are now, once again, aimed at the judges. It's as if we're saying, "Hey! We've got something to say! Listen Up!" I watch our drum major Andrea's hands for the cut-off and as if moving as one, our instruments are snapped down into attention. The field is completely silent for a few seconds, but the stadium isn't. A sea of parents, clad in red, white and black wave their banners and pom-poms around, exciting everyone else even more.

Our tone is now changed completely as we take the first step of our second song, our ballad. We've changed the scene of the music, and instead of Robin Hood, I envision Maid Marian. She dances around the field with our color guard with her arms spread to the sky. The music is elegant, like her. A memory once again comes to my mind of one of our "rookie staff" members explaining to us what this song is really saying. In his loudest voice, he shouts, "ALL THIS SONG IS SAYING IS, I LOVE YOU! I LOVE YOU! I LOVE YOU! Hey, guess what? I. LOVE. YOU!!!!"

If I weren't playing, I would smile. I pour my heart into my notes willing myself to play louder with every climax, and to quiet back down in between them. I can see my designated spot on the field now, and I concentrate on getting there for our grand woodwind solo. As we hit this spot, we push our left foot back behind our right by one foot. Our instruments are forced upwards again. I play with the adrenaline that still runs through me. Around us the color guard raises their flags in arcs, each spinning around and adding more and more effect by the minute. The crowd once again goes crazy for our music. Gracefully, we pull in our left foot and move just slightly once more to end our song. I imagine Maid Marian would be bowing low to the crowd, her hair spilling around her shoulders like an angel. And then she is gone.

I close my eyes for a moment, forcing all thought out of my mind. "Here we go," I tell myself. This is the Battle at the Gallows. I open my eyes again and watch as Andrea once again gives us the starting count-off and her hands start to fly frantically with the music. I have to move faster now to fit the pace of the song. The noise of cannons and gunfire surround me now as the drummers beat out every rhythm with such intensity that I can feel the vibrations move through me. I can feel the beating of the low drums in my chest as if my heart were beating out of control. The feeling is incredible. Every note we play seems like a prayer to Robin Hood to survive the battle and return unharmed to his Maid Marian. The clarinet line and I hit an ear-splitting note. It seems like the pain and agony of that note is real. The color guard whips their flags around aggressively. The battle is only beginning.

My feet seem to not even touch the ground as I fly backwards into the forms we're making. Each step takes me further back until the band comes to a sudden stop. Everything is dead silent. Collectively, we drop our instruments down in a swinging, slicing movement as if we've gotten too tired and are about to collapse. When they come back up, we move again. This time we're going faster than before. The battle is raging. Now I can actually feel my heart beating, straining to keep up. The band seems to float over the field at a million miles an hour, the music growing more epic each second. I force myself to play louder than ever before, but I can hardly hear myself over the loud roar of the rest of the band and the crowd who have been thrown into a sort of crazed excitement. Robin Hood is winning the battle at the Gallows. Finally, we hit our final positions. We blast out that last note, and then snap our instruments down. The Battle is over. We are victorious.

I take a minute to catch my breath. Cool air races down to my lungs that are now on fire. My heart is still beating frantically, and my chest heaves up and down violently. Hearing Andrea's voice once more, I focus my attention again. A drum roll alerts me to move, and I'm composed again. I feel as if the last song was just a dream. Our first notes are played triumphantly. I remember G describing this part of the show to us. I remember how excited he was that, in the movie, out of nowhere, Sean Connery appears as King Richard. We slow our music down a little bit, and it seems more dream-like. It's as if I can see Maid Marian and Robin Hood, together finally, on our field. After everything, they've survived.

I move with more purpose as the short song goes by. Each note drives me forward: keeps me pushing ahead. I feel our music pushing faster and faster. We move into rows of marchers now, and somewhere in my mind, I hear G yelling at us to "cover down!" It seems that everyone hears these words too, and we "cover down" by staying directly behind the person in front of us as we move as a group across the field. As our last spots are drawing near, dread fills my heart. I know that with every second, every note we play, I'm once again that much closer to being completely finished.

Then, as if the last 10 minutes had been only seconds, I take my final position on the field. My face is stone cold as I snap my instrument downward right in front of my face. I'm in the front of the field, so I can easily see the parents and fans jump to their feet, applauding wildly. Later I would hear that G himself had flown from his seat and had jumped around excitedly. And that's how it ended. The celebration of Maid Marian's marriage to Robin Hood was also a celebration of my last four years.

After four years, I don't remember the first few shows that I performed as a Marching Cardinal. Even my junior year's show has been somewhat erased from my mind. But this show will never be erased. Three weeks have passed since I performed on the worn out grass at Perkins Stadium, and it seems like I can still feel the slight chill in the night wind. If I try I can still feel my heart racing, and hear the screams of the crowd. But what really sticks in my mind are the faces of G and Branden who would later leave us all for something better, but who were so proud of us at the time. And the look of pride Collicott had in his eyes that night as he had looked at us as we sang our beloved "Cardinal Bound." Those are the images I'll never forget.

After four years of excitement, pain, hard work, and the dreaded push-ups, I realize Collicott had been right. Everything had ended in that 15 minutes.