Confessions of a Yamaha Sax

For the first time in nearly two decades, I have a ridge dug into the inside of my bottom lip. It’s sore, and I keep fiddling with it with my tongue, checking out the different feel to the flesh there. It was caused by folding my lip over my bottom teeth and putting a saxophone mouthpiece against it, and then playing music for quite a long time. Non-musicians might be surprised to learn that there is sometimes pain involved in making music. Guitarists have to toughen up their fingertips, and brass players have to strengthen their lips and cheeks. We saxophonists have to get a sort of callused area on in the inside of our bottom lip, and I haven’t achieved that callus just yet. I’m tender as a newbie, even though I had played for a couple decades BC (Before Children). But I’m back at it, after being relentlessly coaxed by friends already involved in the Garrett Community Concert Band. They needed saxophones, and they knew I played back in the day. I gave in and joined about a month ago, and I’m still not sure that was the best decision. I’m not entirely sure they think it was, either. Ah, well. It’s good to branch out sometimes, even if you get a ridge in your lip.

I plum forgot how fun it is to play an instrument along with others right there next to you. There is a unique camaraderie that blooms in a band, and I am having a good time realizing it once again. The task of explaining that to non-bandies is hard. I know how bandies are often perceived… sort of nerdy, willing to sit in front of an audience and blow air into some instrument or pound a drum with a stick, coming together to create a melody that the listeners might recognize, or at least enjoy a little. Bandies lug their instruments around in big old cases that are sometimes all battered or covered in stickers. They put pieces of their clarinet or trombone together without even looking, chatting with another player who is doing the same. They have reeds to pop in their mouths or valve oil to slop onto their keys, and neck straps for the heavier instruments. They have no worries about turning their instruments upside down so that all the spit will roll out onto the floor. (There’s a lot of spit in band. I’m sorry, but there is.) They wear white shirts and black pants when they perform, making them seem even a bit nerdier. But on the other side of the coin, they are also pretty cool. They know how to read music. They can look at the paper and the little black dots and know what they mean. That’s knowing another language. They know how to count out the time and to come in precisely when they should. And they can talk to each other about all of it, pointing to the music and discussing the math of the measure or the composer’s tempo markings. So nerdy or not, bandies have some secrets about things, and a leg up on people who don’t know the language. It’s just a fact.

When I was little, my sister started playing a clarinet. I was so intrigued by the reeds…. Why did she put them in her mouth? What did they taste like? And what was that cork grease stuff? She had a cloth connected to a string, too, with a little weighted ball on the end. She would drop the weight down inside the clarinet, and then pull the cloth through to clean out the spit. I was fascinated. When I was in the fourth grade, we decided I would play the alto saxophone. That was a big deal. I don’t remember really choosing that instrument myself. My mom really liked the sax, though, and she urged me to take it up. What did I know? Sure, I’ll play sax, I said. Just give me a reed and some cork grease — I’ll do anything. And so it came to pass that my parents, in the year 1972, purchased a Yamaha alto saxophone for me, for a grand total price of $425. I remember that number because they told me over and over how much it cost, always cautioning me to stick with it, to take care of it, to keep playing it, to clean it with the cloth, and to remember that they paid $425 for it! That was a pile of toadskins for that year and for my family. I was the youngest of five, and four of us played instruments. We were not rolling in the money in any way, shape, or form, so $425 was not a little.

I remember opening that black case for the first time. The sax was shiny gold, with mother-of-pearl keys. It was nestled in a form-fitting sea of bright blue shag fabric. The neck piece was in its own bed, as was the mouthpiece. There was a little compartment for other things, and in there — oh my gosh — were a neck strap, a cloth for cleaning, and cork grease! So exciting! I learned quickly that playing the sax had a few drawbacks, with the first being how heavy that case was. I had to lug it to the bus stop, which was two full blocks from my house. At age 9, I wasn’t big, so that was a challenge. Someone told me early on that I should always carry the case with the clasps closest to my body, in the event that the clasps would for some reason come open. Then the lid would be against me and I would have a better chance of catching that $425 sax. I don’t even remember who told me that, but I have carried it that way ever since — nearly 50 years.

That fall I was in the fourth grade at Dennett Road Elementary School, and my band teacher was Herb Lambert. I began lugging this new and exciting thing to school every few days. We practiced I think three days each week on the stage there. Mr. Lambert had two bands: A band and B band. B band was the younger, less experienced kids. I was in that to begin with, but my parents also put me in lessons with Rick Clever so I could learn exactly how to play. In a few weeks, Mr. Lambert asked me to start coming to A band. I was surprised and excited. But I remember that first day, and it didn’t turn out as planned.

I was seated next to Pam Bittinger, who remains my friend to this day. We first met there, with her on my left and at the end of the row — right on the edge of the stage — because she was a year older. For you non-bandies out there, that seat is called “first chair,” and it means that the person is the leader of that instrument’s particular pack. I don’t remember if there were other sax players. I don’t think so. So perhaps Mr. Lambert needed another one, prompting him to invite me even though I was so new. We began to play that day, and I was quickly overwhelmed. I had taken piano lessons for a year and a half by then, so I did know how to count and what measures were, but I was still very new at fingerings and reading music. My whole life I have been so easily knocked down when faced with something new. I want to be able to do things immediately, and when I can’t, I can despair. So as we pushed on in A band, I got lost. And then the tears welled up, and I sat there fighting with them about whether or not to roll down my face. My cheeks were hot and in my storm of confusion and inadequacy, I felt as if I were being covered up with a too-heavy comforter. When you’re little, you don’t know you’re little. And when these big feelings come barging in, it’s so difficult to know what to do. When I see a kid now who is vulnerable and overwhelmed, I try to remember that feeling. And I strive to help stem that rush of panic or despair. It’s very real to a little kid, and we should never, ever dismiss their emotions. Luckily, Mr. Lambert was aware of that. After class he called me to his desk, which was back against the wall of the stage. He was kind and patient, but not overly parental. He told me to stop worrying, and that I did just fine. He said I would catch on quicker than I expected, and to relax. And what he said was all true. Within a few more rehearsals, I was much more at ease, and Pam and I had initiated our lifelong relationship of making each other belly-laugh. And thus my band life bloomed.

There are moments I remember at Dennett Road during band, like when Sue M., a trombone player and big 6th-grader, fell backward off the highest riser right before a concert and broke her wrist. That was exciting. And I recall Pam being so happy one day to tell me she had a new baby sister named Laura. Being the youngest of five, I was taken aback at the thought of my older friend having a baby sibling. But I was delighted, too. And I remember that odd experience of coming back to the school for an evening concert. I would wear a dress, although playing saxophone while wearing a dress is not easy and I stopped that in a few years. But how thrilling to be in the school after dark! And to have our parents there, too. We would gather in another room first, and everyone would be running around in their formal clothes, giggling and smacking each other. Some of the girls would have very new and noticeable hair styles, and the boys would be wearing ties. Sometimes they would be their dads’ ties, which were too long. We had our horns and our music folders. Such a flurry of excitement. So much giggling. Mr. Lambert often wore a face of weariness, but his hair would be brushed, too, and he would have on a suit or at least a button-down shirt and tie. How different and odd! Somehow he would corral us into a line and we would tromp onto the stage, each going to our own chair, glancing out to find our moms and dads. Repressed giggling was the theme of the evening. We would open our music folders and get out those tunes that we had been practicing for what seemed ages. And then the concert would commence. At the end of each piece, our parents would clap, and it was so heady and fun. On the one hand, we were a little embarrassed, just because we were certainly not used to being the object of applause. It’s a weird sensation. But on the other, we were pleased with ourselves a bit, having learned this language of music, following along with our eyes to the pages and our fingers to the keys, knowing what to push when. I’m sure when other little kids watched us, there were at least a few who envied us, the band kids, in our formal clothes and our smoothed hair, making music together somehow with these clunky instruments that seemed so large against our 9-year-old frames.

Pam and I sat next to each other for two years at Dennett Road, and then she went on to Southern Jr.-Sr. High School, as she was a year ahead of me. I was an old hand by the time I was a sixth-grader, of course. I could swagger onto the stage with the best of them. I knew my way around a music stand and a piece of A Band music, by golly. I am not sure who sat next to me after Pam had gone on, but I did take over First Chair, of course. When we performed our concerts — one at Christmas and one in the spring — I was the bandy on the end, right there for the audience to see. “No big deal,” my body said to the crowd as I casually took my spot. But wow. I had visions of my seat going off the edge, like Sue’s had done those years earlier, so I kept an eye on my chair legs as much as possible.

All this was only the beginning of my band odyssey. That saxophone has had a life, let me tell you. It is the same saxophone that caused the current ridge on my lip, in fact. Yes, it’s still with me. I mean, it did cost $425, you know. That sax took me to Southern Middle School, then on to Southern High School. I played in concert band and marching band and stage band. So many reeds, so much cork grease. And more importantly, so much fun. I made more lifelong friends, and we worked hard together. Tami and Blair, LuAnn and Billy, Steve and Scott, Lois and Barbie, Wally and Crystal, and yes, Pam — among so many others. The stories from band adventures could take up an enormous chunk of internet here, and someday I will write about them. But let’s sail on a bit with The Adventures of Mary and Her Sax. That saxophone got on a plane with me in June 1981 — it was a first for both of us (at least I think) — and we flew to Europe for a three-week tour with the United States Collegiate Wind Band, a group that involved high school players from several states. We went to six countries and played concerts in each. I didn’t know a soul before I left, and I had never flown. I saw Paris and London, Lucerne and Chamonix Mont Blanc, Bonn and Rudesheim, Amsterdam and Dijon. Now, all these years later, I remain friends with Tony, Sherry, and Andy — three pals from that journey.

That August I went on to West Virginia University. My mom and sister-in-law Suzie delivered my stuff to my dorm and then drove me to the old Mountaineer Field, where that year’s band camp for the Pride of West Virginia was getting underway. They said goodbye, and I was left to walk on alone. Once again, I knew no one. I ventured onto the old field and searched for the altos. I found them. Someone handed me a pack of music and told me to sit down. I did, holding my sax close. Good old sax. Soon I knew my section members, and then my “rank,” which was ten bandies who all marched together on the field for every show. They were my first friends at WVU, along with another girl named Mary, who became my roommate and another lifelong friend. I marched with the Pride for two fall seasons, and played in the concert band one spring. The sax and I went to the Peach Bowl in Atlanta on New Year’s Eve, 1981. WVU was supposed to lose that game against Florida University. The Gators’ band was staying in the same hotel as the Pride. Some of their members mocked us continuously, boasting of their band and of their team and how West Virginia didn’t belong there against them. How sweet it was when our band wowed the crowd first, at pre-game and again at half-time. Their band was far smaller than ours, and not nearly as polished. We absolutely dominated. Then wonder of wonders, WVU won the game! We went wild. We were giddy with the day’s events when we all gathered in the hotel ballroom for a New Year’s Eve party with an open bar. Hmmm….. I’m not sure that was the best plan. But it sure was a blast. We left early the next morning, bleary eyed and, yes, a bit hung over. We rode all the way home, hour after hour. After about 11 hours in the buses, we pulled into the Creative Arts Center parking lot and began to disembark. I went to get my suitcase from underneath the charter bus, and then — and only then — I realized that I had left my $425 saxophone in the hotel room. The chill that rolled up my body to the top of my head was sudden and sick. I had to tell my parents that I left it…. I left it in Atlanta. Good lord! Poor old sax. Forgotten after an award-winning performance, forlorn in a hotel room. Luckily, I had a cousin living in the city at the time, and he offered to go get my horn. And luckily again, no one else had lifted it. Soon my dear sax arrived in Mtn. Lake Park packed in a box with scuffed tape all about. I was happy to have it back, and so were my parents. I apologized to it. It was silent, but probably pretty mad for a while.

As I finished with a second season of WVU marching band, my sax was given a rest. I played in our local fire department’s Oktoberfest Genuine German Oom-Pah Band for several years each fall, but that was the extent of my playing. I got married, and soon after commenced to birthing children, and the sax was put away. But…. not for long. Our oldest son Rob started playing it in the fourth grade. He began lugging that old case with him, also to Dennett Road Elementary. Soon his desires turned to percussion, and my old Yamaha was put away again. But….not for long even again. Our middle son, Alex, showed musical talent, too, and he began playing the sax. A new life was given the old horn, along with an overhaul. With all new pads and some other tweaks to the now not-so-shiny finish, the sax began to sing again. It went back to the middle school, and on to Southern High, where it was a member once again in Alex’s capable hands. Alex went on to WVU, too, and yes, into the Pride. My $425 sax from the fourth grade was being jogged out onto the Mountaineer Field once again for that famous 220 pregame run, this time without me. Alex marched for one season.

I think about 18 years had passed from the last time I played that horn until I started again last month. But it came back to me, mostly, and I have fallen into the fun of band yet one more time. I’m sitting next to my first instructor and high school band director, Rick Clever. We are having a good time making harmonies on our old horns. We mess up and point out accidentals and laugh a lot.

In thinking back, that horn has marched at Kennywood Park, Disney World, Epcot, all over Europe, in Yankee Stadium (with Alex and WVU), in Philadelphia and Baltimore and other places I know I’m forgetting. It has played music of every genre, hundreds of composers, so many styles. It’s had an interesting and long life, which I am now extending once again. In fact, I need to stop this and go practice. This callus on my bottom lip isn’t going to get firmed up by itself.

The Garrett Community Band has a concert this Saturday, May 4, at Garrett College, beginning at 7:30 p.m. Come on out. Give us a listen. Meet my sax. We’ll be happy to see you.