Who knew there would be 30-degree temps, wind chill, and black ice in mid-October?
After several blocks of taking careful half-steps and nearly landing on our butts several times, we finally arrive at the stadium, grateful for the warmth and light of the band facility. Not surprisingly, it's hurry up and wait, but we use the time to catch up and chat. After all, it's the first time some of us have seen each other in over 25 years.
Last night we met on the corner of Pillsbury and University Avenues, across from Folwell Hall, where I had my first class at the University of Minnesota (Japanese at 8:00 a.m., September 1979). True to the reputation of the alumni band, we looked a bit ragtag - sweatshirts, band jackets, running shoes, and a lot of gray (or no) hair. Especially next to the uniformed, youthful, good-looking student band. But in my mind, the alumni band also had experience, maturity, and an undying spirit borne out of having lived through the band years of college and experienced the iron-clad bonds of friendship and camaraderie, made only stronger by the passing years.
Oh my God, it's Bill and Liz Pick! And who's talking - that voice, it's so familiar - it's got to be Carol Herbert, my Stoogemaster! And look, it's Jean Gray!
The Homecoming parade was the first time I'd marched and played since 1982, and while I was excited, I also worried about the seeming lack of organization. No one called names - they just told us to line up - and when I asked if we weren't going to tune, someone burst out laughing. After a minute, the drum line began their cadences, and we took off down the street.
What I came to realize in my determination to look and sound good - and my subsequent discovery that perfection was not possible, given that the cadences, horn movements, and chants had all changed over the years - was that the crowd didn't care whether we were as good as the student band. Whether making fun of the old geezers or truly supporting us, they were just out for a good time. And after getting up at 4:00 a.m. to fly in from DC just for this, that should be my goal, too.
Oh, my God, it's Janet Denenny marching in my rank! We wave to each other across 27 years.
Marching past the decorated frat houses and a crowd all revved up to beat Purdue the next day, I felt what a thrill, an honor, and a privilege it was to be in the parade.
Now, ten hours later, shuffling through the bowels of the stadium and into the passageway leading out onto the field, my anticipation builds. Just ahead, the student band, fully uniformed, is already on the field, going through their motions. Being in this brand new stadium on campus after 26 long seasons in an indoor domed stadium downtown is historic and momentous enough (and the reason for my trip) - someone murmurs, "Isn't this something?" - but seeing the band in uniform under bright stadium lights in the pre-dawn dark, humming their parts while marching in the 30-degree stillness, students using leaf blowers to clear the snow off the stadium seats in the background, infuses it with surreality and makes it even more unforgettable.
This person looks familiar - it's John Gibbs! And that person is looking at me, but it's hard to see who she is under all those bundles of warmth - it's TD Kiernan - now Gibbs!
Thankfully, the sky eventually brightens, and we eventually play the music and forget about the cold as we march across the field.
Hours pass. The sun comes up. Tailgaters arrive and heat up their grills. Students come with blankets. Maroon and gold covers everyone. You can actually feel the University of Minnesota pride in the air.
Shortly before kickoff, we file onto the track surrounding the field and make our way to the bleachers reserved for us. We wait for the band to make its pre-game entrance, and when they come out in running cadence, it's almost like watching myself 25 (okay, 27) years ago. As they perform, even though I am excited, I have the distinct feeling of being left out. Nothing compares to marching down the field, bursting with pride while playing to 50,000 Gopher fans under a bright blue sky, anticipation in the air. And these guys look and sound good - really good.
To our left, in the bowl end, is the student season ticket section. These guys should be paid for the enthusiasm they generate throughout the rest of the stadium. A solid mass of maroon and gold, they make a lot of noise, follow all the band cheers, and sing along with the Rouser. In the front is the requisite row of shirtless men - 30 degrees plus windchill be damned! - with painted chests and faces. But what really makes this section is a guy inexplicably dressed in a full-body white chicken suit.
The people around me are very into football and provide running commentary. I myself didn't watch a single game of football in my three years of marching. In this new stadium, I could watch it much more easily on the gigantic screen in the open end if I wanted. But what I remember most about the games is spending two or three hours with my closest friends, making fun of the cheerleaders, chitchatting, and generally being silly. Sometimes there was ice on the benches, but we all cuddled together in our heavy wool uniforms, and the cold was generally forgotten. And in early and mid-fall, the sun low in the crisp, blue sky, there was no better way to skip studying!
And what I am thinking about now is how wonderful it is to discover that a lot of people - most, in fact - are the same great people they were when I last saw them. Jean Gray is still cheerful, fun-loving, and caring. Steve Kreitz is still the life of the party. Janet Denenny is still the same nice, positive, helpful person. We are heavier and grayer, but the essence of who we were has not changed.
After the game, I hear, "Is that Mark Abe?" I look up. Who is that big man smiling down at me from the stands? Wait - that raspy voice, those clear blue eyes. "Brian Benson." Brian Benson! I go running up the bleachers towards him.
We are back in the band facility for a reception of big cookies and "vintage" video of 1989 Spat Camp. (Wait a minute, they're calling it "vintage" and it's from seven years after my final year in band?)
And there's Rick Trembley, my old college roommate, and Celeste, his wife and fellow alto sax player! I haven't seen them in 15-20 years, but it doesn't take long to catch up.
Eventually the crowd begins to thin, and I realize this event is coming to a close. It saddens me, as I know this was a special year for people to come back, and succeeding years won't be as well-attended. But I celebrate the joy of reconnecting with old friends, if only for a day or two, and the affirmation of treasured memories from my years in the Finest Band in the Land.
Photo credits: 1) Homecoming Parade - Matt Abe, 2) Pre-Dawn Practice - Mark Abe, 3) Janet (Denenny) Linkert and Mark - Matt Abe
