When I arrived in the Guard Band, the group had settled into a comfortable routine, tripping through parades and taking naps on the concrete floor. It was about this time that our leader, a Disney conductor who drove a red Ford convertible and lived with his parents, decided to branch out.
First we started playing concerts at Busch Gardens, sipping beer between marches. Next we made our way down the street on holidays, spotting friends on the sidewalk and stopping to say hello.
My favorite activity, as mentioned, was Gateways, a mental health facility in LA. I can still imagine myself there.
As we swing into a melody from South Pacific, a man in the audience begins reciting the Declaration of Independence. Another man shrieks uncontrollably. On the front row, a woman rises to her feet and starts to dance. She moves gracefully around the linoleum floor, eyes closed, a smile on her face. As she glides past the trumpets, she opens her eyes and sees a chair next to me. She sits down, puts an arm around my shoulders, and listens.
For the first time that afternoon, so do I.
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