One of the things that happens when I get bored, is that I start to create things to do. Add that to the mix of the chaos of the Fair, and suddenly as clear as day, I had one of my brilliant ideas.
I went to the junk kids toy booth; where you pay way too much money for pure unadulterated cheap crap … just like the stuff sold by the guys who worked next to me a couple of years ago. As I expected, it was there. I asked the guy how much for the silver trumpet. He said “three bux”. I almost crapped my pants. “Two fifty”, I responded. He says, “you are trying to Jew me down from $3?” ‘Fuck you, take my money asshole’. I bought my silver horn. The horn was more important to me than smacking this old man around for his big ugly mouth.
There is this person I know … her and her husband play in a marching band. It is no secret that the band is the Syracuse Police and Fire Band. Lead by Drum Major ‘Walter’, you have seen this khaki clad helmeted group strutting their stuff at some of the areas finest parades. No parade would be complete without them.
My friend plays a silver trumpet. (Do you see where this is going?) The one I bought squeeked like mouse going through Sadaam’s paper shredders. It plays one note and it one most annoying.
I wanted to do something I have never done before at the Fair. I wanted to march in the 6:00p.m. Parade. Waiting for the proper time to strike and knowing where the band camps, I approached with a big smile and begged my way into line. I fully expected to told to go blow and to stay away from their well tuned show. When I was invited to step up as third trumpet, I beamed with pride and rehearsed and warmed up with the rest of them. SQUEEEEEEEK.
Unfortunately there was not an extra set of khaki pants and helmet laying around, so I had to march in my shorts and TRUST ME I’M A LAWYER t-shirt … the irony of that in a police and fire marching band can be the subject of many a treatise.
(Many of my friends already know that I had to settle for a career in Law. Anybody who knows me knows that my #1 lifetime dream was to be a rock star. I cannot imagine anything more exciting than to step out onto a stage and listen to 30,001 of your closest friends screaming out your name. Then to grab a microphone and in a voice somewhere between Joe Cocker and Mick Jagger, sing the music that makes the whole world rock. Alas however, I am tone deaf, cannot read music, cannot sing, cannot keep rhythm, and have absolutely no musical talent whatsoever. So I settled for audiences of 6-12, screaming judges, and clients who throw rocks instead of panties).
Back to the Fair:
Suddenly, the band was lined up, tuned up, and it was going to be real. I was going to pretend to play while hiding behind sunglasses and watching the crowd. The whistle blew, instruments up, feet start moving, and off we went.
I can only imagine the sight. This wonderful band with its sharp and patriotic tunes, in crisp sharp marching order, with me sticking out like a sore thumb. There were so many fingers pointed at my shirt and laughter, that I began to think I was upstaging my hosts. I tried to play the SQUEEEEEK in tempo and unison and every once in a while, I would turn around and do a solo with the trumpeter behind me. My friend next to me really is a trooper because throughout all this chaos, she managed to keep a straight face and not miss a note. I even mimicked her and others and pretended to clean the spittle out of my horn.
Marching from gate 12 to the Indian Village is a longer hike than you can imagine. Listening and watching and becoming one with the band made me appreciate how hard and good these folks really are. If you get a chance to ever see them, make sure you come erect and throw up a big salute to the Syracuse Police and Fire Band … marching again Tuesday.
This time, I am pretty sure they can march without having to have a lawyer present.
I love you guys. Thanks for the memories.
