Band Camp Memories Dusted Off

I saw an article in the paper yesterday. It was about a Band Camp coming to town for older people. It caught my eye for a couple of reasons.

You may not know this about me, after all I am a deep and complex person, but I was a bit of a Band Geek growing up. I really thought I was going to be a music teacher for many years. Yep. I started out playing french horn in 3rd grade. Ms. Nichols was our instructor at the time. I had a dented up old horn that I learned to play on.

I'm not saying I was the best in the world, but I did go to quite a few band camps growing up. Some of the more memorable were Rushmore Music Camp near the world famous landmark and  my favorite, International Music Camp near the Peace Gardens in North Dakota.

I remember trips with Mom and Dad or Grandpa and Grandma as they took me up for a week away from home. What I learned was, if you want to get good at something, you have to go to camps like this. While at the Peace Gardens I met students from all over the year. One year I sat next to Arturo, from Nicaragua. Another year I went on tour with their traveling band on a trip to Japan, Taiwan and Hawaii. I remember having dinner with Paul from Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan and discussing how Elvis Presley had died earlier that day.

It's crazy how camps like this can stick with you. One of the instructors I had while at camp was Mr. Krueger who was a WELL KNOWN and respected professor at Augustana College. Some of the brass choirs he lined up were incredible. And he himself a wonderful musician.

I played for some awesome instructors and with some incredible musicians. I was pretty decent on Horn but really enjoyed wailing on trumpet. That's probably the instrument that I should have went with. Another guy, Dale Nelson, who was director at Luverne, MN for several years was an early influence. He even played at our wedding.

Band camps. I forgot how much fun they were and really how much you learned. Playing any instrument is a discipline. The more time you put in, the more you get out. Sure, moms and dads will tell you it's all about talent, and maybe it is, but time invested is what it's all about.

Oh, on that article I read in the paper. I noticed the old boy playing the french horn looked to be playing a gold Holton-Farkas with a detachable bell. I noticed, because I had a silver one on that trip to Japan. Got it smashed in a bus door while overseas.

I was able to get the horn fixed, but have been unable to erase the mostly good memories I gathered while in band during my younger years. This may sound crazy, but I still finger along in my head on an imaginary trumpet whenever the Star Spangled Banner plays. And if I'm in church singing, I still check key signatures and pay attention to some of the music theory I picked up.

I forgot how important music was and is in my life still today. Thanks to the Argus Leader for running the story and our Digital Media Editor Tony for suggesting someone write this story. I might have to see if the valves on the old trumpet are still frozen. If not, look out neighbors.