Not sure the text made it over on the first post: My Pastor Sean Gardner Story... My heart is heavy as I write these words. I dont have all the details, yet, but as the day stretches on it is becoming more and more apparent that Big Sean Gardner has passed. His passing has touched me very deeply as the image of him banging wildly on that big bass drum of hisis intrinsically tied to my memories of being a member of The Cleveland High Schools Royal Braves Marching band, otherwise known asthe RBB. Today, for those that wish to read, I would like to present some of my warmest memories of him: A long, long time ago and in a place very far away from where I currently sit in Northern Ireland, there existed a rag-tag group of highschoolers from an East Texas town named Cleveland. Those highschoolers were members of the RBB - a name that brings with it a legacy of pride and accomplishment that Cleveland has never known outside of its existence. Somehow, our band director, Mr. Jim Jones , was able to mold a group of young ladies and gentlemen into a fully functioning, award-winning marching band. The RBB was revered throughout the state, and beyond, for its precision, presentation and the class of its members; we were held in high esteem by other bands. Each of us as individuals were hewn through intense, grueling practices, reaching for perfection and forging each teenager into a well-oiled, military marching machine. Well...MOST of us. Ok, fine, so some of us werent so well-oiled and kinda still squeaked a little. Alright, a lot! Sadly, I was one of those few less fortunate that were not known for their marching skills. In fact, I was mostly referred to as a Happy Farmer - meaning I bounced and waddled instead of gliding in my gleaming white marching shoes atop the football field. Mr. Jones, in his continuous pursuit of perfection, had learned a few tricks of the trade in how to hide the weaker marchers from the entirety of the bands performance. I will never understand his methods, but one of those, ahem, brilliant (it actually really was in retrospect) ideas was to put me in front of Big Sean and his giant bass drum. For those who dont know, Big Sean was called Big for a reason. He was well over six feet tall and about half as wide. He was massive and solid and standing next to him even I felt small, which was a peculiar feeling that I, at nearly six foot tall myself, wasnt entirely used to. At first I thought nothing of being in front of the bass drum. So what? I thought. Id never marched before, so I had nothing to fear. But, that fearlessness soon evaporated as I overheard tales outside of practice of Big Sean smashing that bass drum of his into any marchers around him that couldnt keep time, or lost their footing or turned too early. As Freshman-me lined up for our very first practice, I looked back and literally gulped. I hadnt entirely grasped the idea of marching yet during summer band and I just knew - I KNEW - that the next daysnewspaper headlines were going to read: Girl Knocked Across Practice Field By Bass Drum, May Never Walk Again. Before us, the drum majors blew their whistles and called us to attention. I presented my baritone and immediately began to shake as I heard the click of drumsticks slamming together against the rim of thebass drum behind me. As we proceeded to play Killian - a tune that was meant to inspire you, the spectator, to stand up from your seat and shout, WOW! - the first note of the song came out of my horn as a thin, weedy tone - full of an unintentional nervous vibrato. As we reached the climax of the song, the drumbeats behind me pounded in my skull, blocking out all other sounds of the band. Then, as we began our first marching steps, I broke out into a sweat. Yes, fine, that might not have had anything actually to do with Big Sean and his bass drum and probably had a lot more to do with the fact that outside of band I spent most of my time eating Reeses peanut buttercups, reading comics and playing video games. But, as we came up to a step that is known as a To-The-Rear (a kinda spinny/turny step that makes you face the opposite direction from where you were originally facing), my heart pounded in my chest and I screamed in my head, OHMYGOSHIMGONNADIEIMGONNADIE! Please, I begged myself, make the turn! But, as we approached the step, I suddenly forgot how my legs worked and even how to count! In a veryshort amount of time, I was half a beat off from everyone else around me. Kiley, now! Big Sean urged over the pounding of his bass drum. Oh crap! I squeaked in realization and turned a half-beat too late, trying my hardest to catch up while not getting steam-rolled by the giant behind me. I heard an annoyed groan escape from him and I then all the music I had memorized evaporated and white spots appeared before my eyes. Subsequent practices were no better. My fear of the bass drum smashing into me followed me like Freddy Krueger in a nightmare. During onepractice, I approached a counter-march (a step that is kinda makes a square and looks really cool when everybody does it right) but again, just a half-step off, I felt the edge of the bass drum not-so-gentlykiss my back. I panicked and rushed through the counter-march, my useless legs made entirely of jelly. Another annoyed groan erupted behind me. Then, finally, after weeks of practice and even learning a new march, we ended up at our first competition in Nederland, Texas. I still wasnt able to play while marching but I had gotten better at miming that I was while my counter-marches, to-the-rears and hibby-dibby-dobby-dos were just a teeny bit less awful. The pressure before contest was unbelievable. By the time I had joined the RBB, theyd already established a tradition of perfect performances and if we messed up this one - meaning, in my head, ifI messed up this one - wed be given the first 2 (an imperfect rating, with 1 being perfect) in several years. As we stood poised to take the field, I tried to talk to myself, Cmon, Kiley, just keep up, try not to stand out or get off the beat. Just concentrate on the beat. Yeah, concentrate on the beat, whichshould be easy with a bass drum pounding in my ears like rolling thunder during a storm. We took the field and once again declared our presentence with a powerful rendition of, Killian - and then it was time to begin. I swallowed deeply and started counting in my head - knowing full wellthat my turn to counter-march was coming up, quickly. Cmon, make this, Kiley, make it! I said to myself. Your count is coming up!...Here it comes!...Dont mess up! I took that first step and - I DID IT! I MADE THE COUNTER-MARCH! I heard a guttural, YES!! behind me and began to grin into my mouthpiece - mostly because I still wasnt playing anything at that point. Another to-the-rear was coming. I gritted my teeth, held my breath and went for it! I DID IT AGAIN! HOLY CRAP, I DID IT! YES! came another pleased growl. My heat pounded in joy, my feet felt light - as if I could suddenly walk on air but I couldnt let myself get distracted - we still had six minutes of marching left! But, it didnt matter. I landed every counter-march, every turn, every snap. As we finished and formed up to play the finale, Big Seans beats behind me sounded brighter, happier. The finale ended and thedrum majors whistles signaled the cadence, leading us off the field as a unit. As we exited and then were dismissed, I felt a big, meaty hand shake my shoulder and my brain. I grinned at the wide smile Isaw before me and no words were needed. Wed done it - not me, not Big Sean but WE, the RBB. Later on in the day, we lined up to hear our score and as the 1s kept coming over the loud speaker, we cheered and screamed for all we were worth. I dont know why Mr. Jones put me in front of Big Sean and his bass drum but, then again, maybe I do. Whatever his reasons, it worked. I would march in front of Big Sean a few more times before he graduated, that edge of his bass drum always nipping at my back but we never scored less than a 1 and my memories of band will never be without Big Sean and his bass drum. He was kind, big-hearted, strong and above all else, a major part of the glue that held the RBB together. He will be missed but never forgotten - especially when the thunder rolls loudly above my head. Enjoy the video below. I do believe Big Sean is playing bass drum in this. Even if its not, its us, the RBB.
Posted on: Fri, 24 Oct 2014 19:19:40 +0000
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