(PART 7) How DCI and Star of Indiana changed my life

(make sure you read Part 6 before reading this.)

Why. Why? Why?! Why!!!! Why was all of this happening to me? All I want to do is fulfill a dream! I want to improve my life. Isn't this what you're supposed to do? The "American Dream" says that you can be whatever you want to be no matter who you are or where you come from. Right? NO one mentioned at EVERY corner there was a road block. Alas, a detour sign. Was this God's way of telling me I'm not supposed to be here. That I really wasn't supposed to do this?? Certainly not! That's fools logic.


I've always told these stories about my experiences in this phase of my life. Everyone who has heard them has gotten a kick out of them. I mainly tell them to my front ensemble at Petal High School where I currently teach and have taught for the past 12 years. I use them as little motivational vignettes to break the monotony. I just realized after getting this far into telling these stories in chronological order; this all sounds very fantastical! It sounds like I'm making this up! Even as I'm writing this and reading it, it sounds "made-up" to me! Ha! I want to assure you that this all happened. It is all 100% true. 


Ok, back to the bus with Nasal Man...


I realized that this bus was in trouble. This guy is about to do something that endangers this driver, this bus and everyone on it. I think fast. I crouch down on the floor behind my seat while the crazy guy is walking forward to the driver. He can't see me. As he walked by, I sprung up and grab him by the jugular! The bus driver gets distracted looking at the action in the rear view mirror. What he doesn't see in front of us is an 18-wheeler that has stopped. The bus slams into the back of the semi truck throwing me and the crazy guy forward. The crazed bus passenger pulls out a knife and presses it to my throat drawing a thin line of blood that drips ever so slowly down my neck. Luckily, in the back of the bus is a pair of Marines who have been trained in Special Ops! Whew! They charge the front of the bus drawing their government issued assault weapons...


Ok, so, I DID just make all of that up. Sorry, I had to do that... I wanted to try my hand at Tom Clancy's style for a moment. Again, I apologize. I'm still a bit of a jokester. 


Here's what really happened:

The noseless "Phantom of the Greyhound" is standing there with this toy Transformer gun figurine. He pretended to be aiming this obvious toy at the driver. And just to be clear, I don't think we were in any "real" danger. This was truly a child's toy. The bus driver has had it! I certainly was over this. I couldn't deal with this guy for an entire trip. Not to mention, the site of him made me want to scoop my eyeballs out with a hot spoon. The driver went on as if this wasn't happening. He looked away from the rear view mirror and picked up his CB radio handset in an "Oh No He Dii-iin't" fashion. The driver started stoically barking out a series of codes and numbers to what appeared to be the home base of the Greyhound station. We unexpectedly pull over to a gas station. Waiting at the gas station were two Kansas City police cars with several officers awaiting our arrival like a British Royals coronation. As much as I want to dramatize the next part, it was as uneventful as a principal coming to a middle school classroom to retrieve an unruly pre-teen. The officers boarded the bus, the disruptive passenger walked forward and exited the bus with them. The bus driver got back on the road and we were on our way. You know? Now looking back on it, the other passengers seemed un-phased by this entire ordeal. 

The next camp posed another challenge. I went to buy my next ticket for my Hattiesburg-Columbus-Bloomington connection. I gave the ticket person my credit card to do what I'd done before. As I awaited my receipt and bus ticket, I was greeted with, "This card has declined, sir," said the ticket person blankly. Declined? What does that mean? The ticket person ran the card again. Again: declined. "Declined" means you don't have enough credit to make the purchase, I found out. I only had enough credit to get a one-way ticket. I buy it. I just had to figure out a way to get to Columbus, MS. Then, once we got back from camp on Sunday, I would catch the Greyhound back home. 

Alan Honeysucker

After all I'd gone through, I knew I could find a ride to Columbus. I knew I could. I went on my quest of "shaking down" my friends. I approached one of my good friends Alan Honeysucker, a trumpet player and music major from Madison, Mississippi. We had landed at Southern Miss at the same time. This was his first year there, too. Alan was a few years older than me. He had transferred from a community college in Southern California. He marched in The Concord Blue Devils in 1988 and 1989. Two of my favorite shows of all time! One night after a party at his house, I explained to him my troubles. "Man, I'll take you to Columbus. I'll pay for the gas. You just help me by driving up there and I'll drive the car back." he said. Yeaaahh!! I'm set, yet, again. I am on a streak of making a way out of no way. All went as planned. We arrived Thursday late in the night. We crashed on Steve Bennett's mom's floor. The next morning, Alan left for Hattiesburg; Steve and I left for Bloomington. I am still grateful to Mr. Honeysucker for this act of kindness. 


I finally figured out that I was going to need a cash flow. My credit card is maxed. The bills are needing to be paid. There are two more camps to get to. The corps fees are due. I can't sustain this financially at this point. This is when I launched my private lessons studio. I taught private lessons to anyone who would take them. I called every band director around the area to get student referrals. I amassed enough students to help at least pay the credit card bill down to where I could use it again. I couldn't get a "real" job and keep up with my school and the drum corps schedule. I had to be creative with how I was to generate funds. It was working. I was making enough cash from teaching lessons to make it over the "hump." This is a great lesson study in why a college freshmen with no job should not have a credit card. It was a means to an end, but certainly a poor means of accomplishing it. Years later, in 2006, we went to Hollywood, California for the Hollywood Christmas Parade with the Petal High School Band. We took the students to Universal Studios as a part of the trip. As we were leaving the park, there was that kiosk! Chase Visa - giving away free water bottles and T-shirts for anyone who would sign up. I stood in front of that kiosk and forbade any of my students from signing up. I felt it was my duty. It was my albatross. 


The next camp went without a hitch. I did my Greyhound connection as planned before. It is now May 1991. I had made it through all of the camps. Now it was time for move-in. It's time to go to Bloomington for good. I was departing my Southern roots to go live in my new midwestern home, only briefly, before becoming a musical gypsy. I was excited. I had a new connection to get to the move-in camp. Chris Prather,(remember him from the first camp?)my roommate, had accepted a position as a member/instructor for the Americanos Drum and Bugle Corps from Neenah, Wisconsin. I never understood why he did this. He had a spot in a Top 3 DCI corps and he gave it up to make very little cash to teach at a small corps that had about 50 members. Chris' parents had recently moved to Cleveland, Mississippi. That was only about 30 minutes from Greenwood, Mississippi, my hometown. He had to move in at Americanos at the same time I had to be in Bloomington. This was perhaps the most convoluted series of connections to get to Bloomington. Stay with me...


I needed to get a Greyhound bus back to my hometown of Greenwood, Mississippi. There, Chris Prather would drive to Greenwood from Cleveland. We would ride together up to Indianapolis, Indiana. We would get a hotel room and sleep there for the night. Chris would go on to Wisconsin. I had relatives that lived in Indianapolis. They would come and pick me up from the hotel and take me to the airport in Indianapolis where I would meet the Star shuttle. The Star shuttle would then take me to the corps hall. Sheesh. It never ends! 


It was the last day of school. Chris Prather, my roommate, had already left to go home to Cleveland, MS. I spent the last night in our vacant dorm room by myself. In the morning, I was going to catch the Greyhound bus back home to Greenwood, MS. I would be there for 5 days until Chris came to pick me up and we were off to drum corps land. My new girlfriend, Emily, agreed to come pick me up and take me to the Greyhound station. I got up the next morning eager to get this show on the road! It's getting dangerously close to the time I'm supposed to be at the station. I called Emily. No answer. I called again. No answer. I called 20 times! No Answer. It turns out that she had overslept. She had her phone turned off because she was in the middle of moving into a new apartment. NO! NO! NO! Please NO! I can't do this anymore! I just CAN'T miss my bus. I called my good friend Kevin Rytter. He was my Canadian compadre that was marching with Cavaliers that Summer. I explained the situation and he was there in 5 minutes. He dropped me off at the station. I got there right in time to put my luggage on the bus and get on. I sat on the bus and watched as he sped away in his micro sized  Toyota. Just as his car disappeared around the corner, I noticed in his hatchback: My binder with all of my music and all of my charts for Star of Indiana!!!! Come back!! NO!!!! Showing up to a camp without your binder and materials is an offense punishable by death!!! This is not happening... This is NOT happening...  


As I sat there on my steel chariot to my homeland, I reflected. My first year at Southern Miss was done. One great year behind me. I had managed to play in the snare line of the best college marching band in the state. I made it to 3rd chair in the wind ensemble and was awarded the band program's "Freshman of the Year." I had gotten to play on stage at CBDNA in Kansas City and now I was about to be in The Star of Indiana. Things were looking pretty good for this Delta kid returning home. My life had completely transformed from what it was one year ago. Opportunity seemed to be abundant and never-ending. I stared out the window of the motor coach as it blazed through the flat Delta terrain. Although I had only lived one year outside of this familiar land, things seemed new. The cotton populated countryside was fresh as if I were rediscovering it with different eyes. I was slightly overcome with nostalgia like an old war veteran returning stateside after a tour overseas. 

When I arrived home, I hugged my grandmother and tried to catch her up on all that was going on. I took a quick visit to see all of my relatives before I was off for the Summer. "Some man from your school called and he said it was very important. He left his number," she said as she handed me a small strip of crinkled paper baring her careful and deliberate handwriting. The note said, "Doctor Friskila. Very Important!" It had his office number on it. What could this be? Why is Dr. F calling me? The curiosity is killing me! I got on the phone, immediately. "Dr. F! This is Tony Lymon. You called?" I asked. "Yeah, look: I know you're going to go off to Star of Indiana soon, but I have an opportunity for you. My friend is the director of the College All-American Band that performs at Disneyland out in Anaheim during the Summer. They had a drummer that bailed on them and he wanted to see if I had a recommendation. Now look, this gig pays $600 a week and they put you up in a hotel at Disney and all of your meals are paid for...," he said. Whooooaaa... Holy wrench thrown in my plan! What do I do now? $600 a week!? That's more money than I had ever made in my entire life at that point! I would be an employee of Disney. I would be living and working at the Happiest Place On Earth! California! All expenses paid! I had known people that tried out for that band for several years and never made it. Here it was being handed to me on a silver platter. Not to mention how flattered I was that out of all the percussionists at Southern Miss, he offered the job to me. Turning it down would almost seem disrespectful. 


What do I do? Do I take this gig or fulfill the biggest dream of my life? What do I do?


(Part 8 - Coming Soon...)