Post by Tales From Band Camp on Oct 19, 2006 13:09:18 GMT -5
Appeared in: www.chicagotribune.com/features/lifestyle/q/chi-0306220270jun22,1,2745582.story
Band kids, this one's for you
Ross Werland
June 22, 2003
Out on the athletic fields of Illinois, the pre-autumn cycle has begun: football camp and band practice.
And that brings this question to mind yet again: Why do we practically worship some kids who actually have accomplished little, while barely noticing those who, at least figuratively, score touchdown after touchdown?
Though it could be argued that many kids are praised too much, a whole army of youth goes essentially ignored.
Consider this scenario.
Boy A has played saxophone since age 6. He practiced each night until his lips bled. By age 8, his parents sprung for private lessons. By age 12, he was studying with a renowned professor. By his senior year in high school, there wasn't a better 17-year-old sax player in the state. He'd been winning music competitions for years, and sometimes his name even got in the school paper.
Boy B was huge. That was his talent. He dabbled in football until his junior year of high school, when he became massive. He had no particular athletic ability, so he couldn't muster a defensive rush. But offensive line was a good fit, because defensive players couldn't run around him in time to stop the quarterback from throwing. Sheer bulk made him a star.
At a pep rally before the first game of their senior year, Boy A sat with the pep band in the balcony of the auditorium, howling out solos like a pro. On the stage, Boy B stood there with his teammates, worshiped by the students and faculty in a frenzy of appreciation.
Afterward, Boy A packed his horn and went back to class. Boy B was excused from classes for the rest of the day and rode that rah-rah high into a special luncheon with parents, school boosters and administrators. His picture would be appearing regularly in the school paper and on occasion in the local papers' weekly prep sections.
According to the community attention he received, Boy B was a minor god, and Boy A . . . wait, who was Boy A again?
This is in no way meant to demean true athletic accomplishment. That, too, is an art form. But band kids know the above scenario rings true. Jocks probably never give it a thought, except the ones who have been both.
One of those is Harold Rose, now a teacher and coach at Canton Senior High School in west-central Illinois. Not only did he play four sports in high school, but he also played trombone in band. Approaching age 50 with the trim figure of an athlete, he would never dismiss the importance of sports, but he does see a universal gap in how students are recognized in the arts versus athletics.
"I don't think fine-arts students get as much recognition as the athletes," he said. "Both of them are good. But in sports, every little bit will get in the paper. Music, no."
Then there's a band director's point of view. "Our kids became somewhat cynical about this," said Ed Butterfield, retired after 14 years as band director at Rock Island High School in northwest Illinois and now an instructor at Black Hawk College in nearby Moline. "They'd say, `We're doing all these things, but no one really pays attention to us.'"
"Our pep band was chosen by blind audition to go to the state basketball championships four times. We were recognized for that, but sometimes the school music programs appear to be just an adjunct to the athletic program."
Adjunct or even cheering section. Kelly McNichols, 17, a clarinetist at Sherrard High School, near Rock Island, who hopes for a career in music, recalls that on one day last school year, the student body was called urgently to line the hallways so two student wrestlers who had made state could stroll by and receive adulation.
But the junior was stumped. Not at all begrudging the wrestlers their honors, she did, however, feel slighted. She had made district--in music. And in music, kids compete against all others who play the instrument; competition isn't segregated by school size as in athletics. And what about the two senior band members who had made state? No human tunnel for them, she said.
"If someone at our school is even remotely good at a sport, it's in the papers, and it's in everyone's faces," she said. "In band, we practically have to hit someone on the head for anyone to notice what we are doing or accomplishing."
We'll have to take McNichols' word for it, but we will point out that the school Web site lists one band director and 29 coaches.
Yet we'd have to count this school fortunate in that it has even maintained a band and chorus, because the arts in general have been under budget threats at schools from coast to coast.
Of course, we know that arts would be expendable at many schools because, according to the Arts Education Partnership, all they do is improve the very brains of children, boost scores on standardized tests, raise academic grades, improve attendance and spur action in community affairs.
How can that possibly compare to really stomping somebody?
----------
Send e-mail for Ross Werland to rwerland @tribune.com.
Band kids, this one's for you
Ross Werland
June 22, 2003
Out on the athletic fields of Illinois, the pre-autumn cycle has begun: football camp and band practice.
And that brings this question to mind yet again: Why do we practically worship some kids who actually have accomplished little, while barely noticing those who, at least figuratively, score touchdown after touchdown?
Though it could be argued that many kids are praised too much, a whole army of youth goes essentially ignored.
Consider this scenario.
Boy A has played saxophone since age 6. He practiced each night until his lips bled. By age 8, his parents sprung for private lessons. By age 12, he was studying with a renowned professor. By his senior year in high school, there wasn't a better 17-year-old sax player in the state. He'd been winning music competitions for years, and sometimes his name even got in the school paper.
Boy B was huge. That was his talent. He dabbled in football until his junior year of high school, when he became massive. He had no particular athletic ability, so he couldn't muster a defensive rush. But offensive line was a good fit, because defensive players couldn't run around him in time to stop the quarterback from throwing. Sheer bulk made him a star.
At a pep rally before the first game of their senior year, Boy A sat with the pep band in the balcony of the auditorium, howling out solos like a pro. On the stage, Boy B stood there with his teammates, worshiped by the students and faculty in a frenzy of appreciation.
Afterward, Boy A packed his horn and went back to class. Boy B was excused from classes for the rest of the day and rode that rah-rah high into a special luncheon with parents, school boosters and administrators. His picture would be appearing regularly in the school paper and on occasion in the local papers' weekly prep sections.
According to the community attention he received, Boy B was a minor god, and Boy A . . . wait, who was Boy A again?
This is in no way meant to demean true athletic accomplishment. That, too, is an art form. But band kids know the above scenario rings true. Jocks probably never give it a thought, except the ones who have been both.
One of those is Harold Rose, now a teacher and coach at Canton Senior High School in west-central Illinois. Not only did he play four sports in high school, but he also played trombone in band. Approaching age 50 with the trim figure of an athlete, he would never dismiss the importance of sports, but he does see a universal gap in how students are recognized in the arts versus athletics.
"I don't think fine-arts students get as much recognition as the athletes," he said. "Both of them are good. But in sports, every little bit will get in the paper. Music, no."
Then there's a band director's point of view. "Our kids became somewhat cynical about this," said Ed Butterfield, retired after 14 years as band director at Rock Island High School in northwest Illinois and now an instructor at Black Hawk College in nearby Moline. "They'd say, `We're doing all these things, but no one really pays attention to us.'"
"Our pep band was chosen by blind audition to go to the state basketball championships four times. We were recognized for that, but sometimes the school music programs appear to be just an adjunct to the athletic program."
Adjunct or even cheering section. Kelly McNichols, 17, a clarinetist at Sherrard High School, near Rock Island, who hopes for a career in music, recalls that on one day last school year, the student body was called urgently to line the hallways so two student wrestlers who had made state could stroll by and receive adulation.
But the junior was stumped. Not at all begrudging the wrestlers their honors, she did, however, feel slighted. She had made district--in music. And in music, kids compete against all others who play the instrument; competition isn't segregated by school size as in athletics. And what about the two senior band members who had made state? No human tunnel for them, she said.
"If someone at our school is even remotely good at a sport, it's in the papers, and it's in everyone's faces," she said. "In band, we practically have to hit someone on the head for anyone to notice what we are doing or accomplishing."
We'll have to take McNichols' word for it, but we will point out that the school Web site lists one band director and 29 coaches.
Yet we'd have to count this school fortunate in that it has even maintained a band and chorus, because the arts in general have been under budget threats at schools from coast to coast.
Of course, we know that arts would be expendable at many schools because, according to the Arts Education Partnership, all they do is improve the very brains of children, boost scores on standardized tests, raise academic grades, improve attendance and spur action in community affairs.
How can that possibly compare to really stomping somebody?
----------
Send e-mail for Ross Werland to rwerland @tribune.com.
