Marching through grief: How bands, community and shared hardship keep us in step

Marching through grief: How bands, community and shared hardship keep us in step

From “Penny Lane” to a rain-soaked Rose Parade, marching bands taught the author shared hardship, steady cadence and loyal friends carry us through life.

By Greg Asimakoupoulos | FāVS News Columnist

One of the highlights of my life was marching in the Apple Blossom Festival parade with the Wenatchee High School Golden Apple Band. I can still feel the thrill of playing “Penny Lane” and “Everything’s Coming Up Roses.” Sarge Huber, our band director, shepherded the purple-clad band down Wenatchee Avenue as thousands cheered curbside.

My final parade as a participant was just a month before graduating from high school. That weekend stands out in my mind because the grand marshal was Richard Gordon, a NASA astronaut who had been to the moon. 

I’m sure we did our best in hopes of impressing our honored guest. I still have my Apple Blossom Festival button from that memorable year.

Yes, high school band was one of the highlights of my life. In addition to marching in the grand parade, we did halftime shows at Friday night football games. We also did halftime shows at Friday night football games. And we went on tour to other schools across the state traveling in motor coaches. 

A rainy Rose Parade and a band bonded by hardship

But when I think of marching bands, there is another parade that comes to mind. When our family moved from Chicagoland to Mercer Island 21 years ago, our youngest daughter was just entering high school. As an accomplished flutist, Lauren joined the high school band.

Lauren soon discovered that Mercer Island boasted the largest high school band in the state with nearly a third of the student body taking part. She was also excited to learn that the band would be marching in the 2006 Rose Parade in Pasadena. Since we had family in Southern California, we were excited as well.

That band trip to Pasadena turned out to be one we will never forget. It was the first time in 50 years it rained at the Rose Parade. And boy, did it rain! Wearing their wool uniforms, Lauren and her bandmates completed that five-and-a-half-mile march only too ready to shed their shakos and duds for dry clothes.

Even though our local high school band has had multiple opportunities to represent Mercer Island over the past three decades (including trips to perform in Beijing, London, New York City and at a Seahawks’ halftime show), that Rose Parade will stand out as memorable because of the adversity endured. The band was bonded by a shared hardship.

Me thinks there’s a lesson there. Stormy times in our lives when we are blindsided by unexpected obstacles provide challenging circumstances that affirm the importance of community. Such times are less difficult when they are experienced with others. Like that old Swedish proverb attests, “A shared sorrow is half a sorrow!”

It doesn’t take a school band to provide the necessary companionship you need to persevere through problems. It could just as easily be a small group at work, a 12-step recovery cadre or a Bible study at church to keep marching forward. The cadence drummed by caring friends is all you need to keep in line and in-step.

A drummer who never missed a beat

Still, a school marching band might just be the thing that helps you face the music when you’re backed up against the wall of heartache. That was true for my friend Bert Pound. (Isn’t that a great name for a drummer with the University of Washington marching band?)

I met Bert when he was 95. He proudly told me he marched in the Rose Parade with the University of Washington band in 1937. And he still could fit in his UW lettermen’s jacket with the band insignia.

Bert’s association with the Husky Band remained for the rest of his life. After retiring from Boeing, he joined the UW alumni band and performed at every home game (along with doing his signature one-hand push-ups whenever the Dawgs scored).

When his wife LaVerne died, Bert grieved big time. But he didn’t succumb to depression.  My friend found comfort in being part of a team. His bandmates were there for him. 

On Bert’s 100th birthday, the band filled the room as Bert played with them. A few months later when he went on hospice, my friend didn’t lose a beat. He knew he was loved by his bandmates and his God. Peace to his memory! 

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