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From Karen Howard-Joly ('71):

Barrie, the Megaphone, and Me

Though the exact date has been deleted from this nearly half-century old brain of mine, I’ll never forget the moment.  September, 1967, last period – marching band rehearsal on the practice field – at least 150 degrees in the scalding Yuba City sun. (Well, okay, Sorgea – it felt like 150.) It was all so new to me – the idea of playing my old plastic Bundy and marking time, concentrating on keeping those toes pointed while trying to hit the right notes.  I was a nervous, eager-to-be-accepted Freshman, hoping to tough out those hard practices so I could earn the right to wear that smart brown and gold uniform. Nobody bothered to remind me about staying in step.

Except, of course, Mr. Wells.

Maybe we were playing the Honker fight song, perhaps something else.  It doesn’t matter.  Whatever it was, it had my utmost attention – along with, you know, pointing my toes.  Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I see him charging.

Mr. Wells.

And that darned battery-powered megaphone.

To my horror, he was charging at me!

I’ve never forgotten his exact words.  In fact, I repeat them every year to my classes of 7^th grade Language Arts students when presenting them examples of personal narrative – writing to tell others about something that happened to you that taught you something about yourself.  I’m always good for a personal story or two – or three – and Mr. Wells makes it in every year.  That’s one thing about this dynamic man – he always made a lasting impression, no matter the circumstance.

Coming to a halt in front of me, he jabbed his megaphone angrily my direction – thank God it wasn’t loaded – and hollered,  “You, IDIOT! You’re on the wrong foot!  Left!  Left!”

I was mortified!  Mr. Wells was yelling at me!  Had the same effect as if my own father had done the yelling. I wanted to please Mr. Wells – and the look on his face, the tenor of his voice, told even this dumb Freshman that I wasn’t accomplishing my goal.  In fact, at that moment, I was fearful that my inability to discern the beat might actually hasten the man’s death from heart failure. 

Yes, he seemed that angry.  And it was hot outside.

As embarrassing as the moment was, it quickly passed.  I got in step – and I never lost the beat again – not in four years.  I learned that day.  I discovered that I never, never, ever wanted to find myself looking down the barrel of an angry megaphone, loaded or unloaded, with an agitated band director on the other end.  Especially this band director.  There was just something about Mr. Wells. 

I’d only known the man through two weeks of marching instruction prior to the beginning of school, but what I had seen told me that although membership to the YCHS band had a price, it was well worth the admission.  He was demanding; a perfectionist; driven – and, though I didn’t understand it all then, I respected him immensely and had a feeling I’d enjoy being a part of the band family.

“You IDIOT!  You’re on the wrong foot!” didn’t diminish that feeling one bit.  I was better – a better musician, a better marcher, a better person – because Mr. Wells made me want to be that way.  Honker Band pride.  He instilled it in us all – from the football field to the concert stage.  Our desire to make good music was a reflection of his passion – a passion to teach, to mold, and to foster in his students a respect for everything from John Phillip Sousa to Tchaikovsky. 

Heck, Terrie Tokunaga and I even named the turtle we raised in Science class “Barrie.”  Now if that’s not respect, what is?

Mr. Wells, you’re the greatest.  There are so many other memories I’ll treasure from the two years you directed me – and maybe I’ll pull another one out of my hat for the next reunion, hopefully to read to you in person.

My best wishes to everyone in attendance.  I’ll be humming “New Colonial” on September 6^th.

From Barbara (Palm) Williams ('67):

One of my favorite things to do at Christmastime was bake. One year I made lots of large and small Gingerbread men. I made up a box of decorated ones to give to Mr. Wells for his two boys.  After our Holiday concert, the boys were in the hallway by the band room, all dressed up for the concert. They looked so cute and angelic.  I remember walking up and asking them if they enjoyed the Gingerbread men cookies. "Yes!" they replied, "We loved biting off their head and arms and legs. "So much for angelic!

One time Mr. Wells stopped the band during rehearsal and proceeded to chew out the percussion section for not watching him.  We started again, and as we got to a fast section of the music, Mr. Wells gave a very definite baton cue towards the percussion section. Well, his baton flew out of his hand towards the drummers, and they all hit the floor!  No one could make them believe that he didn't do it on purpose!!  Especially Del Eckels!

I remember practicing a march one day, and there was a cymbal part that Neva Nix was playing. It was one of those standard parts where the cymbals are crashed on the off beats - the "chick" part of a boom-chick beat pattern. I looked back at Neva while she was playing, and every time she would crash the cymbals together, her bangs would flip up away from her face! It was the funniest thing - I remember doubling over in laughter, then hoping Mr. Wells didn't see me laughing so hard.

Berkeley Band day was always a favorite event - even if we did have to get up at 4:00 am to catch the bus. We always stopped to eat at the Milk Farm - ooh, those pancakes were yummy!  The parade was quite an adventure - going up and down the hills of Berkeley.  One year, my foot started to feel rather cold, so when we were stopped, I looked at the sole of my shoe. I had worn a hole through the sole and the sock! I got to march the rest of the parade and the half-time band show that way. As I recall I had quite a sore spot on the ball of my foot.

Mr. Wells always tried to write interesting arrangements for us to play for our half-time shows.  When we played "Puff, the Magic Dragon," we rated an editorial in the school paper commenting on our music. "Our band playing 'Puff the Magic Dragon??!'”

It was so much fun being in the school's woodwind quintet.  Once we had a weekend rehearsal at Mr. Wells' house, and he and Mrs. Wells had a barbecue for us.  We all pitched in to help Mrs. Wells get the food ready - barbequed hot dogs with all the trimmings.  I was having a great time - until I looked at my half-eaten hot dog, and noticed part of a fly at the edge I had just taken a bite out of!  I barely made it to the sink to spit out the food that was still in my mouth!  Needless to say, I had lost my appetite.