October 1, 2018 - Monday
38 degrees/partly cloudy/calm
Pentoga Road

The phone rang at 5:45 this morning. On the other end was an automated voice saying Florence High School needed a substitute band director.

"Press 1 to accept."

My finger slowly crept towards the key pad as I pondered if this was something I really wanted to do. 

Band director? I did that for a year or twenty in my former life. With the exception of Eileen and Uncle Bert, most who read this never knew me during my public school/band director days. I also taught mass communications, radio and television and managed our local television station. In other words, if it had to do with music or media, I was the man in Madawaska, Maine. 

Never heard of it? Neither had I until we landed there long ago and called the French Acadian town our home until I left for Alaska. 

I had a wonderful band and even better set of boosters who supported our activities. Arriving, I found thirteen highly undisciplined high school munchkins who used the band room as their personal play space. With the junior high school students eventually added into the mix, there were thirty-six members in the original band. Pretty pathetic.

The year before I left for Alaska, we counted close to one hundred forty in the band and had toured the eastern half of Canada as well as the United States. They were a wonderful group of musicians, especially since our school only numbered around four hundred students, sixth though 12th grades. I loved them all.

The last time I picked up a baton was to conduct the Northern Alaska Honors Band. They were a  group of mostly Inupiaq Eskimo kids from a smattering of villages around the arctic circle. That was close to twenty years ago.

So today, I wade back into the cacophony of harmonious melodies, or at least something that should resemble such. From there, I have no idea what to expect. I'd be lying if I didn't admit I hope I'll get to once again pick up a baton and wave my arms just a bit in front of a group of aspiring musicians. It's what I used to do.

After all, a man's work is never done.

So are the tales from Pentoga Road...