I unzip the uniform bag, exposing the silver-trimmed “K-State” emblazoned down the front of the purple overlay. It smells of freshly dry-cleaned cotton with a hint of several years-worth of sweat. It smells of memories.
Starting with the left shoulder I unbutton the overlay from the jacket, which sports a proud, purple Powercat. I unzip and unsnap the jacket and remove the black pants from the hanger.
Left leg in; right leg in. Shoulder straps on. I zip the pants up to my chest. They are more snug than that first day of band camp in August 2013.
Either the pants shrunk with all the dry cleaning or I grew over the past four years.
I slide my arms into the sleeves of the jacket, tie the laces of my marching shoes and snap on the spats. At 3:15 p.m. on Dec. 28, 2016, I don the Pride of Wildcat Land uniform one last time.
UNIFORM 144 became mine during that band camp so long ago.
I believe it was Jasmine Bannister, a mellophone section leader and 2011 Iola High School graduate, who picked it out for me.
I and four others of the IHS 2013 graduating class received uniforms that day. We went from seven years of Iola bands to the largest band in the state.
The others were Wyatt Prall, Jordan Strickler, Drew Smith and Abbey StClair.
As roommates, Wyatt and I ate breakfast together and thought we would be early to the first day of band camp. Check-ins started at 8:30 a.m. We arrived at 8 and found a hundred other freshmen already in line.
Frank Tracz, band director, had never cut people from the band during camp. Rather, he preferred to push the band so hard that people would “cut themselves.”
It worked, but not on any of the Iola graduates. We all kept the uniforms we received that first day because we earned them through the sweat of 100-plus degrees on a turf field in August humidity.
THREE YEARS later, Jordan and I were the only Iola graduates left.
We had marched together for eight years. We saw Iola’s band at its worst and were there when two new band directors put the band on a path to unprecedented success.
We made it through four different K-State band camps, where a week of three-a-day rehearsals start the school year. Our baritone section went from rumors of possibly being cut to being replaced with other instruments to earning “Section of the Year” our senior seasons.
We played in the band when it earned the Sudler Trophy, the highest award in the country for a collegiate marching band.
After eight years of marching together, we went through so many shared experiences and created so many memories that a book would be a more suitable place to share them.
I hugged Jordan before my last halftime show ever at Wednesday’s Texas Bowl. Standing on the sideline sandwiched between the football players and cheering, purple-clad fans, surrounded by the rest of our band family, I let the weight of that friendship sink in.
BUT NOT for long. We charged the field, taking the spot just vacated by the famed military-style band of Texas A&M.
Uniform 144 was soaked in my sweat as the drum major’s whistles and percussion intro led the band into the “Chicago” show we had rehearsed countless times.
With high-stepping knees and a full-drawn breath of humid Texas air I turned and blew with all my strength into my baritone to do my part in creating the powerful opening chord.
My note cracked. I failed on my last first note of a halftime show.
With little panic and hardly skipping a beat, my diaphragm and lungs combined to bring in another breath.
I cracked my second note.
I quickly realized the problem: the middle of my bottom lip had split due to the first half of playing in the stands, the pregame show, three pep rallies and two rehearsals.
I adjusted my embouchure to allow for maximum breath support while still producing a powerful sound. It hurt, but I ignored the pain.
SOMETHING strange happens to me during halftime shows. I forget everything. The music, moves and even pain all vanish from thought. I can’t remember the next note or think ahead to the next move.
Everything is so drilled into me through Dr. Tracz’s rehearsals that I do not have to think. I just do it. I play the right note and I march to the correct spot as if some musical angel has claimed possession of my body. Perhaps my mom took on that role.
My mom, Julie, was a band director at IHS before I was born, but I played under her direction for the Iola Municipal Band. She died of cancer on Mother’s’ Day 2012 during my junior year of high school.
As the show progressed, my breath support and leg muscles became weaker and weaker. Long game days seem to do that to you. My breaths grew more frequent, my notes were less crisp and my 8-to-5 roll steps were less precise.
But I know I used my best high step during the marching feature and played the best bass line I possibly could during Chicago’s “25 or 6 to 4” to end the show.
I finished the show strong from the front row of the 400-plus-piece band and marched off singing “Wildcat Victory.” I soaked in the cheering crowd in Houston’s NRG Stadium as my band family finished singing. I broke my concentration and smiled.
I looked at the empty seats where the K-State band played its part in securing the eventual 33-28 win and thought of my mom and how she never saw me march in the Pride. My eyes watered, but no tears joined the streaks of sweat running down my face.
MY FINAL chapter of playing in a marching band closed that day.
I wiped the sweat from my brow with what once were white gloves. I unzipped the pants, feeling for the last time the relief of the pressure on my chest as a snug band uniform peeled away from my sweaty body.
I breathed in the smell of band: sweat, metal, valve oil and cotton, complete with five hours of pregame preparation, marinated in Houston humidity, baked for three hours in the Texas Bowl and flavored with four years of some of my best college memories. Never again will I smell like that.
I buttoned up uniform 144 and took the Sudler Trophy pin off the chest. The next time I go to a K-State football game will be the first time I watch and cheer for a Pride of Wildcat Land halftime show. I hear they’re pretty good.
