Page 84 - 2019 UDMB Senior Will

Jim’s indirectly imparted a plethora of wisdom to me over the years. I have a deep appreciation for his ability to turn aspects of marching band into life lessons. I’ll attempt to paraphrase one such example. Jim says to the pit: “You don’t have to like each other. You do, however, have to come together for 2 hours, cooperate, and get the work done. Then you can go on not liking each other again. That’s part of being an adult.” The front ensemble has to work together more than every other section combined. For every practice, we set up and break down our keyboards and elctronics. Fridays, we load the truck then unload then reload. Game days we have to round everyone up drive to the stadium unload practice push everything to the stadium play two shows then load the truck drive back to the CFA and unload. All of this relies almost solely on the pit members cooperating and at least pretending to get along. and let me tell you, we’ve always been really absurdly bad at that. I’ve survived through enough middle-of-the-street Allentown truck loads and surprise torrential downpours (even hail) to have gained a complex understanding of the deepest levels of human frustration and despair. You would think that as our time together progresses and we do the same thing over and over again, we would maybe get better at it, but there’s almost always a downward spiral.
Anyway, one of Jim’s main focuses (probably) is to instill in us a sense of self-responsibility. Believing in yourself and making what you think are the right decisions, rather than asking a bunch of questions and floundering around. Every year, I am inevitably subjected to the classic freshmen “Jim, this is broken.” “Jim, I can’t find that.” “Jim, what should I do about this.” To which Jim replies, “figure it out.” And then you realize that you could have easily figured it out yourself if you just thought for 5 seconds. Don’t worry, I’ve made this same mistake myself.
Section II: Ode to Truck
I truly enjoy loading the pit truck. Though unloading can somehow be simultaneously boring and stressful, loading the truck is a fun and satisfying escapade. Everything is packed up neatlyish enough and is stored cozily inside an elevated rectangular prism with “The Pride of Delaware” slapped on the side. Back in the good old days when we only had one truck, getting it all to fit in there was like completing a jigsaw puzzle. There were times when the rack would stick out too far and we’d have to unload half the truck and try again, but when you get it all just perfectly aligned to the edge of the door, it’s a moment of pure ecstasy that can only be experienced through this process. It’s a special kind of high, that which only a full-fledged pit member can truly achieve. As the season goes on, the gap between the door and the instruments grows ever so slightly, until we get too good at it and have too much space and vibraphones start slamming into marimbas and vice versa. Whoops.
I was honorably granted the official title of “Truck Queen” from my predecessor, Kelsey Buckingham. “Truck Queen” is the official title. It’s an official position. This is very important. Please remember it. Before my reign, I had been a lifter. Now this was before we used the electronic lift that is ever so conveniently attached to the back of the truck. Don’t ask me why not, but we must have either looked really cool or really stupid. As such, picking up the mixer was about a 6-person job and probably put my life in danger every single time. Even if it didn’t mercifully crush us, if we had dropped it we would have been dead. Junior year I shared my title with Karina and this year with Natalie, who has helped run undoubtedly the smoothest loads I’ve been privy to witness. Natalie and I have some spooky good truck chemistry. I remember to strap down all the stuff she forgets, and she can actually project her voice loud enough to mobilize my subjects. One of the most rewarding aspects of my position, of course, is being physically higher everyone, which grants a vantage point used to criticize every little mistake made below. Alas, the time has come to relinquish