Reunions happen.

In the Army in Alaska (1959-62)[not basic training], our band was performing for a review for a visiting General. Troops are usually stationery; however, the band always marches while playing. In this case we had to come around from behind the troops and march to the front. This was winter, there was about a three-foot drift of snow in the area; we needed to march through. Instrument valves were freezing up so trombones and other brass; trumpets, tubas; couldn’t play. Drummers were stumbling trying to keep the drums straight enough to play on, and some of the players couldn’t help but laugh. I’m not sure that we served up the best music for the General, but it was an event to remember. Forward about 40 years, and a friend and I were telling war stories. I told this one, and my friend asked when I was there; it sounded like something he had experienced—he told me he had been there too. It turns out we had been in the same band at the same time. He was now a conductor of a community concert band and remembered I played timpani with the Anchorage Symphony—he needed a timpanist--and asked me to come play with his band. A wonderful reunion. We became very good friends, stayed friends after he retired.

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