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Raconteur Theater’s
Whales, Save Us!
at
Madlab’s Theater
Columbus, Ohio

by Rick Brown

Tromboner
by Rick Brown

Music was a big deal in my hometown’s school system. Besides your usual music classes where we all sang songs from the traditional America songbook, bands and choirs were prevalent beginning as early as grade four. Moving from sitting at one’s desk singing “Froggie Went a’ Courtin’ “ with the entire class, to a “Song Flute” orchestra (or “Flutaphone” as we kids preferred calling it) was dramatic. And looking back, I now realize this was probably some sort of test. You know … so the authorities could separate the wheat from the chaff. Education was like this in the late 50’s, early 60’s.

Still, everyone was expected to have his or her parents purchase a black, plastic “Flutophone”. Then, their fourth graders could practice, and eventually play in the “orchestra” at the grade school spring concert along with 5th and 6th grade bands. Fourth Grade Flutophones performed (and I use the verb loosely) first, followed by grade 5 then 6. This was so parents could see the progression of improvement I suppose. I’m guessing it also helped everyone finally get over … or forget … the screeching sound of a plastic tube with holes in it being played by some sixty-five 10 year olds.

One of the “pieces” we performed at my first Flutophone foray into musical performance was called “The Safety Song”. This should not be confused with the 80’s hit “The Safety Dance” … although both are equally inane. I still know how the tune goes. Hell, I can still PLAY “The Safety Song”. I’m not certain that’s a good thing.

My parents were very supportive of me (as well as my younger siblings) joining the band if I wanted to. My father had played the trumpet for a short time in his youth. And he was a little conflicted when I … for reasons unknown to either he, my mother or myself … chose to play the trombone. Had I realized just how difficult this instrument is to play … as well as the frustration of how trombones rarely get to play leads … I might have joined the glory hound cornet/trumpet section instead. But my parents bought me a used trombone, and it was WAY cool. A big brass bell and a SILVER slide made it unique amongst the … uh …me and two other trombone players. For grades 5 and 6 I played first chair, my buddy Doug second, and a guy named Curtis third. In “junior high” a girl (yes … a girl) named Debbie challenged me and took over first chair. She practiced. I did not. And by then I had realized that … despite the Freudian nature of the growing and shrinking trombone slide … I was going to attract more girls with my guitar than my trombone. And puberty had put the kibosh on my desire to be a band geek.

Many people are unaware of the seminal aspects of brass band instruments. Not only do you have to “lube” your tuning slide on occasion, but also, in the case of the trombone, the slide has to be “lubed” with regularity. And everybody eventually forms an opinion on their favorite personal lube for their … uh …slide. So … you know … a player could smoothly glide their slide out to 7th position. And believe me, when you are in 5th or 6th grade, accomplishing 7th position takes stretching your right arm almost out of its’ socket while turning you head to the side in hopes to get there. Consequently this contorts your young embouchure.

Embouchure!!

I loved this word then and I love it now. Embouchure! Derived from the French “bouche” meaning “mouth”, it refers to the way a brass player positions the muscles in the face in order to get the correct tone and range out of the instrument. Embouchure! Sexy… sensual even. I mean … the sound of the word is wonderful. Of course in the years just before, and during the awakening of one’s body, a word like this is magic to a 12 year old boy. “Hey! Check out the embouchure on that babe!” “That chick sure knows how to use her embouchure!”

But what I really want to talk about is the spit valve.

Many band instruments have what is called the “water key”. Thing is … nobody calls it a WATER KEY! I mean … even band geeks have their pride. Everyone who has one calls it his or her “spit valve” … because … well … when an instrument (a brass one in particular) is played, the player’s saliva eventually builds up inside. It is eventually blown out of said instrument … onto the band room floor … via the spit valve! (This is why I used the word “seminal” earlier instead of … say …”visceral”) So in a band of 35 players you can imagine how much … well … you can imagine. Doug, Curtis and I did our share of contributing to the janitor’s misery.

I really did enjoy playing in the band. But as I wrote earlier, trombones were mostly in the background. Oh to be the STAR, just once maybe! In grade six … at the tender age of 12 … Doug , Curtis and I got our shot.

After almost two years of backing up the cornet/trumpet glory hounds (their saving grace was that they too had spit valves) the three of us got our chance to shine. For that year’s spring concert … after the squawking Flutophone band … following the 5th grade bands' set … part of our program was to include a tune called “Slide, Kelly, Slide”. This was a song written specifically for the trombone section. I had no idea back then it was written in the 19th Century or that it was about King Kelly, one of America’s first baseball players, or that a movie was made in the 1920’s. OR that it was America’s very first “hit record” made at Edison Studios. No, to Doug, Curtis and I it was simply SHOWTIME!!

The coolest thing about “Slide, Kelly, Slide” was that it was dominated by “slides”. Beginning in the stretched out to the max, distorted embouchure, 7th position, we pulled our slides all the way up to position # 1. This made a delightful, circus like BAAA RUUUMPH!!! And it was repeated over and over. BAAA RUUMPH! The three of us were in BAAA RUUUMPH heaven! And we were to STAND UP during our entire performance! We were all so excited we even practiced.

On the night of the spring concert, Curtis and I sat through the annual 4th graders Flutophone Symphony … complete with a rendition of “The Safety Song”. Doug was not there. Then we listened to the 5th grade band … a slight yet somewhat insignificant improvement. Doug never showed. He later told me he got sick. I think he was afraid. But so were Curtis and I. Did the cornet/trumpet players get scared? Curtis and I tried to suck it up and appear brave.

Sitting directly in front of me on the floor of the gym was the oboe player … another Debbie … a different Debbie. Oboe Debbie. She had on a white blouse and a full skirt. She was a quiet, shy band geek in the genre’s most resplendent way. And before “Slide, Kelly, Slide” the band was to play a more classical piece. What it was escapes me. But what I do remember is this. At the beginning of this serious piece … as I pulled out of a note in the 7th position … the hem of Debbie’s skirt got entangled in my spit valve. I pulled my slide up to position # 1 … along with Debbie’s skirt, which was now about as high as her elbows. I’m sure this gave all the parents, teachers, friends, sisters and brothers, an unobstructed view of the poor girl’s panties.

Debbie turned back and gave me a look that both said “I hate you!” and “What can I do now?” while valiantly trying to blow on the thin reed at the end of her delicate instrument. Her embouchure was a mess. This went on for about 5 minutes … it seemed like 5 years. Rick played in the 7th position. Debbie’s dress modestly covered her. Rick pulled back to 1st position. Debbie’s dress is up around her shoulders! And I must admit that remembering this conjures up a very hilarious image of Oboe Debbie frantically trying to pull her dress down, give me a hateful look and play a genteel woodwind instrument all at the same time … in front of what seemed to be the entire town.

Mercifully the piece finally came to its conclusion. Debbie violently liberated her skirt from my spit valve and gave me a look that, if looks could kill, would have immediately made “Slide, Kelly, Slide” a solo gig for Curtis. I’m surprised she didn’t hurl her oboe at me.

Curtis and I stood and valiantly plowed through “Slide, Kelly, Slide”. But I could not keep my mind off of what had just transpired with the oboe player. The crowd seemed to enjoy it. Or they were being polite. It’s difficult to tell the difference in such situations. All I know is that I don’t remember much about Curtis and my time in the spotlight. All I could think about was what a disaster “Slide, Kelly, Slide” would have been if Debbie hadn’t freed her skirt from my T-Bone’s spit valve … how her skirt would have been up over her HEAD … perhaps even ripped from her body! I remember nothing of the experience of the trombone’s starring role. I was living in a “what could have been” nightmare.

And if that nightmare had actually occurred. If poor Debbie’s skirt had been involved in “Slide, Kelly, Slide” … well … I’d probably STILL be in detention. Oboe Debbie might still be in therapy. Or maybe have moved to Paris, France and become a Can-Can dancer.

There, some guy in the audience might yell out “NICE EMBOUCHURE BABE!!”

The Non Fiction Theater of the Truly Mundane
proudly presents:

Lost in Space

by Dan Eley

Scene: Inside a Southwest 737 flying from Tampa to Hartford … passengers fidget waiting to take off. The flight has been delayed for an hour, and they now sit somewhere in the middle of a long line of planes waiting to take off. There has been no word from the cockpit … and the passengers are getting restless.

Pilot: (loud CLICK as he keys his mike) … Ahh, this is your Captain in the front office and … ummm … ahh … I just wanted to say how sorry we are for the delay. Currently we are … ahhh … number six for departure, so we should have you airborne in 10 minutes or so. Ahhh … once in the air we will try to make up some time and get you up to … ahhh … mmmm … (silence) … ummm … ahhh ... (loud click as he un-keys the mike) … (long silence … followed by the loud click of a mike being keyed) … ahhh, Hartford’s Bradley Field ... so sit back and enjoy your flight. (loud click as his mike is un-keyed.)

Flight Attendant: (loud click as she keys her mike) … And that is why they use auto-pilots (loud click as she un-keys her mike).

Curtain

Cast:
Restless Passengers - Themselves
Pilot: Himself
Flight Attendant - Herself