THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1994, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Wednesday, August 17, 1994 TAG: 9408170018
SECTION: DAILY BREAK PAGE: E01 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: By MARK MOBLEY, STAFF WRITER
LENGTH: Long : 301 lines
AN ARMY TAKES the school before dawn. At 4:50 a.m., two buses and two trailer trucks wait in darkness for someone to unlock Hampton's Syms Middle School.
By 5, the school and bus doors open, and members of the Carolina Crown Drum and Bugle Corps walk like zombies, clutching pillows and bed rolls, toward the cafeteria, which is as cold as a morgue.
They've been on the bus for six hours. They'll sleep for maybe five more. Around 11 a.m., they'll hit the athletic field, and with a couple of breaks for hot dogs, Kool-Aid and showers, they'll march all day long.
But they won't just march. They'll sweat, suck wind, blow round tones, throw flags, drop rifles, walk backward, run, run sideways with big drums strapped to their chests, do hundreds of push-ups, aggravate their old injuries and cry. All because they love music, their corps and the summer.
Last week, the Charlotte-based corps marched in a small Hampton competition, Drums Along the Bay. It was a homecoming for nine members from Virginia Beach. Thursday, the group enters the national championships in Boston.
Carolina Crown is just one of dozens of drum and bugle corps across the United States and Canada. What was once a staid pursuit of American Legion posts is now a thriving sport attracting thousands of high school and college students, who travel the country each summer for competitions sponsored by Drum Corps International. The Boston championships will be taped for later broadcast on PBS.
To the uninitiated, it's a mystery why a high school band member would extend the torture of after-school drill. To the drum corps fan, there's nothing finer than the searing noise of 60 large-bore brass instruments and 30 unleashed percussionists, capped by dozens of flags and rifles that fly and - miraculously - are caught.
``This is not like marching band,'' says Don Ewell of Virginia Beach, father of percussion captain Wes Ewell. ``If you watch the Kempsville marching band, you're seeing a good show. But if you watch these kids, it's completely different.''
And the drum corps life is not just for the show. Marching instructor Carl Whipple says, ``You come out of it with a much greater feeling for yourself. Your self-esteem is much higher.
``It's cultish, there's no doubt about it.''
VIRGINIA HAS NO CORPS OF ITS OWN, though small outfits have come and gone over the past 30 years. Carolina Crown first took the field in 1990. Last year, it won Drum Corps International's Division II championship, and it continues to grow, even while money troubles have forced some of the largest and most prestigious groups to suspend touring.
As the only corps in the middle Atlantic states, Crown attracts members from throughout the South. After auditions late last year, eight Virginia Beach students began car pooling to weekend practice camps in Charlotte.
Kendall Nicholes, 19, is a drummer traveling with the corps despite the heart and ankle problems that have kept him from marching. He's a big guy, and as a sophomore, he was a tackle on his high school football team.
``Our band was winning a lot and our football team wasn't winning,'' he says. ``So I joined the band.''
Nicholes first tried out for Crown in 1991, after a Salem High band trip to a corps show in Cary, N.C. He finally was chosen as a bass drummer for this season and paid his $485 rookie dues, plus $120 for spring practice camp.
Through the winter, Nicholes, Ewell and eight others traveled the first and third weekends of every month to Charlotte for practice sessions that began Friday night and ended Sunday afternoon. In May, they went for three straight weekends.
Then they attended practice camp at Belmont Abbey College, where they struggled through ``everydays'' - grueling marathon marching sessions.
``It's awful. I hate that,'' says Bryan Maurer, a 15-year-old snare drummer from Salem High School in Virginia Beach. ``It's so hot. It was so humid down there in Belmont this summer. It'd rain every night, and every morning you'd walk out there and couldn't breathe.
``I guess I find out how tired I am when I get up the next morning and I'm really stiff and my knees won't bend. I feel like I'm walking on stilts.''
The ratio of practice time to show length seems absurd. Days and days of marching and playing produces a show that's shorter than halftime, just 11 1/2 minutes. But the drum corps show is more Broadway than gridiron. The rigid lines and letter formations of college bands have given way to stunningly intricate swirls and mutating mazes marched to tricky rhythms.
Competitions are judged on a 100-point scale divided into tenths of a point. Some judges sit in the press box, while others roam the field, watching for the misstep and listening for the flat bugle.
The personality of a corps is defined largely by its music. The Blue Devils of Anaheim, Calif., always play jazz. The Phantom Regiment of Rockford, Ill., specializes in classical music. Suncoast Sound of Tampa, Fla., plays Christian jazz-rock and even has some members sign the lyrics of ``The Greatest Love of All'' for the deaf.
This season's Crown show opens with Copland's ``El salon Mexico,'' an orchestral showpiece with irregular meters, and closes with ``Santa Fe Saga,'' an appealing work by American composer Morton Gould. It's a tough, musically subtle program for an emerging corps.
For some members, it's the most complicated music they've ever played.
``Just a drummer, that's what I was,'' says utility percussionist Shelly LeFevre, 15, as she unloads an equipment truck before the day's first practice. The Salem High sophomore plays xylophone and other mallet instruments in ``the pit,'' the sideline area where unwieldy percussion stays during the show.
``They taught me how to read music. They taught me all the technique in the world, anything anybody could want to know about mallets. My music isn't challenging anymore. Not after 14 hours of rehearsal a day for three weeks.''
The schedule has taken its toll on LeFevre's section leader, Wes Ewell. Like most of the other drummers, the 19-year-old Kempsville High graduate has a fat-free skateboarder's body and a bizarre tan line left by his snare drum harness.
Ewell also has a brace on his right knee. The night before the Hampton show, he was changing his uniform and twisted his leg. His kneecap popped out of place. He passed out. When he woke up, he popped it back and passed out again. Now he's waiting for his father to pick him up for a doctor's appointment.
``This is the first rehearsal I've missed in two years, and this is my own show,'' he says. He turns to the other drummers as they're pulling on their drums for practice. ``If I'm not here, we need to make sure those drums sound nice tonight. I want those drums to sound sweet.''
THE BRASS PLAYERS BEGIN PRACTICE just before noon. Instructor Don Taylor listens to them blowing air tonelessly through the horns. ``That's way too high,'' he says. ``Take in more air. A lot more air.''
They play their first note, and the 43 bugles sound like an organ. Taylor leads them in slow exercises. ``Six days before quarterfinals begin,'' he says over the music. ``Eight days from now will be the semifinals.''
Four guys drop and begin doing pushups voluntarily. ``They know when they make mistakes,'' brass instructor Joe Vaughn says. ``They take the opportunity to use the 10-step memory method.''
``I could only do one at winter camps,'' says Julia Walker, a color guard member from Jonesville, S.C. ``Now I can do 50. You get stronger in, like, the first week of everydays.''
For an hour, the brass run scales and long notes and excerpts from the show. The drummers warm up nearby. Whenever the groups stop, more bugle music comes through the trees. It's Phantom Regiment, the most formidable corps on the Hampton show. Phantom is at Kecoughtan High School, three-quarters of a mile away.
Late July and early August are tough times for a corps. The kids haven't been home for more than a month, the heat is peaking and the novelty of travel has worn off.
``You'll hit a wall for a little while and then you'll jump over it,'' marching instructor Whipple says. The corps made a giant step forward at a Charlotte show just two days before the Hampton show.
``There were over 7,000 people there,'' Whipple says. ``That's when our score jumped six points. The fact that we placed in the middle of the pack meant people could say, `Wow, they're really moving. They look like one of the real big boys.' ''
In the middle of the afternoon, the corps is assembled on the field and running through short sections of the show. Competition is still five hours away, which means there's at least three hours left for practice. Between bursts of ``El salon Mexico,'' bits of Phantom's ``Ritual Fire Dance'' sound through the trees.
``What have I been saying for three days? Don't cut the note short!'' Vaughn shouts. ``Am I clear? Am I clear?''
``Don't go sharp on that A, lead baritone on this side,'' Taylor says through a bullhorn.
``Baritones, in the 2/4 bar you need to hurt me with that. You know, `baaw baaw bee!' You need to hit me.''
``Jason. Soprano. Do you know this show? Then stop reacting to everything that's happening.''
Later, Vaughn says, ``We have one of the more difficult shows out this summer. We just try to do the best we can do, the best musical package we can put together.
``It's very difficult to explain to people why you do this. A lot of high school bands get to the point where they rehearse two or three hours in a row twice a week. We get to a level where mistakes are more evident. We have to get to a point where we can transcend the physical portion and get to the emotional portion.
``If you go out and do a good show, when you come off the field, the feeling is indescribable.''
As anyone would expect, a group of young people aged 14 to 21 living together around the clock is bound to produce at least a few couples. The sleeping areas are always divided into male and female sides, but the staff doesn't police corps members off the field.
``We encourage them to use their best judgment,'' Vaughn says. ``It's not day care. We don't have chaperones.''
Elaine Moller, a high school senior from Marietta, Ga., sits near her boyfriend, John Garza, a 19-year-old contrabass bugle player from Charlotte during the dinner break; he has a shaved head and practices with a little silver crucifix dangling from his horn.
``It's different for different people,'' Moller, 17, says. ``Sometimes it's a summer thing. For the guys, it's really sad. There's more guys, than girls. It's like 6 to 1. A lot of people date. A lot of people just fool around.''
The close quarters make dating especially intimate.
``It's like being married to them because they're in your face all the time. It's not like in school where you can say, `See you later.' It's hard to get away. One good thing about it is you know they really like you because they get to see you when you're really nasty.''
AT DRUMS ALONG THE BAY, backstage is the parking lot and a park next to Darling Stadium. Carolina Crown pulls in late - at 7:24, just 30 minutes before they're due to step off.
Instructors are running. ``I don't think we're quite as late as we think we are,'' someone yells. ``No time. Period,'' someone answers. Color guard members pull on their pastel body suits.
At 7:27, chimes are unloaded. A golf cart pulls a little trailer up to the equipment truck.
At 7:28, the brass are off in the park blowing air though their horns. They play their first note against the frantic hammering from another corps' drums.
At 7:29, Taylor says, ``I know we're in a hurry. But guys, we're gonna have to relax.''
At 7:32, the brass blow the water out of their horns.
At 7:33, the florescent flags spin as an instructor claps steadily.
At 7:34, the drummers pull on their purple cuffs and epaulets. A marimba rolls perilously down a ramp.
At 7:35, Wes Ewell can't squat down to lift his snare drum. ``Pick it up,'' he says to another drummer. ``Pick it up.'' The guy does, and Ewell pulls the drum onto his harness.
At 7:36, percussion instructor Clint Gillespie walks the drums away in three lines. At 7:37, he says, ``Listen, guys, I'm going to give you a couple of minutes to warm up. OK, go,'' and there's a chaos of tapping that sounds like all the pingpong balls that ever fell on Captain Kangaroo's head.
At 7:42, the drummers head back into formation. Gillespie moves from drum to drum, checking the tuning.
At 7:44, Ewell counts them off. They begin relentless unison strokes: right right right right right right right right right right right right left left left left left left left left left left left left. Time is getting denser.
At 7:45, Morton Gould phrases, from the closing number, come from the brass over the next hill.
At 7:46, a guy drops a yellow rifle.
The brass start marching toward the field, hats in their left hands, horns at their right thighs. The color guard shouts ``Good wine!'' - a secret code - and marches off at 7:48, carrying arm loads of flags.
At 7:49, Vaughn says, ``Go out there and have a good time, because if nothing else, you have an excuse to suck.''
At 7:52, the guard holds hands and says the Lord's Prayer. In the second half of 7:52, the brass hums a chorale. At 7:53, the drums walk up, and at 7:53:20, the brass hold a unison and resolve the melody.
The drum major says, ``See that little gate right there? We're gonna fit through that.''
At 7:54, they step onto the track. ``Let's go, guys,'' the corps director shouts. ``Hometown show here.'' ``Be aiming over that front wall at all times,'' Taylor repeats as the brass players file by.
Ladies and gentlemen - now entering the field is Carolina Crown from Charlotte, North Carolina. The program's score sheet calls them ``Carolina Sound.''
Whipple races up the aisle with a bucket of water bottles, to a point next to the press box. ``Right on time,'' he says.
Drum major, is your corps ready?
``I like them because their uniforms look like space people,'' a girl says.
The drum major removes his hat and salutes.
Carolina Crown, you may enter the field for competition.
The drill begins in silence, then the Copland kicks in - clangy percussion, a supple bass drum line, then all the brass. It's edgy, joyous.
You think of bugles as reveille and taps, but here they're lilting. ``El salon Mexico'' is about a Mexican dance hall, and the corps acts drunk at one point, staggering on the field and leaning on each other. The drill is complex - a scroll solidifying into a box.
By 8:10, it is over and Whipple is racing back down to the corps. On the field, Vaughn says, ``I think it went relatively well, considering the circumstances.''
One of the kids looks at the other brass instructor and says, ``I'm ready to play now, Don.''
All hats are off. Everyone's sweaty. The corps gathers close, and most everyone recites the Lord's Prayer. The drum major says, ``That was a much better show, much better than last night.''
Wes Ewell says, quietly, ``It's terrible. It's terrible.''
A guy asks if the doctor told him not to march.
``Advised it,'' he says.
A girl asks if he can walk.
Ewell, who plans to march for two more years and then study to be a high school history teacher, shakes his head no. ``I can limp,'' he says, then throws off his harness and sits down.
Percussion instructor Gillespie says, ``You guys went out there and put all you had into it.'' A boy is asking for the snare drummers' autographs.
The other larger corps take the field. Phantom is amazing, with a crack guard and a bewildering range of percussion instruments.
After Phantom, the corps parade back on the field in seven parallel lines. They stand in formation awaiting scores. After the scores are announced in the Boston finals, the corps will process off one by one, and the field will be littered with the shoes of members who have ``aged out'' - who have reached 21 and will be ineligible next season.
Crown places fourth, with a 72.0. Phantom places first, with a 90.9.
On the bench at the sidelines sits Donald Crashore of Hampton, 68, a longtime corps fan and instructor. In the 1960s he worked with a local corps, the Young Americans.
``It's the greatest activity for kids in the world. They work damn hard for what they get.'' And Carolina Crown? ``Great. Great.''
The drum majors - including Phantom's, dressed all in black - walk slowly toward the sideline. Crashore says, ``This is class.'' ILLUSTRATION: Staff color photos by IAN MARTIN
Top: Julia Walker, 14, practices with the color guard at Hampton's
Syms Middle School.
Above left: April Whitfield, 18, stays in her sleeping bag, feeling
under the weather, while Sherry Logue of the support staff and
friend Julia Walker try to cheer her up.
Left: Mistakes warrant pushups.
Jason Dooley of Roanoke and shelly LeFevre of Virginia Beach
practice on the xylophone at Syms Middle School in hampton.
Ken Arrington, left, and T.J. linder, both from Rocky Mount, N.C.,
and Lauri Llewellyn of richmond share a hug after their
performance.
by CNB