When S--- Got Real For Paul Revere
Saturday, July 30, 2011 at 11:00PM - New Assitant Drum Major Kyle West knows who I am. He's seen me around.
- He also owns me.
- But it's all good.
In Massachusetts, halfway between the towns of Lexington and Concord, there is a bend in the road.
This is where a small patrol of British regulars ended the midnight ride of Paul Revere. At that point in the journey, he was accompanied by tanner William Dawes, and, entirely by chance, a doctor they'd met along the way named Samuel Prescott. As they headed to Concord, discussing what they might do if they were captured, four soldiers emerged from the sparse woods and leveled pistols, one shouting, "If you go an inch further, you are a dead man." The three Americans were forced into a nearby pasture.
And then it got all 007.
"Put on!" the doctor hissed to the silversmith. They spurred their horses. Revere went right. Prescott went left. Dawes was all "Well, f-this," hauled back to the road, and returned to Lexington. Revere galloped headlong into an even larger group of waiting regulars. And Prescott--he and his fresh horse, he who knew the terrain better than any of the three-- melted into moonlight and carried the word to Concord.
I did not know this.
Part of my undergraduate degree was awarded in American history-- with a focus on colonial history, as a matter of fact-- and I did not know this. Maybe it's because my majors (you see how the uselessness begins its infinite expansion) were in political science and writing, but when I study history, I tend to focus on hows and whys more than bangs and booms. It is more explainable this way, safer. You don't just accidentally launch a space shuttle with a brittle, failing O-ring, you see; it's a complex chain and a management clusterfail. Little ripples, all of us, crashing together into one big ol' history wave when the moment is right. So therefore, if I just weren't here, the world wouldn't mind all that much. It is, after all, just me. Everybody'd simply go on. The air conditioning stirs the scattered notes on the desk and the clock radio alarm goes off and then it's Shark Week again.
But the bangs and booms are the flashpoints where the hows and whys are made manifest, and so this afternoon, as I stood at the bend in the road between Lexington and Concord while the construction trucks and the GPS-tuned Hummers trundled past, I stared down at the name of Samuel Prescott and wondered if the Lexington warning... and therefore the battle on the Green... and therefore the later battle at Concord... and therefore the bloody British retreat back to Boston... and therefore the Battle of Bunker Hill... and so on and so on and so on would have unfolded in that manner had Paul Revere had dodged left instead of right, forcing a tired horse on an even more tiring journey.
Sometimes it's what never happens that shapes us--what's cut out, deleted, or backspaced. When I presented the findings of my residency to the staff at the American Antiquarian Society, I showed them this picture to make a point about (and stay with me on this) the importance of modern conservation:
That is 1984 Drum Major Andy Marks. We have seen that uniform before. We will see it again. But look at the background, of the now-hilarious collection of Lisa Bonet look-alike rejects and specimens from Ridgemont High. If you stare at it long enough, you can smell the crimping irons and the New York Seltzer. This couldn't be more '80's if Max Headroom vomited Pop Rocks and Cookie Crisp all over a Pac-Man set of roller skates. But plaques aren't hammered into place over such things, the everyday life that slides past on the calendar and into the recycle bin--which itself will likely be hilarious cultural debris in about a decade.
Instacrop and Photoshop all this, however, wipe away the Era of the Era of Andy, and the context vanishes. We don't know who these people are, but they're part of this moment, this Band, this catch of Mr. Marks'.
That kind of responsibility walks me back and forth in front of my laptop at two in the morning. By writing about other people, real people named in prayer, my writing life--and therefore my life-- is not just me anymore. It's the drummers and the alums and the mellophones and the rookies and D-Row and Jason The Ridiculously Awesome Drum Major, currently marking the time between his first and second season.
Right now it's my job to think about him and the the band he leads--how he does it and why, what it means and what it doesn't. His job is to do that job if I'm hanging around or not. Whether I'm on the sidelines or in Andorra or in jail or in an Andorran jail, the "i" will be dotted, and it's going to happen without him stopping mid-h to wonder how my bail in Euros is coming. As it should be. But the inverse is not the case: I can't write about this topic if the topic is halt-kick-downing several states away.
Sometimes I wonder if Our Jason's impressions of me are a 20 year old’s version of Sam the Baby Nephew’s: Every few weeks or so, this blonde woman shows up in the clothes she wore in grad school with a half-empty water bottle and a pen lifted from a hotel bedstand that mostly doesn’t work, and she’s gazing at you as though she is required, on a molecular level, to freeze this particular grain in the 2011 hourglass because nothing like it is ever going to fall again, and if it slips through her frantically grasping fingers it's gone for good, unphotographable and wiped from the Word document.
So since there are such gaps between the times you see one another, she never quite knows what to say, and so then she tries to say everything, all at once, and this rarely goes well, so you just look bemusedly at her or the TV on the wall until she winds down. And sometimes tears sweep up from under her black mascara, and you know without her saying anything about it in particular that she’s sad about a lot but pathetically happy about a lot, too, and at the moment one of those happy things is you, and she’s crying about both. And when she leaves she hugs too tight but you’re nice about it, because of the whole occasional sadness thing. Then she's gone and you go about your business of total strangers looking up with smiles as you walk past and otherwise occupying your day with absorbing this whole wide world you've thrown yourself into and trying to figure out what's on the other side of the mirror.
I should point out here that Jason drives better than Sam, way better, and can also pour liquids without supervision, but there's still this matter of filling in the gaps-- the gaps where life happens. He didn't get here by materialzing at tryouts one spring day in 2010. That happened in the hours and hours and hours before I even knew he even existed, when he stood in the stands of Ohio Stadium with his parents as a middle schooler, when he tore his hands bloody trying to master a catch, when he refused the party invitation in favor of a winter session or set the breadstick aside uneaten because it's somewhat difficult to flip a 400 pound body over itself-- all those decisions he made over the course of a decade, to ride to the left instead of the right. That's what I missed. And that's what I need to sink into to tell the story correctly.
At certain points--this one, for example--I'll mentally throw my hands in the air, because this whole business
is so out of character for me, so out of nowhere for him, and so far from where the trajectory of my life was originally taking that sometimes the single, solitary factor pushing me up and back down I-71 (again, some more) is the faith that God knows what He's doing with all this, and it isn't some sort of almighty celestial punking.
I mean: Why him? Why me? Why Kyle Who Owns, Claudia the Campus Sister, and this particular D-Row at this particular time? Why now? This couldn't go down in five years, or ten, or closer in on the heels of losing the other band I love? What does it mean, if anything? Is this really, as some of The Readers insist, some sort of epic Manifest Destiny of Literature and Bandom? Was I brought to dearly, deeply love my brother school and then nearly broken by it just to position me at this point, or is this just God 'n' me making the best of just another s***** day in paradise? What if after this gets published, a few hundred people go, "Well, that's very nice," and then we all just kind of... keep going to the grocery and hating the TSA as if it never happened? Is it still worth it? What if God's plan for me is to drive up and down I-71 a whole bunch in the calendar year of 2011 and that's it? And if not, how would I know? Could I bear the answer if that is indeed the case?
But worse, I think, is peering back over my shoulder at this particular bend in the road, wondering what might have happened if I happened to go right instead of left.
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Reader Comments (45)
Leave me out of this.
I never thought I'd say this to a blonde with a learning disability, but-- you think too much, honey.
Goodness you're talky this week.
(not that I am complaining!)
That 80s picture is aaaawwwwweeeeesoooommmmeeeee
That, my dear, is the awesome intriguing power of history. All the 'What if?'s and the close shaves and the almost-didn't-happen-this-ways are fascinating. I think you just have to trust that God has a Grand Plan that you are an integral part in the plot. Don't question why, just go with it and enjoy the adventure. There's good scenery up I-71. :) You are exactly where you need to be, and we will be all the better for your work.
We're being punished, that's why. It was MB or power squats.
Don't ask why, just enjoy the man's Awesome.
GOD: Well you've had some crap thrown at you the past year or 3, Mary Beth, have a book project about gorgeous and interesting men doing cool stuff that make you produce some of the best writing of your career.
MB: But... Paul Revere!!
GOD: (facepalm)
I really really hate this post, because I graduated the year the picture of that Drum Major was taken : P
I should point out here that Jason drives better than Sam, way better, and can also pour liquids without supervision
That's our guy!
Leave me out of this -Paul Revere
Me too.
This is a rare and brave look into the creative process. Very very few artists will provide this kind of discussion about their doubts and what they are struggling with and prefer to maintain an "above it all" image. Thank you for your humility and honesty here, Mary Beth.
She's so cute when she's having an existential crisis.
Is it still worth it?
Hell yes it's worth it, you got to meet Alex!
Heed Carah The BFFE, Miss Tink. As usual, we Belles know what we're talking about.
Excellent. We were extremely concerned that Miss Ellis' historical research would not loop back around to Drum Majors at some point.
"This couldn't be more '80's if Max Headroom vomited Cookie Crisps all over a Pac-Man set of roller skates. "
LOL!
I'd like to thank our Fair Webmistress for the following intellectual conversation I had with my coworker:
HIM: I didn't think it would get this deep.
ME: That's what SHE said.
Thanks MB!
"all those decisions he made over a decade, to ride to the left instead of the right"
This paragraph was really cool. We all take these great performances for granted without really thinking about what goes into them.
There's good scenery up I-71. :)
Well, thank you!
Didn't know that about Revere-- cool story!
"By writing about other people, real people named in prayer, my writing life--and therefore my life-- is not just me anymore."
I just realized that you writers are never really NOT working or on vacation. It's not like you can just shut down your brain, is it.
That must kind of suck.
I am totally diggin' on the red boots that chick sitting on the curb is wearing in the Andy picture.
I like how she takes one thing that looks like it's not supposed to go with another thing, but then makes both things go together!
Well tarnation, little missy, a purty young filly like you shouldn't be thinking such big tangly thoughts!
(pats MB on the head)
(runs)
I've been to Gettysburg and it was a very powerful experience. There's something about being where this stuff really happens.
what might have happened if I happened to go right instead of left
Go long, go long!
"And sometimes tears sweep up from under her black mascara"
Two words: Water. Proof.
"What if after this gets published, a few hundred people go, "Well, that's very nice," and then we all just kind of... keep going to the grocery and hating the TSA as if it never happened?"
Here is the thing though: You might never know if you have the effect you're meant to have, and that is part of the plan too. As an example, what if in a 100 years somebody reads your book and is inspired to become a SuperIncredibleWorldSaving Drum Major? Or it could be that you are meant to meet someone in the Band To-Be upon whom you will have a great positive impact but will never tell you. It could even be one of the people we've already met, or that the impact has not yet been made.
I think that everything happens for a reason, but we aren't robots without choices. We just make the best decisions we can based on the information we have and the morals we follow.
Thoreau and van Gogh were little-known in their own lifetimes and not discovered until a long long time after their careers.
Leave me out of this -Paul Revere
Strange times indeed, to have the threadwinner on the first comment.
I for one am relieved that by looking to business major Jason The Ridiculously Awesome rather than English degree-holding Alex Who Talks Real Pretty as the leading man of a very wide cast, Mary Beth is writing shorter posts and not focusing on really out-there intellectual stuff. ** coughcough **
hahahaha the name of that store is the best!
BUCKEYE BATTLE CRY
Hey MB, from now on can you just mark these kinds of posts with an cannibus leaf icon? That way I'll be alerted to read them only while high. Thanks babe.
SuperIncredibleWorldSaving Drum Major
That position has already been filled.
she’s gazing at you as though she is required, on a molecular level, to freeze this particular grain in the 2011 hourglass
I'd like to apply for the position of Official At-Jason Gazer. That should free you up some, MB.
Thou art puttin' waaaaaaaaayyyyy too much f'ing knowledge in this post, Miss Tink. Relax and let the Awesome happen.
Someone was paying attention in her theology classes....
Manifest Destiny of Literature and Bandom
no pressure
You don't have to worry about trying to capture EVERY SINGLE element about these guys and Drum Majoring. Don't think of it as a computer file where a single glitch or missing word in the code would render the whole program useless; think of it as a hologram, where a single fraction of the image contains in itself the whole information.
"What if after this gets published, a few hundred people go, "Well, that's very nice," and then we all just kind of... keep going to the grocery and hating the TSA as if it never happened? Is it still worth it? What if God's plan for me is to drive up and down I-71 a whole bunch in the calendar year of 2011 and that's it? And if not, how would I know? Could I bear the answer if that is indeed the case?"
Here's a thought for you: the book is published, it is read by a few hundred people or so, who forget about it by the year's end; you don't end up overwhelmingly rich and famous because of it, and keep struggling with the regular problems of your life...
BUT, among those hundreds of people who stumble upon it, there's just ONE person, just one, that is touched by it, and decides because of it to study in OSU and try to become a Drum Major.
That one life takes a definitive turn, which will end up causing ripples and waves in the great fabric that neither you, nor me, nor anyone else can even begin to fathom.
Now I ask you back: would that make it worth it? would you be satisfied with it?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a8mZKaWIK8w&feature=player_embedded
Oh yes, of course, RPJ. I guess my fear is that there will be NO impact whatsoever. I don't mind being mired in mediocrity so much as long as it's a useful mediocrity. :)
I must say I never thought that with as much respect and affection I have for OSUMB, I did not imagine it could be quite this thought-provoking! Quite an interesting read.
Your vulnerability, the open way you approach life and your willingness to be touched by anything you find moving or beautiful, is one of your best assets.
"I am totally diggin' on the red boots that chick sitting on the curb is wearing in the Andy picture."
And the shoulder bag, nice.