Maestro
by Eric Miller
No one was a
more beleaguered, unhappy member of the high
school band than Rusty Horne. In fact, he just
down right hated being a part of it. He was there
only because he wasn‘t a jock, but then
again, he wasn’t a musician either. In fact,
he had no musical talent, whatsoever. Rhythm and
beat were two concepts he couldn’t grasp.
His girlfriend could tell you what dead weight he
was on the dance floor. But he needed to be able
to list some extracurricular activities on his
college applications, and band was one of them.
Rusty went
through the motions of playing the trumpet,
although if you heard the sound that came out of
the instrument he played, you’d be hard
pressed to call it by its proper name. To his
credit, he knew how bad he was. In fact, he
considered himself to be the spit valve of the
organization.
Now Rusty was
one of those guys who couldn’t chew gum and
walk at the same time. So, you can imagine the
challenge he faced trying to play the trumpet and
march on the playing field at half-time. This was
a guy who had to concentrate intently on not
turning the wrong way, or he would crash into the
sousaphone player. So, he faked playing his horn.
For lack of a better term, I guess you could say
that he horn-synched.
So, it was
quite a surprise when he, the consensus worst
player in the band, was unanimously nominated for,
and elected as, president of it. His theory was
that no one else wanted the job, so they
mobilized to stick the title on him in a tsunami
wave of support. One of the many troublesome
realities of being the band president was that
when they gave concerts, he had to be the student
conductor of it. Remember now, this is the guy
who had no sense of rhythm or beat. So, in
politically charged, smoke filled, back rooms
with the band members, Rusty used his newly
gained political clout to make sure that they
ignored his waving baton, and just followed each
other. The emotional scars of standing before his
colleagues, with an audience behind him, as he
waved his baton meaninglessly, still remains to
this very day.
But here’s
the thing. By being elected president of the band,
he was perceived to have a political persona, and
he was nominated to run for Student Council
Treasurer, and then Student Council President. All
of a sudden, Rusty was immersed in politics. As
Student Council President, he was meeting
regularly with the principal, a very intimidating
guy, who dismissed his input with such cavalier
disdain that Rusty got his music stand up. Bingo,
his political petals blossomed on a thorny stem.
It didn’t take long to figure out how, when,
where, and on whom to use the petals or the
thorns.
And that’s
how Rusty became the smooth talking, side-stepping,
politician whose words are never off-key on any
issue.
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