HOMECOMING ‘77
It was somewhere around the third round of drinks that everyone started talking about old Coach Franklin and the Homecoming game of 1977. It had been the regular crowd – Big Tom Wallace, Rick Murchison, Gene Young, Mayor Al Thompson, and the rest. Even Mike Baldridge, the librarian was there, although he had sworn off alcohol after Founder’s Day and just sat nursing a soda. They’d all come in about 8:00 or so. It was a usual Saturday night ritual: once the kids were in bed, they’d all meet down at Cliff’s Tavern for a few rounds of beer and a little town history.
Of course, the conversations never started out to be about the town. But in Newtonberg, every conversation has a way of working itself into being about the town, whether it started off that way or not. You could be talking about the Great Wall of China, or Pluto, or even the assassination of President Abraham Lincoln, and before it was over, it would focus on Newtonberg, or someone in Newtonberg, or someone from Newtonberg.
So, when the topic turned to football, the subject inevitably got back around to Newtonberg High School and the memorable games of the past. Everyone was debating which was the greatest. All the people who were born and raised in Newtonberg all had their personal stories of triumph on the gridiron. Al Thompson, however, insisted that the Homecoming game of 1977 left all the other games behind.
Rick Murchison, who had only moved to Newtonberg about 1985, had never heard about it. Everyone seemed genuinely shocked at this admission. There was only one thing to do.
Al Thompson called out, “Cliff, why don’t you tell us about the Homecoming game of 1977?”
Cliff pulled himself a mug of beer, took the cloth from off his shoulder, set it down, walked around the bar and sat down on a barstool facing the group. As a bartender, Cliff had heard just about every story concerning the town and its inhabitants; some of them four or five times. He was a font of local knowledge. Michael Baldridge, the city librarian, had interviewed him extensively while compiling the Newtonberg history book.
“Let’s see... 1977... that would have been when old Coach Franklin was here, right?” He thoughtfully stroked his chin, over-exaggerating. He knew it was. And so did the regulars.
“Right. 1977. September 1977 to be exact. That was just five years after the school was opened. Allen Franklin was the football coach.
“To tell the whole story, you have to understand something about Newtonberg High School back then. The school had just been founded in 1972...”
“...mainly due to my wife,” interrupted Mayor Thompson.
“...Ahem....yes, mainly due to the efforts of Gladys Thompson. Credit where credit is due. Anyway, the school was new, and under-funded, so most of the teachers had to pull double-duty. There were no free periods back then when the teachers didn’t have a class. You were either teaching one subject or another. The Math teacher also taught Science. The History teacher taught English. And Coach Franklin, as well as being the Physical Education teacher and football coach, was also the band director.”
Cliff took a sip from his mug and allowed this to soak in. Some people chuckled in anticipation.
“Gladys had insisted that the kids needed a well-rounded education. Since most of them had attended school in Garrison’s Mill until the local school was founded, they had attended music class and some had even learned to play instruments. Gladys wanted to continue that. So she set aside time for a music class.
“In 1977, a local minister was able to lay his hands on some second-hand instruments from a few various sources, so these were brought in for the students to play. There were a few dented trombones, and trumpets, drums, clarinets, flutes...”
“...tuba, saxophone...” chimed in Al.
“...all kinds of instruments. So now that she had the instruments and the class time set aside, Gladys set about to find a music teacher.
“As it turned out, Coach Franklin had a vacant hour after lunch, while all the other teachers had classes. So one week before school began, Gladys volunteered him to be the band director.
“Well, Coach Franklin threw a fit. He swore he didn’t know anything about music. He couldn’t read it, he couldn’t play it, he didn’t even like it much, quite frankly. And there was no way in this world or the next that he would be band director.
“Well, Gladys can be very persuasive when she wants to be...”
“Understatement of the year,” muttered Al under his breath. There was a ripple of appreciative laughter from the regulars.
Cliff continued. “She assured the coach that this was just temporary, and that as soon as the school board would allow funds for a permanent band director, she would hire one and he wouldn’t have to take the music classes anymore. Until then, wouldn’t he just try to help out?
“So Coach Franklin agreed he’d do it, but she’d better start working on the school board and quick about hiring a full-time band director. Gladys agreed and so the next week Coach Franklin took his new music class.”
“What does any of this have to do with the Homecoming game?” asked Rick Murchison, who was beginning to lose patience with the story.
“I’m getting there. Just hold on. This is all important to the story, I promise,” said Cliff. “So anyway, the first day of school comes, and Coach Franklin takes his first music class. The kids are a bit confused, to say the least. And Coach Franklin is, too. He struggles through the first class, and afterward, he goes to see Gladys.
“‘I just can’t take it anymore,’ he told her. ‘I don’t know anything about music, I don’t know if those kids were playing the right notes, and I don’t know what to tell them to do to make it right if they were the wrong notes.’
“‘Just stick with it until I can hire a band director,’ Gladys told him. Just as he was getting ready to leave the office she handed him an envelope.
“‘Here,’ she said. ‘It’s for you.’
“Well, the envelope was from Garrison’s Mill High School and was addressed to the Newtonberg High School Band Director. He took it down to the field house and opened it.”
Cliff paused to take a drink. There were cries of protest from the crowd of regulars.
“What did it say?” asked Big Tom Wallace. Of course, he already knew what it said. He’d heard the story before, but it was one of his favorites.
Cliff cleared his throat. “It said:
Dear Sir,
I have recently been informed that Newtonberg High School now has a music class, and consequently, a band. Congratulations, and may I be the first to welcome you into the elite group of music-makers. We look forward to seeing your band perform and especially look forward to your halftime performance during the Garrison’s Mill -Newtonberg game this September.
Sincerely,
Samuel F. Hutchins,
Band Director,
Garrison’s Mill High School
“Well, this was news to old Coach Franklin. No one had mentioned anything about halftime shows. Besides, halftime was when he was supposed to be in the field house, going over the first half of the game with his players and planning the second half. How was he supposed to do that AND oversee the band? And besides, what were they supposed to do, just stand there?
“The next morning, he went back to see Gladys and asked her his questions.
“‘What do you mean, what are they supposed to do?’ asked Gladys. ‘They march. Surely you’ve seen marching bands before.’
“‘Yes,’ said Coach.
“‘Well, that’s what they do. They march.’
“‘But how?’ asked Coach.
“‘You were in the Army,’ said Gladys. ‘You know how to march. Teach them.’
“So what could he do? Not much. Coach Franklin went into his classroom the next day, told one of the boys to grab a bass drum to keep time with and took them all down to the football field. They spent the rest of the week learning how to march, up and down the field. Back and forth, back and forth. Over and over again until they got it right, everyone in step.
“He went to the library over the weekend, and Madge Bennett helped him find books about marching bands and music. He took them home and read them. He went back to school on Monday and had a whole routine planned out. You see, what he realized was that a band routine isn’t that different from a football play. It’s just longer and set to music. So where before the X’s and O’s represented players, in marching band routines they represented trombones, and trumpets, drums, clarinets, flutes...”
“...tuba, saxophone...” chimed in Al, again.
“...and so on,” finished Cliff.
“Now, through some fluke of scheduling, the Homecoming game was the second game of the season, and their first game was out of town. Being a new school, Newtonberg didn’t have that many buses, so Coach Franklin decided that the band would only play at home games, since there wasn’t enough room for the band students, the instruments, and the football players on the same bus. So that meant that the second game of the season would be the Homecoming game, and the debut of the Newtonberg High School marching band.
“The kids worked hard. I have to give them that. They worked really hard. Practiced in school and after school.
“Of course, there were people in town talking. Saying how it was wrong to put these kids through all that. We didn’t even have a proper band director, why should we send them out to be embarrassed, blah blah blah. But the kids didn’t pay them any mind. They kept working and practicing and rehearsing. And when the day came, they were as ready as they could be.”
Cliff paused at this point to take a drink, giving Rick Murchison another chance to ask “But, what does all this have to do with the football game?”
“Keep your pants on, Rick, I’m getting there. So anyway, football season comes and things get off to a good start. Newtonberg won the first game, out of town against Potter’s Grove. Won it 21-7, if I remember correctly. Al’s son, Mike, was the starting quarterback in that first game.”
“Sure was,” agreed Al. “Big Tom here played defensive end.”
“That’s right,” said Cliff. “Almost forgot you were in there, Big Tom.
“Anyway, the Homecoming game came and everyone in town showed up. Even some from out of town. People came from as far away as Houston and Dallas to see the game, old townspeople who had moved away and made good elsewhere. And of course, everyone from Garrison’s Mill came because of the school rivalry.
“They had all the preliminary proceedings, introduced the candidates for homecoming queen, introduced the senior class...”
“...all ten of ‘em,” said Big Tom. A wave of appreciative laughter rippled through the group.
“...the national anthem, and everything else. The first half of the game was hard-fought. For every touchdown we scored, which wasn’t many, Garrison’s Mill would score one. When halftime came, the score was tied 14-14.
“Halftime came, and as is the custom, the visiting team’s band went first. Garrison’s Mill High School’s band was a model of precision. They matched each other step-for-step and beat for beat. Their lines were straight, and every note was in tune and on time. They got a standing ovation at the end, and not just from their side. Newtonberg people were just as impressed, and for good reason.
“Next they announced the Homecoming queen and her court. During all this, our little band has been standing patiently at attention on the other side of the field.
“Then the announcer got on the PA. ‘And now, ladies and gentlemen, making their debut, your Newtonberg High School Marching Band!’ And the crowd just erupted. People were on their feet, cheering. You couldn’t even hear the music. If those kids played one note wrong, we didn’t know it. And the cheering didn’t let up until they ended their routine and left the field.
“Well, the look on the faces of those kids when they came off the field was priceless. They were exhausted. They were crying. They were proud. They were proud of themselves, and they were proud of the school and they were proud of this community. And that’s something that money can’t buy. Those kids came away that night with the greatest gift of all: self-esteem.”
At that, Cliff stood up, put the towel back over his shoulder, and went back behind the bar. The regulars got up, got their belongings together, took their glasses to the counter and made their way toward the door. Rick Murchison paused at the door, dumbfounded.
“I don’t get it,” he finally said. “Who won the game?”
Cliff smiled and made his way toward the door. “I don’t remember. And I doubt anyone else does. Oh, sure, it was in the paper and someone could look it up if they wanted to. But that wasn’t what was important that night. That night, for once, it wasn’t about football. It wasn’t about who the better quarterback was, or which team had the fastest runners. That night, it was about the kids, not about the game. It was about pride. And that’s what made it the greatest game.”
And with that comment, Cliff turned off the lights and locked the door.
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