Editor’s note: This is another column in Bill Boyd’s new series, “The Way It Was,” about growing up in Marysville. Bill continues to work with the Union County Historical Society to obtain information for his stories. With Marysville and Union County celebrating Bicentennial anniversaries in 2019 and 2020, respectively, these articles help depict what life was like in those early years.
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When I was about five years old, I saw the MHS marching band for the first time. It marched in a parade past our house on West 5th Street. Boy was that exciting! The music was great, and band members were all in uniform, complete with a hat and cape. Before the day was over, I made it clear to my mother that I wanted to be in the band when I got older. I wanted to play an instrument, and I wanted to wear a uniform.
I think my mother was pleased to hear that, and she told me that my grandfather had been in some sort of marching band when he was young and lived in North Lewisburg. She said she had a photograph of him in his uniform. Then she went to a cedar chest at the foot of her bed and got that picture. It was one of those old tintype photos, and it is the photo shown here.
Oh boy, I could just see myself in that uniform playing the same instrument as I marched with the band. And I thought I would look great wearing the uniform, especially the hat.
My mother said if I really wanted to be a musician, the place to start was with piano lessons. So the following year when I was six years old, I started taking lessons from a lady named Clara Poling, who lived on East Fifth Street.
I wanted to play the piano, but I didn’t want to practice. I would rather be outdoors playing with my friends. On top of that, it soon became clear that I had very little musical talent. And within a year or so, the lessons ended.
Over the next few years, there were other lessons, for I still wanted to be in the band. I took trumpet lessons first, but I ran into a problem with “sticky valves.” Then there were trombone lessons, but it was a very old instrument that had belonged to my sister, and the slide didn’t work well.
My last attempt was with drum lessons. I took them from our school’s music teacher, Mr. Don Euverard. There were four or five boys in the class. We each had our own drumsticks, but none of us had a drum. We each had a block of wood to practice on. Mr. Euverard said we had to become proficient before any of us could move on to a real drum.
We all continued the lessons for quite some time, but none of us ever moved on do a real drum. That’s why I never played in the MHS marching band. It’s also why I never got to wear a uniform like my grandpa is wearing in the picture. That’s too bad, because I think I would have looked really good in a uniform like that. Especially the hat.
Those wishing to contact Bill Boyd can e-mail him at bill@davidwboyd.com