Tuba Story

Do I remember? How could I forget? It was in junior high. The first week of the first semester of my first year. I had requested band, but was assigned general music.

On that special day, Mr. Oster, the band director, walked into the general music class. He had an announcement to make: “Anyone wishing to take band and that already knows how to play an instrument, follow me.”
This was emancipation. I got out’ta that chair and I followed my personal Mr. Lincoln down the corridor to the band room. I took a seat among my already assembled colleagues and Mr. Oster began to take stock of his new recruits: “How many oboe players do I have? One, that’s good. How many trombones? three, all right. Now... trumpet players?
My turn. For two years I had tooted the trumpet. I was not very good, but I loved it. The family loved it too. They dreamed all kinds of things about Bill the trumpeter. Why, I could be another Armstrong or Dizzy. I could back up Smoky or Diana Ross. There would even be a place for the horn in church.

“Well, that’s a lot of trumpets.” Oster said. : “I’ve got no need for this many trumpets. What I need, what I really need is someone to play the tuba. Does anyone here want to play the tuba?”

As I said, the trumpet was very happening for me. But something caught me. I think it was the sound of the word, TUBA. Up went my hand. “What is a tuba?”

Oster’s eyes sparkled, “A tuba? My boy, I’ll show you a tuba.” He walked to the back of the room. Before him, rising from the floor, a gleaming chrome stand. Atop it, a large, black vinyl bag. With much ado Oster removed the bag. There enormous, stupendous stood tuba. This particular tuba was a double B flat, four rotary valves, bore size 0.778, bell diameter 17.75 inches , and to top it off, nickle-silver trimming. It was love at first sight. All allegiance to the trumpet, out the window. “I will play the tuba.”
When I announced this at the dinner table, there was a stunned silence. No one could understand why I would dedicate my life to playing the music of dead white people.

---from Instruments of Decision ©1990


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This page was last updated on May 02, 2005