I’ve often said that Mr. Holland’s Opus was tied with Almost Famous, as being my all time favorite movie.
You will never get to see the small town of Premont, Texas through the eyes I have experienced it to be. The current student’s receiving their education now, aren’t given the same high school experience I’d received. Our football stadium that should be filled with Friday Night Lights, roaring fans, high school bands and the students that take the field playing their hearts, are nothing but mere memories of a school that was.
One of my most profound memories occurred on that field. It took one man to teach me and my band mates not to fear. Mr. Holland’s Opus gives me the feels because of my own small town band director. He reminds me of Richard Dreyfus’s role in character. After our leading and loved director of 20 years resigned unexpectedly, it was as if he’d taken the heart of our band with him. That resignation was submitted when I was in the 7th grade, and it wasn’t until my senior year, Mr. Cantu stepped into the role of lead director. Unbeknownst to the remaining members, he had a vision for them. Where we appeared small in size, we were large at heart.
“Alright,” the average height and chubby man announced, gaining his students attention. “This is it! This is the last time we fill this field together to put on our final performance.” Mr. Cantu continued, as we stood in formation on the sidelines. “You have all made me, Mr. Saldivar, our supporters, proud. It is your show that gives them the hope to believe in you.”
Looking around at the face that surrounded me, in that short amount of time, we’d transformed. Going from a band without direction, to one with immense passion, was all passed down to us by the one man who first had belief and hope in our talents.
The halftime show we’d prepared for the 2005-2006 UIL Marching Contest was Phantom of the Opera. His expression in his vision, held high expectations, but we didn’t want to fail in deliverance.
“There will be a Phantom and Christine taking the field, all the performing members will be wearing a phantom mask as we have visuals and backgrounds,” he enlightened us, the end of my junior year for preparation of my senior.
To be honest, I only stuck it in out band because I hated p.e. more, and band was a covered elective. When he said there would be a Christine on the field, being I was the most theatrical person by nature, I was under the assumption I’d automatically fill that role. As Mr. Cantu and I sat in his office, I curiously asked, “So I’m her, right?”
“What are you talking about,” he replied for further clarification.
“Christine!” I answered. “I mean, it would ONLY make sense as a senior, and the most dramatic female here, that I fill said role.”
“I’m holding auditions actually,” He informed me.
“AUDITIONS?!” I asked out of offense. “Why are you holding auditions?”
“Mia, things aren’t given to people,” he informed me of how the real world worked. “If you want something bad enough, you will earn it.” (I didn’t know it then, but this was one of life’s lessons he was preparing me with.)
“Who else is auditioning?” I attempted to dig into my competition.
“Two upcoming freshmen are interested in the part.”
“An 8th grader?! You seriously thing their inexperienced selves have what it takes to put Christine on the field?!” I continued to dramatically ask with the questions. “What is the audition process anyway?”
“You all will receive music from the show and put on your best interpretive dance.”
“I’m not even good at dancing!”
“Well, I’m sure you’ll find some way to manage.” He gave me in support.
On the day of audition, my competition was an eighth grader who’d taken ballet since she was a baby and the other had been head cheerleader. Both sat in the auditorium, wearing their Sunday’s best, and waited for the judge to call them to take their turn on stage. Arriving just before the beginning of the audition was about to start, I walked through the double doors wearing a maroon prom dress with black over lace. My friend Carol dressed me up, curled my hair, real big and put her most elaborate costume jewelry in preparation for this try-out.
“Your performance might look like shit, but you’ll be the prettiest Christine in character.” Carol said as she looked at me like her final creation.
Anxiously having us wait until the following day at first period band class, he announced that the role of Christine would be played by me. That proud moment of accomplishment was what he’d wanted me to appreciate. In all honesty, this moment was the existence of him pushing me, testing my capabilities and challenging my determination. Where I’d narcissistically loved no one more than myself, (yes, I was a self obsessed teenager) he opened my eyes into investing my heart into something greater.
The performance showcase delivered the song selections: Phantom of the Opera, Angel of Music, Wishing you were somehow here again, Masquerade and Music of the Night. Mr. Cantu gave us a phenomenal halftime show and expected nothing short of our best. Where our supporters lost faith in what remained of our band, we won their heart’s as we performed ours every Friday Night. That field was more than a stadium, it was our stage. Those lights were our spotlight and our sounds were the songs that filled the night.
He’d invested so much of himself into our band, we were nothing short of appreciative for the hot summer day’s he ran us ragged, nor the long night practices that left us in a state of exhaustion. He saw what we were capable of accomplishing and was not afraid to call us out to put us in our place when we we’re half assing it. Where the previous directors refused to push us, Mr. Cantu was the leader that prepared us for our major showcase in Sinton for the Marching Contest, where we awaited our chance to advance.
When the moment arrived, we found ourselves to be the smallest body of students amongst our peers in competition. Still, we had no fear. We were confident in ourselves, in each other, in our performance, that all we could do was play our hearts out and hope that the judges hear more than the sound in our song. My band mates proudly wore their red and white uniforms, with phantom masks. The two female drum majors, boldly led us onto the field. The woman’s voice spoke over the p.a.
“Drum majors, is your band ready?” She asked.
The lead drum major took her stand on the podium and shouted, “Band, ten hut!” Her eyes, fierce, driven with determination, gazed upon us; behind her were our supporters who’d followed us as we got lost in the deliverance of doing what we loved.
After performing, we filled the steel bleachers of the stadium and watched the remaining bands deliver their performances. They had more students, which contributed to a louder sound, but there was no passion in their music.
The woman’s voice once again filled the PA speakers and broke all distractions as we turned our attention to the band directors and drum majors, that now filled the field.
“First, we’d like to thank all bands that competed within the 2005-2006 UIL Marching Contest,” she began to announce. “After much deliberation, the judges have made their selections on who will be advancing the State Competition. So without much further ado, the following will continue….”
She announced the school’s one by one, as those around me counted down. The number quickly arrived at three, as we looked at each other with hopeful eyes. Continuing to name the remaining three schools, “And those are your 2005-2006 Marching Contest schools that will be advancing. Once again, we thank you all for your participation and support.”
The surrounding schools quickly scattered and fled, as remained in the spots that we sat. Hurt and disappointed by our inability to advance, our silence spoke so loud. There was no perfect sequence of words that could make us feel better from how shitty we felt. The girls uncontrollably bawled, as the boys hung their heads to hide their sadness. We waited for our leaders to join us, as they’d admirably remained composed after learning the same news we did.
“You all have made me proud,” Mr. Cantu broke the silence. “We may not have advanced to state, but you played your hearts out there. I witnessed that, as did many other directors.”
We may not have advanced or received awards. Our performance may not have scored a one, but we gained something far greater than titles and numbers that year. Our belief was far too great to put a price on. In my opinion, our loss to contest, was worth the compensation to our gain.
At our final football game, he spoke to us as we waited on the sidelines to deliver our last performance.
“Seniors,” he announced. “I want you to take in EVERY minute of this moment; this will be the last time you fill this field and play this show. This is your time, embrace it.”
I absorbed my surroundings to capture the mental imprint. Beside me were the young men and women who’d endured the same transformation, I did. The bonds created with these individuals were ground breaking. We’d learned more about ourselves, each other and our talents, in this short time frame, than we ever had before. The lights seemed brighter than usual, as the crowd cheered the team, a cool breeze filled the air and momentarily, I stood outside my existence. The buzzer sounded and the players left to make way for our final show.
Once again, our drum majors put us at attention, as we made our way beneath the spotlight. For the last time, we passionately performed the sounds that filled our music of that night.
