Majorette Missteps
1939-1942
Written June 2005
By Helen
1939-1942
Written June 2005
By Helen
The last three years at Wallace High School I was a majorette with the school band. Hadn’t planned on it, but a classmate and Gem neighbor (Ruby Gilstrap) wanted to try out and asked me to go with her. Ruby got up and strutted her stuff for the school music director. Although she seemed to move a bit awkwardly, she was an attractive girl with beautiful red hair and I was certain she would be selected. When Ruby finished, the music director (Glen Whitney) said, “How about you, Helen?” Huh? Me? OK, I did what he asked and tried a little high stepping. When I got home and told Mama about it, we both laughed, and she said, “Yes, you are more one to stay in the background.” Well, Surprise! I made it. Poor Ruby didn’t.
In those days, majorette uniforms covered a lot more skin than today’s uniforms. Good thing too. It saved my skin on one occasion. Our white uniforms had a military flavor with long sleeves, standup collars, and double row of buttons down the front. The hems of our flared skirts came down almost to our knees. The skirts were lined with black and under them we wore underpants of the same black material. Their purpose, of course, was modesty. I left our house in Gem carrying my uniform to change into for a parade later that day in Wallace. But when I went to change, horror of all horrors, the black underpants were nowhere to be found! They were still in Gem! I was not about to strut the streets of Wallace flashing pink underpants! Going home for the black pants was not an option. So, I put on the uniform and, before the parade, strutted back and forth, over and over again, while the other majorettes checked to see if they saw pink. They agreed it would be OK for me to march with the band that day but, you can be sure, I was not a very high stepper!
One day the band was practicing on our muddy football field. A huge glob of mud attached itself to my strutting foot, then sailed back over my head into the bell of the sousaphone being oom-pahed by the band member directly behind me.
Another day, when just the majorettes were practicing on the field, a miscalculation caused the small end of the twirling baton to smack the back of my head. Although it hurt, it didn’t knock me out but did stun me enough to cause my knees to buckle and down I went in the dirt. Immediately from practice, we went to class. I walked into the classroom to find a bunch of boys (my friends, I thought) sitting next to the window that overlooked the football field. They were in hysterics. I think it’s funny today, but then I was crushed when I realized my mishap was the object of their laughter
I didn’t wear glasses then but should have. However myopia didn’t stop me. When I sent the baton twirling up into the air, I had the timing down to know when to catch that spinning stick. But timing didn’t always help. Incidents described above were insignificant compared to the next one. The band had four majorettes and one drum major. The latter marched ahead of us and used his baton to signal the band when to start playing and when to go into formation for a concert at a street intersection. We always had a few summer engagements which sometimes presented a problem because some of the members were on vacation, had summer jobs or other commitments. On one occasion the regular drum major, who was also a snare drummer, was needed in the band because they were short on drummers. The other three majorettes were gone. That left me. The band director gave me instructions such as where we would be marching, and the intersection where we would go into formation for a concert in downtown Wallace. I paid rapt attention and thought, “No problem. I know where that is.” I forgot to allow for that myopic vision. I went strutting confidently down the street with the band behind me. As we approached the intersection where I planned to direct the band into formation, someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned to see a Police Officer who asked, “Did you know you left your band at the last intersection?” Sure enough, I’d missed the street signs and went high stepping down the street all by myself while the lead sousaphone player (Jack Foster) managed to get the band into formation. But he was unable to stop me from going on my merry way. Or, did he do that on purpose? He was the sousaphone player whose instrument I’d plugged with a muddy clod.
(I learned a few years later that Ruby Gilstrap was killed in a car accident while still a young woman.)