Dave Pomeroy  reflects on his experiences in Williams’ Marching Band:

I’m sure I’m missing an adjective in the title of our motley crew but close enough. I was prompted to write after reading John Ackroff’s slice-of-life remembrance of Fran Cardillo. Mr. Cardillo – I was too intimidated by any professor, whatever his/her formal title, to use first names – was one of those larger-than-life people that have shown up in my life from time to time. Always a big smile, ready laugh and the same pained look as he attempted to round us up to amble/march/walk down to the game in some semblance of order. Fruitless task.

Scrambling in the mud – I recall one game when the field was basically 2 inches of mud on which our saddle shoes* had no traction. We made it through the toughest maneuver in our repertoire – the pass-through, when the lead person in each line turned right and right again to walk/march between the two lines coming at him then turned again to follow the end of his own line. And if you have the slightest idea of what that looked like from my description you are hereby named an honorary member of the Band. As we then headed down the middle of the field Craig Anderson, our high-stepping Drum Major Extraordinaire, pranced out ahead of us, blew his whistle and yelled “SCRAMBLE!”. The lines dissolved into mayhem as we ran/skipped/dashed around … anywhere and everywhere all at once. Bill Bruggeman, cymbals clashing, chased the balloon tied to the upper bar of the glockenspiel which flew lower and lower the faster the glockenspielist ran…Bill, did you ever catch the balloon? The slick muddy goo challenged each person’s balance and footwork but most of us made it to the visitor’s side where we formed the first letter of their team’s name. Most of us. We were missing the tuba. Looking around we spotted said tuba planted firmly face down in the mud – the dark oval framed by flared brass mouth of a tuba is surely the face – with Mark Ruchman’s face also smushed into the brown goo. After pulling Mark up from the Nutella-ish stuff it was soon evident he hadn’t the slightest idea why he was covered with mud and carrying a tuba, on a football field nonetheless. When he slipped and pitched forward the metal ring of tuba tubing behind his head had smacked him in the head when he hit the ground and knocked him out.

By the end of each home game empty bottles of Boone’s Farm Apple Wine littered the grass under the bleachers at the 50-yard line (one of the perks of belonging to the Band was seats at the 50-yard line at every game except the Ephs v Jeffs end-of-season bash). The bright green bottles of Boone’s Farm fit perfectly in the inside pocket of a blue blazer …. As did my piccolo. One of the tallest guys in the band and I played the smallest instrument. And no Bill, I haven’t yet figured (fingered?) out the Star-spangled Banner solo part …

Detour through the barber shop part-way down Spring Street…yes the entire band traipsed through the shop, entering front door and exiting out the back. An addition to the route added by Craig A no doubt.

Time I spent in Williams College Marching/Walking/Scrambling Band was one of the most fun activities I had the entire four years of my stay in the Purple Valley. One of the others was the bicycle race around the ice course in the Frosh Quad. But that’s another story…

*saddle shoes were the base of our uniforms – blue blazer, white shirt, Williams tie, grey flannel slacks, white/black saddle shoes…and personal choice of hat. Anything one could affix to the top of one’s head fit the definition of “hat”. Anything attached to one’s head fit the definition of “hat”. A toilet (plastic). The ungainly model of an organic chem molecule of something fashioned from the grey and black sticks of plastic used to make more orderly ones in O-chem. Orange cone no doubt borrowed from a construction site. Berets, fedoras, and real hats.