In 1969 in Granby, the Marquis of Granby Fyfe and Drum Corps was the only game in town for a kid my age to find something fun to do after supper. At age 11, I became an original member of a ragtag group of what began as mostly un-musical kids. I became a “fifer” but looking back and assessing my lack of talent and precision, I may have been better suited as a drummer.
Sally Dubay, the Olivas and Mr. Pope corralled our high-strung grass-roots group in the church basement and instructed us in the basics of reading and playing music. Mr. Pope hand crafted our fyfes from wood, carving little corks that he showed us how to position to “tune” the fyfe and also remove so we could clean the fyfe by shoving a cotton ball through it with a wire coat hanger. Spitty, dirty, germy fyfes were unacceptable.
The meetings in the basement of North Church on Rte. 187 became raucous with sounds and untamed movement, much as I imagine an infantry of patriot volunteers sounded in 1776. I wasn’t exactly sure why I was there, but I knew there was a contagious energy present, and I was ready to learn to play this wooden thing with a cork with all of my might.
In 1969 there were lots of Flower Power and Peace Not War slogans going around. I have a vivid memory of Mrs. Dubay wearing striped hip hugger bell bottoms standing at the old upright piano, hitting the pedals and the keyboard hard singing, “Slow down you move too fast, got to make the morning last, just kicking down the cobble stones, looking for fun and feelin’ groovy!” The kids thought she was all that, and we flocked to her coolness ready to make muster! Somehow those adults managed to piece together a lasting legacy with a handful of kids who showed up ready to become part of Granby history with a sense of reverence for the USA and a profound respect for those in charge and the mission of the group.
I helped to sew my uniform and wore stiff black shoes handed down from my brother which I suspect enriched the authenticity of the suffering experienced by colonists who marched their feet bloody. Once a week in that church basement, no one complained, no one got in trouble and no one seemed to mind that I was not very good at playing the fyfe. I showed up, I practiced at home to slammed doors to keep out the squealing, high pitched noises that I desperately tried to make sound like Yankee Doodle.
The birth of Granby’s fyfe and drum corps did not include promises of a trip to play at a muster in England or give me aspirations of becoming a competitive fifer. The innocence of making music with other kids and having pride in our town and each other without pretense or judgement is my best takeaway. I know that I did not play well then, and I can’t play at all to this day, and that’s okay.
But I did look at these photos that I have kept all of these years, and I am amazed that, 56 years later, I managed to name 90 percent of the kids. For me, that’s small-town magic.
Names of kids present in these two photos are: Ben Reily, Russell Madigan, Carol Oliva, Jen Wick, Tara Mullen, Nancy Whitty, Marilee Minor, Michelle Loftis, Evertte Minor, Beth Walker, Carol Walker, Mark Pagano, Martha Griffin, Judy Oliva, Billy Fritzer, Rick Ayer, Chris Carlson, Janet Anderson. Submitted photos
[Editor’s note: names are printed as submitted]