A family outing.

Bolero; Montreal Symphony Orchestra; Charles Dutoit, conducting

Dad entered the United States Marine Corps some time after graduating from Brookings High School in 1948. His enlistment came about during the Korean War. At the end of World War II, the Marine Corps had expanded to about 485,000 Marines. At the beginning of the Korean War, the Marine Corps had numbers around 75,000. By the end of the Korean War, the Marine Corps had more than tripled to 261,000 Marines. This was the time in which Dad served.

Like many soldiers who come home from a war, Dad didn’t talk about his participation in the Korean War very much. He did open up, though, about some of his leave time. He talked about visiting Japan. The ship where they stationed him once made a stop in San Francisco. He also had some time off in Los Angeles around Christmas time. He and a buddy got to Pasadena to see the Tournament of Roses Parade. Later, while at a club, Jane Wyman showed up and danced with any service man who wanted to dance. Dad danced with Jane Wyman.

After the war, Dad came home and started farming. He had a G.I. bill that allowed him to take a couple of courses on the business of agriculture. After that, he got a farm, got a wife, got some kids and set out to live the American Dream.

In the fall of 1984, with two kids at SDSU and another at home in her senior year of high school, Dad saw on ad on TV announcing that the United States Marine Band was coming to Sioux Falls, tickets to see them were free, and that he should call 605 – yada yada yada – yada yada yada yada. He stampeded toward the phone to arrange for five tickets to a concert he'd waited a long time to attend. Then K. and I got the call: “Reserve this night in October because we’re all going to see ‘The President’s Own’.” I’ve got marching band practice until 5:45. “Then we’re leaving for Sioux Falls at 5:46.” Yes, sir.

Dad knew. During a Rose Parade broadcast he would see the Marine Band marching up the street, and there was not an insignificant amount of pride in his voice when he would say, “Kids, that unit marching in the front of the camera right there are most likely the best musicians and the best marchers in that parade. Their lines are straighter, their movements are snappier, their musicianship is finer.” The common resident in our isolated community on the plains may not have known what was implied by placing the word Marine in front of the word Band. But Dad knew.

It was a phenomenal concert. I had never heard such attention to detail and never seen such precision in execution of entering, bowing and soloing. In fact, the concert hall glowed with Marine discipline. During the second half, the ensemble played Maurice Ravel’s “Bolero”. My cousin W. calls it the world’s longest crescendo. Dad and I watched the snare drum player, knowing that he had a long haul in front of him. Then we marveled at how the snare drum player was relieved, in the middle of the piece, by another drummer, on the same drum. The maneuver was accomplished so nonchalantly that if you hadn’t seen it, you wouldn’t have known that it happened. Dad was as impressed with that as he was with anything else during the whole evening. “Stars and Stripes” had pointier stars and brighter stripes than any performance that I could remember up to that time. And when they invited all Marines, active or otherwise, to stand during “The Marines’ Hymn”, Dad shed thirty years from his exterior, standing straighter and prouder than I had ever seen him do in my nineteen years. It was a sight to see.

That was the last outing that we ever had as a family when all of us got into the same car and drove to an event, followed by a bite to eat. Oh, we still did stuff. But we usually met somewhere with two or three cars bringing us all together. Frequently one of us couldn’t make it. We are and always have been close. We've enjoyed each other’s company through the years at Christmas time. It was always a special Sunday when Mom and Dad’s grown up kids could walk into church with them. But that evening in October in 1984 marked the end of an era. And I will treasure it always.

Credits: To Jane Wyman, who used her celebrity status to honor the American Soldier.