I suppose it was inevitable that the hard-core Boosters would bond. A monster was created in these intrepid Band Boosters. "Loud and Proud" was their motto at football games and marching band competitions. They loaded the truck, mended uniforms, hauled drums and tubas, and fed hungry high school musicians. They sold souvenirs at football games, wore their "Band Mom" and "Band Dad" buttons with almost manic pride, and screamed like hell when the Folsom band marched onto the field. They drove hundreds of miles each weekend in marching season, following school buses and creating a caravan of minivans and Sports Utility Vehicles crammed to the gills with coolers, bottled water, instruments, and stadium seats. They came to care about each and every kid in the band and color gaurd, not only their own.
Bruce was the artist-in-residence. Need a jazz logo? Need a bulldog in a marching hat? Bruce was the man to call. He lent his creativity and passion to a cause that to him was more important than many things. Every line he drew, every computer graphic he toyed with, was in support of his daughter and the hundred-fifty or so other kids in the music program.
His grapics are still used by the Boosters today, most notably his classic jazz logo:
More importantly, Bruce was a go-to guy. He loaded equipment, helped set it up for each show, and did a lot of the heavy labor others avoided. He was often one of the first to arrive and last to leave.
I got to know Bruce well throughout my high school years. If he and Debi and Lola weren't at my parents' house with the other Boosters, or at the fireworks booth in June, tirelessly selling fireworks to raise money for the band (in triple-digit heat, I might add), he was inevitably calling my mom about something jazz festival-related. Mom and Bruce pioneered the Folsom Jazz Festival, taking it from nothing special to a huge event that schools from as far away as Canada want to attend.
It got to be fairly common to answer the phone and hear, "Hi Megan, it's Bruce." He needed no other introduction. I would say hello and immediately find Mom and hand the phone over. We teased Mom that it was her boyfriend calling. They were a great team, and combined with my dad's leadership skills and Debi's management skills, and the Johnsons and Larsons and other Booster couples, the team thrived.
I spent a lot of time around the Boosters, even sometimes joining them after football games at Denny's or Lyons. I helped as much as possible at all fundraisers, and enjoyed these people for their spirit and willingness to work so hard. They helped shape my future career as a music teacher every bit as much as Mr. Gaesser, my actual teacher, did.
I recall one sticky, hot summer in particular. I must have been sixteen, approaching my 17th birthday. It was late June and the fireworks booths were about to open. I was working at the district office for Folsom Cordova Unified School District (also my Mom's employer) and saw a stack of coupons for the Band Booster fireworks booth at the reception desk. I picked one up and had a good laugh at the picture of Mr. Gaesser with a pencil in his nose that Bruce had super-imposed on a mock dollar bill. The Booster Bucks were an incentive to get people to come to our booth, instead of, say, the PeeWee football or something.
Imagine my surprise when I noticed that Bruce had left out one critical "S"--we were giving away "Booter" Bucks!! How we all laughed at that--and how Bruce was ribbed about it for a long time.
Shortly after Keli and I graduated from high school, Debi, a manager at the local J.C. Penny's, was reassigned to a store in Arizona, and eventually to Washington state. The Boosters were horrified to see their friends go, but always kept in contact through email, calls, and visits. It seems that the ties forged in blood, sweat and marching revues are hard to sever.
A couple of years ago, the email came to my parents that Bruce had been diagnosed with stomach cancer. Everyone was horrified that such a gentle, kind man should be struck by such an ugly illness. We vowed to send our thoughts, prayers and good vibes to Bruce and his family, and the family vowed to fight.
Debi (his wife), Lola (Debi's Mom), Wendy, Keli and Kimberly (his daughters) and various members of their extended families strapped on their armor and got to work, researching, comforting, cheering and keeping the long list of people who love Bruce informed.
The ever-intrepid Band Boosters got to work in Folsom, calling people they'd lost touch with years ago to pass out Bruce's address and to appeal for a card to be sent in support. Mom and Dad and their friends paid a visit to Bruce in Washington. The doctors were amazed at how this visit (and other subsequent visits) caused Bruce to have a huge spike in his health.
Alas, it was not to last. Bruce has steadily deteriorated, and the cancer has never gone away. Despite the hope and the prayers, nothing has caused a remission. Bruce and Debi and the family have soldiered on, but now it is getting near the end of the fight.
Dad called me yesterday to tell me that Bruce has taken a turn for the worse, and no one really knows how much longer he has. He has told the doctors that if they can't make him what he was, he doesn't want to fight anymore. His daughters are with him, and on Saturday, he and Debi renewed their marriage vows. My parents drove to Portland, Oregon (where Bruce is hospitalized) to be there. The Larsons, another Booster couple, flew up from Sacramento.
Bruce is the kind of guy that should never have had to suffer like this. With all the evil people in the world, why does someone so good have to go through something so horrible? It is one of life's unanswerable questions, and one we must learn to live with. We don't have to like it, but we have to live with it.
So Bruce is on my mind today. And the little things have just kind of taken a back seat for now.
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