Flute Stories

It was Friday afternoon in mid-June, 1962. I had just stepped out of the shower, and was feeling considerably better for having removed a layer of cement dust and sweat when the phone rang. My mother got to it first, but held it out to me, saying, "It’s Mr. Daniel’s wife. She wants to speak to you." Mr. Daniel had been my high school band director, but I had graduated several weeks before, and couldn’t imagine why his wif...

It was the last day of school. We must have had band or orchestra practice that day, ‘cause after classes were out, I went to the band room to get my flute. That’s when Mr. Daniel (the band director) collared me, and hauled me into his office. “Close the door,” he said. Like any eighth grader, my first thought was, Oh mercy! What did I do? My second was I didn’t do it! Followed quickly with, maybe if it tell him I had to,...