The Music Man

Who remembers The Music Man, a musical full of great songs and cheesy but memorable characters? For those who haven't seen it, here's the back story: A traveling salesman by the name of Professor Harold Hill comes to a humdrum Iowa town to sell band instruments and uniforms, promising to teach the boys who join the band to play music. All the while, he plans to get as much money as possible and then cut and run. Unlike many salesmen, Harold actually cares about his customers, so when a lonely boy and a stubborn librarian tug on his heart strings, he starts to feel guilty about his former plans. He truly cares about music and gets the whole town loving it too. The movie truly shows how one music man can give melody to an entire town. Who can forget that final scene as Harold Hill leads his boys' band through the streets? The spectacle is enough to make Harold Hill the one and only music man forever.

But now I would like to introduce another music man, not quite as famous as Harold Hill but just as talented - and maybe more so. Here is a young man in the Kiel Municipal Band. He is tall and handsome; his straight shoulders are set off by his smooth black hair. This young man is the drum major and he holds the staff high and pumps it up with a great passion. He is Gerald Hollenbeck, and he is my grandpa. Being the drum major is more than just marching in front of the band waving a big fancy stick. The drum major keeps time for the whole band; they watch him bob the staff up and down and they know the timing. Without the drum major, there would be no order or discipline in a band and no one would be in synch. The drum major is the life and soul of every band and it took real determination to lead it.

Picture the following scene: The Kiel Municipal Band was scheduled to give a marching performance down Church Street and all over New Holstein. But on the day of the event, it began to rain cats and dogs. Normally under these circumstances, the band would disperse and play another day. But instead of dismissing them, my grandpa took up his staff and led the band out into the pouring rain. They marched down Church Street as planned, my grandpa pumping the staff the whole way. Not many people came out to watch the waterlogged band, but they could still hear the music, the wonderful music that the music man led. My Grandpa is the real music man; music was his life and life was his music. He could find a melody in a drop of rain or the whistle of a train. The music he led was already great but he made it marvelous. The music man, the height of pride, melody, and the marching band. My Music Man!