“My knees retired before I did.”
“I know.”
“My wife says I’m not allowed to take another job.”
Dr. Holloway smiled.
“I am not offering you a job.”
Samuel narrowed his eyes.
“What are you offering?”
“Twenty-four rehearsals.”
Samuel looked toward Kendal.
“No.”
Kendal blinked.
“Grandpa.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re first chair.”
“So?”
“So people will say you got first chair because your grandfather took over.”
“I got first chair from a blind state audition.”
“Facts don’t stop people from talking.”
Kendal folded her arms.
“When have you ever cared what people say?”
Samuel pointed his cane at her.
“That attitude came from your grandmother.”
The students laughed again.
Samuel looked around the hall.
Young faces stared back at him.
Not afraid.
Waiting.
He exhaled through his nose.
“Twenty-four rehearsals?”
Dr. Holloway nodded.
“Twenty-four.”
“No marching band.”
“Agreed.”
“No administrative meetings longer than thirty minutes.”
“Agreed.”
“No fundraising dinners.”
“Agreed.”
“And if anybody gives me one of those district tablets, I’m throwing it in the river.”
Dr. Holloway extended her hand.
“Deal.”
The applause that followed made Samuel grimace.
“Save that noise until you can play measure sixty-seven without sounding like a truck falling down a staircase.”
The room went quiet.
Kendal grinned.
The next three weeks changed the band.
Samuel did not insult students.
That did not mean he was gentle.
When a trumpet player came in unprepared, Samuel stopped the ensemble.
“You didn’t practice.”
The boy stared at his shoes.
“No, sir.”
“Why?”
“Work.”
Samuel nodded.
“What time did you get off?”
“Eleven.”
“And rehearsal starts at seven-thirty.”
“Yes, sir.”
Samuel looked at the music.
“Practice sixteen bars during lunch. We’ll come back tomorrow.”
The boy looked stunned.
“That’s it?”
Samuel lifted one eyebrow.
“You want me to insult your mother too?”
“No, sir.”
“Then practice sixteen bars.”
Under Vance, mistakes had been moral failures.
Under Samuel, mistakes were information.
If the clarinets rushed, he changed the breathing marks.