PEMBROKE

    There are certain instances which take me back to that old Imperial Hall; certain smells - like diesel exhaust or, the sour odor of white shoe polish or, the mixture of dirty ash trays combined with stale beer smell, and of course, valve oil! There are certain existential inanimate objects which when I encounter them can make my head buzz with nostalgia for that old hall, such as worn linoleum; old cheesy paneling; dusty florescent light fixtures or, folding metal chairs festooned with bingo blots. There are certain pieces of music I occasionally hear which can trigger a fond memory. Any one of these things can instantly whisk me back to my adolescence and to the "Hall". That creaky old knotty pine hall on Mattakesett Street, in the –then- sleepy cranberry bog town of Pembroke, MA. This -of course- was the place that the Pembroke Imperials Drum & Bugle Corps called their home.

    Nestled away in this cottage town, half way between Boston and Cape Cod, amid tall pines, sand bluffs, moraines, cranberry bogs and gray shingled houses was the old Imperials hall.  It contained within, a very loyal contingent of proud young men and women. There were notables such as D.M. Dave Rockett, the talented Cliff White, Billy Richards and Glen McInnis. There was "Lefty" and "Shorty", Bunny Williams, Jim Holzman and Al Sonia. Then, there were the famous instructors who helped put this corps on the map... Jim Wedge, the brass arranger with the Midas touch and the legendary John "Sully" Sullivan, who's huge heart but super committed and disciplined tutelage forged a national champion drum line out of a group of novices in a few short years. Imperials Hall was their home base when they were not crisscrossing the continent and performing to the drum corps world.

    About once a week in summertime, four gray, white and cranberry crimson buses containing a full corps -who were probably more well known in national drum corps circles than in their own little burg quietly departed, out through the center of town without fanfare. They were headed to destinations far removed, to famous drum corps places such as: Bayonne, Bridgeport, Allentown, Jersey City and Whitewater, Wisconsin.

    One day in 1974, when I was just hanging around the yard in my hometown of Scituate, MA, I asked my next door neighbor, Mr. Moulton, what his maroon jacket sporting a black eagle meant. After he explained to me what a drum and bugle corps was, it made me curious enough to go down the road ten miles with him to Pembroke and check it out. He told me that his son, Chuck, belonged to the junior corps. After that day I joined. Little did I know then how my life was about to take a profound and permanent change of direction.

    I think back at it now and realize how lucky I was to have discovered drum corps! Then I think of all my close drum corps friends who have shared similar experiences. For me, it was my "Road to Damascus." Through drum corps, I experienced a wonderful process of self-discovery and learning about life, art and music. I know that because of this, I enjoy life and my surroundings with a richer sense of appreciation. Drum corps -like some other art forms- is intense, visceral and passionate. I believe anyone who has been fortunate enough to experience drum corps has a unique perspective on life, a perspective that unfortunately, most average suburban-America-Joe Q. Public- type people will never know.

    That old hall still stands today, right now, disguised as a professional building. Pembroke, over the last two and a half decades, has changed into a bustling bedroom community for Boston. In place of the old cottages, they are building oversized "McMansions" for young vain professionals whom, I bet, don't even realize what that building on Mattakessett Street used to be a generation ago.

When I drive by on occasion, now, I quietly remember what that old building used to be.