Leave No Man Behind

All week I’ve been nostalgic. It’s dangerous to spend too much time in such reverie (at least when you’re this busy), but I do anyway. Maybe it’s the unseasonably nice weather. You always get nostalgic during the changing of the seasons, and this week felt like spring. Or maybe it’s the fact that I’m sneaking up on the end of this drudgery, and my mind is drifting to the good times ahead as well as behind. Maybe it’s the prospect of having some margaritas with my officemates tomorrow night, which hearkens back to the days of El Vaquero…

Two years ago.

Those really were the days (see earlier post, “Too Talls Two”). It was my last spring at Truman, though I was not even a full-time student. I had graduated in December, and was only taking lessons and master class. I was living the college lifestyle without the burden of studying; most of my stress came from working pro bono on a collaboration with a bunch of ingrates known as the theater department. Also, I was in limbo about getting into grad school. So they weren’t the best of times… but maybe they were as good as it gets.

Those were the days. Two years ago this week—Jazz Fest. Good times. Celine’s surprise birthday dinner at Patterson’s. A very large group of people having a good time together. Back then, Fridays were Fridays. I would wake up Friday mornings and grumble my way to the 9:30 master class, known as the Mostly Live Composers Society. To this day, I have some bitterness about those meetings. After that, I would compose in the lab (or talk theology with Bryant Knapp, the lab worker) until mid-afternoon. I would need the following few hours to burn off a bad mood before spending time with this crew I somehow fell in with a long time ago.

I guess it all started with The Reverend, a couple years before that, when I started hanging out with his fellow computer science people. There’s something refreshing about socializing with non-musicians. So that last spring, we were all close, and we associated with a group of foreign students (mostly French).

Two years ago… a lot of fun was had.

Maybe it’s because we knew our days were numbered. Maybe that made the cigars smell sweeter and the whiskey taste richer. It was the fraternal bond. The unspoken appreciation and affection that we didn’t need to acknowledge, but always knew was there. I mean, The Reverend and I were especially a team. Being karate buddies, we had a strong bond. There was that, and our wit was contagious between the two of us anyway. Sometimes we wondered if we were really just a figment of the other’s imagination, or vice versa. I listened to the score to Black Hawk Down a lot at that time—often right before driving over to his place to play Xbox with the boys. Halo… soccer… a little of Steve’s notorious hard lemonade (the lemonade was essentially just there for color)… Black Hawk Down… The Matrix Reloaded… Ocean’s 11… Memento… sparring with weapons as well as hand-to-hand… Too Talls Two… Patterson’s… Dukum Inn… Ryan’s… El Vaquero… Jimmy Buffet… and performances of the local funk band Hazard To Ya Booty, which consisted of a lot of music majors I knew. Man, they had stage presence.

I definitely watched Black Hawk Down more than a couple times in that period. At BG, I gave a very detailed analysis paper and presentation on the music of the film. That movie has become a big part of me somehow—to a level Ridley Scott, Hans Zimmer, and Mark Bowden probably never expected or intended. It remains one of my favorite scores to listen to.

One particular track, a decidedly Celtic theme titled Leave No Man Behind, speaks to me. As music should. A lot of people here seem to have forgotten that little aspect of music. Hm.

It reminds me of the mentality I had then, and how it is largely intact now. The faces are different here, but the value remains. I am not lamenting the loss of the good old days, no. I leave that to the washed-up business majors who spent every weekend for four years drinking and partying and sleeping with strangers. They will be the ones deeply missing their college days. No, for me, the best parts of my college experience can carry on well afterwards. I intend to revive the spirit of those days, two years ago.

Although I may have been very discontent with a lot of things at the time, I still had the foresight to know that those days would be remembered as the highlight of my time in Kirksville. I was right.

We were brothers once and young. Loyal to a fault, and seeking only each other’s banter. Tomorrow night, I shall drink one for all of my old comrades. For old times, though the best is yet to come. While we separate from each other by geography as well as the nature of “settling down,” we will still leave no man behind.

I look forward to the reunion at Sarah Trump’s wedding this May.