Editor’s note: This column was originally published in The Post on Oct. 13, 2003.
They say you can never go home again. That once you have left you can never truly return. But I don’t believe them. I go home every fall. And it is just like it was.
I go home to Ohio University for Homecoming with the Marching 110. I get up early on Saturday morning to drive for three hours from Urbana. I need to be in Athens by 8:30 a.m. to line up for the parade. Even though the parade always lines up in the other end of town, I always follow the highway past Peden Stadium. Sometimes it’s a pretty cold morning, but I always roll down my car windows as soon as I see the stadium. I sing “Stand Up and Cheer” at the top of my lungs — just like the 110 did, as soon as we could see the stadium every time we returned home from a game or show.
I park my car in the School of Music parking lot. I put my horn together, and I put on my green band jacket. It’s probably the piece of clothing I am the proudest of in my life. I know that I worked the hardest to earn it. And it hasn’t been cleaned, neither has any of ours — ever. They carry the dirt of every practice field they were ever worn to and every head that ever slept on them during a road trip.
And then the fun begins. I walk over to the parade line-up and I begin to see people I know. As we walk, we form a group of Old Men (that’s what 110 alumni are called). In the warm-up parking lot, I see scores of other band jackets worn by some of the best friends of my lifetime. Some of them are old, fat or pretty ugly now. Some have big families, or big jobs. We mingle, talk and laugh, and a few crazy tales are told. We look for other friends and talk about the ones we have lost. There are horns playing and percussion beating as we remember our favorite songs.
As the parade moves toward Court Street, our adrenaline builds. We don’t even realize that we are pulling muscles and blowing out our lips. We’ll know that tomorrow. We turn the corner onto Court Street and we see what we have come for. The sidewalks are packed with students and other alumni screaming and clapping for the 110 alumni. It’s a sea of green and white. Playing and dancing up the street for them is the ultimate reward. It reminds us exactly of what it was like when we were in band.
After the parade, we learn our dance for the halftime show. It’s tough to do those moves in just a day, but we remember — some of those songs we will never forget. We also sneak a peek at the current 110. We check out their new moves, the charts they are playing and talk about what it was like when we were in band.
We stake our claim in Peden Stadium and wait for the pre-game show to begin. When the band drives onto the field for pre-game and the announcer announces the 110, we are all on our feet. My arms are goose pimply and my heart swells. You may even see a tear or two. We watch our old spots in the pre-game show and we remember every step. The drill to form the Diamond Ohio never changes.
The alumni watch the clock and wait for halftime, because it is the biggest reward of all. I have waited in freezing rain and blistering sun for Homecoming halftimes. I have been so cold and wet that I have had to stand under the hand dryers in the ladies’ room to get warm.
Our muscles aren’t hurting from the parade yet. That’s good, because we will make them sorer with the halftime dance. The 110 takes the field, and then they make room for us. We play our song and it is incredible. The crowd comes to their feet for a standing ovation. We had a band director once who said, “Most people will never in their lifetime get a standing ovation and the 110 gets them every week — you should enjoy it.”
I do. It is that image that I will carry with me for another year, until it is time to come home again.
Stacey Pond is a 1997 graduate of the E.W. Scripps School of Journalism.
