Sad news

It is becoming a common occurrence for me to find out about tragedy through Facebook. That's why I was less than surprised to hear about the serious accident involving a good drum corps friend, Mike Welch.

Mike was the first person I met in drum corps. I got into the Marion corps hall late Friday night on a weekend in late 2002. He greeted me with a smile--it was as if we were lifelong friends.

"Hey, do you already have a nickname?"
"...no," I stammered. I was unbelievably nervous.
"Well, ok. You're Token. Have you ever seen Not Another Teen Movie?"

With that exchange, our friendship was born. It was a long weekend. I was all alone, struggling to play a G bugle in a room with 5 strangers. I was slumped against a wall on Saturday night, thinking that drum corps wasn't for me. Mike, sensing my discouragement, sat down next to me.

"Hang in there, Token. This isn't drum corps--it gets a lot better."

So I stayed. With Mike's help, I was able to recruit more kids from my school. Whatever we needed, he did. To get us to camp, he was willing to drive from Ohio to St. Louis to pick us up and then drive back...and make the trip again at the end of the weekend.

The summer itself, like any drum corps experience, had its ups and downs. He taught the hornline--almost entirely rookies, how to be a Badass. Whenever I needed to be cheered up, I could count on him for humor.

We were on Division 2/3 tour, in the middle of nowhere. Field lining crew was dragging because we had to line a field when we got to our housing site--just so Lake Erie Regiment wouldn't steal our rehearsal space. We were in visual rehearsal the next morning, practicing the opener for the millionth time. I didn't want to be there. We were running the hardest move in our show--while singing our parts. Out of nowhere, we hear someone singing Stars and Stripes Forever instead of our show music. Our visual caption head made him run as we reset. It doesn't sound like much, but it was just what we needed.

The end of the season came sooner than I wanted, but we parted ways and all went back to our Real Lives. I didn't march in 2004, but Mike still called me a few times during the summer. "I wish you were here, I miss you man," he'd say before he hung up.

He was on the staff of a tiny Division 3 corps in 2005, and I was marching a Division 1 corps. Our paths didn't cross until a show in Dubuque, Iowa mid-July. I was in a random parking lot by myself on the side of the school, when someone emerged from the corn. It was Mike! He gave me a hug and we caught up on our summers. I let on that I was discouraged about scores.

"Judges suck, man. Hey...I gotta go." With that, he thrust a half-full bottle of Clearly Canadian into my hands and sprinted towards the buses. It was not flavored water.

The next time we talked, I was back at school. He gave me a call because he was coming to town with Blast!, a Broadway musical. We met up when he got in town and had a great night just hanging out. For as much time as we spent together on tour, we never had the opportunity to just sit down and spend time together.

In all, I saw him touring twice. It wasn't a surprise that he learned to unicycle just to ride it while he played a solo in Gee Office Krupke. Surprisingly, it became one of his favorite hobbies. Last year he unicycled Mt. Fuji and earlier this summer, he unicycled across Alaska. It was amazingly dangerous, but I wouldn't expect anything less.

In his words, "In addition to being an excellent risk taking idiot I'm an adrenaline junkie. I'm willing to spend my hard earned money to jump off of buildings attached to a bungee, throw myself out of an airplane, climb dangerous mountains, drive fast, hang off the side of a cliff, and climb mountains that kill people.

Other than that, I love having fun.

I love my life. I've got a great job when there's a tour, and my friends are really the type of friends that you couldn't ask any more of."

I had recently started talking to him about writing a book on his experiences. I would love to write about his Alaskan journey.

A couple of weeks ago, we began talking more frequently. He was telling me about training for Blast II. He said that it was the hardest thing he's ever done, but it was the most fun that he has ever had in music. I couldn't wait to see them on American tour.

When I think of drum corps, I think of Mike Welch. He could have marched any corps he wanted to, but he chose to remain loyal to his original corps. That kind of dedication is unheard of these days. I would trust my life with Mike--there are few people that I trust that much.

I wish him a speedy recovery. If anyone can pull through this, it's him. It's funny--even though we haven't seen him much lately, we still frequently talk about him around the apartment. The stories are Bill Brasky-esque...only the tales are true. I've never met anybody who has led such an interesting, fulfilling life.

I miss you buddy.