Sour Notes and Sisterly Shenanigans

As much as I would like to claim to have been a model child, always obedient and polite, it just wasn't so. I had occasional snits, didn't follow every parental dictate and I pulled my share of pranks. My older brother and only sibling, Butch, was the butt of some of these pranks which I often pulled in retaliation for ones he had played on me. My motto was the best defense is a good offense, and I played it to the hilt. Hey, with a better than 50-50 chance of it working, why wouldn't I?

I'm sure many of you remember the “Little Rascals” and “Our Gang” comedies which played on television in the 1950's and 60's. We watched probably every one of them over and over and garnered some tricks from those cute and clever kids. That admonition “Don't try this at home, kids” hadn't yet been invented. I'm not sure that stops a lot of kids today.

We started band in the 6th grade at Ogden Elementary in Beaumont, Butch on the cornet and me on saxophone. He wanted to play the trumpet but Mr. Monzingo explained the subtle differences in tone and persuaded him to play cornet instead. I started on alto sax because my mother wanted me to play it so that I could learn to play “Shuffle Off To Buffalo”, and she wanted me to develop the Guy Lombardo sound. Sadly, I failed. My shuffle was more a slow stagger and Mr. L. would have sent me packing. I was no Royal Canadian, more like a Royal Commodion.

At some point we had seen an episode when one of the Gang had sucked on a lemon half while standing in front of one of the other kids who was playing a trumpet, with predictable results. I couldn't resist trying this at home, kids. I loved sour things, pickles, citrus fruits, any vinegary and tomatoey foods, and I had developed a real taste for sucking on lemons, so I decided to see if I could elicit a reaction from Butch.

I waited until he was sitting in the living room practicing scales and strolled into the room concealing a lemon half in my hand. After he warmed up a little I moved into his line of sight and started sucking noisily on the lemon. AHA! Success!! His embouchure disintegrated in mid note and he was awash in slobber. The last note was a horribly raucous BLAAAAATTT! before he caved. It took only his screeching demands that I “Stop it!” for me to be positively reinforced. Pesky child that I was, I replayed the trick often enough that I could merely mime eating a lemon with no fruit in my fat little hand and he would collapse into drooling overdrive.

The next year at Crockett Junior High he switched to the sousaphone which was too big to cart home to practice on. I often wondered if I had stymied a budding career as a musician. Maybe Butch would have become another Harry James. Harry had played in his father's circus band when they lived in Beaumont years before this. Was this a musical future soured by a callous sibling? When life gives you lemons...



© Frances Giles
"True Confessions and Mild Obsessions" May 17, 2016 Column

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