Charlie, or Dr. Spohn to my family and me, was my drum teacher. I took lessons every Thursday on the third floor of Hughes Hall at Ohio State. His office was interesting for most of the year because it contained a large board horizontally balanced on sawhorses. The board was painted green and lined like a football field. On it were 120 stick figures representing the Ohio State University Marching Band. Charlie for most of my years as his student was assistant director of the OSUMB. The board and the stick men were used before the days of computers to chart each formation for each pre-game and half-time show. During the football season, I got to preview at least one formation while waiting for each lesson.

I started with Charlie when I was ten. Charlie’s educational expertise was teaching theory. I was one of his guinea pigs for testing his theories. If I did well, he wouldn’t say much, but smile and give me a nod. If I didn’t do well, he would talk and try to get to understand what I was doing wrong by analogizing to something to which I could relate better than music.

My parents’ favorite example of the latter was during an early lesson. Charlie was trying to get me to realize how I could increase my stick speed. He asked, "What’s the shortest distance between two points." At age 10 I had no concept of geometry. So he tried a different analogy: "How can you get from here to there," pointing about 5 feet away, "as fast as you can?" "Jump!" I responded. I guess I still didn’t have a clue.

I was born and bred to be in the OSUMB. I spent four years in the band, becoming squad leader of the drum row my senior year.

The drum row squad leader sets the tempo whenever the band marches onto the field. Tempos were important because each step of each band member is charted to the music. The wrong tempo not only could ruin the music as well as the formation or drill, but also could cause the show to run over or under the allotted time. Our traditional ramp entrance would be at 180 beats or steps per minute. Script Ohio would be between 160 to 200 beats or steps per minute, depending upon how much time we had left in the show. A slow Sousa march might be 120 beats or steps per minute. A slow fanfare perhaps as slow as 100. At the beginning and end of each week, Charlie and I would go over each piece and the tempos that he wanted.

I was lucky that my senior year was the 1968 football season when Ohio State had perhaps its greatest team with Rex Kern, Jack Tatum, Larry Zelina, Jim Otis, Jim Stillwagon, Paul Schmidlin, Dave Foley, and others. Ohio State was undefeated during the regular season, winning the Big Ten and elected to appear in the Rose Bowl.

The Rose Bowl was a big deal because Ohio State had not been in eleven years. The band practiced over the quarter break until Christmas in Columbus and then flew to California and practiced at UCLA after Christmas.

Richard Nixon had just been elected President. He was a California native, but Ohio was a key delegation in the Republican convention that nominated him and the electoral state that gave him his victory in the general election. So Nixon would watch the first half of the game from the USC sidelines and then the second half from the OSU sidelines. Both bands would enter the field at the beginning of half-time, and with national television coverage Nixon would cross the field through the bands to change side lines.

Unlike Ohio State which had three or four musicians trying-out for every position on the OSUMB, USC had trouble filling its band with USC students. It was rumored that USC had to hire musicians to have enough members. USC was not a "marching" band. Its pre-game and half-time shows consisted of the band in its own mellow California way strolling on the field, standing and playing a few songs, and then strolling off, much as if they were going to and from a picnic.

To save time, the Rose Bowl and Nixon wanted both bands to come on the field together. My row would play the drum cadence to get both bands on the field. However, because USC could not march at our tempos, the dictate was that the bands would have to enter the field at no faster than 120 beats or steps per minute. This was a bit slow and accordingly a bit boring for the OSUMB. So I tended to push the tempos in practice. After all, the sooner we could get through, the more free time we would have in sunny Southern California.

The band typically practiced the music for a show during the first half of each practice indoors and then marched with the music during the second half of practice outdoors. Because we didn’t have outdoor lighting at UCLA, we reversed our marching and music practices so that our music session came last which was typically early evening. The music practices consisted of playing the music without interruption in the same order as we would play it on the field so that we could visualize the marching drills and formations of the show.

During the music practice on the eve of New Year’s Eve, Spohn stopped the band after I had set the tempo a bit fast for the cadence that would take us onto the field to begin the half-time show. He pointed his baton at me saying calmly, yet firmly, "If you set that tempo in the game, I’ll pull your pubic hairs out one at a time . . . with tweezers!" Well, that not only got my attention, but everyone's in the band.

I was a senior. This was to be my last performance with the band. What could Charlie do if we did set the tempo at our more customary pace rather than the slower pace to accommodate USC? Most of the rest of the band suggested that we should treat Charlie’s warning as a dare. The question remained: Should we abide by the Rose Bowl’s dictate and Charlie’s warning or would we let the OSUMB do it at our more typical tempo?

We didn’t decide until the signal was given at the start of half-time to begin the cadence. By this time the excitement of the game totally consumed us. Ohio State had been behind, but tied the game just before half time. So I did the three taps and we started the cadence someplace between 180 and 200 beats per minute.

The OSUMB was ready. We went on the field in step and in straight lines. The USC band didn’t have clue. About one-third of the band tried running on the field. One-third tried marching the tempo, but stumbled over their own feet. And the final third simply were too dumbfounded to move at all. All on national television! For several years those who watched the half-time on television would comment on the contrast between the two bands.

After USC finally struggled on the field, I knew I had to look up at Charlie because the fanfare began with the drums. With much reservation, I did. And he was looking right at me. We made eye contact. He smiled and nodded. Just as he did when I had a good lesson. And we began the fanfare and went on to do the show.

I am not sure how the Rose Bowl big shots reacted, but the Nixon folks must not have been turned off too much. Immediately following the Rose Bowl while we were still in California, Nixon invited us to play in his inaugural parade later that month. USC was not invited. And as a result, the Rose Bowl was not my last performance with the band.

Charlie never did say anything about the tempo. I knew from the smile and nod that I had done what he had intended for me to do. He knew me better than I knew myself. And he was smart. He could deny that he had anything to do with it because the whole band, including whatever bystanders were there, heard him warn me not to do what I did.