Remembering Mr. Deal

My hometown lost two outstanding community members yesterday. I want to remember them both but I want to start with School Band Director Donald Deal. This will all be a bit rambling but try to stick with me.

My mother, to her credit, insisted I have some musical training, so I’d been taking piano, but was quickly coming to the realization I didn’t have a lot of talent for the piano. The only way I could get out was to get into the band. When you start in the band in Kings Mountain, you start in the 7th grade. So when Mr. Deal, the band director, came around I took the little rhythm test and got in. Little did I know that my excuse to get out of piano lessons would bring me some of the greatest lessons of my life.

I’ve had a number of great teachers throughout school, but the one who had the most profound impact on my life was Mr. Deal. I guess you could argue that since I had him for an hour a day for six years, that’s to be expected, but it goes beyond that. I developed a deep appreciation for and understanding of music thanks to him, and I know my world is brighter for that, but Mr. Deal’s lessons were about more than music.

Mr. Deal was, I think, the personification of the Pygmalion effect of a person’s expectations influencing the target person’s performance. I’ve spent time rethinking how Mr. Deal treated us to turn us into a group that consistently got “superior” grades at the band competition. How it was that being in the band in Kings Mountain back in those days was actually “cool.” It was subtle, but Mr. Deal had a way of letting you know that you were expected to show up, on time, and prepared.

Oh, he sometimes yelled, and which of us can forget that bullhorn he hung over his shoulder during marching band season, not to mention looking up to see his baton coming at you. He made it clear when he was unhappy with us, but he also managed that gleam in his eye and his big smile when things went as planned (which they mostly did with Mr. Deal).

I had a great mother, lots of good caring adults, and teachers who cared around me, and they all made a positive difference in my life. But I think most of my understanding about the importance of showing up prepared, understanding you’re part of something bigger, and striving for excellence came from Mr. Deal’s inspiration. I’ll admit it, it was a love-hate relationship for most of us. We feared his turning his eye towards us during a rehearsal, but we all somehow knew that he cared for each of us and only wanted us to represent ourselves well.

I remember my junior year at the band competition. We had played perfectly. Everyone knew we had, but when the grades were announced we got an excellent rather than a superior. There was stunned silence in the auditorium until Clyde Kerns blurted out “fuck you.” Mr. Deal never yelled at Clyde (as I think he was as stunned and chagrinned as the rest of us), but a few days later he called Clyde in and made him write letters of apology to the judges and the director of the competition. He often reminded us that we represented not only ourselves but everyone else in the band and the community when we were out. This is the lesson that helps me be better today than I might have been. As imperfect as I remain, thanks to the lessons of many, but especially Mr. Deal, I try to remember to represent myself in the best light, to show up prepared and do the best job I can in everything I try.

About 18 months ago I was home visiting Mom and decided to call Mr. Deal to be sure I could come by for a visit. We spent two hours in his Den laughing and reminiscing about those times. I learned that for all his bluster, Mr. Deal enjoyed the pranks and practical jokes as much as the rest of us. One of those regular pranks was to put real estate for sale signs in front of homes and businesses (We were such rebels). Mr. Deal was a frequent target and laughed that he knew the numbers of most of the realtors in town by heart as he had to call them so often to come to get their signs.

I was amazed that he seemed to remember nearly everyone he’d taught. He admitted the years had run together, and he’d ask me about people well before and after me, but he remembered everyone, and you could just tell he cared what had become of us all. The only time that day he seemed melancholy was when he told me about his hearing loss (he wore hearing aids). He said he could no longer play as the music just sounded muddled to him. I could tell how very sad that made him.

We laughed about the first band trip to perform at Disney World. As we were packing to leave Mr. Deal was all over the parking lot with his megaphone issuing orders. I noticed the microphone getting red, and it turns out Mr. Deal had bitten his tongue, pretty bad. Being Mr. Deal, he wouldn’t shut up long enough to stop the bleeding. A couple of band students’ parents who were doctors, so finally one of them made Mr. Deal come with him to his office and get a couple of stitches. We laughed about chasing Ms. Vance (band parent and East School Principal) to throw her into the hotel pool. She’d dashed into a hotel room with a partially open door and slammed it closed, only to realize she’d run into some guy’s room not with us who was over at the sink shaving.

It would be easy to quip that Monday in Kings Mountain was “the day the music died,” but that wouldn’t be true. Mr. Deal gave thousands of us a deeper appreciation of music. He inspired many students to go into music education and college music programs across the state were proud to get students from Mr. Deal’s program, and I’m sure those folks went on to inspire others so that Mr. Deal’s music continues to ripple through time, and I hope he’s rightfully proud of that.

I know that today, somewhere on a football field in heaven, a band of angels is trying to keep up eight to five, and a very loud bald-headed guy is getting right in front of them and yelling through a megaphone to pick up their knees. I also know at the end of the day they’ll not only be a better band but better angels. Thank you, Mr. Deal, for calling all of us to be our better angels. Godspeed and “horns up.”