The field was crowded that day with children laughing, screaming and running in every direction. Moms and Dads totally bemused by the spectacle stood out of the way on the sidelines, making only half hearted efforts to control their kids and only when one happened to run by within arms length. Despite being billed as a community affair for the entire family, what I remember witnessing was more like herding cats.

I stood over with the rest of “the band” as we warmed up for our opening number, banging together the woodblocks I had been handed and feeling very troubled. I distinctly remember turning them down as they were handed to me, while passionately explaining that I had been practicing on the tambourine not woodblocks. How could I possibly go into my first big performance with the woodblock section?

But the lady insisted that I would “do just fine” with the woodblocks and that she had more important issues to deal with than me not getting “my little tambourine”. While I some how managed to bite my lip (ergo: not cry) I remember searching for a glimpse of my Mom, because if anyone could solve the “wood blocks dilemma” it would be Mom. When I failed to spot her I frantically decided to expanded my search criteria to include any Mom that had even the slightest resemblance to June Cleaver. Boy Howdy, my options were fading fast…and faster than a speeding bullet my future and reputation as a tambourine player were about to be dashed. 

Anyway, there, a couple of kids down, madly drumming the little snare that hung around his neck, and grinning like he had just pooped his pants, was Jeff Fiehler. This was Kindergarten, and it was the first day of May: May Day.

Like the jeans I so often wore in my twenties, other memories of that day have faded, but I seem to remember feeling after our finale that our performance wasn’t as good as it had during rehearsals; when I played tambourine. But parents applauded just the same, and the same lady that handed out the instruments gathered them up just as indifferently.

As she took the woodblocks from my hands she smiled and said, “You did a nice job.” I looked back, head low in disappointment.

She walked off in one direction and I in another, hoping to find my Mom.

In retrospect, the comfort in this story rests in the fact that life has provided Jeff and I with a form of musical bookends; that being our band days seem to have started together that day in May and hopefully will end together years down the road in State of Mind; though I must add, I am much appreciative that he no longer plays drums and I the woodblocks.

That day at the O’Club pool as Bruce and I continued our band blueprint Jeff’s was the next name to come up for consideration. We felt that like Tom, Jeff would easily fit in with our group, and actually owned an electric guitar and could handle the lead solos.

While I do recall sitting on the floor of his bedroom scribbling out the words and music to “This Feeling”, an original song we co-wrote and still perform, my real adventures with Jeff didn’t begin in earnest until our high school SoM days and later, where trips camping, boating, skiing, playing guitars or just hanging out become way too numerous to even begin to cover here.

I would like to add that when time allows I intent to share a few of these stories, including several about Jeff’s Mom and Dad, Rosie and Len, who had a front porch mat that read “Welcome”, and who’s door opened into a home full of laughs, high spirits and kindness. Here’s to you Len and Rose!