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My Life in Verse

By Pat Deaville

My Life in Verse By Pat Deaville

Copyright ÂŠ 2020 All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

Additional copies of this book are available from the Author. Pat Deaville, P.O. Box 6294, Lake Charles, LA 70606 pdeaville3@gmail.com

Preface The poems within “My Life in Verse” focus on the various stages of my life. All involve specific and lasting memories. There is much to my story that can’t be told in a short book of poems. But taken collectively, the key parts of my life story are revealed. “My Life in Verse” is a memoir of sorts. While the poems do not appear in an exact chronological order, they generally progress from my childhood, through my career, and into my retirement years. I have written many poems on my cherished memories as a music student and band director. But most of those I hold in reserve for a future book focused on my musical journey through life. A few poems are written from the perspective of others. These were based on conversations in which people revealed their memories to me. All of my poems come from the heart. Not all the poems contain happy memories. I did not try to sugarcoat events or periods of my life that were painful. This book is purposefully filled with emotion. Which is why I used poetry. I am not a poet. Those with expertise in such matters will certainly confirm this. Nevertheless, my use of poetry enabled me to “open up” and tell my story.

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D edication To Kathlene. My friend, wife, and companion.

My Life in Verse A Common Man....................................................................................1 Childhood..............................................................................................2 A Christmas Poem.................................................................................4 Sacrifices...............................................................................................6 Books....................................................................................................8 Thanksgiving ’63................................................................................. 10 Valentine...............................................................................................12 Excellence.............................................................................................13 High School...........................................................................................14 Four Buildings.......................................................................................16 Four Teachers........................................................................................18 Foundation........................................................................................... 19 Horn Bands.......................................................................................... 20 Photos...................................................................................................22 College..................................................................................................24 Christmas Drive....................................................................................26 Drum Major..........................................................................................28 Gift........................................................................................................30 Army.....................................................................................................32 Teach.....................................................................................................34 Call the Band to “Attention”................................................................36 Grow.....................................................................................................38 Darkness................................................................................................40 Light......................................................................................................42 Trial.......................................................................................................44 Redemption...........................................................................................46 Stroke....................................................................................................48 Organizations........................................................................................50 Father.....................................................................................................52 Caregiver...............................................................................................54 Career....................................................................................................56 A Fortunate Life....................................................................................58 Growing in Retirement..........................................................................60 Just a Phase............................................................................................61 I Dream.................................................................................................62 Mistakes................................................................................................63 Passing the Torch..................................................................................64 One Teacher’s Life................................................................................66 v

A Common Man Oc t ob er 2 1, 2017 Sometimes at night, I ponder. Resting in recliner. What have I done, throughout my life? Could I have done better? I am just a common man. No hero. Not famous. Did some good things. Made some mistakes. My life? Would not change much. I mowed the grass. Washed the car. Did dishes and the laundry. I’d dust and sweep. Put out the trash. Pulled weeds and trimmed the trees. Been steady. Loyal. Useful. Had a solid career. Soldier, teacher, husband, father. Improved myself, each year. Did much for kids, elderly. Took care of family. Paid the bills. Dispensed medicine. And gave to charities. No place, in history books. My name, will not be there. But I am found, in many hearts. My life, with others shared. Prayed on knees. Always voted. Would take my wife on dates. I listened, advised, and worried. At Christmas, decorate. In my small world, did good things. Quiet legacy. Leader. Modest income. Saved for decades. Was a good provider. Read good books. Kept a journal. Traveled. Walked, to start each day. Ate out, movies, to celebrate. Family lunch on Sunday. When I’m gone, world goes on. And that, will be just fine. What I have done, will fade away. Covered up by time. I did my part, in my life. Made things I touched, better. With my children and my students, impact, might last longer. Common man, is who I am. In that, I do take pride. As I look back upon my life. I’m smiling deep inside. 1

Childhood March 2, 2016

The truth. As we grow older. Some memories, do fade. Names and places. Friends and colleagues. Events, from yesterday. Certain memories endure. Why? We can’t always explain. Some are random. Others are not. Rooted, in joy or pain. Oldest memory of mine? Holding, my mother’s hand. I was small. Had to look far up. Reaching high. “Yes, I can!” At three, played with Lincoln Logs. A game. My invention. Pretended small pieces, were soldiers. Larger ones, were cannons. At four, I got an army set. Built camp, under my bed. Green and tan soldiers. Plastic tanks. Fought battles, in my head. At five, learned to read some words. One of the words was “pull.” Saw it. Did it. Took a whipping. Sent home, first day of school. At six, got into a fight. At a “new” school. First day. One more whipping. Sent home again. Pattern? What can I say? At seven, caught a cricket. Matchbox home. A beauty. I fed it grass, all weekend long. Monday, I set it free. At eight, got a baseball glove. To fit on my right hand. Was made, for left-handed throwers. I felt like such a man. At nine, remember a walk. Crisp morning. Saturday. Cross town, to piano lesson. Glorious, childhood day. At ten, saw her. Fell in love. Rehearsal, of church choir. First time, I ever noticed girls. Fell under her power. Eleven, was the first time. Was thrown off, of a horse. Flew over fence. Big Somersault. Got back on. No remorse. At twelve, won first trophy. The Parish Talent Show. Performed with pride: “The Marines Hymn.” My piano solo. 2

Thirteen. That year, joined the band. Iâ€™d never be the same. Sight of my first horn, in that case. Burned deep, into my brain. So many years. Come and gone. Memories, still in me. My childhood days, and adult life. Connect, in ways I see. Childhood games, with toy soldiers? First adult job. A soldier. My early punishments, in school? Became, patient teacher. The cricket, was my first pet. Small seed, of kindness sowed. Baseball remains, my favorite sport. Southpaws, still my heroes. The horse that threw me, taught me. Gotten up, many times. That Saturday walk, inspired me. Still walk, for peace of mind. That trophy won? Very small. But from it, I did learn. To aim high, work hard, and achieve. That fire inside, still burns. Music. Love. Are in my life. Beginning, to the end. Those two things. At the core of me. They are, my two best friends.

My first pair of glasses. Pat Deaville, Age 11 3

A Christmas Poem November 28, 201 5

I was born on Christmas Eve. 1950…the year. My first full day, upon this earth, was one of joy and cheer. Was not planned at all this way. Expected, before that date. Compliant now. But at the start…did not cooperate. Mom was in the hospital. At least, a week before. But somehow, things were just not right. She’d have to wait some more. Christmas Eve. “Doc” on golf course. Called Mom, after nine holes. Told her, “Check-in this afternoon.” My birthday. He foretold. And sure enough. He was right. Was born at eight p.m. Nighttime. Louisiana rain…dripped slow, from cold pine limbs. Mom told me, I was a gift. Third boy, to come along. Dad’s goal: complete baseball “infield.” So, still, one more to come. Later on. Another boy. Four sons, in family. So many years (on MY birthday), we’d gather ‘round the tree. Mom and Dad, and four young sons. Glittering lights, revealed. Christmas tree lit. Hot chocolate. Midnight Mass. On knees, kneeled. After church, we would rush home. Gumbo, ready to eat. Then off to bed. My birthday done. As four boys, tried to sleep. The presents. Under the tree. Not there till Christmas day. For many years, we had to wait. Just our family way. Sometimes, unwrapped birthday gift. On my Christmas Eves. Sometimes, waited till Christmas Day. Seemed more special, to me. As children, fascinated. By Santa, and the toys. But understood the true meaning. We all were altar boys. My greatest gift from childhood? Was not one I received. Was a musical gift, I gave, to parents, Christmas Eve. 4

On piano. “Silent Night.” Practiced, all that season. My Dad smiled, and my Mom with tears. For all the right reasons. I’ve had a lot of birthdays. And Christmas days as well. Now. In the winter of my life. Old stories, I can tell. My Christmas Eves. Christmas Days. They each, have a meaning. So many, treasured memories. Part, of my very being. My children, and my special one. Still make me feel so right. Each year, another Christmas kiss. Framed, by the bright tree lights. Thinking back. How it began. Life now rich and fulfilled. It started, on a Christmas Eve. A Christmas life, I’ve built. Each day, I’ve used as a chance. Help others, with love sent. For all my life, I’ve tried to give. To family and my friends. Christmas remains, central to me. It’s with me, every day. My mission. To give of myself. Till in the grave I lay.

With my two sons. Paul and Patrick Austin Christmas 2014

Sacrifices

November 18, 2015

Four very happy children. Though some, said we were poor. My parents raised, four different boys. For each, a separate door. Our interests, were not the same. We each, chose our own way. Parents, sacrificed for all. They helped us, every day Some sacrifices, weren’t small. I can clearly recall. When I look back, amazes me. How they managed it all. For me, was in the third grade. Piano. Second-hand. They paid, for weekly lessons too. Practiced, with tiny hands. Never really, was that good. Still, it shaped my future. I also sang, in the church choir. High voice. So immature. Next big sacrifice. Eighth grade. A band, started up at school. I begged and pleaded. “Let me join!” The trumpet…was so cool. How they did it, still don’t know. A new horn, was produced. Practiced all night, in my bedroom. To tears, my Dad reduced. Dad banned, my indoors practice. So no ears, would be harmed. For years, serenaded horses. Practiced, out in the barn. The trumpet, was my calling. It fit me, to a tee. All-District. And All-State too. Then scholarships, for me. Music, was the centerpiece. Throughout, my entire life. It became, my chosen career. Born in their sacrifice. That piano and trumpet? Hard choices, parents made. Mom and Dad, did without some things. To make sure, “notes” were paid. It does make sense, in retrospect. But at the time...risky. Would young child, stick with music? Just a passing fancy? 6

Their sacrifice and gamble. Paid off, as you can see. Career spent teaching music. Still means the world to me. When I became a parent. Made sacrifices too. Sometimes, was tight, to do those things. Was “my turn,” to “come through.” Parents, taught me this lesson. To give up things at times. To take a chance, on your children. Their dreams…help them to find. I’ve retired. Life mostly good. Just little aches and pains. I do smile, more often than not. Finishing out, life’s game. If I get sad? Tired? Depressed? An old and slower man. Wrap my hands around my trumpet. Remember, who I am. My parents’ sacrifices. Enabled me to find… The person, I wanted to be. In my “soul” and in “mind.”

The Deaville Family. Cedar Lane Training Stables Dad, Mom, Carl, Don, Pat, and Keith

Books

November 12, 2015

Walked into the library. Summer of ‘62. My Mom sent me, to get new books. I always got a few. The “book list,” prepared by school. To me. A summer chore. Power of books. Eluded me. I’d rather play outdoors. There was a line, to checkout. So, I drifted away. Found some shelves, with different books. Became a “Landmark” day. My life, changed at that moment. Did not know, at the time. The shelves of books, in front of me. Great treasure, I did find. The book titles. Exciting. None, about “Dick and Jane.” These books, were about real people. Each had, a claim to fame. They were the “Landmark” series. These books, appealed me. Biographies, and great events. Focused, on history. But these books. Weren’t on the “list.” For once, I acted bold. I took one with me. Back in line. While waiting, hands turned cold. Would they let me check it out? A little boy. Afraid. The librarian looked at me. Then this, is what she said. “This one is not on your list. It will be tough to read. But if you want, give it a try. Just might be what you need.” That afternoon I read it. And it did change my fate. Was the first book, to capture me. “Alexander the Great.” Everyday. All summer long. I read them, one by one. Caesar. Lincoln. Geronimo. Great wars, and battles won. I read all through the series. My favorites, re-read. When the new school year, did begin, so much was in my head.

My grades went up. Teachers proud. My reading skills did show. But more than that. I was inspired. By my summer heroes. From that point on. Was focused. I set life goals, so high. Those “Landmark” books made a difference. Still makes me smile, and sigh. As a parent, helped my boy. To find his special books. Harry Potter. Star Wars too. Did, whatever it took. Often, recall that moment. In my mind’s eye, I see. A little boy waiting in line...with book. It transformed me. (The Landmark book series can still be found through various online retailers. Just seek on your search engine: Landmark Books.)

“From that point on. Was focused. I set life goals, so high.”

Thanksgiving ’63 November 8, 2015

It was a special Friday. That afternoon, in class. Thanksgiving week, was almost here! The clock ticked slow…not fast. I was twelve. And like most kids. I just, could barely wait. No school, no tests, and no homework. And yes, that “Turkey” date! Teacher stepped, into the hall. Furnace strong. Classroom hot. The teacher turned and walked back in. “The President’s been shot.” The room, was very silent. We all stared, straight ahead. “The report, just now on TV. Don’t know, if he is dead.” I knew this, was serious. But also, was so young. My thoughts, of long vacation gone. My sweet daydreaming, done. I walked home, that afternoon. Not knowing, what to think. My Mom, was waiting for me there. Tears fell, as her eyes blinked. My Mom liked this President. More, than all the others. She loved the First Lady deeply. Tears, were really for her. The images. Black and white. In photos. On TV. For days on end. The drama grew. Memories, burned in me. On Friday night, we saw her, with blood, still on her dress. A swearing-in, upon a plane. For her, there was no rest No cartoons, that Saturday. I did not really mind. The news reels, and the reporters. The answers, tried to find. That Sunday, after lunchtime, the killer too, was dead. Was right there live. Flashed on the screen. As down a hall, was led. Everything, was such a blur. My mind, trying to cope. One event, upon another. It seemed, to drain all hope.

Monday. Funeral procession. Dark horses, passed her by. A son’s salute. A tender age. My mind kept asking “why?” Don’t know, why all this happened? They never, could explain. My young mind. Did not understand. Inside…I felt real pain. So many decades, have passed. Since, that fateful moment. Continued debate, about it. Emotions, still not spent. He was not, a perfect man. As history, has shown. But still, his death was wrong and sad. His potential, unknown. I’ve seen so much, as time passed. Happened to Dr. King. Bobby also…and John Lennon. Still troubled, by these things. Thanksgiving comes, every year. Great memories. Good times. Yet, November 22nd, thoughts surface, in my mind. Don’t dwell on it. No more tears. But take time to honor. His memory. Her painful time. The reasons, I still ponder.

“Don’t dwell on it. No more tears. But take time to honor.”

Valentine Febru ar y 11, 2016

So long ago, it happened. I was just ten years old. Without a doubt. I was in love. But much more shy, than bold! She was a little older. Perhaps was twelve…or more. We were both dressed, in green choir robes. I stood, by the church door. I held that big door open. Just as I had, been taught. She walked through, talking to others. My little heart, was caught. Stared at her, as she walked by. She did not, look my way. I’m sure, my mouth was open wide. But spoke no words, that day. She had, this beautiful face. That is, what I recall. Was very slim. With long black hair. Back then, she seemed so tall. I was just a little guy. Red hair. Freckles. All ears. I could have passed, for Opey’s twin. Short, even for my years. Was first time, I had seen her. She was not, from my school. She seemed friendly. And confident. A “grace,” that was so cool. It was a dress rehearsal. Whole time, preoccupied. Didn’t sing well. Focused on her. Lost, looking in her eyes. Choir leader, then called her up. A solo, prearranged. Her voice, was just like an angel’s. My heart, never the same. I saw her, only one more time. Concert, later that night. She disappeared, after that day. For me, just was not right. Sometimes, I think life sends us. “Preview,” for us to see. A vision of love. Glimpse of hope. “Promise,” of what can be. My prayers were answered later. When I became a man. “Vision” returned, in someone else. Could sense it, as held hands. Lost again. Like I was ten. The fire inside, did burn. Was bolder now. Leaned in, to kiss. An angel, had returned. 12

Excellence November 4, 2016

I remember the moment. It became clear to me. Was on the bus. Returning home. With large, shiny trophy. It took four years, of effort. In order, to achieve. Sweepstakes, at the State Festival. Was so hard, to believe. It was the highest rating. To which, bands did aspire. First time, in our school’s history. Were thrilled. But long day. Tired. Our band was small. Yet special. As seniors, had endured. Those years, we’d fallen short. But now, our legacy ensured. As we enjoyed, the moment. I did notice something. Across the aisle, in his bus seat. Our director, working. Had briefcase open. Papers. He read and wrote things down. We all had smiles, except for him. Straight face. No smile. No frown. He was focused, on his work. And I, was curious. Why was he not celebrating? Or sharing thoughts, with us. He saw me, looking over. Like always, read my mind. “In two weeks, we perform again. Can improve. Not much time.” Spring trip and concert scheduled. In San Antonio. But this was not a “judged” event. Why was he worried so? We’d reached the top. In my eyes. Next trip, was just for fun. Was not at all, how he saw it. Our job, was not yet done. At first, I just ignored him. Shook my head. Closed my eyes. My mind, kept repeating his words. Was then, I realized. Was NEVER, about the trophy. Or hunger, for success. Was, the pursuit of excellence. About, what we do next. Success is good. Motivation. Aspire to win. Achieve. Pursuit of excellence. Best goal. I saw. Came to believe. 13

High School A pril 2, 2016

The summer of ’64. A Bulldog, I became. And in the spring of ’68. I left. But I remained. Eyes opened, to many things. Girls and grades. Future plans. So much happened, in those four year. Horses. Beatles. And Band. In the spring of ’68. New person, I became. Was the summer of ’64. My life, began to change. Dad moved us, to the country. Answering, his life’s call. His horse-training “hobby” transformed. Now. Full time job for all. I, along with my brothers. Became part of his team. Feeding, riding, and cleaning stalls. Lessons, later redeemed. Mowed and patched. So many chores. Summer heat. Winter rain. The experience, did change us. As understandings, came. The summer of ’64. A Bulldog, I became. And in the spring of ’68. I left. Yet still remained. Listened on my transistor. The British Invasion. Beatles and Stones and Animals. Sweeping ‘cross the nation. Boogie Kings, mesmerized me. I loved those soul bands too. Something about, those brassy horns. Fan of “Rhythm and Blues.” The “trumpet sound,” got to me. As much as melodies. Lennon. McCartney. Inspiring. But blaring horns, moved me. The summer of ’64. A Bulldog. Not yet trained. And in the spring of ’68. I left. So much I’d gained. Began to value good grades. Great mentors. They did teach. The girls in class, were beautiful. Yet, seemed so out of reach.

Most six-weeks, made honor roll. Near top of class, I stayed. My first real date. The junior prom. A special effort made. “Date,” then became my girlfriend. Years later. My first wife. We were so young. Had much to learn. Best teacher…sometimes, life. The summer of ’64. A Bulldog. My life, changed. And in the spring of ’68. I left. Some joy. Some pain. First summer band camp. Challenged. Was a lowly freshman. Tried to keep up. Was all so new. Each day: “Do best I can.” Somewhere, during that first year. Competitive fire, lit. Did not just want, to be a part. I wanted to lead it. Became top trumpet. First chair. Pushed and encouraged peers. Became Band Captain. Drum Major. A special senior year. My last year, we did it all. Earned sweepstakes. District. State. Band’s reputation, grew so much. Broke ceilings. Opened gates. The summer of ’64. A Bulldog. Still untamed. And in the spring of ’68. Was different. And the same. Football teams, made the playoffs. Musicals, we produced. Girls basketball team, were State Champs. Sheer joy. To tears reduced. Prepared ourselves. Setting goals. None, the same. Joined many clubs. Service projects. Concerts, stock shows, and games. Graduation. Together. It would be our last chance. We all sang, “Born Free.” Our class song. At Country Club. Last dance. We talked and ate. Hugged and kissed. Four years, were at an end. We will be classmates forever. But more important…friends. The summer of ’64. My life, began to change. And in the spring of ’68. New person, I became. 15

Four Buildings April 6, 2015

(Four Buildings that nurtured me as a child: Jennings Public Library, Immaculate Conception Church, Strand Theater, and Jennings Band Room) Crew cut and freckles. T-shirt and jeans. I saw myself walking, in a hometown dream. Some places looked new. Others seemed old. I searched for the buildings, that nurtured my soul. Crew cut and glasses. Barefoot and jeans. I saw myself searching, in a hometown dream. One place, gave me books, that opened my mind. Another, gave faith. Taught me, to be kind. Crew cut and tan. Cuffs on my jeans. I saw myself smiling, in a hometown dream. A building, with screen and actors and shows. A room, filled with music. A trumpet to blow. My trumpet and books. The church bell still rings. There’s drama and joy, in my hometown dream. My body’s grown lean. My nights are now long. I’ve been truly blessed. Been a beautiful song. Crew cut and freckles. My walk nears the end. My last breath is spent, in a hometown dream.

Jennings High School Band Room The launch pad for my career.

My home away from home & portal to the world. Jennings Public Library. Jennings, LA

Four Teacher s A pril 10, 2 015

(Four teachers who nurtured me: Paul Myers, Kelly Love, Norman Smith, and Don Wilder) I was not sure, about your class. Just wanted to get by. Forever, did it change me. You were, the reason why. I resisted, at the outset, as you engaged, my mind. I tried to hide, my interest. Afraid, of what I’d find. Started out, as skeptical. I did not really try. But slowly, your class changed me. You were, the reason why. I struggled, yet kept going. I did get lost, at times. You kept me moving forward. By being tough, and kind. Discovered, that your process, was not about, the book. It was about, my future. As down the road, we looked. Each day, I waited for your class. Kept asking myself, why? Forever, did it change me. You were, the reason why. I learned the things, I needed to. I earned, a passing score. I came to you, a doubter. You changed me, at my core. The most important thing to me. You never, seemed to doubt. Was who, I really was inside. That person, you brought out. Your class, was not just thinking. Was finding, I could fly. Forever, did it change me. You were, the reason why. My life’s been called successful. But you, did plant that seed. I’ve always been so grateful. You taught me, how to lead. My journey’s, been a challenge. Just like that class, with you. And when I need, a little boost. Your methods, pull me through. I was not sure, about your class. Just wanted to get by. Forever, did it change me. You were, the reason why. 18

Foundation Oc tober 21, 2 018

Learned so much, throughout my life. Each phase, a part of me. But, marching band’s my foundation. Established, who I’d be. The discipline, the music. The dedication, too. Inspired, and taught me about life. And how, to see things through. The teamwork, and the standards. Became, my cornerstones. Though sometimes, was frustrated. The path, was clearly shown. Sacrifices, must be made. Commitment, was required. Pre-dawn, reporting to band room. By mid-day, was so tired. In the heat, cold, rain, and wind. In mud. On frosty field With insect bites, and sore muscles. Numb fingers. Fever. Chills. Memorize, all the music. Each day, we’d add more drill. Countless hours, refining show. In band room. On the field. Each week, a big performance. At games. Competitions. Please the fans. Impress the judges. Live up, to traditions. Those long bus rides. Away games. Get home, after midnight. Up early, next day. A parade. Then more practice, that night. At the marching festivals. Was pressure, to score well. The announcer, on loudspeaker. Those ratings, he would tell. The thrills. The disappointments. How it, would make us feel. The joy, the grief, the smiles, the frowns. Was all part of the deal. Learned how to cope, with success. The trophies. Small and tall. Humility taught. For at times, brought home, nothing at all. No matter, what had happened. The next week, was the same. Take one more step. Improve ourselves. As higher, we would aim. I have lived for many years. Band lessons, still can see. In all I do. Each stage of life. It’s still inside of me. 19

Horn Bands March 2, 2016

Certain things, within our lives. Embedded in us, deep. The sounds of “trumpets,” fill my heart. Memories, I keep. I played piano, early on. My tastes were eclectic. “Liberace.” “Little Richard.” Both to me…fantastic. Became a trumpet player. Inspired, by what I heard. That sound, reached deep inside my soul. Cannot describe, in words. The singers, get attention. Guitarist, drummers too. But I am drawn, to big brass sounds. In pop, jazz, soul, and blues. I confess. Loved Herb Alpert. His smooth, number-one hits. Bert Kaempfert’s “Wonderland by Night.” And Al Hirt’s “Sugar Lips.” Yes, the Beatles, hit me hard. “I want to hold your hand…” But music, that really grabbed me. Had “horns,” mixed in the band. The Buckinghams and Grass Roots. Brass used, to fill in parts. Trumpets lifting Dusty Springfield. As her ballads, broke hearts. Later, heard the Boogie Kings. Their special “blue-eyed” soul. Found Lydia Pense with Cold Blood. Much more, than rock and roll. Some studio producers. Desired that rich horn sound. They hired brass, and sax players. Top people. Great renown. The Memphis Horns. Stax Records. They backed up Sam and Dave. They played with Otis. Pickett too. Their soul sound, was the rage. Funk Brothers Horns, with Motown. Stevie Wonder. Supremes. The Wrecking Crew. Session players. They owned the L. A. scene. “25 or 6 to 4.” Chicago. Great horn band. “Spinning Wheel.” Blood, Sweat and Tears. Big hits, throughout the land.

“Get It On.” Trumpets did soar. Bill Chase’s screaming style. Earth Wind and Fire. Sly’s Family Stone. They really drove me wild. Tower of Power hit me. With songs, like “What is Hip.” I was amazed, at how they played. Trumpets, with leather lips. My list of trumpet heroes? Most, you’ll never know. Names, not found on record jackets. Made very little dough. But still, their music shines on. In immortality. My Kindle Fire. And my smart phone. Have captured them for me.

Pat Deaville on trumpet in 1968. Playing the morning “call to rise” over the Jennings High School intercom.

Photos June 4, 2016

Pictures. Very powerful. When I, was growing up. So special, for this small-town boy. Was legendary stuff. During the 1960’s. Covers on magazines. Made great impressions, on my mind. The people, and the scenes. LIFE. TIME. SPORT. Were favorites. Viewed them in library. They fueled my imagination. The world, helped me to see. Frosted beards, on nameless men. Climbing Mount Everest. Lyndon Johnson, with sad dog eyes. And Richard Nixon’s, sweat. Jackie, on many covers. Her dress, was often black. But style and glamour, still shown through. Her soft smile. I smiled back. The Rat Pack, clowning on stage. In Vegas. The Summit. Blue Hawaii. And beach movies. With Frankie and Annette. The action photos, gripped me. Ali. Heavyweight fight. Edge of the pool, sat Marilyn. Wrapped, in a towel of white. A girl running. Vietnam. Napalm. Her world on fire. Saigon. Helicopters. Soldiers. They looked, so worn and tired. Astronauts. Heading to space. And then, on to the moon. Maris and Mantle. Homerun race. Jim Brown. Retired too soon? Water blasts, and barking dogs. Selma, Alabama. Assassinations. Tragedies. So much, caught on camera. A flower, placed in a gun. Protests, across nation. Long hair. Bikinis. Bell-bottoms. Were fashion sensations. Streisand’s penetrating eyes. Lew Alcindor’s stature. Elvis. The Beatles. Mick. Beach Boys. Bernstein’s look, in rapture. 22

Twiggy, and the miniskirt. And Khrushchev’s pounding shoe. Woodstock. Dylan. Andy Warhol. Truman Capote too. “All Along the Watchtower.” The “Mustang.” Classic car. The missile crisis in Cuba. Fidel, smoking cigars. Texas. Burnt orange uniforms. Wishbone formation, new. Bill Russell, wearing Celtic green. Ernie Banks, “Let’s play two.” Psychedelic everything! Laugh-in. Smothers Brothers. Summer of Love. Merry Pranksters. Hippies. Helter Skelter. Marvin Gaye. Sensual look. Supremes. In dresses gold. Aretha, penetrating eyes. Iconic image, soul. Koufax, Drysdale, and Gibson. Determination showed. Green Bay Packers, with Lombardi. Arthur Ashe, tennis pro. Princess Grace of Monaco. Folsom Prison. Cash sings. Goldwater. John Wayne on horseback. Balcony…Doctor King. Much, of what I remember. From early childhood years. Are photographs, which still exist. Up here, between my ears. In black and white. In color. Can close my eyes and see. The world I knew. The things I saw. Helped shape, who I would be.

“The things I saw. Helped shape, who I would be.”

College April 3, 2016

“College! Best years of my life!” I have heard people say. That’s not, how I remember it. For me, was not that way. Don’t get me wrong. Some parts great. But nothing, came easy. A scholarship. My only hope. Days, not light or breezy. Had to maintain GPA. I did not, have money. Keep grades up. Or lose scholarship. For me. Grades not funny. I admit. Loved the challenge. Competition appealed. I burned the candle, at both ends. And yes, skipped lots of meals. I was a music major. A challenge in itself. Many practice hours, required. Forced, to produce results. Dean of Music, lectured us. A large, talented class. “A few of you, will graduate. Most of you, just won’t last.” That moment. Became intense. Determined, to survive. Put all I had, into this task. Huge challenge, in my life. I was a trumpet player. This was not, like high school. Everyone was good. Some were great. Talent and toughness, ruled. Rehearsals. Band. Orchestra. And Jazz Ensemble too. Played in the “pit,” for musicals. Lips often swollen. Bruised. Became the first chair trumpet. In band and orchestra. Was at my peak, as a player. It was a time, I loved. Studied, for academics. The music courses, rough. No matter how much, I prepared. Never, seemed like enough. Four years, in ROTC. Many extra hours. The drills. Classes. Basic training. No weaklings. No cowards.

Break up. Make up. My girlfriend. Always, seemed in turmoil. We struggled, to find happiness. Ecstasy, and recoil. Marching band, was evolving. Had a new director. He transformed us, in my four years. Became, a real power. Were hundreds strong. Colorful. Many crowds, we did please. Our “Brother Love’s Salvation Show.” “The Sound of Seventies.” I became the Drum Major. Sophomore, through senior year. Developed, unique style and flash. Still hold, those moments dear. Tragedy. Late, junior year. My lip gave out. Dead nerves. Could not play my trumpet, at all. Did not, know where to turn. Each music major, must perform, a “senior recital.” But could not play. Was this the end? Find solution. Vital. I switched, to euphonium. A horn, I’d never played. Worked hard. Practiced countless hours. Then came, recital day. I managed, to get through it. And earned, a passing grade. Was not an “A.” But that’s O.K. At least, I’d graduate. My graduation, arrived. I sat in, with the band. They called out “honors.” I waited. Not sure, where I would land. Ended up. First in my class. Five hundred graduates. Had highest GPA of all. The feeling. Hard to state. I guess, it was more “relief.” I had, survived it all. I gave up much. Did all I could. While, breaking though each wall. Yes, I had achieved my goals. On that, reflect with pride. Also suffered, and sacrificed. Forever, changed inside.

Christmas Drive D ecember 17, 2016

Some of my best memories. Of what, each Christmas meant. Occurred, while being in a car. Treasure so, those moments. At age six, I do recall. In back seat, of Dad’s car. On our way, to Christmas Party. I looked up, at the stars. We’d been told, for the party, that Santa would be there. Each of us. Would sit on his lap. Our Christmas list, we’d share. Reasoned, in my little mind. Above us, in the sky. I might see Santa, and his sleigh. The reindeers, might fly by! The truth, I did not see them. And really, wondered why. I’d looked, and searched across the sky. With brothers, by my side. At seventeen, I could drive. Was going, into town. To take my girlfriend, to midnight Mass. Radio. Christmas sounds. “Little Town of Bethlehem.” Followed by “Silent Night.” Felt strangely at peace, as I drove. And then, a special sight. It flashed, across my windshield. Perhaps, a shooting star. I saw it, in my heart, as more. A sign. Sent from afar. At twenty-two. Was soldier. Maturing, in some ways. Pulled an all-night shift. Christmas Eve. Had snowed, most of that day. Drove a jeep, through cold and dark. Around the base, I roamed. Finished my duty. Four a.m. Got in my car. Head home. The snow, just kept on falling. Ice, on the road. Drove slow. The song “I’ll Be Home for Christmas.” Was on the radio. At twenty-six. Was deep in love. Driving home, from the store. A little heart, on a necklace. Was all I could afford.

Held it in one hand, tightly. Not sure, if I’d done right. Then, I passed a car…with antlers. As daylight, turned to night. Somehow, made me more at ease. A smile, came to my face. Now believed, it would be O. K. My doubt left. Not a trace. At thirty-eight, wife and I, were on the Interstate. Driving between, sets of parents. With them, must share the date. That night, we both were tired. The Christmas pace, so fast. At least while driving, we could rest, with each other, at last. As we drove, reflected on. My lifelong, Christmas drives. I once again, looked in the sky. As Christmas, touched our lives. At sixty-five, still in car. As Santa, I was dressed. He was busy, on Christmas Eve. So, I helped. Did my best. Wife drove. Car was like our sleigh. We went, to different homes. Got final requests, from children. Relayed them, on cell phone. Yes, I have Santa’s number. Unlisted. So, can’t share. I do call him, from time to time. For me, he’s always there. Somehow, my car transports me. To special memories. And to this day. Check out the sky. When driving, Christmas Eve.

“I once again looked at the sky. As Christmas, touched our lives.”

Drum Major Ju ly 31, 2016

Strange, how things in life happen. That arenâ€™t, part of your plan. Was not at all, a goal of mine. Drum major, of the Band. I loved, playing my trumpet. All I wanted to do. But Director, asked more of me. Somehow of course, he knew. Directors, have this special sense. Of what, each child can be. Tried out. Selected. Still unsure. Of what, he saw in me. My senior year, in high school. Was chosen, for this role. My future changed course, at that point. Direction, that was bold. Drum majors, do conducting. But so much more, than that. Became a leader, from within. Was wearing, many hats. My duty list, grew longer. Each day, given new task. The band, was at the core of me. Would do, all that was asked. I know, I made an impact. Success, the band did have. Drum majoring, got in my blood. I really, had it bad. But then, was off to college. Drum majoring, in past. Re-focused on my trumpet. And that, was still a blast. Strange how sometimes, things repeat. Yet still, not in your plan. The college director, pushed me. Be drum major, of Band. It was just, my sophomore year. Lots of upperclassmen. Would they accept me? Let me lead? They did. I did not bend. I owned the role. Gave my all. For three years, grew with band. We evolved. Show band to Corps band. New style, made many fans. Went from the mace, to free style. Set trends, and broke old rules. Was more, than a field conductor. Became spark plug. And fuel.

Generated excitement. Not sure, how this happened. But, when in uniform, I wasâ€Śvastly different person. Band became huge. Sound was BIG. So loud, my ears would ring. The left ear took it better. My right ear. It would sting. Extreme effort, on the field. Physically exhausting. The day, after performances. Whole body, was hurting. Shoulder muscles, burned and bit. Could not raise arms, next day. But through the week, I would improve. Fight through pain. Find a way. Often voice, became so hoarse. That I could barely speak. Rested. And tried not, to talk much. Until, late in the week. Was it worth it? Yes, it was. Looking back. Older man. Endured. Excelled. Also became. The person who I am. The story did not end there. Became, band director. Along the way, taught drum majors. Helped many. Watched them soar. Was instructor. DM camps. Across the south. For years. Shared what I knew. Pushed others hard. Together, we shed tears. Some of my best memories. Are DMâ€™s, from the past. These drum majors, live in my heart. Strong feelings, that do last. No, the whole experience. Was not, part of my plan. Two wise directors, did lead me. To unplanned, promised land.

Gift A pril 10, 2016

She was sixteen, when we met. Connected. From the start. But did not know, from that day on. She’d own, part of my heart. Gave her, drum major lessons. Working through, that summer. Then I was off, to the Army. She, a high school senior. For years, didn’t see each other. Lives, went separate ways. She did marry, while in college. I wrapped up, Army days. Rarely, we saw each other. By chance. Never planned. Each time, I saw her. Felt this spark. I did not understand. Became a band director. Successful. But hurting. Personal life. Constant turmoil. Marriage, was not working. She had her trials. In her life. Marriage, also ending. Before long. We both, were single. And looking, for “something.” That “something,” was each other. At that point, realized. How strongly, we were connected. Now right, before our eyes. Perhaps, we’d fallen in love. Right from, the very start. But different worlds. And both so young. In matters, of the heart. She became, “revelation.” So much, that I was shown. Was a depth of love, and passion, that I had never known. She was, a “ladder” also. I climbed, walls around me. That I had built, for protection. Which no one else, could see. She was, a “leader” as well. Led me, to moments rare. But then it changed. Distanced herself. Leading me, to despair. It was, a “lesson” to me. Never, take for granted. The peaks in life. A special love. The joy, you are handed.

We moved on. Again, apart. My life, turned very dark. Recovery, took years for me. Till new life, I did start. She was, a “bridge.” And still is. Connection, is the same. Each river, I’ve crossed. In my life. Her love for me, remains. She, was a “gift.” And still is. For all, these many years. We’ve lived our lives, mostly apart. But in our hearts, we’re near. We talk and type. Share our thoughts. Present, future, and past. The good times. The bad times. Reflect. How these deep feelings, last. Had she not been, in my life, don’t know, how things might be. She changed me. I became human. Enabled me to see. Led me, to see life clearer. Helped me, to understand. Give of yourself. To capture love. Became, a better man.

Celia Joe Black with her studio piano in 1978. McNeese State University, Lake Charles, LA

Army March 27, 2016 First day, of basic training. To final day. Discharged. Military experience. Memories. Small and large. ROTC. At McNeese. My future. Could not see. Orientation, at Fort Polk. Then...Kansas. Fort Riley. Sergeant Smitty, woke us up. Beating, metal trash can. He started our day. Gentle words. “Get up, worthless mutants!” He was two decades older. Than anyone, of us. But could out-run, the best of us. I ate, lots of his dust. I qualified. M-16. Expert Marksman ranking. I wore glasses. Shot left-handed. Cheek burned, by shell casings. Survival training. Next step. Dropped off, on a mountain. Compass. Map sketch. No food...water. Find way back. If you can. I slept out in the open. No stars. No tent. Just rain. Sprained my ankle, and cursed my fate. Finished, just the same. First weekend pass. Finally earned. Went to the library. Sergeant Smitty said, “You’re crazy!” For me. Sanctuary. Then went, to advanced training. School. Fort Ben Harrison. Studied hard. Honor Graduate. Orders, to Vietnam. But was canceled, at last minute. As Army, changed its mind. Next posting, would be to Fort Bragg. New challenge, I did find. Home of 18th Airborne Corps. For that, was not prepared. Elite unit. Best of the best. Honestly, was scared. I saw, first day, on the post. Real danger, each day brings. The Command Sergeant Major died. Parachute, didn’t open. He had made, hundreds of jumps. Veteran. Many years. “This comes, with the territory.” All, must deal with the fear. 32

“Presidential Ready Force.” Duty, our Corps did bear. Phone rings. The middle of the night. Board planes, to who knows where. Deep voice. Karen Carpenter. Came from the stereo. She sang. “I’ll Be Home for Christmas.” Missed home. Moist eyes. Lights glowed. And one day, my world did change. My first son, had been born. At Womack Army Hospital. A crisp, cold winter mourn’. Gradually. I matured. Was led, by West Point grads. Became a soldier. And a man. Dealing, with good and bad. I’m proud, of the time I served. Was the right thing, to do. Not drafted. My choice to do this. I chose to wear “dress blues.” I gained appreciation. For many simple things. Hot showers. Comrades. Sacrifice. The “Anthem,” that we sing. Remember much. To this day. Chills up my spine, it sends. When I see the flag, on their sleeves. Service women and men.

2nd Lieutenant Pat Deaville and Chief Petty Officer Carl Deaville. On Labor Day, 1972. Milwaukee, Wisconsin 33

Teach April 4, 2016

My heart, was almost bursting. Truly, felt the passion. Finished two years, in the Army. Now starting, life’s mission. We all, do have a purpose. To teach. Was surely mine. I could not wait, to get started. Big plans, were in my mind. First job, was in a small town. Band. I’d be director. This group, had fallen on hard times. To me, didn’t matter. I had energy. Vison. Build quality and size. For weeks, scrubbed and cleaned the Band Room. I painted. Organized. Worked with Principal. “No doubts! We can do this!” I’d say. Set up the Band Room, for “horn drive.” Recruited, night and day. Just a handful of students. Enrolled in Band at first. Within a month. Had a hundred. And still, kept up the search. Parents got on board. Support. Dedicated Boosters. Taught before, during, after school. Late nights. Up with rooster. Taught through summers. Never stopped. Pushed my student leaders. There never was, a moment’s rest. Refused, to cut corners. Can’t explain, the emotions. That boiled, inside me. I must achieve. And grow. And more. Was driven, to succeed. This fire burned. Not just a month. It raged, for five long years. It consumed me. It consumed them. Our time, precious and dear. My joy, came from the teaching. I started most, from scratch. They learned. I learned. We were a team. Nothing, too big a task. Saw them grow, before my eyes. Their “sound,” became refined. Built self-esteem. Their spirit soared. Got better, all the time.

Yes, I did make some mistakes. Was building, on “the fly.” Each day. Hundred miles an hour. At times, so tired, I cried. The Band Parents, had wisdom. Helped me, survive myself. They took on chores, to ease my way. Behind-the-scenes, results. Almost half the school, in Band. When I did say, goodbye. They excelled. Many accolades. Reached standards, that were high. Was this just, a joyful time? Story, has a dark side. Must also view. What I gave up. During amazing ride. Passion, dominated me. My work, became my life. Ignored my health...my family. And yes, I lost my wife. I won’t explain. No excuse. No tale, I’ll try to tell. A quiet end. She went away. She took, young son as well. Cannot blame this, on the job. Our feelings, had been cool. Perhaps, was inevitable. Life, plays by its own rules. Kept moving on. Despite pain. Emotion, hit new low. Poured myself, back into my work. Focus. On with the show! But finally, came the day. The “Fire,” exhausted me. I knew, at some point, I’d burn out. Someday, I’d have to leave. Too much? Too soon? You might ask. Each person, interprets. Thankful for good. Accepted bad. Really, was no culprit. Those first five years. Burned so hot. I loved my students so. They loved me back. They questioned me. “Why is it, you must go?” There was not, a good answer. So much, clashed in my mind. I did not know, what I should say. So, told them. “It’s just time.”

Call the B and to “Attention!” April 12, 2015

(This poem is based on the thoughts and recollections of my band students, as shared with me in conversations and letters over the years.) Not sure, why I joined the band. Perhaps, it looked like fun. Was it just my friends, who encouraged me, to twirl that “plastic gun?” The marching field, the practice rooms. That big, rehearsal hall. Was WORK and fun, I soon found out, when “Attention!” was the call. The practices, on summer days. The sun, it seemed so big. We got free tans, and blisters too. And yes, we sweat like pigs. Each day, we saw the sun rise, on our field, the school year, had begun. Those early morning, “drills for skills,” were never, that much fun. At times, we practiced in the mud. Even, when rain did fall. My hands were taped, my ankles wrapped. Still, “Attention!” was the call. We practiced, not just early, but often, until dark. Sometimes, we lit the field with lights, from cars, that we would park. The director pushed us, all the time. The drum major’s days, were long. Our captains, and section leaders, were kind and tough and strong. Then the music soared, the horns they roared. The flags, a glorious sight. The drums were loud, and we were proud. On football Friday nights. Stadium lights, mosquito bites. Stood tall, throughout it all. So cold, we nearly froze in place. Yet, “Attention!” was the call. We just let go, the brass did blow. Our big, 4th quarter jam. We got the fans, up on their feet. They cheered, and clapped their hands. The festivals, on Saturdays. We worked so hard, each week. Performed and waited, for the scores. Striving to reach, our peak.

The speaker called out “ONE” most times. We fought, to win it all. Improve and grow. Stand as a wall. When “Attention!” was the call. I even learned, to play a horn. And made, the concert band. The music challenged, one and all. Became a “classics” fan. The spring trip and the travel. Fund raisers, all the time. With parents, and our boosters, oh yes, we earned each dime. The marching, the halftime, the concert band. I grew to love it all. Made friends for life, our futures bright. “Attention!” was our call. Today I’ll say, I’ve made a life, of which, I’m very proud. Through joy and trials, worked long and hard, to stand out from the crowd. Sometimes in dreams, I see the field. Hear horns, within the hall. I know my life, is better, because, “Attention!” was my call.

Early morning practice in 1979. Lake Charles High School Wildcat Band.

Grow A pril 13, 2016

How would she tell, our story? I honestly, can’t say. We’ve been apart, for so long now. So distant, from those days. Our memories, may not match. But this, I surely know. We both did try. Became wiser. We helped each other, grow. We were not, childhood sweethearts. Though some, might disagree. We did meet young. In high school band. Far from, who we would be. We knew each other, a while. Before, we had first date. We became “boyfriend and girlfriend.” And then, exclusive mates. Were like, most young teenagers. Exploring, new feelings. Felt so alive, while holding hands. Emotions, each day brings. Wanted. Enjoyed each other. Companionship, was dear. Comforting. Attached to someone. Like many, of our peers. Spoke of love. Life together. Very rarely, would fight. We had good times. Youthful joy. Summer days. Winter nights. Sustained, our relationship. On through, our college years. Was like high school. But different too. We caused each other, tears. Became, roller-coaster ride. Still, we somehow managed. Late in college, I did propose. Graduated. Married. We really tried. That’s the truth. To make our life work out. And we did have, special moments. Of that, I have no doubt. Both grew up. In many ways. Throughout, my Army years. But even then, while we were close. There was, some growing fear. We had a son. Our highlight. Best thing, done together. Yet, there were signs. Cracks, in our life. Doubts, began to gather. Our marriage, did not end well. For years, we both had tried. But in the end, it did not work. There’re many reasons, why. 38

I won’t invent, a story. Or pretend, it was fate. And I won’t, paint myself blameless. Here is, what I’ll relate. It was clear, I had my faults. Afraid to admit, wrongs. Often too quiet. Not open. My ego, was too strong. She wanted more, than I gave. Future dreams, disjointed. Communicated. Her own way. Unhappy. Disappointed. Too absorbed, in my own dreams? Not doing, all I should? Questions inside, grew very large. Enduring, all I could. My Catholic, upbringing. Kept tugging me, in ways. I kept looking, for solutions. Together. We must stay. She was sad. She was angry. It seemed that way, to me. I looked for ways, to make it work. But none, that I could see. Then knew…she’s already gone. Just physically, still there. And it happened. I just gave up. No longer, would climb stairs. I made a choice. At that point. I do admit to that. I would move on. Seek happiness. Change course. Find a new path. She left, taking our young son. We both knew. Life had changed. No turning back. Emotions raged. Spread over, a wide range. We carried on. To new worlds. With more lessons, to learn. Strong love. Heartache. Along the way. Life filled, with twists and turns. It took years. And broken hearts. For me, to understand. How love is layered. And complex. Became, a better man. Decades of maturity. Have helped me, see the light. Early mistakes…and some since then. But strive, to do what’s right. Our story, ended roughly. But new life, each did find. We lived and learned, throughout our lives. We both grew, over time. 39

Dar kness March 30, 2016

Reflecting on life’s moments. It has not all, been fun. There were two years. Deep depression. From myself, I did run. While a young man, darkness came. Still hurts, when I recall. In my late twenties. All alone. Feeling broken, and small. Professionally rising. But personally? Trashed. I acted strong, when on the job. Alone, at home? I’d crash. When working, in public eye. I knew, that many cared. But at the end, of my workday. Soul was in, disrepair. At night, I would stare at walls. Myself, I’d criticize. I would not sleep. Would cry big tears. Ego, cut down to size. Was estranged, from those I’d loved. Could feel, no love returned. Blamed myself. It must be my fault. Seemed like, all bridges burned. Finances, at a low point. And that, did not help much. Living, in dingy rooming house. From past dreams, I’d lost touch. Suffered. More than shattered heart. Spirit, had been broken. “This is your life.” I told myself. Accept. Fate has spoken. Remained in deep depression. Despite, success at work. Was fulfilling, much potential. But inside, darkness lurked. Then, 1979. November 23rd. Was by myself. Thanksgiving break. In my mind. Heard soft words. Finally, had reached bottom. Voice spoke. I understood. Despair and heartache? Building blocks. Recover? Yes, I could. “You are not a bad person.” That soft voice, did tell me. My self-conscious? Or was it God? My own epiphany?

“No one’s, going to save you. On yourself, must rely. Rebuild your faith, in who you are. Take action. Don’t just cry.” It did not change, overnight. Emotions, up and down. But I developed, good routines. Strong patterns in life, found. Rediscovered, who I was. Revisited, my dreams. Set new goals, in personal life. Was harder, than it seemed. Depression, still would visit. Not that easy, to shake. But stayed the course. Focused on goals. Each day, progress I’d make. Financed, a new “trailer-home.” At the time, a huge step. Was for me, a new beginning. First big goal. I had met. On car windshield. Found a note. Was later on, that year. Note said “You need to ask me out!” Young lady, made point clear. Love returned. Unexpected. A new phase, had arrived. She changed my life. And made me whole. Was then, I realized. There will be many valleys. Life’s repeating refrain. Do not take, this love for granted. Must work at it. Sustain. Depression, still does visit. Resilient foe, of mine. But learned, from those early, dark years. Rejoice, when life does shines.

“Do not take, this love for granted. Must work at it. Sustain.”

Light March 31, 2016

Spent two years, in a darkness. Time, of deep depression. But change did come. As I escaped, emotional prison. Made personal adjustments. Was turning things, around. But when “she” arrived, in my life. Improved, by leaps and bounds. Unexpected miracle. Forever, changed my life. Four years of dating. Special time. Was courting, future wife. It was not love, at first sight. Depression, still held me. Full year. She is in front of me. I saw her. But didn’t see. Yes, I liked her from the start. Attraction, grew slowly. Earned my respect. Admiration. Her spirit, intrigued me. But my vision, not yet clear. My soul, wrapped in dark cloud. She did, finally inform me. That I, should ask her out. She enrolled at LSU. Was “long distance” romance. The miles, something we overcame. First time, in years, heart danced. Interstate, was our lifeline. Visited on weekends. We called and wrote, during the week. Sweet messages, we’d send. Our weekends, were delightful. To “our” places, we’d go. Po-Boys…George’s. Salads…Wendy’s. And motion picture shows. As time wore on. It was clear. Love’s where, “our hearts” did go. Tried not, to smother her at first. She needed time, to grow. I had loved, and lost before. This new love…still fragile. We grew closer. Were passionate. We made each other smile. There were times, emotions flared. But still, our bond stayed strong. Were we meant to be together? Was this, where we belonged? I did propose one evening. The Black Angus Steakhouse. Willie sang “Always on My Mind.” Engagement, we’d announce? 42

She did accept. Graciously. She’d given plenty signs. Though she did not, say this out loud. She thought, “It’s about time!” So dark, before I met her. She changed me, so deeply. Five years before. Gave up on love. The truth. Her love saved me. Been married, many decades. Our lives, have greatly changed. Still we love. Still we see. We’re one. Different. And the same.

The dating years. Pat Deaville, Band Director at Jennings High and Kathlene Honsinger, LSU student. 1981.

Pat and Kathlene at the 2018 Kentucky Derby Fund Raiser in Lake Charles, Louisiana. 43

Tr ial A pril 28, 2016

Became administrator. After years of teaching. The job. Assistant Principal. Change, that I was seeking. Loved the band room, very much. But after, twenty years. Time to test myself. Grow career. Jumped in, without a fear. Yet quickly, I discovered. That this, would be a trial. A trial by fire. A stressful phase. Tough journey. Grueling miles. Learned on the job. No training. Made, my rookie mistakes. Grew into it. Enjoyed the work. But not, a piece of cake. It was, a large middle school. A thousand students, plus. I tackled, all the discipline. Was strict. But also, just. Had many other duties. Those countless tasks and chores. Worked round the clock. School days. Weekends. Often. Last out the door. But I was used, to hard work. Was, a workaholic. What made this job, so difficultâ€Śwas pure old politics. The school, was over-crowded. Outgrew, facilities. A great faculty. Strong students. But tensions, all could see. Children, from all walks of life. Rich and poor. White and black. When I treated them, all the same, I came, under attack. Got caught, right in the middle. Conflicting cultures, grew. And clashing, personalities. Hidden agendas, too. School board members. Elections. Added, onto worries. Principal and I, were pressured. Many versions. Stories. Both she and I, under fire. Yes, there were threats received. Did our job. Many teachers helped. Together, we achieved. 44

We did have, our supporters. Most parents, were the best. Some on our staff, worked against us. They lit fires. Started mess. For three tough years. Battled on. So many fights, we won. The school excelled. Awards. Trophies. But it was far, from fun. Time came, to renew contracts. Fought hard. Came out on top. We were rehired. But I could see. The turmoil, would not stop. Superintendent, called me. I felt under the gun. He said that, he was proud of me. For all, that I had done. He knew, I was discouraged. Had endured, with resolve. He said, “Got a high school problem. That I want you to solve.” “Need assistant principal. At very large high school. Discipline. Attendance. Gone downhill. Need you, to enforce rules.” “This move, is a promotion. Big pay raise, you’ll receive. But this job, is more challenging. It won’t be, a reprieve.” Yes, I had been “promoted.” Just did not feel, that way. For years, I had poured my heart out. Some small way, felt betrayed. In my soul, mixed emotions. Was it time, to move on? I gave my all. Of that was proud. I had done nothing wrong. Earned, new opportunity. To prove, what I could do. Took advantage, of the offer. In some ways, felt renewed. Principal, moved on as well. We had fought, the good fight. The years have proved, things that we did. Were sound, and very right. In the end, it all worked out. We both, advanced careers. The trial by fire, was important. Foundation. Future years.

R edemption A pril 28, 2016

I arrived, at my new job. With determination. Good school. But unique challenges. In administration. High school. Strong academics. A large school. Small town feel. A tight, “old school” community. Still, problems that were real. Attendance, was an issue. And discipline, grown lax. Teachers frustrated. Must be fixed. Someone, to watch their backs. At first, was an outsider. But not, for very long. Once I began, to do my job. They saw, that I belonged. I did clamp down. But with heart. I did not raise, my voice. For most, tailored consequences. For others, gave no choice. Suspended many students. When that’s, what they deserved. Lots of expulsion hearings too. Detentions times, were served. But did this, without anger. Was calm. My style, the key. Things became better. Month by month. Then, kind notes sent to me. It took a year and a half. By then, great attendance. Discipline? Was under control. Top stats. Not just by chance. Then came, the unexpected. School investigation. Other leaders, were placed on leave. What’s, the explanation? Internal questions, were raised. On money, accounting. Became, the “last man standing.” In charge, of everything. For next six months. All on me. Slept little. Working harder. Curriculum and finances. Supervised, all teachers. Buses. Cafeteria. All discipline. And more Ball games. Parent conferences. Trash pick-up, and clean floors.

This may have seemed, quite unfair. But I did not, complain. When you’re, an administrator. Your life, is not the same. Somehow, the school did rally. Strong faculty, support. I’d earned respect, from the students. Given, glowing reports. We slowly, got new staffing. To help me run the school. But during, those challenging months. Created, some new rules. Revised schedules. Procedures. Fixed, public relations. We had emerged stronger. Better. For me? A redemption. Named the top district AP. Awards. Recognition. My reputation, grew statewide. Wanted, for promotion. My first job, as an AP. Success, but trying time. Second round. It came together. Special truths, I did find. First, must believe in yourself. Do what you know, is right. Must stay the course. Accept the climb. Don’t look, for burdens light. Moved up, to District Office. First, as a Consultant. Then, Curriculum Director. Big job, with great results. If looking, for the secret. This is all, I can say. Aim high. Do right. Work hard. Endure. For me, that was the way.

“First, must believe in yourself. Do what you know is right.”

Stroke Ju ne 18, 2015

My stroke arrived, late one night. Without, any warning. Was fast asleep, when it occurred. Day had been, exhausting. But being tired, was normal. Was just, another day. When I tried, to get out of bed. My body said, “No way.” The right side of my body. From eyebrows, down to toes. Would not do, what I told it to. To hospital, did go. Wife drove me. It was close by. They took me, right away. Blood pressure then, was sky high. But somehow, calm I stayed. Despite my inabilities, I still had some control. My left side, and my mind worked well. The right side, took the toll. They tested me. Countless ways. In searching, for the cause? They questioned me, and diagnosed. Hours, without much pause. Eventually. Got some rest. I knew, would be a while. Before, final conclusions reached. Yet still, I chose to smile. Good friends, did come to see me. To keep, my spirits high. Good humor, shared with one and all. I knew, I would not die. How long, will I be stuck in here? The wait, it seemed so long. The truth: don’t need the test results. I knew, what had gone wrong. Worked and worked and worked non-stop. A lifestyle, fueled by stress. Overtime, daily. Weekends too. I gave, more than my best. Took on so much. That was me. Was not any limit. At some point, it just avalanched. My body, couldn’t take it. Had not been told, to work so, by some outside force. The culprit, lived inside my head. My inner voice, the source.

From childhood, was so focused. Intense, is what you’d see. Belief, that all depends on me. In first place, I must be. Through life, my jobs grew larger. Stress, was through the roof. I burned the candle, at both ends. Felt I, was bulletproof. Then finally, it happened. A lifetime, pushing hard. It came time, to pay the piper. Was this, my final card? Looking back, I was lucky. Recovered, fairly well. To this day, right arm still numb. But no one else, can tell. My walk and speech, seem normal. Yet only I, do know. How hard I work, to appear right. The gains inside, are slow. I have, made some concessions. But want, to say this true. It still, is very hard for me. To limit, what I do. But I have changed, some patterns. Owed that, to family. Gave up some tasks, and trimmed my sails. Avoid, more tragedy. I still wanted, to achieve. My stroke, did not change goals. Returned to work, and glad I did. My long-term plans, still bold. Moved forward, despite the stroke. I did finish, my race. Accomplished more, than thought I could. Small legacy, in place. Could have crawled, into a shell. My stroke, as the excuse. But that, is just not, how I’m wired. Standards. Cannot reduce. Retired, when I felt ready. But still, I am active. Find ways, to balance life these days. Don’t put in hours, massive. Been asked, if I have regrets. I cannot say I do. While some, might wish away such things. I’m proud, I saw it through. No, I would not dream to change. The challenges. The strife. It was the way, I chose to live. I am proud of my life.

Organizations April 30, 2016

Organizations, helped me. They did, make me better. My colleagues and friends, all pushed me. Turned me, into leader. LMEA. A member. For over forty years. Began as rookie. But mentors, helped me, though doubts and fears. Early career, I struggled. Was not, all smooth sailing. But veterans, watched over me. Through my winning-failing. Grew as, a professional. Earning, leadership roles. In local organizations. First tentative. Then bold. Became a leader, slowly. An evolving process. Watched carefully. Listened closely. To those, who were the best. First office, Secretary. Then, became Treasurer. A chairman. VP. President. District Band Directors. Important thing, that I learned. Climbing up this ladder. Surround yourself, with good people. Secret, of all leaders. Gradually, more active. State Organization. Appointed, Board of Directors. Was a revelation. Served as District Director. Over a large region. Finances. Festivals. Meetings. All, demand attention. A new assignment, given. State Conference Chairman. Made schedules, and set-up clinics. Orchestras, Choirs, and Bands. Found this, very challenging. At start, a few stumbles. But each year, I did get better. Not afraid, to gamble. The Conference, grew so large. During, my long tenure. Chair for 25 years. Success. Judged, by any measure.

To “Phi Beta Mu,” chosen. Honor Fraternity It meant so much. Top peers’ respect. Special society. Recognized. International. World-wide. Band Directors. Became, State Chapter President. Memory, I treasure. Favorite leadership role? Has been as Editor. “Louisiana Musician.” Magazine for teachers. Great responsibility. Official document. I did this, for many decades. A great experience. Writing editorials. Promote our vocation. Articles published, far and wide. Read across the nation. Magazine has changed with times. Printed and mailed for years. But now, it’s also placed on-line. A move, young members cheer. The Editor’s job, evolved. World, continues to turn. Newsletters, Facebook, and Website. There’s so much new, I’ve learned. Stayed consistent. Changed with time. While proving, I belonged. Made tough decisions. Shed some tears. While growing, to be strong. I owe “associations.” In very many ways. Gave me a chance. Stuck with me too. Even, on troubled days. I worked hard. And sacrificed. Rewards, I did receive. Reason, I became a leader? Because others believed.

Father A pril 13, 2016

My two sons, are grown men now. Living out, on their own. Their childhoods, not the same at all. Grew up, in different homes. They did have, different mothers. And were born, years apart. Now, they live, in their own worlds. Still, both dwell in my heart. Age gap for them. Fifteen years. But sometimes, hard to tell. They visit. Stay up. Talk all night. Video games, as well. My heart smiles, when I see them. Alone…or together. Enjoy visiting, when we can. Family gatherings. My sons and I, McNeese grads. We majored differently. Me, in music. My oldest, math. Youngest, in history. “Digital world” absorbs them. That’s where, they love to be. I try to keep up. But the truth? They run circles, ‘round me. Good fathers, balance their time. Between, all their children. Our story, did not start that way. Despite, happy ending. Shared a home, with my first son. For only, a short while. Broken marriage, took him away. As divorce papers, filed. He lived, with first wife’s parents. Was reared, based on their rules. Became, an academic star. Was, the teachers’ jewel. Special school. Mathematics. Summa Cum Laude. College. Intelligent. But quiet too. His brain, packed with knowledge. For him, wasn’t a great father. I struggled, at that stage. For many years…I was trapped in…depression’s ugly cage. But even, after that passed. I still, did not do right. I should have done more. But did not. Dark chapter, in my life.

Do regret, the time we missed. But that, is all on me. I look back now, and wish I’d done, many things differently. He became a great person. No credit, I can take. Though I matured, during that time. Must live, with my mistake. Different, with my second son. Was involved, constantly. Maybe, overcompensating. Good father, now, must be. The time spent with, with my oldest? Of nothing, can I boast. But changed that, with my younger son. Better father, than most. Trumpet lessons, science fairs. Camping and swimming too. Did all I could. Be in his life. Each day, was something new. Books to read. Transformer toys. Video games, galore. Later on, taught him how to drive. Altar boy. Band. Strong core. Louisiana All-Star. Many times, All-District. Scholarships. College graduate. Work at KPLC. Throughout his life, I’ve been there. I’ve done, all that I could. Was patient, and demanding too. Did things, a father should. It turned out well, for both boys. Admired them, as they grew. Each found a path. And followed it. To themselves, they’ve been true. Over decades, of my life. Changes, I had to make. Clearly, at times, was a failure. But grew, through my mistakes. Sometimes, we do get lucky. Despite ourselves, succeed. Perhaps helping hand, from above. A blessing, we receive. In the end, I have two sons, of which I am so proud. Battled through, my own shortcomings. Beneath sunshine. Dark clouds.

Caregiver May 28, 2016

It had never, crossed my mind. As a boy, or young man. That one day, I’d take care of Mom. Was not, part of my plan. But life, rarely goes as planned. Deal with things, as they come. For eight years, was her caregiver. From this, I did not run. My brothers, lived far away. But still, they would assist. Each one helped. In the ways, they could. Phone calls, money, visits. Began. Mom in her eighties. She was still, on her own. My Dad, had passed, years before. Leaving our Mom, alone. For years, she had managed well. She handled, everything. Gradually, this did change. Concerns, that old age brings. At first, I helped with the bills. Wrote checks, and balanced books. Then did her shopping. Prepped her meds. Yet even then, she’d cook. But slowly, that disappeared. So, got her precooked meals. I worked full time. Had health issues. With my world, had to deal. Visit evenings, when I could. Weekends. Rock, on porch swing. I’d listen, to her all stories. She loved, to hear birds sing. She stopped driving. Church going. She just stayed home, and prayed. No longer, would she read her books. Less TV, every day. She did not want, to leave home. Sometimes, I’d convince her. Ride in my truck. Visit my place. For lunch. But not supper. Was ready, for bed early. In nightgown, before dark. Would check her doors, repeatedly. Afraid, if heard dogs bark. Arrangements, for communion. And a housekeeper. Council on Aging. Meal each day. I would deal, with doctors. As time went on. Became frail. Not just body. But mind. Her short-term memory was gone. But still, her ways were kind. 54

Then, congestive heart failures. Stays, in the hospital. But a stroke, was the final straw. Nursing home, was the call. It was not a pleasant phase. Although, the place was nice. Peace at times. But angry moments. She’d sometimes hit and bite. My brothers, did all they could. We tried, to make it work. For months, we each found ways to help. But distance, was a curse. For me. It was thirty miles. Brothers? It was hours. Oldest brother. Thousands of miles. Did all, within power. Her final months. She was lost. Yet still, she knew our names. But she had changed, in many ways. In small ways, stayed the same. I brought her cornbread and milk. For her, was like ice cream. One brother brought treats, cooked from home. We became, a great team. We could tell. Would not be long. Just, a matter of time. Our oldest brother, sensed it too. Flew in. Knew it was time. Her last few days, were a blur. I did not see her pass. One brother did. Gripping moment. Free from this world, at last. I slept-walked through the funeral. Still, helped with arrangements. We each found ways, to make our peace. Final rest. Mom was sent. It has been years, since Mom passed. In some ways, I miss her. Yet, there is a sense of relief. She is with, my Father. Her troubles over. Peaceful. Finished, her earthly chores. She lived her life. She waits for us. Inside of heaven’s doors. At some point, in the future. I may need, the same care. That I gave Mom…or maybe more. For that, I must prepare. Or perhaps, I’ll pass quickly. The future, cannot see. But either way. It all will end. That is, how it must be.

Career April 15 , 2016

Many jobs. Forty-two years. And, had lots of bosses. The outcome. Came out, way ahead. Counting, wins and losses. Army and Education. These, were my vocations. A short time, in military. Duty, to my nation. Remember soldiers’ faces. As on the truck, we’d load. The way they looked at me, each time. Heading down, bumpy road. The bulk, of my long career. Was in and around schools. Teaching. The best years of my life. For me, students were fuel. Remember students’ faces. When they had won the day. The way they looked at me, each time. The things, they then would say. Became administrator. Students, still the focus. But understood. Teachers, the Key. The engine, that drives us. Remember teachers’ faces. When overwhelmed, they felt. Way they smiled. When we overcame. It would make, my heart melt. I did, influence many. People, of all ages. Soldiers. Children. Parents. Teachers. Through, my different stages. Remember parents’ faces. On graduation days. Witness their children, make it through. Each, in different ways. I also helped, principals. And State officials too. Countless phone calls. Emails. Questions. Each day, helped someone new. The State officials’ faces. Would often, scowl at me. But, they kept inviting me back. Honest, they knew I’d be. Strange, as this may seem to be. My bosses, I did teach. I would do, all that I was told. But behind doors, I preached.

Remember bosses’ faces. The times, I’d disagree. Still, I aced evaluations. It seemed, they valued me. From my viewpoint, I do feel. I did help many, grow. I held myself. And others too. To standards. This I know. Remember, every promise. I made, to do my part. Remember, how I pushed others. The reforms, I did start. I used kindness, and tough love. Encouraged, and enforced. I challenged schools. Communities. For progress, stayed a force. Remember, all their faces. When I would make it clear. “I will not let you waste my time. Better get it in gear.” Was my career, successful? That’s for others, to judge. In my heart, I believe it was. On that, I just won’t budge. Remember all the kind words. And messages, received. The tears. The hugs. The thankful notes. The scrapbooks, they gave me.

“I used kindness, and tough love. Encouraged, and enforced.”

A Fortunate Life Febru ar y 6, 2016

In some ways, life has changed me. In most ways, I’m the same. People. Experience. Good times. Mistakes…I’ll take the blame. Tend to be solitary. Mostly introverted. But life, has also drawn me out. Socially converted. I’ve learned important lessons. As I have found my way. Thankful to those, who’ve walked with me. Through good and troubled days. My parents. Teachers. Students. Their parents. Special friends. Sometimes, I was just fortunate. Sheltered, beneath their wings. I have tried, to be careful. In what, I’ve said and done. Not everything, turned out as planned. Some tragedies. Some fun. Solid work. Achievements too. Failures, and closed doors. So many people, stood by me. Blessed, with special mentors. Been lucky, in many ways. Found deep love. Known deep pain. Been at the top, and bottom too. From each of these, I’ve gained. Throughout life, been surrounded. With influences, strong. I’ve chosen well, so many times. While sometimes, I’ve been wrong. I had more, than my fair share. Great opportunities. Made the most of it. Best I could. Perseverance, the key. I want to offer my thanks. To all, who’ve seen me through. I hope, I have not disappointed. Tried to pay all my dues. My role in life, has now changed. But still, there’s much to do. Contribute, in a different way. This time would come, I knew. Will continue to give back. In any way, I can. Share with all, the things I have learned. An older, wiser man. 58

Kathlene and Pat Deaville at my 2003 Induction into the Louisiana Music Educators Hall of Fame

Growing in Retirement Oc tober 21, 2017

Retired. Poor Health. Overweight. So, signed up at a gym. I exercised, and cut carbs. Lost fifty pounds. Was thin. From first day of retirement. Explored. Became stronger. I’ve grown, developed, and improved. No doubt, I am better. Childhood, then a long career. I worked hard. I achieved. So many good people, helped me. And blessings, I’ve received. I could have been, satisfied. Successful race, I’d run. Retirement nice. But kept moving. I knew, I was not done. Part-time jobs. Service projects. And that, was just the start. I started writing poetry. Deep feelings, from the heart. I’ve always used computers. But so much, I have grown. Since retired, I am digital. New tricks, I have been shown. My books, music, and shopping? On phone. Computer screens. For news and scores, I check the web. On Facebook, contact friends. Work in my office, at home. But, do get out the door. My wife has nudged me…try new things. Travel, more than before. Cruises, road trips, adventures. Mexico. Canada. Seattle. Boston. Fredericksburg. Glaciers in Alaska. Took family to Europe. Amazing sights to see. London, Paris, Florence, and Rome. Our next goal, Hawaii. New health, new life, and new skills. I still have many goals. Keep working, on that bucket list. Still pushing. And still bold.

Just a Phase A pril 20, 2015

When first they started dating, some eyebrows, it did raise. Some friends, were very happy. Others, “It’s just a phase.” She was his former student. Diploma, fresh in hand. She knew him then, as only, the leader of the Band. But somehow, there was something. While some, expressed their doubt. She left a note, upon his car. “You need to ask me out!” They said, “She’s off to college. Forget, this schoolgirl crush.” “Besides, he’s married to his work.” Band said, “He belongs to us.” As they continued dating, some eyebrows, still did raise. While some friends, were supportive. Others said, “Still, a phase.” Four years, they drove cars back and forth. Love letters, long distance calls. As things were getting serious, they broke down all the walls. Then, she was a college grad. He was her biggest fan. And soon to be, a bride as well. He’d asked her for her hand. As they entered married life, some still took them to task. So many friends, brought wedding gifts. Others said, “It won’t last.” Their life, entered a different mode. A marriage, that did last. Both joy and strife, yet through it all. More love, one couldn’t ask. A family, it became as well. There came along, a son. He’s now become, a man of course. Diplomas, all his own. Many decades, married life. And still, they’re going strong. Love, careers, a beautiful home. And doubters? Well, they’re gone.

I Dream Febru ar y 17, 2018

No longer dream, of pain free life. My share, I will endure. Nor do I dream, of endless life. Or answers, that are pure. Today, my dreams still guide me. Still uplift, and inspire. Sometimes, focused on past blessings. Or what, may yet transpire. I don’t dream, of perfect life...of things, that just won’t be. I’ve laid to rest, the fantasies…of things, I’ll never see. My dreams, do remain hopeful. My faith, a shining light. But life’s made me, more practical. Have scars, from many fights. Spectrum of life, I have seen. Awake, and in my dreams. Witnessed the good, along with bad. Gained wisdom, that time brings. Confrontation, will happen. There’ll be, some pain and strife. I now recognize, their purpose. As elements, of life. Tolerance. Understanding. These also play, a role. I dream, we find the right balance. In solutions, we mold. World, will always have conflict…some wars, will never quell. There’s also love, and comfort. Those can be found, as well. Don’t dream, of just one culture, or a single nation. Dream, of open discussions, rational reactions. I dream, a better future. Without the guarantee. That the world learns, from all mistakes. Doubt that, will ever be. But, there can be improvement. Despite, some darker days. And to the young, my dreams will pass. In some, transcending way. Still start each day, with fresh hope. Will do, all that I can. I dream, my children and students, remember, a good man. I dream, that the little things, the teachings, I have shared. Will help them build, a better world. And dream more, than I dared. 62

Mistakes June 24, 2018

Where, can I even begin? The list, is much too long. Throughout, many decades of life. I have done much, that’s wrong. The big mistakes, not frequent. Small ones, happened often. While most of them, correctable. Some things, I cannot mend. I’m not, being negative. Admit, with honesty. Despite, my success, achievements. Mistakes, still plain to see. Not all mistakes, life changing. But there have been, a few. Some bad decisions, do haunt me. Forgiveness, still pursue. I have always, tried to be, upright, and unafraid. The good I’ve done, weights so much more, than all mistakes, I’ve made. But, I must also admit. With myself, frustrated. Mistakes, despite good intentions. Damage, I’ve created. I never have, purposely hurt. But still, my greatest regret. Are the tears, I caused to others. Something, I can’t forget. I’ve learned, from most mistakes. The frequency reduced. Repaired and restored, all I could. Some bridges, I’ve produced. Stay positive. Do good things. Own, what I’ve done wrong. But don’t, dwell on the bad. Remain upbeat, and strong. As I grow old, “perspective,” becomes clearer to me. I know mistakes, are part of life. Their end, I’ll never see. War I fight, against mistakes? It never, will be won. Yet strive each day, to do the best, that I can, till life’s done. Perfection, beyond control. But that, is not my goal. Focus on all, that can be done. A good life, strive to mold.

Passing the Torch November 8, 2015

It’s odd, as we get older. The way, that we are seen. Sometimes revered. Sometimes ignored. Few know, where we have been. At times, we are called icons. Also, been called relics. The truth of course, we’re neither one. But please, give us some credit. Most of my generation, won’t ask for attention. We know, what we have accomplished. Those things, I’ll not mention. The world moves on…as it should. The young. So bright and free. Cycle of life, is just that way. That is, how it should be. New generations arrive. We watch them, join the game. Their challenges, seem different. And yet, they are the same. For we have learned, over time, while changing, is a must. Our basic yearnings. Wants and needs. That, is still what drives us. Life, is like a relay race. We hand off, the baton. Then step aside, and cheer for you. The race, continues on. Two things we ask: Do your best. Enjoy the life you live. We did our part, as best we could. As those before us did. Growing up, took for granted. Changes, our parents made. They improved our world. Set the stage. Saw later, the price paid. In our time, we broke new ground. Much more, than you might know. Brought forth, many changes. Were rebels. Enduring, many blows. In retrospect. Did good things. A strong generation. We built upon, our parents’ dreams. Had, a good foundation. 64

And now, I’ll share a secret. Been passed down, over time. Some good advice. Please do take heed. Keep this, in heart and mind. “What” you achieve. Is just part, of how you’ll be measured. “How” you do things. More important. That’s, how you’ll be treasured. “It’s the manner in which you work, that endures, past your days.” That simple thought. A gift to you. A torch, to light your way. It’s your time. Take hold the torch. Don’t do it, just for us. Do it, for you. And those, who’re next. You have, our love and trust.

At the Seafood Palace in Lake Charles, LA. My “unofficial office.” Daily ritual of chicken and sausage gumbo! Pat Deaville. 2016

One Teacher’s Life May 8, 2015

I spent my life, in service. So glad, I made that call. The paycheck modest. Days were long. The truth…I loved it all. I spent my life, in service. And grew, into a man. Soldier, teacher, husband, father. Those words, say who I am. Started out, in uniform. Proudly, served my country. Just seemed right, to add my name, to those, who served before me. But teaching, was my mission. Years, filled with elation. For me, was more than just a job. It, was my vocation. Why service? To me was right. To give back, what I owed. The schools, and teachers from my youth. In me, a cause, they sowed. Found in pupil’s eyes, a light…for me, a lifelong perk. I was inspired, by them as much, as they were, by my work. I spent my life, in service. A flame in me, it fanned. Soldier, teacher, husband, father. From these, I never ran. I had my share, of ups and downs. Some students, were the best. For those who struggled, most of all, my classroom, was their nest. My battles, helped to teach me: “Give most, where needed most.” I sought to nurture one and all. Not one, did I let coast. Then, came administration. In some ways, had a gift. Curriculum and discipline. To teachers, gave a lift. I spent my life, in service. On that, I’ve made my stand. Soldier, teacher, husband, father. Those words, are who I am. Fell in love and married her. She stayed. She did not run. She stood by me, through all these years. Gave me, wonderful son.

My family, endured me. Worked overtime, each day. Still, found some time, weekends and nights. Our love, did find a way. I’ve now retired, from teaching. With pension, as my pay. Still volunteer. I help when called. Do service, every day. I lived my Faith. Tried so hard. Imperfect life, and soul. My flaws and failings, made me strong. “Get better.” Daily goal. Day will come. My casket closed. I will pass on, in peace. The “good” created by my life…still here. Will not decease. “He spent his life in service.” I hope the Priest recalls. “The truth be known, though he is gone…his good works, still touch all.”

Pat Deaville being named as the 2009 Outstanding Contributor to Bands in Louisiana

About the author Pat Deaville is the former Director of High School Curriculum and Instruction for the Calcasieu Parish School System. Prior to his retirement, he spent 40 years as a professional educator in the Jefferson Davis and Calcasieu Parish School Systems. He currently serves as a free-lance educational consultant in Louisiana and Texas. He is a member of the Louisiana Music Educatorsâ€™ Hall of Fame.