The Bill Inman Mentor & Life Coach Award

Bill Inman

Bill

We all simply called it “The Band,”‘back in the day,’ it was pretty well known and in later decades, when I played, there still weren’t really any other well enough known community groups to confuse it with.

So, when someone says, “The Band,” today, it triggers particular memories. The boys have aged and spread out and I seldom run into them; but, I know there is a loose knit group of alumnus who each carry their own unique images. For some reason my most poignant image now is sitting on stage one warm sunset evening, in the huge outdoor amphitheater of the Princes Street Gardens, in Edinburgh, Scotland.

With my eyes closed, I remember how Delamont played solo, the first verses of “The Lost Chord”… a classic, haunting, Arthur Sullivan hymn, that by now, we all know the notes to by heart. His tone is seasoned but still strong. In the big bowl of the Princes Gardens, he presses out each, even

“My most poignant image of the trips is sitting in the huge outdoor amphitheatre of the Princes Street Gardens in Edinburgh, Scotland. With my eyes closed, I remember how Delamont played solo, the first verses of “The Lost Chord”…

tone, with a single sweet voice.

Then... in the final chorus, our fifteen-odd trumpeters quietly step up to the side flanks of the stage beside him. In one long note, that starts as a hush and crescendos to a deafening roar through the gardens, vibrating the stage, the music stands and my chest..... We all join in and I find somewhat to my surprise, that I finish playing the hymn with tears in my eyes!

This was the psychedelic sixties and my friends, halfway around the world, were probably cheerfully distracted by banging rock ‘n roll, but here I was, moved by this “longhair” music?

We were only subconsciously aware of experiencing something special and unique, maybe more than simply music that would stay with us for a long time.

Modern authors have a lot of complicated theories on raising and motivating kids; developing a work ethic, a moral compass and so on. Several of these arguments have merit but I believe, that quite possibly, later success is more often simply a legacy of particularly strong character examples in our formative years. Some of us were lucky to have strong parents or other mentors. But for many who didn’t, and as an extra benefit to all, there was “Mr. D.”

Delamont’s biographies bear out the illogical nature of what he did. It would seem pretty challenging, in theory, to take a bunch of boys, at a stage in their life where they have the hormonal conflicts of adolescence, are still basically immature (and hence with short attention spans), in an environment of multiple, competing, social affiliations (often with more appealing and more physical, recreational choices) and get a serious performance out of them.

Now, try and make them sit still long enough to perfect a higher form of music. And then, try and take it to a level, where they compete with and often triumph over, senior bands around the world. It didn’t really have the predictors for success, except, it had Delamont’s unique passion and determination! His own consistent habits and focus on what he did set the bar and gave us an example on which to model our own ambitions. Once I and the rest of his ‘boys’ came under his influence, we couldn’t help but be motivated by his intensity of purpose, amplified by the fact that he actually ‘walked the talk’ himself.

For example, his habit of rising at five in the morning, to study and rearrange the music, so it would be ready for the next night’s practice. Plus, we knew, HE still practiced every day on his own horn. So it was pretty hard to justify not having time in, OUR days …and so on.

The medium was music but the message was simple: ‘To be successful, start applying your youthful energy to whatever you wanted badly enough!’ I believe that a lot of impressionable boys caught a spark under Mr. D’s baton that ignited their success in many diverse disciplines later.

My path has taken me, through now several decades of developing real estate and later resorts, in a wide range of destinations… And for lots of the choices I made, I had the unseen conductor- looking over my shoulder, with a word or two that stuck after all the years.

My aggressive curiosity for new travel destinations was fed during my early European trips with the band. My confidence was augmented by the doors that the band opened for us as youngsters. And some of my first tools of passion and presentation were imparted, from Delamont’s organizing media, of musical performance.

Yet Mr. D was always humble by example and wouldn’t let even the best of the boys show off, or ‘grandstand.’ I’ve lost my paper diaries I kept of our trips but I must have asked Delamont to sign a page for me. On the long flight home from my last trip with him, I remember, he simply wrote an ‘eighth’ note of music on it and penned below …“Just a quick note from a shy musician ~ Arthur W. Delamont.

None of these thoughts occurred to me when my mother gave me a bit of an ultimatum in my very early teens. It seemed I was hanging around street corners too much, with school friends, of no apparent affiliation or ambition. There was an incident that has become a bit dodge (by repression) in my memory, where, I allegedly lit a neighbor’s garage on fire; in any case, she placed a clipping on the dinner table advertising that the Vancouver Kitsilano Boys’ Band, was recruiting new players.

THIS, she argued, would be a better focus for the time I apparently had to waste. She gave me the choice to sign up for the band or one or two other community activities that I confess to not remembering. In any case, the ultimatum was to sign up for some structured activity that had a bit of discipline involved. Luckily, I attended a Monday night practice at General Gordon before investigating whatever that other choice was, and the rest is history.

The selection process for the Kits Boys’ band was instantly challenging and dramatic. The retention rate, of would-be bandsmen, was eventually a fairly low percentage of the potential young recruits that read those newspaper ads and actually came to an ‘audition,’ in the basement practice hall.

The inference that you could apply and only possibly be accepted to the band, probably eliminated boys with less confidence. Other boys came and only observed, from the back of the room, eventually lacking the nerve or inclination, to jump in after watching Delamont’s, dramatic teaching style.

It was a loud and challenging show, punctuated with, apparent tantrums that involved his shouting, screaming, and throwing chairs. Some boys were genuinely terrified and some left, without even leaving their names with the band manager. But eventually, the rest of us realized that the ‘old man,’ was not seriously malicious or violent! On the contrary, the theatrics veiled a truly genial and warm-hearted artist. (Later, I remember, seeing him, barely concealing a smile, on a couple of occasions when he banged a chair on the floor - to underscore a point... and it actually broke!)

In fact, I came to appreciate later, that in the audition process, musical “ability” was not the prime factor in many cases. Musical aptitude probably was, but Delamont had his eye out for anybody with the moxy, try hard enough.... and stick at it long enough to contribute. THAT was the test he administered, with his loud, gruff, and at times, fully theatrical and military style, at the initiation to band practices. I knew almost nothing about music but was drawn into the sound and spectacle.

Still, joining up could be quite a test of will. Over the ensuing years, we all got to know Delamont on a more personal level and even hear him... eventually..... praise those who reached the highest, in effort and achievement. But the timid and the most wanting in self-confidence often did not make it through the first few nights of loud haranguing.

“What instrument do you want to play Sonny?” Mr. D demands of me. I like apparently too many other candidates, (besotted by Herb Alpert and other ‘pop’ stars of the day), suggest the trumpet…

“Here try mine” he challenges and shoves the horn in my direction (the tentative tones that come out are not of a caliber, I suspect impress him….)

“Trumpet players are a dime a dozen” he rattled.” Here, try this Eb horn,…. try this tuba…” as he grabs a succession of instruments from the band members around him and I try to fumble and “Can’t play that one sonny…. go home and play the fool instead!” ....and so on, even to a point where he asks me to bang the big bass drum and he tells me that my note is “flat”... (To smirks of amusement from the other drummers, who must have watched this routine before).

In any case, after ten or fifteen minutes, of me perspiring quite a bit, we eventually settled on the plan - that I could try a trumpet and in fact rent one of Delmont’s huge collection of used horns (My instrument ended up being an old but storied English cornet, that I faithfully toted back and forth on the bus twice a week and ‘rented’ from him for I recall $3/month when I remembered, whereupon he would write me out a neat carbon copied receipt).

….. “Now, show up an hour early with all these other youngsters for beginners practice” he instructed and I was done, sent off to see the band manager about details.

Of course, I stayed for a while, to hear the full senior band practice. The thundering sound of their rehearsal, reverberating off the walls and ceiling, of that concrete bunker, was both intimidating and intoxicating at the same time …and I was hooked!

So, on successive Monday and Thursday nights at six pm sharp, I showed up, with a small group of initiates, playing simple tunes. Mr. D stood blaring over our shoulders, on his own horn, to set the tempo. WRONG notes were usually brought to the attention of the rest by his over-loud trumpeting, of the CORRECT note in one’s ear and accompanied occasionally, by either his hitting you on the head with a pencil (he kept these ever-ready to amend his handwritten musical scores and more in his music case, in case he broke one on something or someone!)

....or simply, pausing and shouting, the CORRECT treatment, of the notes to us All this along with screams of:

“CHUMPS!” “FATHEADS!” or “SILLY ASSES”

Delamont was an avowed non-swearer and would not tolerate it in the boys either, but these and a few other well worn and more sanitized expletives would signal the height of his ire (My memory was that one of the local papers did a story on the band one fall, that illustrated his teaching style and while they included the first two terms, they edited out the “silly asses,” as being a bit too edgy for print in the 1960’ s). Needless to say, this semi-weekly ritual continued to, ‘thin the herd,’ before some made it to the performing group. Those of us who persevered, eventually, knew we had reached at least a certain threshold of his respect, when one night, he would nod and suggest, we could stay on, for the

‘real’ practice! …This required a quick glance at a proud parent waiting in the background that spoke without words:

“I know that you drove down to get me at seven pm but I am staying till eight-thirty now, so just be cool and come back later please!”

Mr. D had some interesting ways of soliciting commitment from his boys. Once you were accepted to the ‘real’ band, you would eventually get a real membership card, signed personally by Delamont. In my early teens, this was about the only formal membership card I had for anything and I faithfully kept it, in my room, with my sports ribbons and trophies.

I am proud to have known some fellow bandsmen, who became consummate musicians and went on to distinction in the performing arts. Although I did not become a professional or even a life-long musician, the gift of my many years, around the band, was that I hear and enjoy music, its influence, and musical themes, differently, as a result.

And now, looking back three and four decades, I also realize, my memories and long-term “take-aways” were less about music, and more about the ideas and inspiration, I got from the process and practices of Delamont himself. Others, many of whom became friends for life, cannot have helped being influenced, as I was. I can only assume that many of them recognize the seeds of some of their own successes in these early life lessons and memories.

On the first of my own two European tours, at only fourteen years old, I was able to play in front of crowds in countless cities, in six counties, all new to me. I got to step out and introduce a number, saying my first public words to the packed house, at the Queen Elizabeth theatre. I shared a music stand at a reunion concert with Jim Pattison, (albeit I didn’t know who he was at the time - except that Mr. D used to proudly display the alternating red, then yellow, new cars that he got from Jimmy ….the alternating colors were so people would know, without being told, that he got a brand new car every two years!)

Later, I would tour another dozen cities in Europe, march and play literally hundreds of parades; getting showered with rose petals after winning the Parade of Roses in Nice, stalling traffic on the streets of Paris and London, through the gates of Tivoli in Copenhagen, and on and on.

I got so I marched in time to school without realizing it.….

In one sponsored fundraiser, we marched and belted out tunes for twenty-five miles, continuously. In England, our tuba players had to stop every few blocks and empty the big sousaphones because enthusiastic parade fans had filled them, throwing the large heavy English pennies of the day.

When we hit a town, it often involved greetings and audiences with mayors and city fathers. Then, here at home, we played openings and events, hosted by celebrities; up to and including the Prince of Wales, – pretty heady stuff for a bunch of teenagers!

Plus, Delamont kept us on a pace that belied his age, which was over a “normal” retirement age, by the time I met him in the late 1960s! In the British Isles, we would do things like fourteen day fifteen city tours of Scotland, with scheduled evening gigs, and additional afternoon shows, and then still jump off the bus at shopping centers or parks we passed, for un-scheduled extras. WE would be beat! HE would have a cup of tea and go back to work, writing up the next day’s program.

Nor did Mr. D ever insist on special privileges or treatment for himself. On several of these tours, he would have to stay with the boys, in whatever accommodation the manager had scraped together. In one town, along the West Coast of England, we ended up in a ‘trade for playing,’ Salvation Army dormitory of six or eight bunks to a room. Mr. D assigned me to the upper bunk above him, in a rickety old steel-spring bunk bed. I spent several hours in the morning, uncomfortably in need, but unwilling to chance waking the ‘old man,’ by climbing down to use the bathroom.

To call Delamont, simply a ‘musician’ or ‘band leader,’ is coming up short of terms. He was a ‘showman’ in the old sense of the word, a student and veteran of vaudeville, classical, and musical productions, and the ‘speaker’s corner’ style of his Salvation Army roots.

Mr. D had a seemingly inexhaustible supply of gags, stories, asides, and extemporaneous speeches he would deliver during breaks and music change-ups between numbers (By the way “they are ‘numbers’ or ‘pieces’ boys! Don’t call them ‘songs’ – who’s singing?”)

These interludes during literally hundreds of hours we spent on stage performing with him, were the venue for Delamont to download his unique philosophies and life lessons, that so many of us carried on to apply in other areas of our lives. It would take me many more pages than I have time for, to relate the many “Delamontisms” that I can still recall immediately and vividly but here are a few classics, as faithfully quoted as I can remember them: “Get the cage before you get the bird.”

(Mr. D had limited patience with some of the young guys who ended up marrying young without a home or a financial plan for the new marriage!)

“I believe all religions are good that make people good.” (Way ahead of his time in religious tolerance, he would have had predictable opinions on the religious-justified terrorism in this century!)

“What do you mean you don’t have time? Get up at five in the morning [like me] and you’ll find time!”

“Too sick? Be sick on your own time. I played the horn in vaudeville with my lips bleeding…there was nobody else to take over for me!”

Mr. D. was a stickler for presentation. Guys used to paint their ankles black with shoe polish before admitting they forgot their black socks for concerts.

And as obvious as it seems now, I first grasped a critical principle of marketing, from his often-repeated mantra as we set up on stage –…”90% is the eye.”

He taught us that ...as much as people came to HEAR music they were still most influenced by what they SAW.... a sloppy appearance would net a poor review, HOWEVER good the music.

382 ~ 90% is the eye!

BELOW: Skiing at Whistler Resort

RIGHT: With Dana, Madison and Dax

And so it became one of my first marketing lessons. Before I heard it expressed in different ways by different people in fancy marketing classes later, I picked up that people always seemed to make up their minds, based on their first visual impressions. Even if the content and behind-the-scenes technology were impeccable, it was always a lot more work to move their impressions from what they saw first, to what they heard later!

I suppose that Delamont knew that his eyes would influence him too and I remember watching him whenever he wanted to evaluate or appreciate music with his own eyes closed to focus.

So, years after, I found myself envisioning real estate projects, resorts on the beach in Mexico, lodges in the mountains, or simply what people would see when they first walked into a Presentation Centre. While going through a mental checklist (that also included matching up my socks before a presentation!) There was often another voice that reminded me....”

“90% is the eye”