My Views On . . .

Mr. McCutcheon

I know I haven't updated either of my stories in a while, and I apologize, but I'd like to take the moment to share something that I went through a month and a half ago.  This us going to be a long update; however, I hope some of you will take the time to read until the end.
Some of you may know that I am in my high school's marching band. This year, I am very proud to say that I moved up in the drumline hierarchy from bass to snare.
During mini-camp, which is when freshmen and section leaders learn basic marching skills but all of drumline is asked to come because people may switch instruments, we met a new assistant instructor named Mr. McCutcheon.
Now, to provide a bit of background before I continue, I would like to note two things about last year's drumline. First of all, our drumline instructor is an older guy in what I would guess to be his fifties, maaaaayyybe early sixties. Though he was a lot better this year, he wasn't the best instructor last year. He is an extremely talented player, but he wasn't the best teacher. So basically we didn't have a very good instructor last year as sweet and understanding as he was.
Second of all, the drumline was completely divided last year. Basically, the upperclassmen ignored the underclassmen. We started out this year pretty close considering over half of the drumline either quit or graduated, and half of us are freshmen.
So, back to the story, Mr. M was a 19 year old college student. Right off the bat, we all loved him. He was an amaaaazzziiiinnggg player. I can't even describe it. Not only that, but he was very good at teaching. A fault our other instructor had was that he had never actually been in marching band. Mr. M had been in his high school's drumline, and he was in a local indoor drumline. He truly, truly helped us increase our playing abilities, and by the end of band camp, we were fairly good players who hoped desperately that Mr. M would come back next year.
He continued to drive out during the school year to be with us even though he was at least half an hour away. Every Tuesday and Thursday rehearsal and Friday game, he was there. There were three Saturday competitions we went to. It happened at the second. You may know what I'm getting at.
It was a pretty average day. Some funny things happened like when a tenor player dropped a stick in the first twenty seconds. The show went relatively well. We got on the buses to take off our uniforms. Usually, we would stay, but we got permission to leave early. Some of the instructors stayed behind to get results and feedback. One of them was Mr. McCutcheon. We thought it was weird that he stayed instead of the main instructor but accepted it. I remember seeing him with the instructors before we drove off. We got back to the school, habitually put our stuff away, said goodbye, and went home to bed.
The next day, my dad and I went to church then out to eat as a little "daddy-daughter" thing. When we were going to the store, I saw a notification that I had gotten a call from a friend but was not able to answer it. After the quick stop in, we changed the windshield wipers on the car, and my dad went back inside to throw the packaging away.
That was when I saw that I had a text on the drumline group chat. One of the junior year section leaders had sent a message that said, in summary, Mr. McCutcheon had gotten in a car accident the previous night.
He didn't make it.
I can't describe what I felt in that moment. Basically, I didn't believe it. How could I? We had seen him that day. It was our fault he was out there. He was only 19.
We later found out that what had happened was that he was driving along a highway. It was around 11:30 at night. A police car was driving the opposite direction, and he saw that Mr. M was speeding a little bit, but he decided to just keep an eye on him because it wasn't a big deal. One minute, Mr. M's white car was there, the next, there was only a fire. The police officer was able to put out the fire, but it was too late. He had died on impact after likely falling asleep. We all can imagine what he was wearing that night: his black shoesb black pants, blue staff shirt, and the Nomad Indoor Drumline jacket we knew too well.
I can't describe what happened to our drumline. In these circumstances, two things can happen: people can be pushed apart or brought together. I am so glad to say it was the latter. The only good thing that came from this event was how we all supported each other and chimed in with ways to honor him. People who didn't talk much in that chat were offering ideas and support. Like I said, it is indescribable how we became one giant family.
The next day was a Monday, and both the drumline and the seniors had decided on their own to hold a memorial for him. Our band teacher didn't know about it. In fact, I was with two other percussion girls and one of their sisters when he walked into the door. There we were wearing our band shirts, walking to the band room. The look on his face was an admirable mix of compassion and surprise.
To get to our band room, you have to branch off of the main hallway to another small separate hallway that holds the chorus room, instrument room, and band/orchestra room. What ended happening was that there was a silent understanding that the percussion students waited in the little hallway outside the band room while the others waited in the main hallway. When the band teacher opened the door, we shuffled to our percussion corner in the back of the room.
Our band teacher gave a short little speech and, since he wasn't technically on the clock yet, said that he would say a prayer and anyone who didn't want to was welcome to leave.
The percussion instructor I mentioned earlier came around halfway through and ended up staying for the rest of the day so that any students who didn't want to play could go in the chorus room. We don't think he knew about the memorial, either.
Random students I had never properly met hugged me that day. We were crying. It broke my heart to see one of the junior snare section leaders crying. I had always admired him, and to see his red eyes before I even had the chance to shed a tear is something I will never forget.
A lot of things happened that week. We went as a drumline to the viewing, we continued supporting each other, and we performed our first show without Mr. M.
Since then, we have done our best to honor him. For example, we got patches with his name and other information to put on the drumline shirts we had ordered the week before he died, a part of the band video will be dedicated to him, there will be a Ryan McCutcheon award for the most dedicated percussionist, the cadence he wrote for us will hopefully be taught to the incoming freshmen, ine bass head was signed and given to his parents while another will stay in the band room, and his drumline shirt is in the process of being framed and hung in the band room.
I have always okay with grief. I lost my cat and my grandma in middle school and recovered quickly. This was a lot different because, though I knew the least of the others I have lost, I am so much more mature and wise now, but I still handled it pretty well. There is one girl that knew him quite well and even had a small crush on him that is still taking it pretty hard.
I just want to let you all know this because it was a big part of my life. This 19 year old college student with a girlfriend if 5 years who worked for a group of high school students for the last four months of his life was taken from us.
I want you all to know that I will never forget September 30, 2017. Never, ever, ever. I am doing okay, but that doesn't mean I don't wish he was here.
Thank you to those of you who stuck with this long story. I would appreciate a comment or two if any of you could soare the time.
I also want to make sure all take the time to treasure those around you. I know it is cliche, but even those people who you barely know could be taken from you at any moment, and trust me, it will hit you.
Thank you.