Experiences of a Bandmaster | Page 4

much interested in music, and
evinced a partiality for Arthur Sullivan's melodies. Mrs. Harrison's
favorite music was Nevin's "Good Night, Beloved" and the Sousa
marches. The soundness of Mrs. Cleveland's musical taste was shown
by her liking for the "Tannhauser" overture and other music of that
character.
The Marine Band played all the music for President Cleveland's
wedding, which took place in the Blue Room of the White House. The
distance from the room up-stairs to the exact spot where the ceremony
was to take place was carefully measured by Colonel Lamont and
myself, in order that the music might be timed to the precise number of
steps the wedding party would have to take; and the climax of the
Mendelssohn "Wedding March" was played by the band just as the
bride and groom reached the clergyman.

President Cleveland's Veto.
A few days before the ceremony I submitted my musical programme to
Colonel Lamont for the President's approval, and among the numbers
was a quartet called "The Student of Love," from one of my operas.
Even in the anticipation of his happiness Mr. Cleveland was keenly
alive to the opportunities for humorous remarks which this title might
afford to irreverent newspaper men; and he said to his secretary: "Tell
Sousa he can play that quartet, but he had better omit the name of it."
Accordingly, "The Student of Love" was conspicuous by its absence.
When North Carolina celebrated its centenary, the Marine Band was
ordered to Fayetteville to participate in the ceremonies. The little
Southern town was much interested in the advent of the "President's

Band," and the prevailing opinion was that "Dixie" would be tabooed
music with us. Before the exercises a local committee waited upon me
and intimated that "Dixie" was a popular melody in that vicinity.
"Of course," said the spokesman, "we don't want you to play anything
you don't want to, but please remember, sir, that we are very fond of
'Dixie' here."
Bowing gravely, I thanked the committee for their interest in my
programme, but left them completely in the dark as to whether I
intended to play the loved song of the South or not.
"Dixie," by the President's Band.
The ceremonies opened with a patriotic address by Governor Fowle,
lauding the glories of the American flag and naturally the only
appropriate music to such a sentiment was "The Star-Spangled
Banner," which the crowd patriotically cheered.
The tone of the succeeding oration was equally fervid, but the speaker
enlarged upon the glories of the Commonwealth whose one hundredth
anniversary was being celebrated. The orator sat down, there was a
momentary pause, and then as I raised my baton the strains of "Dixie"
fell upon the delighted ears of the thousands round the platform.
The unexpected had happened, and such a shout as went up from that
throng I have never heard equaled. Hats were tossed in the air,
gray-bearded men embraced, and for a few minutes a jubilant
pandemonium reigned supreme. During the rest of our stay in
Fayetteville the repertoire of the Marine Band was on this order:
"Yankee Doodle,"--"Dixie;" "Star-Spangled Banner,"--"Dixie;" "Red,
White and Blue,"--"Dixie."
In all my experience the acme of patriotic fervor was reached during a
reunion of the Loyal Legion at Philadelphia some years ago. The
exercises were held in the Academy of Music, and the band occupied
the orchestra pit in front of the stage, which was crowded with
distinguished veterans.
I had strung together for the occasion a number of war-songs,
bugle-calls and patriotic airs, and when the band played them the
martial spirit began to stir the people. As we broke into "Marching
Through Georgia," a distinguished-looking old soldier stepped to the
foot-lights and began to sing the familiar words of the famous song in a
loud, clear voice. The entire audience joined in, and as the swelling

volume of melody rolled through the house, the enthusiasm waxed
more intense.
Verse after verse was sung, interrupted with frantic cheers, until it
seemed that the very ecstasy of enthusiasm had been reached. It was
only when physically exhausted that the audience calmed down and the
exercises proceeded.

A Chorus of Ten Thousand.
During the World's Fair at Chicago my present band was giving nightly
concerts in the Court of Honor surrounding the lagoon. Onone beautiful
night in June fully ten thousand people were gathered round the
bandstand while we were playing a medley of popular songs.
Director Tomlins, of the World's Fair Choral Associations, was on the
stand, and exclaiming, "Keep that up, Sousa!" he turned to the crowd
and motioned the people to join him in singing. With the background of
the stately buildings of the White City, this mighty chorus, led by the
band, sang the songs of the people-"Home, Sweet Home," "Suwanee
River," "Annie