Band camp

None of these teenagers need to be here. Yet something keeps them coming back to suffer with a smile.

All summer they've practiced their portions of songs like "Brickhouse" and "Bohemian Rhapsody" instead of lounging at the beach.

At Wheaton North High School, students fill four rows of blue chairs and gaze at music sheets and a dry erase board filled with notes.

Similar scenes are occurring simultaneously at high schools all over DuPage County in early August, when marching bands began preparations for the school year.

This is weeks before the start of school. There are no lights on. Temperatures outside are in the mid-90s. A handful of moms fill a freezer in back of the room with Popsicles to fight off the brain baking that is yet to come.

Outside, in the parking lot, are drum sets and what appears to be a gong, reminiscent of the old TV show. In a nearby hallway, dance music energizes the flag-wielding color guard performers.

For now, the focus is on the brass and wind instruments in Jon Noworyta's Wheaton North band room. It's 11:57 a.m. and teens in T-shirts, shorts and caps create the chaotic jazz of awakening instruments.

This is the second of two weeklong camps for the band. They know the routine.

With a simple, "OK!," from Noworyta, there is silence.

"Good morning."

Not good enough.

"Good morning, Mr. Noworyta!"

That's more like it.

"We will work you hard, but not until you drop," Noworyta tells them. The band members smile knowingly.

"Somewhere over the Rainbow" is first on the set list. The meandering tune is a test of lung power.

"You have to blow aaalll the way through the long notes," Noworyta instructs. "It's non-negotiable."

Noworyta is firm and commanding in his direction. He must be. A successful band camp is crucial. The two weeks of training is one-third of the marching band's total rehearsal time for the season.

That makes for intense sessions for students like Mark Weeden, who wields the tuba.

Weeden is in his third year with the band. He describes his extracurricular choice as "harder than wrestling."

That wouldn't be the common perception, at least from the outside.

The American Pie trilogy linked the words "band camp" to an endless combination of jokes and ridicule.

Those comedians probably never carried a tuba like Weeden, or marched in the sun for nearly eight hours a day while trying to memorize choreographed steps.

"It's fun," Weeden said.

And that's what keeps people like Anhad Jolly involved through all four years at the school. Jolly plays percussion after discovering a love for drums in the fifth grade.

"It's sweet," Jolly said of his choice of instrument. "It sounds cool."

Coming to marching band camp his first time was supposed to be a recreational part of summer.

"I was actually expecting it to be really, really easy," Jolly said of his first band camp experience four years ago. "Band class is (considered) kind of like a blow-off class."

Jolly soon found band camp would sooner blow him up than let him blow it off. Now much has changed.

The tail-busting begins when it's time to head out to the football field.

As the band hits the 50-yard line, the heat is already oppressive.

Each band member lugs out their own gallon-sized jug of water to replace what they're already sweating out.

"Caliente!" Shrieks a member of the color guard. "Aye yi yi!" Comes back the reply.

It starts with stretching: quads, delts, triceps, hamstrings, abductors and wrists all get some blood circulating through them.

Then it's time for the 68 members to assume their places for the choreographed marching that comprises their performances.

The band members hold their hands high, simulating the instruments they'll eventually hold. A tapping, like a metronome, bangs out on a plastic container to mark the timing.

"Dut, dut, dut, dut," the band members chant, in rhythm to the tapping.

The movements begin in sets of up to 16 counts. The marching involves exaggerated heel-to-toe steps of precise lengths. Many of the steps are performed with blind movement backward or diagonal. One person's screw up can throw off the whole formation, or cause comical, but disastrous collisions.

The coordination is not unlike running a football or basketball play. Everyone has a role and a place as an individual. It takes everyone to succeed collectively for the band to succeed.

Jen Johnson is such a pro at this now that it almost looks like there's two of her on the field. In fact, there is. Johnson is one of the two "things" in the band for today's practice, or at least that's what the tag on the front of her shirt says.

Everyone, including Noworyta, has someone dressed as close to identical as possible for the training session. It's called twin day, a team building exercise that unites two band members in a special camaraderie.

There are other exercises the band will undergo with the same goal of jelling into a second family, such as the Rookie Talent Show where all the new members and coaches must perform something that shows what they bring to the team.

Today, the band is just concerned with surviving the sun and showing they have the acumen to memorize more than 20 sets of movements that make up their show. The first few runs of the day by the Wheaton North marching band shows a little rust.

"Be honest," Noworyta says at the end of one set. "This is the sixth day of camp."

At least a dozen band members hit the grass in recognition of their mistake and bang out six push-ups.

"This is simple review; that's all we're doing," Noworyta says in half encouragement, half come-on-already, fashion. "We're not fixing things. When you start talking, you don't listen to me."

If Noworyta is the heavy hand, then Ryan McCann is the tickle that comes with it. McCann, a Wheaton College Senior, is one of the coaches who supervises individual sections looking for mistakes and correcting them -- with a smile, and his "I'm with stoopid" T-shirt.

"The kids know that we mean business when we're out on the field, but that doesn't mean we can't have fun while doing it," McCann explains.

Shirts are soaked with sweat, water jugs are drying up with an hour of field practice left. The mental burden never leaves them. Band members check the set books that hang from their necks showing them exactly where they should be, versus where they are.

There are nine sets still to memorize. But the band is now in a groove. Noworyta can end a set, call out "back four" and members race back to their exact starting positions from four sets ago.

"You guys are rockin' today," Noworyta tells them. "See how much faster we are today? You're learning."

The band memorizes six more sets in 40 minutes.

"There's 20 minutes, three sets," Noworyta tells them. "Can it be done?"

"Yes, Mr. Noworyta," echoes the reply.

But 10 minutes later things start to break down.

"Do you want to make it to the end?" Noworyta asks.

"Yes, Mr. Noworyta."

"If you don't want to make it to the end, that's fine," Noworyta tells them, not meaning it for a second. "Do you want to make it?"

The rest of the practice is performed without error.

"YES!" Noworyta tells them in reward. "Good job. Are you excited to be done?"

"Yes!"

"Good, put that excitement into your feet and reset. Time to do it in live time."

There's a tense confidence as the band resets for the big test of the day. One continuous set from first movement to the end, the whole show in one try.

"Dut. Dut. Dut. Dut."

What once was stilted flows like they've never moved any other way. The sense of accomplishment fills the air, but is soon replaced by water balloons. It's a surprise cooling off for the band, and symbol of their achievement comparable to a Super Bowl Gatorade dunking for the coach.

The morning practice ends with the Popsicles stored away many hours ago.

Looking down the hallways lined with teenagers with plates of watermelon, Noworyta knows he's ended the day with a paint-by-numbers sketch of his season in place. All that's left is filling in the color in the right spots.

Sometimes that takes nurturing. Sometimes a crack of the whip.

"I do what I do to help the kids be successful," Noworyta says. "Regardless of the style, whatever it is, my expectations are high. I will not lower them for the kids. They know what is good enough for today won't be good enough tomorrow. A champion is a champion because that's all that they've got to give."

By that axiom, having fun is paramount. And the most fun of all is winning.

This is Natalie Edwards' last band camp. She's a graduating senior with four camps to her credit. Looking back, she can see a lot of the mistakes she made as a rookie marching band member in the new class. But she also sees the process that brought her unforgettable memories and friends still at work. Soon the band will form a new family once again.

"I'm gonna miss it," she said. "I'll miss the people."