Mr. Hobson
by Ricky Doc Sauceda
Psalm 33:3
Sing to him a new song; play skillfully, and shout for joy.
I was attending Crockett Junior High in Conroe, Texas in my seventh grade year. I had originally selected football as my elective. I was having a rough time with it because I had never played organized football before, only the school yard variety. I was placed on the front line, as are all newbies at this point.
One day I was on defense and the play was helter skelter from the offense. I kept my eyes on the quarterback at this point. He tried to zip a pass over my head...I intercepted it and ran. Since it was practice and there was no clear point of direction I stopped.
Moments later I was tackled from behind. Literally. That is how fast that I was. I should have placed in the receiving corps at that time or secondary.
I decided to leave the world of football at that point.
I talked to my counselor about dropping out of the football program. We looked at options and I selected to join the beginner band. I had always wanted to play music and took this opportunity to do just that.
I was asked to go over to the band hall and talk to the director, Larry Hobson. He was busy putting things in order when I arrived. He told me that he needed for someone to learn to play the baritone and I agreed to it.
I was assigned my first school instrument. It was banged up and tarnished. I eventually performed maintenance on it at home to spruce it up.
This was an odd experience. Not much one to one instruction was done. I was left to learn how to play with an instruction book and music sheets.
I learned to read my notes and play the instrument. By the end of the school year we were all given music to study over the summer to prepare us for the marching band phase. I took this to heart.
Crockett Junior HIgh closed its doors at the end of the school year. We were all transferred to one of two other junior high schools in town, Travis or Washington. I became a Washington Bulldog at that point.
It was the marching band phase that brought about my troubles with my director. I seemed to irk him deep inside for some reason. He really had an intense anger towards me; I still have no idea why.
As summer practice began he gave me a ride home when Momma was not available. She and Daddy had split up over the past year and we were by ourselves, my three sisters, me and her. I was really struggling to cope with my emotions at this time.
During that ride I got to know him better. I learned he was a Vietnam veteran, had studied music in college and played with an amateur band to earn a little cash. He drove a Ford F-150 with big tires and glass pack mufflers.
I have shared that Mr. Hobson once beat me with a paddle so hard that I limped around for three months. I don't know what it was that he injured but it lasted that long.
My time with him was not enjoyed. I wanted it to be. I really did.
That year we headed to Deer Park, Texas for UIL competition. I placed and he was stunned; he shared that no baritone player under his direction had done that. He congratulated me.
I was also assigned the role of electric bass player for our school jazz band. I enjoyed doing that. I was having fun.
He was a member of Sacred Heart Catholic Church in Conroe, Texas as was my family. He played for the music ministry with a hollow six string electric guitar. He did have a sense of community and church life, obviously.
I last encountered him in my ninth grade year at Conroe High School. I wrote about this in my sharing titled "The Voice Within." So I won't elaborate any further on that now. It has been done.
I have no grievance or animosity towards him. I forgive him for being impatient and cruel towards me. Whatever it was that I did to draw his ire, I hope he has formed peace about it.