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Slingerland!?! I Almost Cried!
I suppose I am just like most young people in that I did not fully appreciate what I found that day in 1964 when I got home from school and discovered the new champagne sparkle drums sitting in the living room of our home in Midland, Texas. After getting over the shock of the new drums (we did NOT have the money for these drums and I knew my mother had sacrificed to get "them), I noticed the logo on the head. It read, "Slingerland."
I would not be fair to myself to say I was unhappy with the drums, but for the life of me, I could not understand why she had not gotten Ludwig drums "just like Ringo Starr"! I have to admit that I was disappointed at the brand. Not wanting to offend, I just asked a few questions until I discovered who was the ~real~ culprit in this "mistake," namely Wesley May of May Music Company. He was the same Wesley May who used to come to Robert E. Lee High School from time to time, where he would be invited to lead the "Rebel Band" (an identity I did not fully understand at the time). I remember Mr. May teaching us rhythm patterns in the music (such as "Huckleberry, Huckleberry, Huckleberry Pie", which drummers would translate as "1e+a 2e+a 3e+a 4".). I did not appreciate it at the time, but I cannot tell you how many times I have recalled those interesting little lessons taught by this gentleman (a term that can never describe just how gentle he was; later, I worked for him, so I know what I am talking about).
After I got married (July, 1967) I went to work for May & Duncan (Mr. May eventually sold part of his business to Mr. Duncan), and I got the chance to ask Mr. May about the Slingerlands. He remembered them -- about four years after they had been purchased by my mother -- and smiled when he recalled how, at the time of the purchase, he fully expected to hear an objection from the kid about the brand. He said, "I told your mother, and I'll tell you, if you want the best, you want Slingerland." Then, he pointed out that Gene Krupa and Buddy Rich were also endorsers of Slingerland and said, "There is a reason why great drummers play Slingerland. Stop trying to follow the crowd, and go out to make a name for yourself." He could have sold Ludwig...and he did, to many others. He could have sold Rogers...and he did, to many others. But this time, when my mother asked him which drums were the best, he sold Slingerland. I have never been prouder of that wise selection than right now!
I am not so dumb as to think that Slingerland is ~really~ any better than any other premium brand, but I've had so many compliments on the sound of these drums that I cannot doubt that in some way, Wesley May was correct. I'm still not impressed with the original hardware, but all of my "interim acquired" hardware has been replaced with new Magnamax line from Slingerland (the original hardware went by the wayside years ago, since it was not suitable to my needs--it has since been reacquired in correct vintage items that duplicate my original pieces), so I suppose I'm being a loyal consumer.
Quite frankly, I'd rather see myself as a knowledgeable and experienced drummer, and I can enjoy the knowledge that I see no reason to change. I have not heard anything from any manufacturer that has tempted me to give up these drums. Now, about 40 years after that original purchase, I'm still playing those drums (I replaced the original front logo head on that original bass drum in October, 1999; it is now on my wall of memories). I must admit that every now and then, I still cry when I see that logo. But, now I am crying because of the wisdom of that original purchase, and I am so proud that my precious mother was wise enough to listen to the advice of a good, knowledgeable businessman.
Thanks, ma...you done good.
Back in about 1964, I was practising my budding talents in drumming one Saturday afternoon. My mother was out with her business pursuits as the Area Manager for Field Enterprises Educational Corporation, and my sister was...well, she must have been somewhere, because she never did appreciate good drumming and would have most certainly made such an obnoxious boob out of herself that I would have quit drumming just to have a little peace in the house.
At that time, I was in high school and a member of the drum line. There was a strong rivalry between the two hometown high schools, and we did not have very much to do with members of the student body of the "other" school. That afternoon, as I was playing "Let There Be Drums" or "Day Drumming" (or one of the other creations of Sandy Nelson, a prominent session drummer and recording artist in his own right), a young lady and her friend (from the other high school) were out on the streets of our high school district, selling magazines for one of the high school clubs. Apparently, they heard me playing one of Sandy's charts, and as I later heard, the blonde said (pointing toward my house), "Let's go over there!"
Of course, I knew nothing of their knocks on the door, as I was thoroughly engrossed in perfecting the techniques that are still a part of my drumming. Eventually, however, I paused and heard their pounding. Answering the door, I recognized a young lady, Judy Cardwell, I had known several years before, and standing next to her was the cutest little size 5 blonde angel who ever walked upon the face of God's green earth! Smiling sweetly, she told me that she had heard me playing my drums, and since she just loved drums she asked if I would mind letting them watch while I played something just for her. Well, no self-respecting drummer would ever let something like that get away from him, so I complied with the request.
I probably broke a couple of sticks that day, since that was a day in which we all thought that good drumming was loud drumming, whether it was musical or not. But, for some reason, I was able to keep her interest (I'd like to think it was my bright eyes and charming ways, but I suspect it was the champagne Slingerlands), and this year we will celebrate our 38rd wedding anniversary.
One final thought: I married every drummers dream girl! Every night, as I am practising for a couple of hours or so, she sits in the studio with my double bass Slingerlands a few feet behind her back, playing solitaire on the computer. This girl loves drums! She loves to hear drums, and she loves drummers. But, most of all, she loves me...oh yeah, and I love her, too.
I Almost Went to Work for Mr. Slingerland
Way back in about 1968- 68, I was working for Arthur Smith Music Company, Tampa FL--first in the shipping department and later sales in the Drum Department. As might be expected, from time to time various industry figures would visit the store, including a number of corporate potentates and a host of clinicians. One fo our visitors, in early 1969, as I remember it, was none other than H. H. "Bud" Slingerland. The store had just acquired a new manager from one of the companies with which we did business (I cannot remember his name, but recall that he had been a factory sales rep. That was apparently the basis on which he made contact with and was ultimately hired by Arthur Smith Music Company), and various department personnel might be invited out when the manager hosted visitors.
On the occasion that Mr. Slingerland came to town, the manager invited him, with myself (and my wife) and Mace Davis (the Drum Department manager) to dine with them at Ybor City's "Spanish Park Inn." We had a lot of fun, as my memory recalls the events, and Mr. Slingerland sat to my immediate left. We had quite an enjoyable conversation, mostly about drums and his father's agreement with Gene Krupa and other famous drummers. He spoke about his need to fill several positions with the company, including in the shipping department. After he left town, my wife and I talked about it and decided to write to Mr. Slingerland and pitch the idea, again. I also indicated my interest in developing my own personal performance skills and to become a clinician, in addition to playing the Chicago scene.
Within just a few days, I received a letter back with the invitation to move to Niles IL and to begin work in the shipping department, working toward a position as a clinician and eventually, a factory representative. As I recall, he offered $162.50/week--a not so shabby amount in those days--but I would have to pay my way to Chicago.. It was a thrilling invitation that I was very much disposed to respond to, positively. But, before I could accept the offer, I received another letter, this time from the United States Selective Service, with information that Uncle Sam was very much desirous of making an arrangement with me to enter the military for a few years. It was an "invitation" I was compelled to answer...and so, off I went to Jacksonville for my pre-induction physical and, eventually, to Perris Island SC. The rest of that story is amazing, too...but I'll tell that some other time.
Why I Hate Booze (Well, one reason, anyway)
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What I remember about the 1960's
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"RBs" 1964 Slingerlands
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