JOHN PHILIP SOUSA
John Philip and his gang plunged through the weeds and briars along the muddy bank of the Potomac!
“Come on! It’s a band on the avenue!” cried Philip, dashing ahead. “Let’s hurry!”
This was a common occurrence in those exciting days. The War between the States was just beginning, and Washington, D. C., the headquarters of the Union Army, was a thrilling place to be.
The boys were kept busy watching the many activities. They saw officers on horseback galloping importantly in all directions. They saw men working furiously building large frame barracks for the soldiers or huge corrals for the thousands of horses and mules.
And now Philip’s father, Antonio Sousa, had quit his place as trombone player in the Marine Band and joined the Navy to do his part in fighting the war.
Bands were playing everywhere, but Philip was so fond of music he never grew tired of hearing them. He couldn’t keep away from a band or keep his feet from stepping in time when he was near one. Every day Philip Sousa slipped out of the house and attached himself to the first line of blue-clad soldiers he could find. He ran alongside them until he found the band. Sometimes he followed them all day long.
During the next few years the young boy saw many unusual sights. He saw people gay over some battles and sad over others. And then one awful morning Philip awoke to find the streets filled with crowds weeping instead of laughing. He saw the Capital city draped in black and all the flags hanging down low. When he asked about this, he was told that the flags were at half-mast because President Lincoln had been shot.
It was at Lincoln’s funeral that Philip first realized how sad music could be. The mournful sound of the muffled drums and the solemn, minor strains of music played by the bands marching in the procession, touched his young heart.
But the war scene that made the deepest impression upon Philip was the grand parade of the victorious armies. Hundreds of thousands of soldiers and countless bands marched in a procession so long that it took two days to pass the White House. Young as he was, the boy made up his mind that some day he would lead a marching band like these.
The war was ended. Antonio Sousa had come home and returned to his place in the Marine Band. The family went back to their normal way of living.
Antonio Sousa was of Portuguese parentage although he had been born in Spain. When a young man he had come to America, to New York City. He met and married Elizabeth Trinkhaus from Bavaria, who was visiting relatives in Brooklyn. The young couple went to live in Washington, D. C., and in a small brick house at 617 G Street, S.E. John Philip Sousa had been born. There he grew to manhood “in the shadow of the Capitol,” to use his own words.
The out-of-doors appealed to Philip; he liked to play with other boys and go hunting and fishing with his father. But above everything else the boy loved music. He was happy when he was allowed to visit the nearby Marine Barracks during rehearsals. The bandsmen liked him and often let him play the triangle or the cymbals.
When he was very young, Philip had begun to study the violin with an old Spanish friend of his father. Later he studied in an Academy of Music conducted by a son of his first teacher.
“I overheard the teacher ask my father to send me to his school,” said Sousa. “I was terribly insulted when he said, ‘Even if he doesn’t learn anything it will keep him off the street.’
“Although I neither answered a question asked by the teacher nor spoke a word in school, I learned all he taught. I won all the medals he offered in the examinations.... I have them yet, little gold lyres.”
Philip’s violin teacher found fault with his manner of bowing and they had a fiery argument. Angry and disgusted, the boy decided to give up music. He went to work at night in a bakery. His parents insisted that he continue going to school in the daytime, but he could not carry on such a sleepless, strenuous schedule. He gave up the bakery job and returned to the Academy after his father had made peace with the professor.
Although only thirteen years old, Philip organized his first band—a quadrille band he called it. He played the first violin. Seven men, all much older than he, played respectively: the second violin, viola, bass, clarinet, cornet, trombone and drum. They became quite a famous dance orchestra until young Sousa, urged by the other members asked for an increase in pay. When the manager refused him, Philip quit. The other members played on without a raise, but Sousa had lost his job.
Feeling very blue and despondent, Philip was quite in the mood to accept an offer which came to him just then—to play in a circus band. The job seemed full of gaiety and glamour, but he felt sure that his parents would never give their consent. The circus agent also knew this was true, but he finally won the boy’s promise to keep it a secret and go with the company when it left Washington.
Under the cloak of secrecy the idea grew more appealing, but Philip made the mistake of confiding in his friend who lived next door, swearing him to secrecy. The boy promptly told his mother all about it. His mother, just as promptly, told Philip’s mother. Horror-struck she went to her husband, but Philip’s father wisely said nothing to the boy.
The next day, however, Mr. Sousa and his son went out for a walk. The walk ended at the Navy Yard where, a few hours before, Mr. Sousa had conferred with the Commandant, General Zeilin. As a result John Philip Sousa enlisted in the Marine Band June 9, 1868, as a music apprentice.
This was the beginning of Philip’s training for his real career. He soon became an expert cornetist, but he did not neglect his violin practice. And before long he had begun to compose music.
He made friends rapidly. Among them was the Honorable William Hunter, Assistant Secretary of State. Mr. Hunter, a great lover of music, each week invited a group of young students to his home for a musical evening. He always gave them a bountiful supper and never failed to slip a five-dollar bill into the pocket of his favorite, Philip.
After a few years the Marine Band began to lose its glamour for Sousa. He wanted more independence. Through Mr. Hunter’s influence he was released from the organization. He began to teach the violin, and his classes grew fast. At the same time he took lessons from George Benkert, a fine violinist. By playing first violin in the orchestra at Ford’s Opera House, he was able to pay his way.
Soon Philip, a handsome young fellow of nineteen, accepted a position as an orchestra leader in Chicago. And before long he went to Philadelphia to play first violin in Offenbach’s Orchestra which had come from France to play at the Centennial Celebration. He also played in Mrs. John Drew’s popular theater orchestra. Later he managed and coached a company of society folk in the Gilbert and Sullivan opera, Pinafore.
Then young Philip Sousa fell in love with Jennie Bellis, a pretty sixteen-year-old actress in the opera cast. In less than one year they were married and living in a little home in Philadelphia. Three children were born to them throughout the years, two girls and one boy, Helen, Priscilla and Philip Jr.
On October 1, 1880, Sousa was recalled to Washington from Philadelphia to conduct the Marine Band. He took the group of well-trained but disorganized musicians and succeeded in establishing fine cooperation and rare good feeling. He built the Marine Band into the finest marching band in all America. “The President’s Own,” as it was called, always played at the White House for social and state affairs.
At 26, Sousa was a man of distinctive appearance with his square-trimmed black beard, gold-rimmed eyeglasses and his always immaculate uniforms. He never failed to put on a pair of clean white kid gloves for each performance. In later years after Sousa had achieved great wealth, he stepped into a large Fifth Avenue store in New York City and nonchalantly ordered twelve hundred pairs of white kid gloves, at five dollars a pair.
Although Sousa conducted with a gracious dignity, he seldom smiled. Yet his audience keenly felt his strong, magnetic personality. He had no affectations or mannerisms but stood still in his place very erect, swinging his arms in precise unison in his own individual fashion. The music seemed to come from his expressive hands.
Sousa was a wonderful showman with a keen sense of spectacular effects. Once when giving an outdoor evening concert, he noticed the lights were turned on gradually. First a tiny speck appeared in the darkness, slowly growing into a glaring blaze of light. That gave him an idea. Sousa had his band begin the opening number, Nearer My God to Thee, in a soft, tender pianissimo just as the faint beam of light appeared. The music gradually increased in power as the lights grew brighter, ending in an enormous crescendo as the illumination reached its greatest strength. This was so impressive and pleasing that the audience requested this hymn and the accompanying lighting effects be played throughout the entire season.
The people, not only in the capital city but over the whole United States, were enabled to hear the finest music of the time through John Philip Sousa and the Marine Band. At his request Congress, for the first time, granted permission for the U. S. Marine Band to make concert tours over the country. Those opportunities were appreciated for that was an era when a fine band was a great novelty. Many people gladly traveled long distances to large cities to hear Sousa’s Marine Band.
After twelve years Sousa retired from this great organization. A syndicate of Chicago men asked him to come there and form a band “which would not be excelled by any brass band on earth.” He was offered a huge salary besides a generous interest in the profits. “And in addition,” said Sousa, “they purchased a half interest in all my manuscript compositions and in any others I may write through the next five years. For twelve years, I have been conducting in Washington and my heart is here, but this offer is too good to be refused.”
Sousa had no difficulty in forming his new organization in Chicago. Soloists on the various band instruments and expert bandsmen from all parts of the country, eager to join the famous bandmaster, applied for membership.
Beginning at the Chicago World’s Fair in 1892, this noted concert band traveled all over the United States, playing in every large town and city. They toured many foreign countries and in addition, made one trip around the world, winning the greatest success and honor wherever they appeared. Sousa and his popular band gave command concerts for England’s royalty, and it was a London newspaper man that gave him the title of the “March King.”
Sousa believed that he was inspired to write marches by the influence of the Civil War days during his childhood in Washington. At that time the air was filled with the sound of marching troops and military bands, and this impression had never left him. Sousa is said to have been responsible for the great popularity of marches during the 1890 decade.
The Stars and Stripes Forever came to him during an ocean voyage. Called home by the death of his friend and manager, David Blakesly, he sailed from Naples. He spent hours pacing back and forth on deck, and this music came into his mind and would not leave. When he arrived home, he immediately wrote the composition as he had heard it. This march was published without any change at all, and from its various sources earned Sousa over $300,000.
In World War I Sousa gave up his band and his huge salary to join the Great Lakes Naval Reserve. He became conductor of the Great Lakes Band for which he accepted only one dollar a month. He at once shaved off his luxurious beard—“so the young fellows wouldn’t think me so much older than they.”
The number of enlistments fairly swamped the band quarters. Hundreds flocked to receive instruction from this noted bandmaster. There were so many that Sousa organized a band battalion of 350 with a full quota of officers. The remaining men he put into double battleship units which were assigned to each regiment at the station and to different ships as the Admirals requested. While he was with the Great Lakes Band, Sousa designed a new band instrument—a mellow-toned horn to replace the Helicon tuba with its harsh sound. This Sousaphone is in use in all large bands today.
At the end of the war Sousa reassembled his concert band of eighty-four top-notch players. This was generally acknowledged the finest concert band of all time. He traveled with the group through six months of the year and vacationed the remaining months. For some time Sousa refused to broadcast as he disliked the radio. He said that he missed the direct contact with his audience and the stimulation of its presence and applause. However, when he was seventy-five years old, he accepted the large salary offered him to play weekly broadcasts of one hour each.
Although the world at large knew Sousa as the March King, his more than one hundred marches represent only a small part of his writings. He also composed ten operas, including El Capitan, in which De Wolfe Hopper starred. The Queen of Hearts, The Bride Elect, Chris and the Wonderful Lamp, and The Charlatan, all big successes in their day. He composed more than twenty suites, forty or fifty songs, and a monumental work for orchestra, organ and choir, including The Last Crusade. He wrote three novels: Pipetown Sandy, in which he devoted a chapter describing the two-day march of the victorious U. S. Northern army; The Transit of Venus; and The Fifth String. He was the author of numerous magazine articles, and an illustrated biographical sketch ran serially in the Saturday Evening Post in 1925. His autobiography, Marching Along, was published in 1928.
So many sources of income brought Sousa great wealth. He had always liked to ride horseback, play golf, and shoot clay pigeons at the trap. To indulge in these hobbies he bought a large farm—700 acres—in North Carolina. There he also raised game birds—quail, grouse and partridges, as well as dogs and horses. But Sousa really spent most of his free time at his beautiful home at Sands Point on Long Island, New York. There he was happiest when surrounded by his devoted wife and family. There he often entertained his warm friends, among whom were Thomas A. Edison, Victor Herbert, Irving Berlin and Charles Chaplin.
Sousa was seventy-eight years old when he died of a sudden heart attack, March 6, 1932, at Reading, Pennsylvania. He had gone there to lead the Ringgold band on its eightieth anniversary. His body was brought home to Washington, his birthplace, and lay in state in the bandroom of the Marine Barracks, where at the age of thirteen his musical career had begun.
During his funeral the Senators and Representatives of the U. S. Government paused in their proceedings to pay a tribute to John Philip Sousa, whom they called “The world’s greatest composer of march music.”
Sousa is buried in the Congressional Cemetery on a grassy plot, not far from his beloved Capitol.
“Wherever he has gone,” Deems Taylor wrote, “I am sure he has found a welcome. There is a dining hall in the Elysian Fields marked Grade A Composers Only. If you could look in at the door tonight, you would probably see him there; perhaps not at the speakers’ table with Wagner and Beethoven and Mozart and Bach and Debussy and the rest, but somewhere in the room—at a small table, possibly, with Herbert and Strauss and Delibes.
“‘However did he get in here?’ asks some disapproving shade—a small-town Kapellmeister, probably ... ‘Who got him in?’
“The guide smiles, ‘The marching men. The men who had to go long miles, on an empty belly, under a hot sun, or through a driving rain. They made us take him in. They said he made things easier for them.’”
