In the hut the average life of a piano was but of short duration. Every moment from early dawn to late night, this instrument was in constant use. One became so accustomed to its continuous sounds as to be unconscious of them. We returned to America hoping that for the remainder of our lives we might be spared hearing any form of “Blues,” for whatever else he might play, a fellow would finally finish with a touching rendition of some one of the many “Blues.”
There were melodies of joy and melodies of sorrow. We heard our soldiers on the coast of France chanting in unfailing rhythm as they unloaded the great cargoes from America. We heard them in Southern France singing in joyous abandon as they sailed Lake Bourget, ascended Mount Revard or hiked up to Hannibal’s Pass in the Alps. We heard them in the night watches at Romagne as they tenderly reburied their comrades who had fallen on the fields of battle. We heard them at the port again, as they looked longingly towards America and sang, “It’s a long, long trail.” Ever in our ears will we hear the harmony of those thousands of voices as they were blended in song for religious service, for the speed of work or for mere pleasure. Always this music breathed a wistful poignancy, but always it breathed, too, the matchless will and spirit of the race who sang. Nothing strengthened more the bond of loving sympathy that existed between the French and colored American than this musical temperament. Our bands played their way into the very souls of the French.
1. Lieut. James Reese Europe and Men of the 15th New York. 2. Band Master Oliver Mead. 3. Band of the 815th Pioneer Infantry, with Men on leave, at Challes-les-Eaux.
And these bands that always filled us with martial pride and dispelled all fear and dread! We think, of one night in our camp. The 807th Pioneer Infantry would entrain on tomorrow for the front. Under its enthusiastic and highly progressive bandmaster, Lieutenant Vodrey, this regimental band was giving its last show. Hundreds of black and white men filled every inch of the spacious hut from floor to rafter. In the front rows sat the regimental officers, camp officers and French friends. All eyes centered upon the stage where either the orchestra of fifty men was playing or Opal Cooper was singing in the sweetest and most expressive tones, or the men were demonstrating by act or stunt their wit and humor. The hut rang with applause or laughter all that wonderful evening. Fun and merriment ran high during the rather ambitious hut reception given the band after that evening’s entertainment, for they were trying to eat salad and sherbet without the use of forks and spoons which they had been told to bring but had quite promptly forgotten. It was rather difficult to realize that tomorrow those men would be facing toward the thundering guns at the front. We heard of the 807th band again and again as it won honors in France, playing before the crowned heads of the Allies; of their band leader making an enviable record at a French band school, and finally we met them again at Brest. There, with a pardonable pride, we bade them bon voyage as they returned home triumphantly bearing their laurels.
The fame of Europe’s Band, as it was familiarly called, spread over all France as well as America. One single occasion on which we were permitted to hear this band in France is worthy of note. We had been honored as delegates to the Conference of Allied Women held in Paris in August, 1918. The program, the delegates, entertainment, everything, including the garden party tendered by President and Mme. Poincaré, the afternoon at the home of Mr. and Mrs. Theodore Roosevelt, Jr., and the banquet at the Palais d’Orsay had quite won our hearty interest and admiration and we had reached the final and crowning session of the Conference. The great Theatre Elysées was crowded, although the lights were yet turned low. Someone informed us that the orchestra in the pit was composed of colored men. Immediately we came to our feet. Try as we might we could not see the men, but the leader, Lieutenant Europe, sat elevated, and so we recognized him. In spite of the addresses by great personages, in spite of the royal opera singer and the wonderful chorus, for the remainder of that evening our thoughts centered themselves about this band of colored Americans playing before the élite of Europe and America. It was a significant moment when, with a great martial note, this band of the 15th New York Infantry began the French National Hymn, summoning the great audience to its feet as President Poincaré and party entered their box. Time and time again the playing of these colored Americans thrilled the house into rapturous applause. After the audience had been dismissed and the lights again turned low, admiring friends, among whom were Mr. and Mrs. Theodore Roosevelt, Jr., stood by and the band played on lingeringly and tenderly as if somewhere voices were whispering that it would be one of the last great triumphs of its famous leader.
Music was one of the chief attractions furnished by the Leave Area for the tired, depressed men who were sent there for rest and recreation. There came the 803rd Pioneer Infantry Band under the capable direction of Sergeant Major Bailey. These men gave us so much joy and entertainment in their playing that not only did the Y make efforts to have them retained permanently in the Leave Area, but the French people were quite as eager to have them, and showered praises and flowers on them when at last they were ordered back to their regiment.
Then came the 815th with their fine Western pride and spirit playing their way, too, into the heart of the Area. We met them again at Romagne when, with the band of the 816th Pioneer Regiment, they were playing daily to counteract the depressing influences of their surroundings. We stood near them and watched with tear-filled eyes as they paid their humble homage on that memorable thirtieth of May when General Pershing had come to dedicate that largest military cemetery. We were with them again at the Port of Brest where, with their wonderfully stirring music they, too, fought in that battle for morale. We learned to know them well—those California lads—and to love them.
No finer men went to France than the men who composed the 802nd Pioneer Infantry, and that may account for the really high quality of the work of its band. No band seemed to adhere quite so closely to classical selections, and they would most naturally draw the French to their feet whenever and wherever they played. While resting in the Leave Area, they graciously gave us several concerts.
