I was 14, the second youngest kid in the corps, and knew that at some point there was going to be an "initiation", but no one would give me any details, which only served to gradually heighten the anxiety.
The head "Initiator" was a bass drummer who was about 20, built like an NFL linebacker. One day, after a Sunday rehearsal, someone said, "It's on", and I was led into his basement by a few other vets. There was a wooden chair in the center of the room, over which a naked light bulb swayed. I had seen enough WWII movies to anticipate some form of torture.
Not a word was spoken, but it was obvious I was to sit in the chair. They all went behind a curtain, about 10 ft in front of me. I was sweating. I became conscious of a strangely familiar scratching sound then suddenly, the highest, loudest notes I had ever heard emanated from two speakers on either side of me. The next 2 minutes constituted an audio experience I had not imagined possible.
Then, silence. The "Initiator" approached, leaned in close, smiled and said one word: "Maynard".
I learned later it was "Ole!" from Ferguson's album, "Maynard '61", and swore I'd walk on hot coals for these guys if they would teach me how to play like that.
Some initiation. Positively life-changing.