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AL KOCH...Skylineres ....from John Keays


BklynMario

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Mario Navetta emailed me today telling me Al Koch passed. #### it. Two days ago I started to email Al and the phone rang. Needless to say the email was never sent as something mundane had to done right way. If the email had been sent I would have been told Al how much I grew to respect him the more time passed.

Al was a marching member of the New York Skyliners and without doubt the loudest baritone player to ever pick up a horn anytime, any place. Don't argue with me. I have witnesses. In 1959, I was a very bad 19 year old baritone with brains enough to know that the color guard was the perfect place for me in the Skyliners as my parish corps took a pass on the season that May. I was off to the Big Red Band in a heartbeat.

The Skyliners were on the come again after three or four year of falling off the cliff of the elite. We were a highly talented but a Alan Everson type corps- "Practice!!!! We're talking practice?" Our passion was playing music and making crowds go wild. Marching was a necessary evil. Truth be told without Dreitzer's arranging genius we were just another drum corps. Hy was the King of drum corps music makers and no one in their right mind would disagree.

All this being said, once the Spring weather started warming up we rehearsed on Randall's Island every Wednesday and Friday. The island, in the middle of the East River, was a desolate barren place under the Tri-Borough Bridge overpass with a dreary WPA built stadium and a huge expands of broken beer bottle littered parking lots. The lots were our grass field. On the plus side was we could practice all night if wanted to- no lived on the island. Practice over, speeches made, Midnight or later our members went back to their tribal camps. Chuck Johnson, Neuhoff, Wilke, Swan and fellow Jerseyites headed to Johnson's Bar in Union City. Guarino, Woods, Weeks and Gallagher to any of the fabulous Irish taverns in the Kingsbridge section of the Bronx- home of New York's granite-eating, whiskey-drinking sandhogs. Johnny Long, our one-armed, never-miss-a-rehearsal WWII vet, dropped off at a Harlem subway station. Winky, if not being chased by a groupie or him chasing a lovely maiden, could appear in any of these camps. The Hudson Valley and Connecticut war parties went to parts unknown.

This brings me to the Neptune Diner, 31st Ave. and Astoria Blvd., Astoria, Queens. Home to a local population of Greeks that rivaled the size of Athens. Diner and Greek are interchangeable words in New York City. These diners had menus covered in heavy plastic and a Manhattan phone directory listing of every food group known to the civilized world. Cuisine was a word never seen. Night shift waitresses that knew your orders and names by heart. Every Wednesday and most Fridays our contingent of Brooklynites, Queens folks and Long Islanders settled in to solve the world's problems. The roster included Lefty, our one-legged leader and creator of DCA; Hy; Jimmy Salamone, New York City patrolman and corps conscience; Ralph Shur, our plotter-in-chief; Pepe, just back from the Army playing lead and corps comic; Genero, great first bari and up and coming arranger; Cluna, another great bari wishing he could play as loud as Koch; Al, loudest bari ever and soon to be lawyer; and last and surely least- me otherwise known as "Recruit" till the day Lefty died. We had others who attended from time to time. among them Tru Crawford and Bob Bunce, another great Sky bari, pulling Hy to a back of the diner to critique or edit their arrangements.

Now the stories that can be told would make this piece a book. We laughed and fought. We solved problems and created same. The practical jokes were unending. It was rare to leave for home before 3 AM and more time than not we saw the sun come up with a Thursday workday ahead. So why am I writing this today. With Al passing, I'm the last man standing and no one goes to the Neptune Diner anymore. #### it.

All this bring me back to Al. He taught me by his actions and the way he lived life that all people have dignity. Al, more than most people grew up in circumstances you wouldn't wish on your worst enemy. He overcame and had an extremely successful professional career and personal life. I'll leave you with this one story. It was some time in the 1970s and I was on the admin side of the Skyliners. Al was teaching the Minnisink Warrior, an all black corps in Harlem. One of the stronger elements of the corps was an incredible rifle section that had moved on to the Brassmen en masse. For whatever reason this rifle section was rumored to be coming to our corps. I called Al for a luncheon to discuss this possible membership situation. I circled around my concerns and finally asked, "Al, we heard they're all gay. Is it true?". Al shot back with, "John, I'm in the middle of trying a murder case and you're worrying about eight great kids who are gay. Hell ya they gay. Give 'em uniforms and don't worry about it. You'll never regret it". Al was so right it's laughable. Lesson learned. Thank you Al.

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  • 1 month later...

My deepest sympathies for your loss. However, please, you should write this book. Those are the stories of an era of drum corps that will never come again. What a shame that it would be if all those stories were lost to the ages. I can think of no better tribute to men who can rightfully be described as legends.

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