Post-A&M Letter, 10/93

First off, a word to David Bachert and the Houston Post for the favorable review
of the MOB's halftime show - thanks. You can hardly imagine how much work goes
into producing a homecoming halftime show that is well received by the Aggies,
Rice Alums, current students and the members of the MOB. The favorable press is
important to us, especially in light of the false rumors of our past
performances, something that the same article helped to perpetuate.

For the last two weeks I have been trying to relieve the tensions that were
building because of our plans for a "20th Anniversary" halftime show.
Most of my efforts were through the Internet, via email and postings in the
Usenet newsgroup rec.sport.football.college. I was in contact with several
Aggies and gradually straightened out the snarl of false rumors about our past.
Specifically, the rumor that the MOB made fun of the passing of the Aggies'
mascot, Reveille. We never did that.

In 1973 we made fun of a lot of things that are special to the Aggies,
including Reveille, but Reveille was at the game, and her immediate predecessor
died in 1966. At that game the MOB formed a fire hydrant on the field and the
script read:

The MOB now salutes Reveille, the mascot of the Aggies. This is a little dog
with a big responsibility. But even Reveille likes to make that pause that
refreshes. (Pause) So the MOB has formed a fire hydrant and plays "Oh
Where, Oh Where Has My Little Dog Gone?"

This is poorly-aimed scatalogical humor (Reveille is female), not a joke
about a deceased mascot.

The MOB did not travel to the game at Kyle Field in 1974. The game in 1975
was the first time the MOB faced the Aggies since watching them from the
tailgates of the foodservice trucks that rescued them from Rice Stadium on
November 17, 1973.

Reveille III died in May of 1975, but her burial was delayed both by the
preparations necessary to prepare a plot for her and because school was not in
session, no one would be on hand for the funeral. That's where the pernicious
rumor got its start.

We "heard" that we were planning a "mock funeral" show.
It was news to us. We also received letters from various important people at
A&M warning us of the dire consequences of putting on such a show. The MOB
had no intention of doing such a show, but the rumor persisted.

The MOB was actually planning a "Secret Owl Band" show for the
A&M game. That show was a satirical look at Rice, along the same lines as
the '73 A&M show, but aimed at ourselves instead. As I recall, the crowd
liked it.

The MOB is trying hard to ease the tension between our two great
universities, which was the main point in David's article. Please help us to
keep our shaky "cease-fire" in place - no more smoking-gun stories
about an incident that had only a toy gun with a sign hanging from the barrel
that says: "BANG!"

--John "Grungy" Gladu - Rice U. MOBster '73-'93

P.S. - I can get all of the details to you if you want them. Can you please
help us to squash this ugly rumor once and for all?

The Houston Post Sports, Friday, November 16, 1973

this was run the day before the game...

 

Here's one vote for 'The Mob,' a band that dares to be different

Page F/1, John Hollis editorial

If I had a nickel for every hot dog I've eaten in almost 28 years of standing in
line at concessions stands I wouldn't be sitting here behind this typewriter. If
I hadn't eaten so many hot dogs, there wouldn't be so much of me sitting here,
either.

I have retained my love for hot dogs. Everything you hear about weiners ain't
bad, right Dandy? Besides, the hot dog is sort of an institution. Whoever heard
of a sports concessions stand without hot dogs?

There is at least one other sports institution, however, that puts me to
sleep and that is the Halftime Ceremony.

A lot of nice, talented young people devote hours to football's intermission
and I commend them for their interest, dedication and discipline. It is just
that a sameness has crept into the halftime routine.

Remember when the Radio City Music Hall Rockettes made news with their chorus
line of high-kicking beauties?

These days, the Rockettes couldn't even make the traveling squad at most high
schools. Everybody has a chorus line of high-kicking beauties, except maybe
Texas A&M.

Remember when the Carlton Cadettes made news by marching on the field, their
crisp white uniforms gleaming, glockenspiels going ting-a-ling, trumpets blaring
as the group formed a huge block "D" for good old Davis High?

Today, marching bands prance and play and form intricate patterns stretching
goal-to-goal.

I've heard some very good bands play some very good music and the leggy
little creatures executing bumps and grinds in perfect rhythm beat watching
Coaches Corner. But they're beginning to look the same and sound the same and,
generally speaking, they all do the same. I guess I'm getting old. I'm guess I'm
jaded.

I was about to enjoy missing another halftime show last week at the
Rice-Arkansas game. The Rice band was poised at the south end of the field. Then
it sort of marched out, followed by a ragtag bunch carrying bananas and what
transpired was a thoroughly entertaining half-hour. I mean, it was different.
Who else do you know pays tribute to the banana?

I watched the student body through my field glasses. The kids seemed to
thoroughly enjoy the performance. I watched the band. It was having more fun
than anybody.

The call themselves The Mob, this group of pixilated musicians, and they're
rootin' tootin' satire on halftime shows everywhere. Except they're not really
trying to put anybody down. They're just having fun.

The Mob grew out of adversity. Three years ago. a former symphony musician
named Bert Roth sat over a cup of coffee with two of his band majors, John
Troutt and Allen Woelfel, and discussed the problems of a Rice band woefully
short of people and practice time.

The Owl band played good music but it didn't have the personnel it takes for
big production numbers. Roth couldn't even get everybody out to practice at the
same time.

"We were trying to find where we belonged," Roth said. "We hit
on this idea. The kids loved it. You should see the spirit at practice. They
come out there and leave their frustrations behind. They make up the routines.
sometimes the student body passes on ideas. We're trying to say 'You can have a
whole lot of fun and be entertaining without the trauma that goes with rigid
band routines."

One of the band's first productions, three years ago, was a salute to the
human stomach. It soured some of the old grads, who perhaps have forgotten what
it was like to be young. Another time, the band marched backward.

The Mob once dedicated a performance to Spiro Agnew, saluting the former vice
president with "Fools on the Hill," but Roth says he wouldn't do it
now. "Too serious, now," he said.

"Our masterpiece," he said, "was at Texas last week. We got a
standing ovation. We marched out with a tiny bass drum in a little red wagon,
carrying 12 mops instead of banners, and presented the Texas band with The
World's Largest Bass Drum-Beater."

You should see what The Mob has cooked up for the Texas Aggies Saturday.

"A lot of people don't really like what we're doing," Roth said,
"but it's enjoyable and interesting for the kids. And it's all in the
spirit of friendly competition."

The Houston Post, Tuesday, November 20, 1973

Rice band apologizes to Aggies

Page 3/D

The Rice University band, besieged inside Rice Stadium last Saturday by irate
Aggies who took offense to Rice's halftime show, issued an apology to Texas
A&M's band Monday.

The Rice band, called "The Mob," did an on-the-field imitation of
the A&M marching band Saturday night in which they played an off-tune
version of the Aggie fight song and did an out-of-step block-T, an Aggie
tradition.

The Owls band also gave a salute to the Aggie mascot Reveille by forming a
fire plug on the field.

Police had to restrain the Aggie cadet corps from running onto the field at
the halftime performance. After the game, the Rice band huddled under the south
end of the stadium two hours while Aggies milled about outside waiting for the
band to leave.

"We certainly did not intend any offense to Aggie traditions last
Saturday," Rice Band Director Bert Roth said in the letter of apology.
"But if our presentation was offensive to anyone, we wish to extend our
sincere and genuine apology."

Roth also pointed out it had been the policy at Rice to parody current events
and the band programs of Rice football opponents for the past three years.

The University of Texas band prides itself by marching behind a huge drum
which is called "the world's largest." At the halftime of the
Rice-Texas game in Austin, the Rice band marched onto the field behind a tiny
snare drum pulled by a child's wagon.

"We consider these programs to be tribute to our fellow schools, because
only strong traditions and colorful, individualistic activities are subject to
parody," Roth said in the letter.

At the halftime of the Rice-Arkansas game two weeks ago the Rice band
performed a tribute to the banana, complete with a simulated strip-tease by band
members at the end to show that the band had gone bananas.

The Houston Post, Sunday, November 25, 1973

An uneven year for the Aggies; even halftime was tough on 'em

Page 1/C, Mickey Herskowitz column:

Reveille announced today that he will accept the responsibility, but not the
blame, for last week's incident in which angry A&M Cadets virtually held the
Rice band hostage.

The trouble developed, he said, because a few overzealous Aggies thought they
were protecting the honor of their mascot. "Actually," Reveille
confided, "I wasn't all that hot to be protected. I enjoyed the performance
of the Rice band and found it amusing. I had never seen a 75-yard fire hydrant
before."

In what may be a sad commentary on the quality of Southwest Conference
football, the competitive high point of the season has turned out to the the
Aggie-Rice halftime.

There appeared to be no malice in it when the Owls performed an out-of-step,
off-key parody of the Aggie Fight Song, led by a fellow pretending to be pulled
by an empty dog leash. Later, they formed a giant fireplug. Some of the Aggies
responded not quite in the same spirit, cheerfully offering to knock their teeth
out.

"Ninety-five per cent of all A&M students," said Reveille, "have
a swell sense of humor."

He was reminded that some Cadets had poured out of the stands at halftime and
attempted to storm the field. At least one Rice musician was punched. After the
game, the Owls were pinned inside their own stadium for two hours, and needed a
police escort to get through 500 hostile Aggies waiting outside for them.

"The tougher it gets," said Reveille, "the cooler the Aggies get."

Of course, the whole misunderstanding might have been avoided if the Rice
band, affectionately known as The Mob, had not toyed so with tradition. Halftime
is hardly the place to start getting original. Your traditional halftime show
features a flyover by two dozen X-15s, a marching band playing a musical salute
to George Patton, a medley of spirituals by the Texas Women's Prison choir, and
a small dog of mixed parentage running across the field, pursued by two
overweight security guards.

"Now that's football," Reveille agreed.

... [other fictitious stuff about Reveille]

"The Aggies have been good to me," he said, "and ol' Rev has
been good to the Aggies. It's a great school ... all that tradition ... the
loyalty ... the Corps ... the bonfire. We can laugh at ourselves, actually. We
just get testy when other people do it."

When the Aggies lost to Texas on Thanksgiving Day, they failed again to
accomplish their first winning season since 1967.

Reveille sighed. "We should have canceled the Texas game," he
growled, "and challenged the Rice band to a rematch."

The Rice Thresher, Thursday, November 29, 1973

Controversy continues after satirical MOB halftime

by STEVE JACKSON and DANA BLANKENHORN

It started at halftime. The favored Aggies were down 17-0 as their band left the
field and the MOB marched on. For three years, the Marching Owl Band has
performed humorous halftime shows; this week's offering was a "salute to
Texas A&M," parodying the Aggie military band.

Goose-stepping onto the field to the tune of an old German march,
distinctively unmilitary in a variety of silly hats and helmets, the MOB was
greeted by booing which continued as Bob Hord, the rubber-booted drum major, led
them down the field. The first formation was a chicken thigh, as guest honor
Marvin Zindler, an exbaton champion carried out a virtuoso twirling routine.
Zindler, the man famous for closing down the Chicken Range in LaGrange, was also
booed by the A&M sections.

"As any A&M freshman will attest," the loudspeaker announced,
"at the bottom of every Senior Boot is a big heel." The MOB formed a
boot; parts of the audience laughed.

The Aggies didn't. Ice and paper began to fly onto the field, intensifying as
the band formed a fireplug for Reveille, the female collie mascot of A&M,
and a twirler paraded with an empty leash, to the tune of "Where, Oh Where
Has My Little Dog Gone?"

The last MOB formation was a ragged attempt at the countermarching "Aggie
War T" done, not to the War Hymn, but to "March of the Wooden
Soldiers." The trumpeters blew Retreat, the Aggie band started playing, and
the Aggie team pushed through the MOB on their way to the bench.

The scene in the Aggie stands was equally confused. As the MOB returned to
their seats, a cacophony of obscenities, insulting gestures, and challenges to
fight exploded. Although the Aggie yell leaders and officers attempted to
restrain the crowd, two band members were assaulted, and one knocked down.
Neither was injured.

The tension did not subside as the game resumed. An hour later, after the
Aggies' narrow 24-21 defeat, the stadium emptied-except for the MOB, the Aggies
beside, and their fans above. The Rice flags were torn from the stadium poles.
Cushions and ice fell from the upper stands, and a ring of gesticulating,
uniformed figures surrounded the MOB, which was by now also ringed with police.
Several A&M students were restrained by their fellows from rushing the band.

Finally, instead of leaving the stadium, the band was escorted by police- and
the Aggies-across the field and into the tunnel until the stadium was cleared.
But a few hundred stayed. Most of the Aggie fans left, angry or hurt. And in the
tunnel, a shell shocked band settled to wait. Separating them from the campus
were a metal gate and a crowd of angry Aggies.

Inside, Bert Roth was feeling old, distraught, nervous. He is principal of a
Houston elementary school. He is also the MOB's director. "I should have
known this was going to happen."

"What's wrong? We can't help it if they can't take a joke."

"No, look. When you do something like this, it's fun, everyone enjoys
it. But you've got to take your audience into account. Because if they don't
like it..." he stared out at the field, "we have to take responsibility
for it." Then, almost as an afterthought, "I have to take
responsibility for it."

"Why? We're not the allwise judges of what they think."

"We goaded them. We're responsible. I'm responsible."

About 350 people were gathered outside the gates at the south end of the
stadium. Possibly 40 were uniformed Corps members, the rest of the group was
divided, more or less evenly, between A&M students and older fans, mostly
alumni. Some 500 more wander between the gate area, the nearby buses, and the
van beside which the Aggie band was lined up in a hollow square around their
equipment, waiting to go home.

The atmosphere outside is almost carnival. The crowd is angry, yes, but it is
a cheerful anger. They fully expect the band to come out. Some want to
"give these kids a good talking to." Some want to fight. If the band
won't come out, the Aggies may come in.

The MOB leaves the tunnels and climbs into the east stands. Their attitude is
still one of disbelief. "This is America..." says one. "This is
1973. And here we are, surrounded in our own stadium by Aggies!" His
audience shrugs.

A half-dozen uniformed Corps members scale a drainage pipe west of the gate.
They make it look easy, as, one by one, they catfoot along the stadium wall and
leap inside. Emerging from behind a concession stand in the band's rear, they
encounter a large Houston policeman. The verbal exchange is inaudible. The
Aggies vault back onto the wall, hang over the edge, drop five feet; all but one
avoid the mud.

A Corps member peers between the gates, sees a few MOBsters. He gives a
signal and the crowd outside breaks into a chant. The dozen policemen present
exchange glances and move between the gate and the crowd. The chant ends.
"All right, there's nothing you can do here. Why don't you-all go home
now?" No one goes.

The concessions in the stadium are open for the high school game later in the
evening.

"I gotta stay here all night." A teen-age girl behind the counter
looks up from counting quarters. "What are you here for?"

"They say conduct unbecoming a band."

"I'm beginning to wonder."

By 5:30, there are only about 200 Aggies outside the gates, but they continue
slowly moving in closer to the cordon of Houston traffic police. The police are
now telling the crowd to leave; no results. One woman shakes her finger at a
burly cop: "We're paying your salary, not these kids." The light is
failing fast. The officer in charge makes a radio request for "all the
assistance here you can send." Two squad cars, lights flashing, appear
almost immediately.

A quarter-mile away, Rice is going about its business. Security is at the
stadium; the administration knows what's happening; the students don't either.

"What are the cops doing here?" A small contingent of Rice students
arrive. Behind them come another dozen prowl cars-no sirens this time-on the far
side of the crowd. Clearly, they mean business. The Aggies begin to disperse.
The stadium lights come on. It is 5:50.

It is another half-hour before the gates open and the Food Service trucks
back in, one by one, to pick up their loads of MOBsters and drive them, police
cars before and behind, back to the colleges. No incidents. It's over.

It was just beginning. Public reaction was mixed and vocal. Channel 11
condemned the MOB that night and Channel 13 complimented it. Letters in the
daily papers were strongly anti-MOB at first, segueing into more balanced
sentiments as of today (Thursday). And they're still writing.

The show was discussed by several sports columnists, especially here and in
Dallas. Most enjoyed the put-on and felt that the Aggie fans had overreacted.

Bob Galt wrote, in the Dallas Times-Herald, "In recent years there
hasn't been a lot to get excited about over Owl football. The only thing that
has been consistently good has been the halftime show presented by the Mob...It
pokes fun at itself and the world."

Bert Roth and Bob Hord issued an apology to the A&M band for the
unintentional offense, saying, "We consider these programs to be a tribute
to out fellow schools, because only strong tradition and colorful,
individualistic activities are subject to parody."