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Copyright © 2009 The Morning Call

ID: 4484263
Publication Date: November 29, 2009
Day: Sunday
Page: A7
Edition: FIRST
Section: News
Type: Local
Dateline:
Column:
Length: long

Byline: By Christopher Baxter OF THE MORNING CALL

Headline: Reaching a crescendo **District will honor its much-loved


band director by putting his name on the school's new performing arts
theater

Without a word and with hardly an expression, M. Craig Paine raises his
baton before the Bangor Area High School band, a simple gesture for a
complex man who for the past 28 years has brought music to life.

He stands 6 feet tall from his black leather shoes to his wiry gray mullet.
He watches over his students like a shepherd over sheep, but more closely
he listens -- for a rogue flute, an errant chime.

"Don't rush. You're rushing," he calls out to the horseshoe rows of


students, often as eager to play their music as they are to chitchat and
gossip. "I have ta-ta-tee-ta-ta-ta-ta-tee. Is that what you have?"

The concert band on this recent day practiced "Eiger: Journey to the
Summit," a piece commemorating one man's epic climb to the top of a
Swiss mountain, fitting for another man's ascent to local music lore.

While many high schools struggle to attract students to band, often


considered second class to sports, Paine has transformed Bangor Area's
program from a hodgepodge of students into hundreds of some of the
most acclaimed high school musicians.
For half his life, he has drawn upon the rich heritage of the northern
fringes of Northampton County, where in the shadow of Blue Mountain
he has linked his ranks with their forbears, forging a pride not just in
music, but also in themselves.

"He's got a great rapport with the kids," said Marc Blau, a retired Bangor
Area history teacher and Paine's close friend. "If you would stand and
watch him and his technique, you might not think that would be a good
way to teach. But his personality allowed him to succeed with his own
style."

The district will honor Paine's service by emblazing his name on the high
school's new performing arts theater, but his mark has already been made
on the hundreds of students, current and those of yesteryear, whose photos
line his small music room. With their faces go their trophies -- dozens of
them -- mementos of each musical exploration they undertook with their
director in the lead.

"The band itself is more than just a group of people playing music," said
Hannah Orban, a senior French horn player. "He counts on us, puts us in
charge and doesn't hide anything. He wants people to get it right, and
people look up to him for it."

Paine began making music when he was 10 years old, wrapping his arms
around his first trombone. He graduated from Slatington High School in
1972 and studied in colleges and universities throughout the Northeast, as
well as the University of Miami, before brief stints as band director in
Deposit, N.Y., and at Parkland High School.

He joined the Bangor Slaters in 1982.

Each day, the 55-year-old director wakes about 5 a.m. in his Bethlehem
home, where he lives with his wife, Mary. By 7 a.m., he's into his
cluttered office, which doubles as a fix-it shop, and probably his second
cup of coffee with cream.

Paine commands a subtle but stern presence in the classroom. He is direct


with his questions -- "Do you even have your music back there?" he asks
one student -- but quick with solutions. He builds a quiet tension only to
break it with a joke. And he knows his students' limits.

"What I do here is just a fraction of their life," he said, "and I'm not going
to treat it as any more than that."

Paine's words are simple, straightforward, refined by the workmanlike


attitude of a man "just doing his job" and the calmness of a man who grew
up during the 1960s. Yet those who spend the most time with him know
the many faces of the guy behind the gold-rimmed glasses.

On the director's stand, Paine dissects music measure by measure, note by


note, stopping to tweak each individual player before waving the full band
back to life. Off the stand, with a pencil always in his breast pocket, he
spends hours marking music, refining a march or helping his colleagues.

"He never seems tired. He never seems distressed," said high school
Principal Robert Vlasaty. "I can go to him with any problem, music or
otherwise."

By 2:30 p.m., after three or four classes, Paine lets slip a yawn, fills his
coffee cup with Mountain Dew and prepares for after-school practice or
one of the 40 to 50 public performances he leads each year. If he's not in
the classroom, he's probably playing his trombone with the Allentown
Band, one of the premier concert bands in the country.

"We both have the same philosophy: If it's worth doing, it's worth doing
right," said Debra Heiney, band director at the Bangor Area Middle
School, who joined Paine in 1988 and plays with him in the Allentown
Band. "We both agreed when I started that we'd do whatever it takes;
whatever it takes to make the program work."

Only 32 students played in the band when Paine began teaching in the
district in 1982. Only 15 students sang in the chorus. Today, the district's
band program boasts more than 150 musicians, the chorus more than 200
singers, and their melodies have garnered international attention.

The band has traveled around the world, touching down in Wales, Ireland,
England and cities across the United States. The Slaters played in the
2004 Gator Bowl in Gainesville, Fla., and in Disney World's
Spectromagic Parade in 1991.

In September, the band traveled five hours to Pittsburgh to play at the


North American Welsh Convention. Upon arrival at 10:30 p.m., the band's
relentless director marched his students around their hotel.

"It's always something new," said Bruce Barnes, a senior saxophone


player. "He's never the same man twice."

The Slaters take pride in their Welsh heritage, donning their maroon and
yellow uniforms tailored after Her Majesty's Royal Welsh Guard. But
instilling that pride, especially in students from economically troubled
areas, can be a challenge, Paine said.
"We're the Slate Belt. We're not the Lehigh Valley and we're not the
Poconos," he said. "We're hidden in this little area, but I want them to
have pride in themselves. I push that. Take pride in what you do."

Paine himself exudes a certain satisfaction in his work, but ask him about
his accomplishments and he turns the conversation back to his students.
He enjoys making music, he says with a smile, and he enjoys making
music with them.

He is at once accepting and defiant of the passage of time. He has an


iPhone to keep tabs on his students and his schedule, but complains about
how music takes a back seat these days to a fast-paced life of distractions
and technology.

He still sports a gray mullet, a holdover from his younger years (he used
to have a ponytail) and a trademark among his students. He says he plans
to get it cut, but then continues in its defense, saying better more hair than
none at all.

Kidding aside, Paine struggles with the prospect of the future, the prospect
of ending his career. He sits at the front of the band room, his legs crossed
as the last of his students filter out the back door. He looks down, with
long pauses between his words.

"I can't do it forever. It'll be tough. It's tough just to talk about it," he says.
"I think I'll try to find something else, something simple. This is complex.
It's taken a lot of me to do this. I'd be great at mowing lawns. Grass grows
and you mow it."

When he does move on, he says, he will just walk away, leaving behind
his students, his coffee cup and his skinny baton. The music will continue,
but the march will fade to the background, and he will descend the
summit as softly as he arrived.

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