Everyone had at least one teacher in school that was exceptional. For me, and many other kids in the Clarenceville School District, that teacher was John Neztek.[1]My introduction to Mr. Neztek was in the sixth grade, where I performed “Sir Duke” as an unaccompanied solo in the Botsford Elementary School gym. I nailed it! He called me Curly, which is amusing since my hair (even what’s left of it now) is obviously straight. Neztek had a reputation for the unexpected. Sometimes he would pull out a bunch of cash from his wallet during band class, which he would offer to a kid if they played a difficult piece in front of everyone perfectly. As a freshman, I skipped ahead briefly to first chair after a spontaneous competition with more senior trumpet players, much to everyone’s surprise. He once threw his baton on the floor after the band got confused during a solo and ensemble sight-reading competition, which made him furious. Yes, he was that guy. He cared enough to be emotionally vulnerable, and no one wanted to disappoint him. We loved him, and also feared him. Having Neztek as a teacher inspired me to do my very best.
During my sophomore year, the band took a trip to Mexico City. Why anybody in Mexico City would possibly be interested in listening to a high school marching band from Livonia, Michigan, is a good question. It seems the marching band took this trip regularly over the years so perhaps they knew something that I did not.
What I remember most about that trip was the freedom we were given to roam loose in Mexico City while our adult chaperones sat in the hotel lobby drinking margaritas. On the last evening in Mexico our banquet was cancelled (or at least delayed) on account of public drunkenness.[2]I’m not naming people, so don’t worry. You know who you are. Things were different in the 80s.
Mr. Neztek passed away a couple of months ago after a distinguished teaching career that led him to Adrian, Michigan after Clarenceville.
I like to think of the pinnacle of his career as being the Clarenceville Marching Band. He’d look at us intensely, smile, and lift up his baton. “Everybody… Up!”
