Recently Bob Tepatti posted this on FaceBook and I was inspired to add this to my story because Antone Tepatti was well known and respected by me and my whole family.  FaceBook cannot be expected to guarantee that years from now Bob's testimony will still be there...and if it was it would be very difficult to find...so I am posting it here as a kind of backup for Bob.  Also, I feel a kinship for Antone for many reasons but mainly because our whole family was very dedicated to music and musical inspiration as was the Tepattis...plus...he was responsible for allowing me to attend the music camp festival 2 years in a row.  All the times he pulled my ear and yelled "listen listen!!" were forgiven long ago...plus I got to sit by and get to know one of the most beautiful girls in the school first thing everyday because of him.  I played the French Horn and Hugh played the coronet...John played the Tuba...Sylvia played the clarinet...Georgia played the Oboe...mother of course taught grade school music and gave piano and singing lessons at our home...

Antone knew how to run a tight ship...and he could be the meanest s.o.b. in the valley when he wanted to...just like my dad so I had no problem with that.  Only in hindsight I can see how he demonstrated a kind of grace toward the foe like we learn in the martial arts...power...but with temperance. 

I know that if brother Hugh was alive today he would want to say the same things...so...for Huey's memory this seems appropriate.

Tapatti Memorial
Remembering Dad
He would have been 100 years old today and, some of his earliest students would be in their 90s.  He has been gone just over 31 years, but that day is as vivid as if it were yesterday.
He was the son of an Italian Coal Minor.  His parents, my grandparents, both immigrants, did not speak English very well.  Thus, he grew up bi-lingual—Italian being his secondary language.  He eventually forgot most of his Italian and it was humorous as he would often need help from his sisters in communicating with his parents—translating English into Italian.  He taught me how to count in Italian—that was about all he claimed to remember.  However, when Grandma got a little perturbed with him and expressed herself, he seemed to remember more than he let on.
He took up music—it brought him and his parents’ comfort and joy.  Eventually, he would teach band to thousands of students.  He apparently practiced a lot using the family’s outhouse not only for its intended purpose, but for practicing as well.
He went to college while his brother finished high school majoring in music.  His education was interrupted by World War II.  He served as a military bandsman with the Army Air Corps in the Pacific.  His band back up some famous entertainers—Bob Hope, Jerry Colona, Patty Thomas, Frances Langford, and many others.  Their music, of all types, helped lift troop morale.
He told a couple of stories about those days—once, near the end of basic, the band went by the reviewing stand playing 3 different marches by 3 different composers.  The description of what followed and what General Arnold said about it being the finest military band he had every heard is beyond humorous.
He felt powerless when word reached him that his brother was MIA and later reported KIA.  All he could do was write his parents telling them to keep their chins up and he would be home as soon as he could.
And, then, as the war neared its end, he mentioned that the officers felt early morning parades would keep the troops’ spirits up.  The band had enough of those 5:30AM parades and, one day, at 5:30AM, marched through Officers Country.  Suddenly, the early morning parades stopped.
He came back to the small, Southern Illinois town where he was from—began teaching almost immediately and, over the next 3 years, finished his undergraduate degree.  14 years later, taking classes as time and money would permit, he earned a masters degree.
He would referee football and basketball games to supplement income.  But, in truth, he enjoyed that kind of exercise--running up and down the field or the court.
In his first three years of teaching, he performed multiple roles in that first teaching job—band director, choir director, general health teacher, occasional janitor, and head coach for both baseball and basketball.  
He went to a dance one night and met this woman from nearby Greenville, I don’t know all of the details about their courtship, but they eventually married and, well, I came along later.  Had they both lived, they would have celebrated their 73rd Wedding Anniversary this last August.
Some of his teaching methods were a bit unusual.  For example, he once taught a drummer, who was a bit rhythmically challenged, by standing behind him and beating paradiddles and flams on the drummer’s head as that drummer beat them on the drum.  Not sure that method would be acceptable today, but…..
Sometimes, students couldn’t afford the instrument rental yet wanted to be in band.  He found a way to help them acquire an instrument.
Many of his students were my babysitters—hard to believe that the earliest ones are in their late 80s, pushing 90.
He taught the value of community service—reminding his students that the band was an extension of the community they represented.  We needed to do well to honor the community and to give back with our talent and in other ways.  After all, the community paid the bills.
He loved the classroom, loved sharing the joys of music.  He held his students to a high standard, expecting more out of us than we were capable of giving and usually received back more than he expected.
He made the difficult decision to enter administration because it would increase his pension, allow for a bit more comfortable retirement.  But, some years after retiring, he filled in for a band director in a nearby community when she went on maternity leave.
Dad enjoyed singing as well as instrumental music appearing in some community musicals.  He could sing—was often asked to sing at the weddings of his students.  But, that gift didn’t pass on and there is a story about that that illustrates his sense of humor and quick wit.
A few of his students died—either in school or after graduation.  It took him aback, caused him to think, to pause, to contemplate his own mortality.  Each loss hit him hard—an auto accident, a lightening strike, a murder and many others.  They must have been surprised when he arrived at heavenly band practice, baton in hand, and began warming them up on long tones, scales, and a quick march.
After he retired, he served in the community—a board for an organization that helped less fortunate individuals and the county board.  He did other things as well.
He knew two of his grandchildren and the 3rd and 4th ones would have brought him great joy also.  He never got to meet his great grandchildren, but Mom undoubtedly caught him up about them when she arrived in Heaven many years after he had gone to prepare a way for her.  His oldest grandson joined them some years later.
There isn’t a day go by that I don’t hear a piece of music that he either conducted or that I could imagine him conducting.  He cast a giant shadow.  He is missed.  A conversation with him, at certain times, would be so welcome.
Happy 100th birthday Dad.  I miss you every day.