The Well-dressed Trombonist - Under the Eagle

 

The America Bald Eagle has been the symbol of our nation since 1782 when Congress chose it for the design of the Great Seal of the United States. With wings spread wide, an eagle's talons grasp 13 arrows in its left foot and an olive branch with 13 leaves in its right. In its beak is a ribbon with the Latin phrase: E Pluribus Unum ("Out of many, one"). 

Great Seal of the United States
Source: Wikimedia

In 1775 during the Revolutionary War, General George Washington had his officers display cockades on their hats to distinguish their rank. Initially he wanted these decorative knots of ribbons or rosettes in different colors so that "the field officers may have red or pink colored cockades in their hats, the captains yellow or buff, and the subalterns green.” But by 1777 his ragged army from the 13 colonies changed to using a simple black cockade, which, not by chance, happened to be the Hanoverian color of King George III.

In February 1778 the United States signed a Treaty of Alliance with France. Since the color favored by the French King Louis XVI was white, Washington ordered his soldiers to display a new Alliance Cockade on their hats that was black with a white center. The supporting French troops likewise wore an Alliance Cockade of white with a black center.

When George became President in 1789 among his many new responsibilities was deciding on appropriate uniform colors and insignia for the U.S. military. The old black cockades wouldn't work since that were still a British army style. The white on black was similarly politically incorrect since France had adopted a new tricolor of  blue, white and red as a symbol of its recent revolution. (Poor Louis XVI tried to wear one but it didn't really suit his hat.) 

To solve this fashion problem some clever Americans came up with an easy solution that Washington approved—putting an eagle pin onto the center of a black rose cockade. On 9 January 1799 his Secretary of War, James McHenry, ordered "All persons belonging to the army, to wear a black cockade, with a Small white Eagle in the centre. The cockade of non-commissioned officers, musicians and privates, to be of leather, with Eagles of tin." 

This pin depicted an eagle with down-swept wings sitting on a bank of clouds. That design lasted hardly more than a decade when in 1812 it was changed to suit another war with King George III, this time adding arrows and an olive branch to the eagle. In 1821 it was reworked again by removing the clouds and setting the eagle with outstretched wings and a shield on its breast. With only small alterations, over the next two centuries that eagle design became the standard insignia worn by officers and troops in the U. S. Army. My dad wore one on his hats during his 25 year career as an army officer.

  

Today, in honor of the 250th anniversary of America's Declaration of Independence I present a collection of eagles worn by bandsmen, mostly trombonists, who served in regimental bands. The bandsmen also wear a pointy headgear that for a few decades in the late 19th century was the fashionable helmet used by most military bands and troops. 

My first trombonist posed in a photographer's studio leaning casually on a fine upholstered chair in front of a painted scene with weird perspective. It's a half-plate tintype, more correctly called a ferrotype, about 6¼ x 4½ inches, an uncommon  size that's larger than other tintypes of musicians in my collection. His dark color uniform, I'm guessing maroon red, has a cut-away jacket adorned with three rows of brass buttons. His hat is a style resembling British police helmets called custodian helmets first used by the London Metropolitan Police in 1870. 

Since this photo is a tintype it is a unique image that could not be reproduced. Light captured by the collodion emulsion on an iron plate created a reversed image like a mirror. Sharp eyes might have noticed that this man's button seam is on the wrong side and he seems to be holding a left-handed trombone. 

   

Flipping the image with digital software puts the instrument in its proper orientation, bell on left shoulder and slide on right. It also puts the eagle's arrows on the correct side of the insignia. I'm not sure about the cord hanging from his helmet. It may be a chin strap released for the photo. He looks like a young man in his early 20s or even late teens. Notice the photographer has tinted his cheeks pink. I bet it made his mother proud.

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This next photo is a cabinet photo of two bandsmen and a soldier, all wearing pointy helmets with white plumes. There is no mark for photographer or location. All I can guess is they are members of a state militia band somewhere in the United States in the late 19th century. Such bands were made of professional musicians who were hired as a group to perform for a state guard regiment's annual training camps and civic parades. The bandsmen did not serve in the regular army and were paid by each regiment. In 19th century America the most popular entertainment in every town or city was a parade. Any opportunity to rally around the flag and march along with a band excited the public. Regimental bands competed with each other to provide the best music and present the most splendid uniforms.

The two bandsmen play brass instruments and the one seated on the right holds a piston valve instrument with a large bell. The plumbing looks long enough to be a kind of folded up valve trombone. It might be a flugelhorn or bass trumpet, but for the purpose of my theme I'll call it a trombone. I'm sure it sounded the same notes. 

The bandsman on the left has a standard cornet, possibly the higher E-flat model. Their uniforms are very ornate with striped trousers, fancy embroidery and fringed epaulettes. There is a subtle nod to the Grand Seal of the United States as their button embroidery are leaves with thirteen points.

The soldier standing guard in the center is an unusual addition to this trio. Except for his pointy helmet, his unform is very different. He wears a longer coat with white gloves and holds a rifle with a long bayonet fixed to the end. I would not want to be challenged by him for the password of the day.

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This bandsman's portrait is an unusual long 7½ x 4¼ inch Promenade mount but, like the previous photo, has no name of the photographer. The expanded size would have been suitable for a regular slide trombone but this fellow has a stubby piston valve trombone like the previous unknown bandsman. He cuts a fine figure with his trim uniform jacket which has three rows of buttons, a wide white belt and fringed epaulettes.

Piston valve trombones were popular in the 19th century as three valves simplified a traditional trombone's slippery slide system of infinite pitch. Different makers came up with several compact plumbing patterns which made the instrument easier to play while marching in a parade or mounted on a horse. 

According to my copy of the Encyclopedia of United States Army Insignia and Uniforms by William K. Emerson, his helmet eagle is a design from 1881 which added a banner in the eagle's beak. The shield would typically have the regiment's number. His helmet plume was white horsehair and on a detachable mount.

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This next bandsman is another member of the three valved trombone society. He is seated with a casual crossed leg, fingers on the valve buttons, looking direct at us as if to ask, "Have we met before?" His uniform is similar to the previous bandsmen's kit though this man's epaulette fringe seems longer and he wears a white cross-sash belt, attached to which is a small satchel marked HOLYOKE.  His eagle is looking left not right, so I think it pre-dates the previous bandsman, maybe late 1870s. I think he uses a softer conditioner on his plume too. He looks like an affable chap who could tell a good story.

The photographer on this cabinet card photo has an imprint on the back, J. D. Crane Photographic Studio, of No. 63 Dwight St., Holyoke, Massachusetts. Duplicates can be had at any time.  

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My final trombonist under the eagle is pictured on a tintype, in a more typical 3¾ x 2¼ inch format. He wears a white coat with three rows of buttons and lots of gold braid knots, simple shoulder boards instead of fringe epaulettes, and a custodian helmet with a point but without a plume. This photo is fairly dark like most tintypes, but my digital software improves the contrast. His instrument is a B-flat tenor slide trombone which has hardly changed from the sackbut, the trombone's Renaissance ancestor, and remains the same as trombones seen in today's modern bands and orchestras. 

As I often do with tintypes, I reverse the image to the subject's true aspect. This places his trombone in the right orientation but it also revealed a very important detail that was not visible in the other bandsmen's photos. 

It's a number on the eagle.

A regiment number more significant

in the history of American bands
than any other number.

The number is 22, which makes this trombonist a member of one of the most celebrated professional bands of the 19th century, the Band of the Twenty Second Regiment of New York. It was lead by Patrick Sarsfield Gilmore (1829–1892), an Irish-American composer and military bandmaster who immigrated to Boston in 1848. As a young man he established himself as a talented musician and bandleader with a variety of bands. In 1861 at the start of the Civil War, Gilmore's Band joined the 24th Massachusetts Volunteers, accompanying General Ambrose Burnside to North Carolina and later playing for Federal troops in New Orleans. He is credited with writing the lyrics to the song "When Johnny Comes Marching Home". Gilmore expanded a concert band instrumentation to include a larger woodwind section that made his band sound more like an orchestra. 

Patrick Sarsfield Gilmore (1829–1892)
Bandleader of the 22nd Regiment Band, c. 1890−92
Source: Wikimedia

After the war Patrick Gilmore organized massed orchestra and band concerts  with gigantic choruses for the National Peace Jubilee in 1869 and the World's Peace Jubilee and International Musical Festival in 1872. His success in Boston established him as the leading bandmaster of the postwar era. 

In 1873 Gilmore was invited to New York City to take over the band of the 22nd Regiment. This regiment was one of the premier elite state guards which was supported by many wealthy New York families. The band was its public image and with Gilmore it soon became known as "Gilmore's Band." 

Brooklyn Daily Times
21 March 1874

In New York the 22nd Regiment Band competed with fine bands from the 23rd and 7th Regiments. Band concerts were regular features in New York's society season and regimental bands offered a wide variety of music and solo artists. On one concert in March 1874 Gilmore promoted his friend, the great cornetist Matthew Arbuckle (1828–1883), and the saxophone virtuoso Edward A. Lefebre (1834–1911) who introduced New Yorkers to this new novel French instrument. He also had a trombone soloist, Herr Letsch on the same program.

Yonkers, NY Gazette
5 February 1881

 

Many instrumentalists in Gilmore's 22nd Regiment Band earned star billing on his programs and became as well known in New York's entertainment world as stage actors or opera singers. In a concert performed in February 1881 Gilmore listed a trombone soloist named C. Kappa. This was Carlo Alberto Cappa (1834–1893), an Italian-American trombonist who would go on to become a bandmaster in his own right. He is best remembered for leading the celebrated Seventh Regiment Band of New York which I recently featured on this blog in The Seventh Regiment Band, 

Rochester, NY Journal & Post Express
18 September 1883

In September 1883 at a concert in Rochester, New York, Gilmore listed another solo trombonist named Herr Stolz. These regimental bands attracted talented musicians from many nations like Germany, Italy, France, Belgium, and Great Britain. Gilmore's choice of the best soloists helped accelerate the growth of band music in America, especially because these bands also toured the country performing at expositions and state fairs. And everywhere they went, the band marched in a parade.

The Seventh Regiment Band on March
Harper's Weekly, vol. 33, 16 March 1889
Source: HathiTrust.org

This illustration from a March 1889 article in Harper's Weekly shows the Seventh Regiment Band marching on parade. The bandsmen wear tall white helmets with dark plums and dark tunics. The trombone section is in the front rank as their drum major leads the way. The postcard photo in my recent story on The Seventh Regiment Band was taken in 1905 when the band's uniforms, though still brilliant. had changed with the fashions of a new century. By 1900 guard regiments had replaced the pointy custodian helmet with more practical headgear. But for a time it was where the American eagle soared, sparkling atop the heads of spectacular marching bands. 

I will finish this collection of vintage trombonists
with a 2022 performance by the trombone section
of the United States Air Force Band with guest artist
George Curran, bass trombonist of the New York Philharmonic
in a Henry Fillmore's circus screamer, "Rolling Thunder".

And since I post this story on the 4th of July,
it seems fitting to hear the trombone quartet
of The United States Army Field Band
perform the "The Star-Spangled Banner" our national anthem.
It was  arranged by bass trombonist Master Sgt. Wesley Ballenger. 

Please stand.

For more trombonists wearing pointy hats
and fancy uniforms check out:

The Well-Dressed Trombonist
The Well-dressed Trombonist - Valve and Plume Edition
More Tinplated Brass, the Uniform Edition

This is my contribution to Sepia Saturday

where London bridges can sometimes fall up, too.

Austrian Horse Power

 

It's a dramatic moment that could easily be mistaken for a storyboard scene from an action movie. A squad of cavalrymen, actually hussars, chase after a huge airship soaring in the sky. The lead officer leader exclaims, "So leicht ist Zeppelin nicht zu fassen." ~ "A Zeppelin isn't that easy to catch." The horses look like they still want to try.

The artist of this postcard is Fritz Schönpflug (1873–1951), an Austrian postcard illustrator whose clever work I have enjoyed collecting for many years. I was originally attracted to his colorful and amusing caricatures of the people living in his native city of Wien (Vienna) during the final years of the Hapsburg Empire. But I soon discovered his postcards covered a much wider range of subjects than just quirky people. 

This spirited drawing was created in 1909 as indicated by the number 909 under Schönpflug's signature. It bears a striking similarity to another postcard by a different artist that I featured earlier this year in The Art of War – Aerial Assaults, part 1. 

In this thrilling painting by Anton Hoffmann (1863–1938), a painter and commercial artist from München, a half dozen horsemen of the 2nd Silesian Hussars Regiment, a distinguished cavalry unit of the Prussian Army, gallop after a Zeppelin that flies in the distance. My research found that this postcard was produced in 1913 as a benefit for a foundation sponsored by Germany's Crown Prince and Crown Princess. So it would seem that Schönpflug's 1909 sketch, which I believe depicts the same gallant Silesian regiment, inspired Hoffman's 1913 painting. 

Both pictures capture a thrilling moment when the time-honored military force of a cavalry encounters the new modern age of war machines. But what makes both pictures exciting is the way each artist portrays the movement of horses. Schönpflug was particularly skilled at drawing horses, which I've featured before, such as his carriage horses in Getting Around Old Wien part 3, and race horses in Horse Racing in Old Wien. Today I present some of Fritz Schönpflug's caricatures of horses and soldiers.

In this picture a group of German field artillerymen race up a hillside on horseback. Schönpflug expected his patrons to recognize that the soldiers were German by their leather Pickelhaube helmets, and that they were artillery because their hats were capped with a round knob instead of a sharp spike. The lead officer on a white horse shouts to one gunner, "Mensch, halt' dich Feste!" ~ "Man, hold on tight!" The horses appear to levitate with all four hooves above the ground. The officer's horse gives the impression it is thrilled to be given free rein to gallop at full speed. 

This card was never posted but Schönpflug's signature includes 909 for 1909. 

 In this picture a cavalry officer on horseback writes a message as cannons fire just beyond him. The officer is an Austrian dragoon signified by his light-blue tunic and tall crested helmet. His horse, not surprisingly, is alarmed at their position. The caption reads, "Aufklärungsdienst." ~ "Intelligence service." The subtle joke, of course, is that the officer's smartness is questionable when his horse knows they should not be so close to the field guns. 

This card was posted from Wien on 17 March 1912.

Schönpflug's human characters are sketched in a cartoon style with expressions that make us laugh at their foibles or foolishness. But his horses are not just stage props or animal figures in the background. He drew horses  carefully to show their natural strength and beauty. Yet a closer look reveals how Schönpflug gives each horse a personality that is reacting to the silly moment that he is illustrating.      

In this era many more horses were used as common draft animals than as gallant cavalry steads. And soldiers needed training to learn to drive wagons pulled by teams of horses. In this picture we see a soldier trying ineptly to control his runaway wagon. The pair of horses look to be having some fun exerting their full power. The caption reads:  "Der Herrenfahrer." ~ "The Gentleman Driver."

This card was never posted but Schönpflug's signature has 908 for 1908.

In this painting we see another collision between old military conventions and  the modern machine. An officer's horse is suddenly startled by the sight and sound of an automobile bringing army couriers with a message. The caption reads: "Feindliche Pferdekräfte." ~ "Hostile Horsepower." The joke is that sometimes the worst threat can come from someone on your own side. The horse appears genuinely insulted by this mechanical menace. 

This card was also never posted but has 909 next to Schönpflug's signature. All of his postcards were published in a series of six or eight different cards each  connected by a theme like these pictures of army maneuvers. Schönpflug was especially careful to get military uniforms correct because I think he sold a lot of postcards to soldiers. The brilliant colors of his pictures was another reason I was attracted to his artwork. Until I saw his postcards I never appreciated the difference between Prussian blue and Austria blue, since that is a distinction hidden in black and white photographs. 

My last postcard shows a wild cavalry charge by Austrian, or possibly Hungarian, cavalrymen. But they attack a field of geese and pigs! The caption reads: "Durch dick und dünn!" ~ "Through thick and thin!" The horses look a bit unsettled to be partaking in this unfair assault on defenseless livestock. 

The card has a postmark of 23 January 1911 from some place in Austria. The sender has used every available space on the front and back for their message. I wonder if putting the stamp of Kaiser Franz Joseph upside down coveys some secret message or political statement. 

I greatly admire how talented artists like Schönpflug were able to depict moments that in his time were impossible for photography to show. His artist eye caught all manner of funny human conceits but I think he depicts horses with a higher level of respect, showing us their natural nobility and steadfast virtues. You can see it in their eyes.  

There are many more postcards
of Fritz Schönpflug's horses in my collection
which I expect will be introduced
whenever I get stuck for an idea to write about. 

For the full list of my stories 
on Schönpflug's art

click this <link>.

This is my contribution to Sepia Saturday

where the best road trips
are never the adventure we expect.

 

A Soldier's Boots

 

In August 1914 the Imperial German Army mobilized  3,822,450 soldiers who were then ordered to attack on two fronts, eastwards to Russia and westwards to France. Every man needed a uniform, a helmet, a field kit, a gun, and a pair of boots. By late summer the Kaiser's quartermasters would issue around  7,644,900 boots. They would need a lot more. It was going to be a very long march.  

A single leather hide was typically large enough to make 3 to 4 pairs of boots. So a lot of cows and pigs  gave up their lives to shod the soldiers of World War One. But leather was used for many other things besides footwear. Countless leather harnesses, reins, belts, and straps were needed for millions of mules and draft horses who hauled artillery and supply wagons, not to mention saddles for cavalry mounts. 

This postcard photo shows six German soldiers repairing boots, a saddle and other leather gear. Across the top is a caption:

Handwerkstube im Feldzug  1914/15
~
Crafting Workshop on Campaign  1914/15

The numbers 2/5i may refer to the soldiers' company and regiment. The card was never mailed and has no marking to identify the location. 

In this photo five German soldiers relax on the ground of a forest glen. They are playing instruments—violin, zither, posthorn (a coiled up trumpet), and two guitars—as if they were entertaining a picnic. Two men sit cross-legged showing the hobnailed soles of their boots. A board in front of them has a message written in chalk.

Erinnerung an Aldersbach.  1916.
~
Remembrance of Aldersbach   1916 

Aldersbach is small town in the Bavarian district of Passau in Germany, not far from the Austrian border. The card was also never posted and has no other marks. The location may not be where the soldiers actually are. If they were a Bavarian unit, it might be where they were from. 

A larger group of ten soldiers appears on this next photo of a similar forest scene. Several men hold the same instruments as in the other photo except that instead of one violinist there are two mandolinists positioned with their instrument's peg-end pointed at the camera, almost like how a rifle is held. In the center one man grins as he sits astride a child's hobby horse. All the men have removed their tunics and rolled up their shirt sleeves for some kind of sweaty work. A caption is written on a rectangular wooden board.

"Die Lünftigen Brüder" von Stube 16 
~
"The Merry Brothers" of barrack room 16   

The word "Lünftigen" is not in German dictionaries that I could find. Two other words have nearly the same spelling. Künftigen means future and fünftigen means fifth but those words don't make sense with what we see in the photo. However with the help of Claude, my A.I. assistant, this could be a dialect spelling of Lustigen, the German word for merry, jolly, or funny, which seems more appropriate for these fellows.

Sharp-eyed readers will have spotted several similar faces in the three photos, the most striking being the man with a leathery bronze complexion, dark eyes, and a very broad mustache. It's a surprising coincidence for me as all three photos were purchased at different times, but I'm convinced this soldier and a couple of his comrades appear in all the photos. One subtle clue is the board used for the captions in the last two photos appears to be identical, as does the little pocket posthorn and the turned rod on the zither. 

The soldier in this postcard is not, as far as I can tell,  a member of the Merry Brothers, but he is occupied repairing boots. Six to be exact, not counting his own. It's a clever image produced by a German publisher as a postcard for the troops. In the top corner is a printed caption:

 Der Regimentsschuster
~
The regiment shoemaker

Other than these scenes of soldiers at work and recreation, everything else about them must remain unknown. What did they know of digging trenches in in the fields of Flanders or hauling munition wagons over the vast plains of Poland? Yet not all soldiers served in combat. Battles are often won or lost based on the simplest of military duties like feeding soldiers or refitting a boot heel. So it's not surprising that a regiment might assign a special unit to repair boots. No doubt these men knew about the terrible affliction of "trench foot" which caused thousands of casualties in all the armies of WW1. They understood how heavy ill-fitting boots brought on severe blisters, even gangrene, which could lead to amputations. So I think these soldiers took pride in their craft, confident that a hobnail was just as important as an artillery shell. 

By the end of the war in November 1918, Germany had called up over 13 million men to serve in its army and navy.  Around 2 million were killed, roughly 15 percent, and that is not counting other non-combat deaths from disease and accidents. 

These are army boots from a different war. My father, Lt. Colonel Russell Brubaker wore these during his service in Vietnam. They didn't get abused much, as fortunately during most of his time there he sat behind a desk, though he said there were a few scary moments. These boots have been stored in my basement for 25+ years now and likely weren't worn in the previous ¼ century after my dad's retirement. These are lighter and better designed for a tropical climate than his older all-leather pair which he wore as an infantryman in the Korean War. As a kid I remember trying to learn how to polish those to a spit-shine level. They had smooth leather soles and extra long laces that were challenging for a 6 year old to weave into dozens of eyelets.

Early in his military career my dad transferred from the U.S. Army's infantry corps to the transportation corps which is responsible for the army's logistical movement of troops and equipment. His work involved arranging plans for countless military trucks, amphibious ships, helicopters, and cargo planes to convey thousands of soldiers and their gear from one place to another in both peace and war. 

In the past few months the phrase "Boots on the Ground" has been so bandied about by dishonest politicians and asinine pundits that it has become an offensive cliche meme. Not only does the expression ignore the immense challenges that must be overcome to transport troops into remote foreign lands, it is cheap dehumanizing jargon that reduces soldiers into things. 

After the United States entered WW1 and later WW2, it took many months before our armed forces were assembled and ready to deploy. Generals and admirals knew then, as they should know now, that the success of any military action depends on meticulous planning. Failure to assess risk, map terrain, and identify enemy forces leads to increased casualties. It's a tragic consequence recognized by common soldiers in every war. How can any soldier be expected to do their duty if their boots are falling apart?

Next Monday will be Memorial Day, a public holiday established to honor and mourn the men and women who have given their lives in military service to the United States. It is fittingly a time of remembrance for the individuals we have lost in wars, but it should also be when we as a nation reflect on the tremendous cost of these conflicts. As citizens the best way to honor our fallen is to preserve our commitment to peace and reject all efforts to engage in another unjust and immoral war.    

This is my contribution to Sepia Saturday

where everyone is hard at work
with no time for chitchat.

The Seventh Regiment Band

 

It's not just their tunics with braided trim,
or their bright white trousers and baldric belts
that draws our attention to this band.  

The photo's sepia tone can't reveal
the full gleam of their brass buttons,
or their colorful swallowtail epaulettes,
or the shine on their brass instruments.

What stands out are the faces of bandsmen
who show a proud professionalism
in their military band.

Today I present a postcard photo 
of a band that was once
one of America's premier military bands,

The Seventh Regiment Band of New York City.

The photo shows a large ensemble of 59 men all dressed in the same fancy gray uniform with white trousers. They all wear the soft Kepi or forage cap that was the standard service hat of the United States Army during the Civil War. There are lots of cornets, trombones, french horns, euphoniums, tubas, clarinets, drums, and maybe a piccolo too. Behind them are several large canvas tents and a wooded hillside. In the top right corner someone has written:

State Camp
Peekskill, N. Y.
6 — 16th 1905

There is no other message since this postcard was intended to have only the address written on the back. It was sent from Peekskill, New York that very day and arrived at the home of Miss M. Chapman of 190 Vernon Ave., Brooklyn, New York later that same afternoon.  

The band is not identified but I could guess that they were a band engaged for a national guard training camp. I've written stories about such bands before in Tenting on the Old Camp Ground and The Band at the Old Campground, but those bands did not wear uniforms like these fellows. In the time before World War One a typical state national guard unit would hire a professional band for a week or two each summer to provide march music and entertainment for the officers and guardsmen doing their annual training encampment. Guard bandsmen were civilian musicians for the rest of the year and only wore a quasi army uniform for a couple of weeks. 

The band in Peekskill however wore tailored uniforms of the highest grade. And they counted over twice the number of bandsmen found in a standard state guard band. Who were they? The answer was easy to find in New York newspapers from June 1905.

New York Daily Tribune
4 June 1905
[click image to enlarge]

The location for the camp was at Peekskill, New York, a small city on the Hudson river about 50 miles north of New York City. It was here in 1882 that the New York State Camp of Military Instruction was established on a farm situated on a bluff that overlooked the Hudson River. In a few years it would be renamed to Camp Smith in honor of Governor Alfred E. Smith of New York. But in 1905 it was just called the State Camp and this was the 24th summer for the annual training of New York's National Guard units. This year the training sessions would be shorter lasting for just three weeks.

For the first week of June 1905 the First and Second Signal Corps and Tenth Regiment were resident. The 10th was a new regiment formed in May of that year with a strength of about 900 guardsmen. Newspapers around the state published long lists of its officers' names and their positions. Gartland's Band of Albany with 30 men was engaged to provide music for the 10th's parades and camp entertainment. This band would return for the third week of State Camp when the 22nd Regiment, Engineers would be resident there.  

Each regiment brought their own tents and equipment but this summer's training had a few innovations. The soldier's uniforms were now made from an olive drab fabric which previously had been in different colors for each regiment. The camp also had a new telephone system, which can be seen in the photo as a line of white poles in the photo. The Y. M. C. A. also had a new restaurant which reportedly had better food than the camp mess. Unfortunately the men endured a wet week with rain on six days out of seven.

Throughout the three weeks of national guard training there was a constant stream of visitors. West Point cadets from the nearby U. S. Military Academy just across the Hudson would come to observe or sometimes participate in mock battles with the guard. The regimental headquarters would often host regular army officers and even a U. S. Navy captain for a few days which always included a lavish meal with entertainment provided by the band. During the week civilians from Peekskill and surrounding area would drop in to watch drills, guard mount parades, or other events during which, of course, the band would play. 

Meanwhile signalman practiced their semaphore flag waving, engineers built floating bridges to cross streams, and riflemen tried to improve their marksmanship at the rifle ranges. The men were issued new Norwegian Krag rifles, considered superior to the old heavy Springfields. However the Krag's lighter barrel was easily bent if dropped which ruined its accuracy. Even the weight of a bayonet was said to eventually put it out of true. 

On Sunday 11 June the Tenth regiment departed and the Seventh Regiment arrived. They wore the new olive drab army uniforms, but had brought along their gray full dress uniforms for ceremonial parades. This regiment did not travel light and also brought along their own band, the celebrated Seventh Regiment Band.  If they were going to march in camp, they would march with style.

Seventh Regiment Armory, 
66th and 67th Streets,
Park and Lexington Avenues, New York City
Source: Wikimedia

The Seventh Regiment of the New York Militia was one of the oldest infantry regiments in New York. It was originally formed in 1806 as a city militia to defend New York City from a British blockade of the port. Over the next few decades the militia was called out to quell riots and protect private property during disturbances in the city. In 1847 it became the 7th Regiment of Infantry in the New York National Guard. During the Civil War the 7th served in the United States Army for several short duties of 30 to 90 days at a time, mainly guarding government positions around Washington, Baltimore, and New York. The unit became known as the "Silk Stocking" regiment or the "Blue-Bloods" because many of its soldiers came from families in New York City's social elite.

Following the war the 7th remained in the State Guard and in 1880 moved its headquarters into a privately funded building on Park Avenue and 67th Street. The Seventh Regiment Armory, now known as the the Park Avenue Armory, housed the administration for the regiment and each of its companies, as well as storage for equipment, rifles, and other arms. The armory's drill hall was under an immense vaulted ceiling supported without columns and measured 200 by 300 feet (61 by 91 m). There was even a 300-foot rifle range in its basement.    

The Seventh Regiment Band was organized in 1852 using German musicians from the city's orchestras and theaters. At the beginning of the Civil War, under the leadership of Claudio S. Grafulla (1812–1880), the band expanded from just brass instruments to including more woodwinds. Grafulla was born on the Spanish island of Menorca and immigrated to the United States in 1828 where he first found work playing the horn in one of New York City's many brass bands. He was also a talented composer and arranger whose popular marches helped establish a new American style band music.   

The band had its own practice room in the armory which is a short distance from Central Park. During the summer months the Seventh Regiment Band regularly performed concerts in the park. Programs were heavy on arrangements of German symphonic and Italian operatic repertoire. The band also played at events in Madison Square Garden and led parades for all sorts of civic and political events in New York.

In November 1899 George Llewellyn Humphrey was appointed as bandmaster of the Seventh Regiment Band to replace Ernest Neyer who had died earlier in August. Humphrey was selected from 150 applicants. He had previously led bands in Revenna and Akron, Ohio and was then musical director at the Herald Square Theatre. Like many of the musicians in New York he worked with both orchestras and bands following the city's entertainment seasons.

Philadelphia Inquirer
26 October 1900

In late October 1900, New York Governor Theodore Roosevelt returned to New York after several grueling weeks spent on the campaign trail. He was the new Republican candidate for vice president, on the ticket with President William McKinley who was seeking a second term. Roosevelt had only been New York's governor since January 1899 but in less than two years had earned a reputation as a reformer and opponent of New York's machine politics.

The Republican County Committee of New York planned a huge reception for Governor Roosevelt at Madison Square Garden. Part of the entertainment would be the assembled turnout of New Yorkers singing the Star-Spangled Banner with "500 trained singers, fifty military bands, and a chorus of 30,000 persons, directed by George L. Humphrey, bandmaster of the Seventh Regiment Band."    

In order to conduct this gigantic choir and band, Bandmaster Humphrey came up with the idea to use the powerful searchlight on the Garden's tower like a giant baton beating the time for the thousands of singers and musicians. The Boston Herald reported the next day that:

    The programme announced that the light would appear at 8:15 o’clock to lead the Roosevelt crowds about the square in the singing of "The Star Spangled Banner," but the singers were ready and waiting long before that signal.

    Promptly to the minute the searchlight flashed out its signal.  It was waved over the crowd and directed upon the various bands.  There was a hush in the assembly as every one strained his ears to catch the first blare of the horns.  Then came the strident note of a bugle, taking up the opening note of the anthem.  This was followed by the full crash of a dozen bands in and around the square, and the thunder of thousands of voices, whose volume rose even above the noise of the instruments.

    When the crowd reached the lines,

        And the rocket’s red glare, the bombs bursting in air,”

        Gave proof to the night that our flag was still there.

the bombs appropriately burst far above the heads of the singers, revealing red, white and blue stars, and showing the banner of the republic, “still high advanced.”  A mighty cheer arose, as the thousands raised in their singing to hail the colors of the flag.

    The light was waved up and down, in short, though precisely regulated, strokes. It was difficult to follow at first, but the singers soon got accustomed to it, and when Mr. Humphrey directed the singing of “America,” the crowd followed with ease and with tremendous effect.  

This was just one example of a monster concert in the golden age of bands. But from our perspective 126 years later, it was also a hint of the many spectacles to come in the new century. One can only imagine the excitement Teddy Roosevelt felt as he listened to the music and saw the adulation of the crowd. Five years later Bandmaster Humphrey and the bandsmen of the Seventh Regiment Band surely remembered that event with great pride as they traded stories over a campfire at Peekskill.

In August of 1905 the Seventh Regiment Band furnished the music for the thirty-ninth annual commencement of the New York College of Dentistry. Three weeks later the band led a parade of firemen in Larchmont, New York. In September they accompanied a male chorus of 400 voices from the United German Singing Societies at a concert in Central Park. And in November the Seventh Regiment Band "of 100 pieces" provided music for a mass meeting of lawyers at Carnegie Hall.

Bandmaster George L. Humphrey continued leading the Seventh Regiment Band until poor health forced his retirement in 1916. He moved to Washington, Pennsylvania where he died of tuberculosis on 28 December 1918. He was 64. 

I think the bandsman standing second left in the postcard photo is Bandmaster George L. Humphrey. This man holds no instrument (the horn to his left belongs to the next man) and a bandmaster was not a drum major, who stands on the opposite side in the full band photo. This man looks to be around age 51 which was Humphrey's age that summer in 1905. He also looks like someone who could easily wield a searchlight to beat 4/4 time if he had to.  

Footnote

Despite a very thorough search of the infinite internet archives I have been unable to find any other photos of the Seventh Regiment Band. This was the band that once led every important parade in New York City for decades. Its bandmasters were highly regarded musicians who composed marches in the same way that John Philip Sousa did with the U. S. Marine Band and his famous Sousa Marine Band. So it surprises me that this little postcard may be the only photo of this premier ensemble which once made a significant contribution to American band music.

Here is the 7th Regiment March

composed by Ernest Neyer (1847–1899)

who briefly was bandmaster of the 7th Regiment Band

from 1898 until his death on 31 August 1899.
He was succeeded by George L. Humphrey
who was the 7th's bandmaster in my postcard from 1905.

The 7th Regiment Band led by Lieut. Francis W. Sutherland
played Neyer's march on this 1923 recording which was made
for the Vocalion label of the Aeolian Company. 

 UPDATE: 

Just two days after I posted this story I tried searching for more information on the Seventh Regiment Band in another archive, Google Books. Much to my surprise a series of books, "The Seventh Regiment Gazette, A Military Review, Devoted to the Interest of the Seventh Regiment and the National Guard" has been digitized and Volumes 19-20 for 1905 was available for download. Not only did this monthly gazette have a day-by-day account of the 7th's week at the State Camp in Peekskill but there were photos of officers and staff.    

"The Seventh Regiment Gazette, A Military Review,
Devoted to the Interest of the Seventh Regiment and the National Guard"
Source: Google Books

On  page 575 of the PDF file are two portraits of Bandmaster Geroge L. Humphrey and Drum Major Charles H. Brown. They both wear very elaborate uniforms much more ornamented than the uniforms the band wears in my postcard. Drum Major Brown looks to be the same man with a mace seen on the far right of the band's photo. But the man I thought was Bandmaster Humphrey does not match the face in his portrait. For one thing Humphrey wears pince nez spectacles but the man in the photo does not. And is that a baton or a light saber that he is holding? 

"The Seventh Regiment Gazette, A Military Review,
Devoted to the Interest of the Seventh Regiment and the National Guard"
Source: Google Books

Just above are portraits of the Regimental and Battalion Sgt-Majors who are wearing guardsmen's dress uniforms. It's a gallant style that reflects the proud military traditions of the Seventh Regiment New York National Guard.   

This is my contribution to Sepia Saturday

where camping tents are 20% off all weekend.