RIP, Stan Glyde

I was saddened to learn today of this weekend's death of Stan Glyde, the British immigrant who introduced me to soccer and taught me how to play the drums. Most importantly, he taught me that I could accomplish things if I had the right focus and commitment.

Stan died in Fresno at age 76, and lived a long fruitful life as a musician, teacher and soccer coach. He inspired hundreds of kids to adopt the then strange game of soccer, taught drumming for decades and played regularly with local bands up until early this year.  I was school friends in Fresno with his sons David and Shawn, and our parents (including Stan's wife, Emily) remain close to this day.

I met Dave in third grade and soon thereafter was playing soccer on a Holland Elementary School team Stan had inspired and coached. He turned a bunch of misfits who had never played soccer into a championship team. More importantly, he taught us the value of hard work, with daily practices that focused on fitness, fundamental ball skills and teamwork.  We were called the Holland Hammers, named after the West Ham United Hammers, Stan's favorite British professional team. I can still visualize our purple and light blue uniforms, colors West Ham continues to use to this day.

Stan came from London (where he lived through the Battle of Britain) and his accent was something of a novelty for us Fresno school kids who didn't grow up with much culture. He used to call the soccer field "the pitch," much to our delight (we'd always respond, giggling, "You mean the grass, Coach Glyde?"). He was quick with a smile and incredibly patient. I played soccer through high school, but never had a coach who compared.

Shortly after graduating from high school, I scratched a longtime itch and started playing the drums. I spent many days at the Glyde house and was no doubt inspired by Stan, Dave and Shawn through the years, but had never taken the initiative to switch from trumpet (and later trombone) to the drums until I was in my late teens. I took lessons from Stan for about a year when I was 18 and 19, learning the basics and how to make each of my arms and legs work independently of each other. We spent a lot of time on things like simple beats and rolls (think paradiddle) before tackling more complex stuff. I remember learning a tricky bit with the hi-hat, snare and tom that I would pull out during live gigs, and was thrilled when another, much better, drummer asked me to show him the same trick.

I was never a great drummer but got a thrill when Stan said I was good enough to start looking for paying gigs. I was scared to death when he tried to set me up with a little combo playing old standards at senior centers and community groups. I can't recall what happened, but I never took any of those gigs, instead falling into the low-paid punk realm, and later a reasonably well-known local band that played an eclectic mix of rockabilly, rock, country, punk and pop.

I played drums for about a decade, but sold my kit when 1) I took a night job that kept me from weekend gigs and 2) I needed cash to pay for flying lessons. I've regretted selling my set since that day but still play some mean "air drums" or twirl my sticks while watching TV. My youngest daughter keeps telling me I need to start playing again. I probably do.

If you want to hear how great a musician Stan was, check out this 1960 live performance Shawn posted of the Westlake College of Music Quintet at the Lighthouse Jazz Club in Hermosa Beach. One listen and you realize Stan was quite a talent, even way back then. It's easy to see where his sons drew their inspiration. If you met Stan, you would have been inspired too.