TubeNet

Eight years ago, my "muy simpatica" wife, Pat, gave me a tuba for my sixtieth birthday. She thought it might bring back memories of the glory days when I played principal tuba - actually only tuba - in the Los Angeles City College Band.
Well, you can believe it, I drove right over to Long Beach City College and wheedled my way into their community band by pointing out that my shiny new Bach three-banger would add a touch of class to their lineup of battered sousaphones.
I had forgotten one minor detail. The fingers were ready. For thirty years I had been silently fingering bass lines to music I heard on the radio. But the embouchure was a total disaster; raw chicken liver.
There was one interesting bit of news, a rumor that a mysterious "supertubist," who had appeared briefly the previous semester, would soon return to dazzle us. Apparently he was spending the summer in Kentucky - something beyond understanding to a Californian.
Sure enough, when I walked into the rehearsal a couple weeks later, there sat, unmistakably, the phenomenal one. It wasn't his appearance. He was slight of stature, gray-haired and balding, with the face of a cherub. But - he was casually playing runs and arpeggios up and down the treble clef on his CC Meinl. 
Ah, that sound: round and velvety with a gentle vibrato. That tuba could have sung a role in "La Bohème".
We introduced ourselves. "I'm Rex Conner," he said, pausing to let this sink in.
No bells rang. The only tuba player I knew of was the great, highly visible Roger Bobo. So, Rex told me about the University of Kentucky and Interlochen. Good grief! This unassuming man really was one of the world's premier players and teachers. Or else he was going to sell us instruments and uniforms and steal the heart of the school librarian.
I have always wondered how Rex could find enough breath in his lungs to support that gorgeous tone. After all, he's a bit older than I am and I still get stomach cramps at the sight of tied whole notes.
I've wondered even more since the night he took off his shirt during break time and showed me his torso. A map of the Battle of San Juan Hill, perhaps? No, just the scars he got in three major surgeries. They start on his legs and meander across his abdomen to a spectacular display on his chest.
In the eight years Rex had lived in California, he has been surprisingly healthy. He attributes this to playing the tuba several hours each day. This may be the death knell for aerobic exercise. Tuba, anyone?
Since coming to California from his old Kentucky home, Rex and his wife, the lovely Alberta, have lived in the Seal Beach Leisure World, a retirement community. The place barely misses being idyllic, with large expanses of lawn surrounding rows of single-story, two bedroom apartments. There are four clubhouses, a small golf course, and many, many pool tables.
Rex has carefully cultivated a minor reputation as a pool hustler. I took him on for a game and immediately regretted it when he pulled out his own five-piece pool cue and a green eyeshade. Rex took me for three games of eight ball and, in nickel-a-game circles, a princely sum.
Rex's small second bedroom now contains five tubas: Two CC's, one BBb, one F and one Eb. There is also an assortment of dent-repair tools and several files crammed with music. At the slightest encouragement, he will squeeze in chairs, stands and music to play Mozart duets that he has adapted for tuba. It's fun - but one tends to feel severely overmatched, unless one happens to be Bill Rose or Sam Pilafian. 
Solos, however, are played in the living room. On our first visit, Rex walked briskly into the living room, carrying his horn. Without a word, he sat down and launched into a flawless performance of "Carnival of Venice." The Meinl began to glow a pale red.
"Sorry, Roger," I remember thinking. "I don't have to risk cardiac arrest anymore climbing up that long hill to the Hollywood Bowl."
**
You know that Rex played with John Philip Sousa, don't you? It had to be 1931 or 1932, the year that Sousa died. Rex was going to high school in McPherson, Kansas. He was invited to play in an All Star band in Salina, Kansas. Seven high schools participated in the event.
John Philip Sousa, at the peak of his popularity, was apparently getting a bit crotchety, but he was there to give inspiration and advice. During the final concert, he was asking to direct one number. Sousa reluctantly agreed and strode rapidly out to the podium. Immediately, he gave the downbeat to a fast march. All the players were still picking up their instruments, especially the sousaphones. All except one, that is.
Milford Crabb of McPherson earned immortality that evening. He knew the piece and was sitting there, ready, with his baritone. At the downbeat, he played the solo trumpet part - a fanfare - until the rest gradually came in.
Rex came in strong at the Trio.
Rex tells how he got started on the tuba: "When I was about seven years old, my older brother brought a tuba home from school. I would sneak out to the woodshed and try to play it. In a few days I had figured out the fingerings and was playing scales."
**

Ed Jones wrote:This was in an old TUBA Journal. That's Tubists Universal Brotherhood Association for you youngsters.

bloke wrote:I doubt if any of us who ever studied with him have anything bad to say about him.
Who, in the tuba world, was more loved and lovable than Rex...and the man could move around on that Meinl-Weston BBb !!!

I was approached once about being involved in something that would benefit me at a cost to Rex.

Even though I was a very young man, I fortunately had enough sense and love of Rex (even though I'd only known him for two months) to know not to involve myself in such.