Perfectly Crazy Forming Once A Year For Coeur D’Alene’s July Fourth Parade, The Perfection-Nots Band Is A Crowd-Pleaser With Less-Than-Perfect Style

Crisp and military, they’re not. But they’re usually in step, thanks to the plunger-waving drum major out front.

And their bizarre costumes are a knockout, which has helped make the Perfection-Nots the most crowd-pleasing marching band ever in Coeur d’Alene’s July Fourth American Heroes parade.

Spectators wait impatiently every year for this wacky group to hit the asphalt somewhere between the high-tailed horses and the Shriners’ octocycle. Excitement builds as ears pick up the strong sounds of Sousa before eyes spot any glinting trombones.

The band marches through a tunnel of noisy appreciation its entire mile-long route.

“When we hear ‘Holy smokes’ from the audience, it makes it all worth it,” says Larry Strobel, loving father of the Perfection-Nots.

Strobel and his wife, Sharon, pulled together the band on a moment’s notice in 1978 for city business leaders.

“We didn’t intend for it to be here more than a year,” he says, chuckling.

But the Strobels had launched a winner.

Twenty years ago, the parade desperately needed the traditional band music spectators expect. Coeur d’Alene High band director John Terris had to work insanely hard to scare up a handful of young musicians during summer break.

“I tried marching with a few kids, but it didn’t sound good,” says Terris, whose reputation for excellence is local legend.

Strobel was 40 then and had played French horn for Terris’ predecessor at the high school. After graduation, he kept his musical skill sharp by playing in military and local dance bands.

When the chamber of commerce whined to him about its unsuccessful hunt for a marching band, Strobel took the problem to his dinner table.

“It all came together there,” he says. “We knew musicians and figured we could dress funny so we wouldn’t have to get uniforms.”

He and Sharon wore out their telephone over the next few days calling every proficient musician they knew. One of the first calls was to Terris, who offered to supply the instruments and music from the high school. Terris liked the idea of a community band.

“It’s a really unique thing,” he says. “The high school kids have something to participate in if they want. People who played in high school have the chance to drag out the horn once a year and have a wonderful experience. It works for everyone.”

The Strobels drummed up 52 musicians that first year. A handful refused with, “Are you crazy?” and “You want me to do what?” Most of them changed their tunes the second year.

The name “Perfection-Nots” hit Strobel on his mail route. It was a take off on the Percussion-Nauts, a crack precision Inland Northwest drum and bugle corps.

“They’re so perfect and we’re not,” Strobel says.

The group rehearsed once in the Strobels’ backyard and practiced marching through his tidy neighborhood in east Coeur d’Alene.

“We want a good-sounding, funny-looking performance,” Strobel says. “We don’t want it to be a mess; we want it to be a marching band.”

The bass drum was a problem. No one wanted to lug it. So Strobel drafted the 10-year-old boy next door to pull it in a wagon.

Tom Torgerson has stuck with the band ever since and always pulls the drum wagon.

“I have absolutely no musical talent,” he says. “In my middle to late teen years, I wanted to bail. Now I look forward to it. When I lived in Boise for four years, I flew up for the parade.”

For the first parade, Perfection-Nots cross-dressed and dressed down. Two wore bags over their heads so no one would recognize them. The drum major showed up with a painted toilet plunger and led the band in a series of countermarches. The crowd loved it.

Within a few years, the Perfection-Nots were a Coeur d’Alene Fourth of July tradition. The ranks of musicians grew and the costumes and pranks got wild.

Terris usually wore a toga but showed up last year as the Energizer Bunny.

“It’s a chance for the kids to work with me on a little lighter side,” he says. “But I don’t think I’ll ever do the bunny again - too hot.”

Torgerson, who’s 30 now and a real estate agent, has pulled his drum wagon as a cheerleader, ballerina and Baby New Year.

“My family always gets on the same side of the street to see what idiotic costume I came up with,” he says. “It could include Lycra this year.”

Costumes range from inventive - one musician built a person on his back and looked like he could march either direction - to the inappropriate. Nasty calls went to Strobel when three musicians marched in military fatigues and carried dolls with knives stuck in them.

“I wasn’t so happy about the priest and nun costumes,” Sharon Strobel says.

“It was worse the year the girl came as a pregnant nun,” says her husband.

Larry Belmont, trumpeter and director of the Panhandle Health District, made the Perfection-Nots’ memory book the year he chipped a bone in his foot on July 3.

He showed up parade day dressed as a patient with his foot in a still-wet cast. A friend pushed him in a wheelchair.

“Everyone got out of our way,” Belmont says.

People scramble out of Denny Burt’s way, too. The music store owner had his trombone fitted with a pumping system that enables him to squirt water at spectators.

“It’s the one time of year to be crazy beyond belief,” he says.

Finding a good variety of musicians is the Strobel’s toughest challenge each year. They start calling 250 people in June. Anyone who plays an instrument with a modicum of proficiency is fair game - doctors, lawyers, bank tellers, teachers, mail carriers, etc.

They typically end up with 80 to 110 players.

“The years we have 19 trombones, we play ‘76 Trombones,”’ Sharon Strobel says. “Some years are better than others. We have to have faith.”

Musicians recruit their friends. Belmont badgered snare drummer Kay Kindig, the director of Panhandle Home Health, for years before she finally joined four years ago.

“My dentist plays first trombone. A nurse’s aide I know marches behind me playing clarinet. It’s just such fun,” she says. “It’s one of the real perks of living in this community.”

John Festersen lives in Spokane. But he pulled out his trombone as soon as his friends in Coeur d’Alene called in 1990. At 72, he figures he’s the oldest Perfection-Not.

“People get a big charge out of it,” he says. “I can see them enjoying it.”

That’s all the Strobels want - for spectators and musicians. Every year, the Strobels find musicians, arrange rehearsals, allow hundreds of feet to stomp through their house and yard. Their phone rings constantly for three solid weeks in June. They supply punch and cookies for the practices.

To every parade they bring plastic wrap and ponchos in case of rain, tiny tools and extra equipment. Then they pull out their French horn and flute and join the ranks.

“When the band finally takes off, I say, ‘Whew,”’ Strobel says. They’ve kept the annual rehearsals and performances to one.

“We get calls for months before and after July Fourth to play for parades,” Sharon Strobel says. “We just don’t do it. The logistics are too difficult.”

Plus, the musicians don’t want more engagements.

“We’ve asked the band,” Larry Strobel says. “They say no. Our one parade is a very special thing.”

The trophies in the Strobel’s basement prove the band’s popularity and skill. In the last few years, it’s won money, which thrills the Strobels.

“We’ve had great fun giving it away,” Sharon Strobel says.

The Perfection-Nots’ winnings have fed Coeur d’Alene’s skateboard park and cultural center, bandshell and museum, hiking trails, playgrounds and poor. It’s a perk the Strobels didn’t expect and they’re grateful.

“We never asked for anything,” Larry Strobel says, still overwhelmed by the community’s affection for his group after 20 years. “In my wildest dreams it never occurred to me the Perfection-Nots would become a household word in Coeur d’Alene.”

, DataTimes ILLUSTRATION: Color photo