In Formation, Please : Students in O.C. high school marching bands find competition and camaraderie in step with tradition and discipline.

If your first thought is of tall, furry hats, human formations of the school initials or “The Music Man,” marching bands have passed you by. Think Broadway production. Think Vegas showstopper. Think beyond tubas and sequins.

“Phantom of the Opera” at halftime, perhaps, and 18-wheelers packed with costumes and electronic instruments.

There are, of course, traditions such as marching and majorettes and the historical military overtone that other countries maintain. But in the United States, and most certainly in Orange County, marching band is Show Biz.

Mission Viejo High School’s has an annual $100,000 budget and stages a medieval battle of war involving regal flag twirlers in chain mail and 30 miniature castles. Etiwanda High School in Rancho Cucamonga fields a huge stage for a full jazz band, electric bass and guitars in addition to the marchers.

“The days of playing ‘Peg of My Heart’ and ‘I Saw Mama Kissing Santa [Claus]’ are over,” said Richard Naylor, band director of Savanna High School in Anaheim, which recently hosted about 40 marching bands that drew 7,000 spectators on a damp, foggy night.

As the pinnacle of band season approaches, football games and the holidays converge to produce halftime and parade performances that climax with the mother of all band events, the Rose Parade, which is watched by 450 million people worldwide.

But the audience is huge even for competitions among bands, attracting 10,000 or 15,000 spectators to events such as Savanna’s 12-hour marathon. Mater Dei High School will host the regular band season closer this weekend in Santa Ana.

School districts finance varying degrees of music programs such as marching band, but overall the money is dwindling, sometimes to such a drip that instruments cannot be repaired. Not surprising given that some schools can’t afford new textbooks and that the Orange County government’s bankruptcy increased the squeeze on some district budgets.

But band boosters--primarily parents--typically, sometimes amazingly, cover the difference. These, band directors say, are some of the most sophisticated fund-raisers in the community. They attend workshops on how to peddle candy and bingo games and pump politicians for tips on the town’s deepest pockets.

A football team has four dozen players and one season. Bands are the biggest team on campus, though, usually fielding a small army with a year-round schedule.

And despite a lingering image that is somewhat nerdy, this on-campus production company is thriving at 28,000 high schools nationwide--about 100 of them in Orange County.

While the most notorious marching band in the county these days is at El Dorado High School, sued by a neighbor for being noisy, most bands enjoy harmonious relationships on and off the field.

In each band, self-described “band-o’s” learn to work together as a team--typically getting to school early and staying late to practice each weekday and spending weekends playing at home- and away-games. Then there are parades and competitions and special performances. And always more rehearsals. They band members learn discipline and camaraderie--and grow up bound by music.

“They practice together and work together, get to know each other, and sometimes they fall in love,” said Harvey Barrish of Anaheim, publisher of World of Pageantry, the country’s only marching band newspaper.

Mater Dei’s marching band, considered among the best parochial school marching bands in the nation, has been the county’s most recent entry in the Rose Parade, Barrish said, “something band directors salivate for”--not to mention the students.

Anaheim has a national reputation for producing fine marching bands, in part because it is where the tradition began in the county and because it has so many high schools.

There is almost no agreement on the best band around, but Mission Viejo and Etiwanda are mentioned frequently. Both seek what they view as more challenging competition outside the Southern California School Band and Orchestra Assn., the establishment umbrella group for competition.

Sophistication and novelty of their musical and field arrangements are what make them standouts, other band members and spectators say.

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Millions of Americans have shared the school marching band experience--among them Louis Armstrong, Dizzy Gillespie, Carol Burnett, Herb Alpert and late popcorn king Orville Redenbacher.

A few months ago, the reunion of former Loara High School band members, 1,000 strong, filled the streets of Anaheim. Later, 25 years’ worth of music students performed at homecoming halftime.

Even in the poorest neighborhoods, from Santa Ana to South-Central Los Angeles, marching bands thrive.

As a high school activity, it seems a peculiarly American tradition. In some communities with large immigrant populations, such as Garden Grove, band membership drops off comparatively, Barrish says; marching bands are military operations in countries such as Vietnam and Cambodia.

A Cliff Clavin on the subject, Barrish is a former band director from New York who cites Bible verses on the first known reference to marching bands.

The glue, the universal appeal of marching bands, Barrish contends, is drums. “There is not a culture in the world that does not have drums. And have you ever tried to have a marching band without drums?”

Of course, it was drums that earned El Dorado’s band some dubious headlines lately. In a lawsuit against the band director, band booster club and school district, Paul and Barbara Evans say the early-morning band practice behind their Placentia home has gotten to be too much.

It is the noise of the drum corps, playing at 7 a.m., that has been particularly rattling, they say.

A judge ruled preliminarily that the band can play on until a fuller hearing on the dispute Dec. 8.

Despite the distractions the controversy has wrought, the band has continued its planned performances, including competitions with other bands--where, not surprisingly, the lawsuit is all the talk.

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Band competitions give the musicians a chance to show their stuff to a truly appreciative audience--one more interested in them than in football and flowered floats.

And the competitions offer a level playing field, where big bands are judged against big bands, small ones against small ones.

In the Savanna High-hosted event Nov. 18, dozens of bands, one after another, lined up to take their 15 minutes on the field at Anaheim’s Glover Stadium.

Among those in the stands that night was Heather Rohrbacker--clutching a stuffed bear, considered a good-luck charm among marching bands. Earlier in the show, she marched and played her French horn for El Toro High. Now she’s checking out the competition on the field.

A musician since sixth grade, she spends two hours a day on band practice. Still, she is managing a 3.43 grade-point average this semester, the busiest of the school year for marching band members.

“A lot of people think you have no social life outside band, but you can still do other stuff,” she said. “It’s just really exciting to play for everybody and hear their response, because we’re playing a cartoony show with the Jetsons, Animaniacs . . . and a Looney Tunes medley.”

Inside the fog-shrouded stadium, the concessionaire does a stiff business in hot cocoa and hot dogs. Just outside, the giddy and shivering high schoolers queue up. Each has just three minutes to take the field.

Judges score each band in various classes on musical performance, auxiliary or dance/drill team/color guard performance, line formation and other criteria.

The day begins with play by the smaller, less polished bands; it ends with performances by the biggest and, often, the most highly rated. At the end of the daylong event--about 9 p.m.--an elaborate awards ceremony is held. Winning drum majors accept the awards and salute each other in what resembles a cross between third-base coach signs and secret handshakes.

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In the stands, the bands cheer winners from other schools as well as their own. Schools from San Diego to northern Los Angeles County hunch together in sections.

Among those cheering is a trio of saxophonists from Orange High School--Robert Zamora, 14, Glen Stitz, 15, and Reuben Herrera, 16. Like their bandmates, they wear matching black jackets with orange Panthers lettering.

Their band wins second in the musical category for their school size. “Second place is pretty good,” says Robert, who’s been in marching band since middle school. “We’re a little band, and we still placed. Last week we didn’t even place [in another competition]. If it hadn’t been for the cannons, the winners wouldn’t have won,” he adds.

When the ceremony ends, the tall-hatted drum majors race off the field to confer with their comrades.

Whitney Foltz, the 16-year-old drum major of the Los Alamitos High School Marching band, meets up with her bandmates. She and the 60-person band have just placed third for their big band-sounding versions of “Georgia on My Mind,” “Begin the Beguine,” “Big Spender”--a saucy number with dancers shimmying with feather boas--and “My Favorite Things.” The 30-person color guard unit of flags and rifle twirlers places fourth. The dance team of 19 girls has won the grand prize. Ecstatic would be adjectively understated for the mood.

“This was our highest overall score in four years,” Whitney announces, grinning wide as the performance team gathers around her. She makes sure to point out each winning division--a goodwill ambassador with braces.

“We won the Sweepstakes for the third year in a row,” pipes in Paige Christensen, 17, a senior and the drill team captain, as she approaches in a white sequin-trimmed cape and false eyelashes.

Band competitions are far more rewarding than student events such as football games, the performers say.

“At football games, you’re just the entertainment,” Whitney explains. “The only one who actually watches you is your parent.”

So true, nodded Rob Barisoff, at 16, the only boy in the history of Los Alamitos’ color guard.

“He has a girlfriend,” one unnamed boy offers, for no apparent reason.

“Are you guys back together again?” a dance team colleague asks incredulously. “No,” he tells her, “this is a new one.”

The clutch of kids burst into shrieks and giggles.

Wolfgang Schwedler, a German exchange student and trumpet player at Los Alamitos High, laughs with excitement. “In Germany we don’t have marching band, so it’s very nice experience to play in this,” he says post-show.

The rapport and bonds are visible among band members, who “spend more time with each other than our own families,” says Jane Lee, 16, leader of the flute section.

When band director Chuck Wackerman underwent quadruple bypass heart surgery, the band formed in the street in front of his house and played for him. “We love him,” Whitney says as the others nod.

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It is the day before Thanksgiving, and Mission Viejo High School band director John Hannan has released his musician charges from the last scheduled class before a four-day weekend.

Still, the band room is packed with students and the racket of dozens of musicians playing on solo and quite different numbers. The rest of the campus is sparsely populated, but in this room nobody is rushing to leave.

A file cabinet is topped with metallic shiny trophies from performances just this year.

“The band room is a home away from home for a lot of kids, a kind of safe haven,” says Hannan, looking more like a coach than the band director. He almost immediately turns the spokesman duties over to his students.

Among them, there’s Kelly Keilar, 16, president of the color guard, her sister Brianna Keilar, 15, a clarinet player, and Aaron Boodman, 16, a senior and four-year band member who plays tenor sax.

“It’s like a big family; you’re all like best friends,” says Kelly. “Mr. Hannan, he’s like our dad.”

“Image is, like, a huge thing at this school. We are sort of considered geeks on campus sometimes,” Brianna says, shrugging as if she could not care less. “But there are 163 of us in band who get to be geeks together.”

Adds French horn player Stephanie Eshbach, 15, publicity director of the band: “Then again, the football team hasn’t won much. Aren’t they, like, 0-10?”

After eight hours a day for two weeks at summer band camp, daily class and practice, the before-, between- and after-class confabs in the band room and a four-hour rehearsal each Monday night, the performing teams are bonded and in sync.

They have their own newspaper printed before each competition, including a National Enquirer section with playful gossip, often fictional.

“There’s another good thing about band,” says Aaron, in very short hair and very long T-shirt, as he crossed his black suede high-tops. “You have to learn to deal with people. I was the most unsociable person on the planet until I joined band.”

Brianna listens as each student offers band testimony around the room. “It’s almost like a tolerance class,” she says.

Equally patient about speaking his mind is Phil LoCascio, 18, co-drum major of the band and the highest ranking disciplinarian on the field after Hannan.

There is a military-like chain of authority in bands--perhaps harking back to historical roots, when John Philip Sousa launched marching bands in the Marine Corps--and musicians follow it closely: Performers answer to their section leader, who responds to Phil, who answers only to Hannan.

It has been trying sometimes bossing around friends, Phil admits. Hey, the price of management.

“But it’s definitely the best class in high school,” he says, combing his surfer-look brown hair off his forehead. “It doesn’t just teach you about how you get good grades and get into college; it teaches you about life and how to act.”

From the showiest musician to “the dorkiest person. We are only as good as our worst person,” he says.

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Across Orange County, from elite bands to loose-knit ones, students and parents see much to be gained by the experience.

After the countless trips to practices and performances, the lugging of heavy instruments, the learning to march while playing, there are pay backs. The pleasure the music and pageantry bring to others. The sense of belonging and accomplishment--of striving for excellence.

Of taking part in a tradition that crosses generations.

“I live closer to Trabuco Hills, and most of my friends go to Trabuco High,” says Stephanie, a band member at Mission Viejo. “But I came here by choice, for the music.”

Her mother, Denise, arrives from work still in her blue Lucky market apron to pick up Stephanie after practice. She says she wasn’t sure her daughter would stick with the band--it’s a tough haul, especially at this time of year.

But she loves seeing Stephanie be part of the band.

“I wouldn’t have her anywhere else. It’s a good group of kids. . . . They are close, and they look out for each other.

“You don’t need to worry about ‘em when they’re with these kids.”