Tony DiMartino, a friend of Smith’s brother, snare drummer Kevin, recruited them after the family moved to Park Ridge. “We knew absolutely nothing about the Cavaliers,” Smith said. “The only person that had was my stepfather. And he had lived in Park Ridge for almost forever. He kind of encouraged us to do it, to check it out at least. He said we needed discipline. I, personally, wasn’t a troublemaker to anyone, I don’t think, until I joined the Cavaliers. When we started to enjoy it, he wanted us to quit, ‘cause he said it was taking too much time.”

John Chapin grew up in Park Ridge when the corps still practiced at South Park. He and other cadets marveled at guys like eventual-drum major Dave Flynn, tearing up the drum set, or even—gasp—taking time to talk to them. Smith remembered his first rehearsal, in 1977. Heeres, director of the A corps, handed out T-shirts that said “You Gotta Believe” decorated with Don Quixote and a rainbow. “I actually kept the T-shirt and I wore it (several years later, under his uniform) performing in my very last show.”

Like the DeGrauwes, the cadets featured families of drum corps “lifers.” Mike Heitzman, son of treasurer, Don, led the cadets to a CCI title in 1981 as drum major. When Marco Buscaglia arrived at practice in 1977 word got around–“Little Angelo is here!”—referring not only to his father, but his brother, who marched in the ‘77 horn line. Mark Des Biens, whose father, Jim, marched from 1959-60, followed the Wiles family’s four sons and two daughters into drum corps. Des Biens grew up in McHenry, and he and brother Brian were brought into the city for their first cadet rehearsal in 1981.

“He started on drums, and I was put in the horn line,” Des Biens said. “That first night was the first black person I met. I was from McHenry County. There was nobody black out there. First divorced family I met, first Jewish family, too. And it was such a difference from my sheltered, McHenry life, where people didn’t want to go to Chicago—‘there are black people there!’ And, to my parents, just having faith to go there on tour and everything, it literally was a different life from what most of the people at my high school were going through. They didn’t have exposure to any of that. It was just an amazing experience for an 11-year-old. To never have talked or shook hands (with anyone different)!”

Bill Wiggins was raised on drum corps shows, though neither of his parents marched. His father coached Chicago Park District baseball. During the season, a few players always went missing from his lineup. One Saturday he went to see what all the fuss over the Cavaliers was about. From that first show, Wiggins’ parents were hooked. “As long as I can remember I’ve been going to drum corps shows,” he said. “Forever. Every DCI, everything. We used to march around waving brooms, my sister, brother and myself. So of course I wanted to take lessons, learn how to play trumpet so I can march someday. Back in the early Seventies I had this corps jacket, and it’s like so small. And back then you didn’t have a corps jacket unless you were in the corps—I don’t know how my dad finagled it. Maybe he had it made. I thought it was the greatest thing since sliced bread.”

Wiggins’ ability on trumpet proved even more valuable. After just a year in the cadets, he was called up to A corps, where he wielded his soprano another seven summers.

If there’s one thing cadets of the 1970s are most proud of, it’s that when the Cavaliers fell out of finals a second time, in 1978, they were called up to bolster the corps. Fourteen or 15 boys were plucked from B corps in 1978, John Van Dorpe remembered, followed by a class of more than 40 the following summer.

Buscaglia remembered the first big exodus of “little guys.” When camp began the cadets were 110 strong. By Sunday, 80 or so players remained after the A corps’ mighty hand swooped down. “It kind of pissed us off. We were supposed to be competitive, and Madison Junior Scouts went undefeated two years in a row. (But) I remember Adolph saying ‘This is the whole reason we’re here.’ That sucked, but that’s how it was.”

Until, of course, Buscaglia, Smith, Van Dorpe and the rest made their own jump to A corps. “It took us a couple years to build it up, but it saved us, it really did,” DeGrauwe said. “They all stayed, and we started to reap the benefits.”

But even the Cavaliers’ passionate new members couldn’t argue with the financial numbers. The corps was going under.