Ten o’clock in the morning, Kla-Ha-Ya Saturday. Schwartzmiller’s Sauerkraut Band is down at the Legion Hall tuning up for the parade. The brass section oil their valves as they sip Bloody Marys, and the drummers drink beer and renew old acquaintances. Krauts aren’t big on practicing (they already know all the songs) but they love preparation.

Outside the building, Fun Run contestants are finishing the race–gasping, cramping, sweating, agonizing and loving every minute of it–and the Band looks on, tipping bottles and shaking their heads. They know they have a long journey to go themselves.

We’re the Krauts, we’re drunk and crazy
We drink beer at PYC!
We eat lots of German sausage
Schwartzmiller Band makes history!

The Schwartzmiller Band is the antithesis of a true marching band. Traditional bands have discipline and rigid formations that run like clockwork; the Krauts literally flow down the parade route, dancing, singing, shouting, running out in the crowds to kiss their moms.

Crowds clap politely at well executed maneuvers by tip-top organizations, but people whoop and holler and wave wildly when the Krauts prance by. Fancy uniforms with all the trappings give the parade dignity and class, but the Krauts get the adrenalin pumping through the crowd with healthy doses of free sauerkraut, renditions of “Roll Out the Barrel”, and the chorus of their theme song:

Krauts! Krauts! Schwartzmiller Krauts!
We march down the street and give them the blitz!
Krauts! Krauts! Schwartzmiller Krauts!
We play real hard and we get no tips!

Art Schwartzmiller is the patriarch of the band. He says the Band has been around “since about 1969”. Art plays the trumpet and it’s his job to get the guys together to play. The Krauts play all year long, but they go crazy in the summer–Kla-Ha-Ya, Salty Sea Days, the Air Fair, etc. They also play more than parades. Once they stomped through a fundraiser for local politician Earl Torgeson, considerably livening up the proceedings.

This Saturday they make their debut performance in front of 20,000 fans in the Kingdome (a baseball game has also been scheduled, but that shouldn’t interfere with the Krauts too much).

Finding the band down at the Dome shouldn’t be too difficult for those in the Snohomish Night crowd. They will have a tuba player in drag who blows into his hands a lot (Kevin Utt), a drummer who wears giant hot pink sunglasses (Jim Young) and a trombonist with a floppy hat, an old high school band jacket,and the longest baseball socks imaginable stretched out over his knees (Gordon Taylor).

Plus they have a trumpeter who wears Bermuda shorts and socks with technicolor toes (Bill Young), a loud cymbal player with a quiet name (Squeak Schwartzmiller), and an innocent looking fellow who plays glockenspiel and sings about squirrels and nuts (Gil Schwartzmiller). And we can’t forget to mention Dibie Peters, the man in front with with the skullcane and button-laden vest, revving up the crowd, calling out signals, and incessantly tooting his whistle. Gardner, Jim, Jimmy, Hub, Vic, Larry–the list goes on and on.

When the parade ends, the Band is just getting into high gear. First, they play for the people at the Legion Hall. Upon completing their set, the guys play the most sincere version of “How Dry I Am” ever heard this side of the Pilchuck River (tears begin to form in Dibie’s eyes). The management is only too glad to pour cold ones for the boys, and they salute their good fortune with a few more tunes. Then its off across the street to the next bar. Then the next one. And the the next, next one. Soon they’ve hit every watering hole on First Street and, needless to say, the band is in very good spirits.

So its off to Machias and the Pilchuck Tavern (the infamous Pilchuck Yacht Club) for the final encore. The last song is played and the band retires. Six o’clock has arrived and it has been a big day–bar hopping, blowing horns, parading, screaming at the top of your lungs. Some band members dunk themselves in the soothing river, other gobble down some of Chef Jim’s spicy chili, and the tired sink into the nearest chair for some well-deserved rest. They didn’t get no tips, but they all had a helluva time.