The Squeaky Wheel

The verbal heirloom that taught me to speak up

This post was inspired by Kirsi Dahl’s post on verbal heirlooms.

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We may not all inherit special objects, such as jewelry or a treasured piece of furniture, but we all likely have verbal heirlooms.

Verbal heirlooms are the sayings our parents, grandparents, or other adults repeated to us while we were growing up. The one drilled into my head was, “The squeaky wheel gets the grease.”

According to Quote Investigator, that saying has been attributed to several people over the years. Still, the version closest to the one I heard appeared in Cal Stewart’s collection Uncle Josh Weathersby’s Punkin Centre Stories. His character Josh Weathersby said, “But the wheel what squeaks the loudest is the one that gets the grease.”

My parents brought up that saying often. The message was simple: You have to tell your story. You have to stand up for yourself.

I became a majorette during my sophomore year of high school. I had tried out as a freshman but was the only girl who was not taking lessons from Susan, the official twirling teacher. I didn’t understand why that should matter. I was taking lessons from a majorette who had already graduated and was one of her former students. Still, of all the girls who tried out, I was the only one who did not make the squad.

Me as pregame majorette - 1965

Needless to say, Mom signed me up for Susan’s classes after that. That was when I learned that there were unwritten rules, and one of them was that you took lessons from Susan if you wanted to be a majorette at Bosse High School. The following year, I made the squad, and was happy to be a pregame majorette.

A little explanation of the majorette hierarchy is necessary here. The difference between a pregame and a varsity majorette was much like the difference between junior varsity and varsity in sports. Pregame majorettes performed before games and, on some occasions, took part in the background of the halftime show. Varsity majorettes held the more prestigious positions and were featured during halftime. They also wore cute outfits!

After spending so much time taking lessons from Susan and practicing the routines, most of the squad aspired to be varsity. But not everyone could make it. Only eight girls were chosen.

Marching varsity was a big deal. The varsity majorettes often appeared at the front of the band as it entered the field. Later, as the band marched and played, the musicians would open their formation so the majorettes could move through it, performing synchronized dance steps and baton routines.

It was such a thrill to strut in front of the entire band, under the stadium lights, with all the Bosse fans watching.

I spent my first two years as a pregame majorette. We usually found out who made varsity during band camp, just before school began in the fall. While we practiced, the varsity majorettes would gradually be pulled out of the larger group.

All summer and at band camp before my senior year, I had been one of the girls pulled out to march varsity. I was so excited. Finally! At the first football game of my senior year, I would at last be a varsity majorette.

Then, during practice the week before that first game, the band director removed me from the varsity group, putting someone else in my place.

I had never been especially assertive, but it was time to stand up for myself. My parents had drilled the squeaky-wheel lesson into me, and I decided I needed to do something.

During a free period that day, I went into the band director’s office. I had hardly ever spoken to him before, but I told him that I was a senior and this was my final season. If I was not going to march varsity, I was quitting.

He was stunned. He didn’t know what to say.

Shaking from the encounter, I walked out of his office and headed straight to the phone booth in the hall to call Mom and tell her what I had done. My majorette days were over, and that was okay. She was so proud of me. In fact, the band director had called her immediately after I left his office. He told her he had not realized I was a senior and assured her that I would march varsity.

And I did. I marched varsity throughout my final season.

Me as a varsity majorette - 1967

That day, the squeaky wheel was me. I spoke up, got his attention, and got what I wanted.

It would not be the last time I thought about that saying. Throughout the years, whenever I needed to speak up, take a chance, or move beyond my comfort zone, I could still hear my parents reminding me that the squeaky wheel gets the grease. It’s a verbal heirloom I’ve carried with me throughout my life.

Thanks again to Kirsi Dahl for her inspiration. What about you? Do you have a verbal heirloom?