During his long life, Frank Walsh has accomplished more than most ever will in the time given. He found great love, raised a family, served his country in World War II and taught in schools for decades.

And yet at 94, he had a crazy dream.

He wanted to play with a high school band.

Being around the students would make him feel young again.

But he had no musical background. Besides, what high school band would welcome an old man with a walker?

Chad Davies, band director at Wilsonville High, heard about the idea from the administrator at the assisted living center, about five minutes away from the school.

Davies asked his young musicians what they thought.

"Awesome," said Stephen Jennings, the band's 16-year-old lead snare drummer.

And that's how Frank Walsh joined the band.

***

The cymbals would be the perfect instrument for Walsh, the band director decided.

"He wouldn't have to read music," Davies said. "Just follow the beat, hit on the 2 and the 4, or on every beat – 1, 2, 3, 4 – depending on the song."

Walsh came to visit the band in early October, introduced himself to the students and told them about his life. When he was done, Davies announced that Walsh would join the band on senior night when the football team played a home game against Portland's Wilson High School on Oct. 19.

Walsh listened to the band play, giving him a sense of where cymbals fit in with the other instruments. Then Davies led Walsh to the cymbal set he would use. They were too heavy for Walsh hold.

Walsh returned home figuring he'd tried his best. It just wasn't meant to be.

Back in the band room, though, Davies improvised.

He took two small cymbals off the stage band drum set and made two small cymbals.

He had them delivered, along with the sheet music with the beats marked, to Walsh, telling the novice musician he could borrow the cymbals to practice for the upcoming big gig.

***

The arrival of the cymbals made Walsh, already a bit of a character and raconteur, a star at Marquis Wilsonville Assisted Living. Other residents who perhaps had their own unspoken dreams and desires saw this man was representing them, older generations so many believe have little to offer as they play out the string of life.

Senior Night was coming up, and Walsh said anticipating the event made him feel great.

"I have health and love," he said. "Now this."

Walsh was married 62 years. A few years after his wife died, he decided to head over to a nearby senior center to, as he described it, "meet dames."

That's where he met Rosemary Acker, an 87-year-old widow, who lives in her own place just down the road.

"I see her three days a week," Walsh said. "The center bus takes me there."

He looked around his small apartment.

"I couldn't ask for anything more in life," he said. "What a life I've had."

He served in the U.S. Army in WWII and fought in France, Germany and Belgium, where he was wounded when the truck he was riding in was hit by a shell fired from a German tank.

"We caught fire," he said. "The solider to the right of me was ablaze. I was on fire but rolled on the ground and got the flames out."

The other man died. Walsh had only said hello to him. He never knew his name.

"He was my personal unknown solider," Walsh said.

After the war, he returned to Oregon where he was raised, and graduated from the University of Oregon. He taught a variety of subjects in several Oregon schools for 40 years before retiring.

His apartment became his classroom.

"I've been practicing, you know," he said. "I watch YouTube videos on how to play the cymbals. I've learned how to keep the left hand stable and hit with the right hand and how to deaden the cymbal by pressing it against my body."

He played daily.

"The walls are thick," he said. "I don't think I'm annoying anyone."

He settled back in his easy chair, his walker by his side.

"Those kids in the band are the greatest," he said. "I can't wait for Friday night."

***

A van from the assisted living center carried Walsh to his girlfriend's apartment just down the road, picked her up and drove both to Wilsonville High School where they needed help getting out of the van and to their walkers.

Walsh, the cymbals tucked into a basket in the front of his walker, set off with Acker following.

They didn't make it 15 feet before an official in a golf cart pulled up to give both of them a ride to the far end of the football field.

That's where Jennings, the band's snare drummer and leader in the drum line, was waiting.

"Cymbals bring forth the energy in the band," he told Walsh. "You got this."

Walsh just wanted to sit down on a folding chair.

"All he has to do on the fight song is play on every beat," Jennings told another drummer. "Let's keep an eye on him. Give him cues. Tonight, he's one of us."

The announcer got on the stadium microphone to tell the crowd about the special guest. Davies huddled with Walsh, the cymbals in his hand, reminding him to play on the beat.

"You can do this," Davies said.

Davies stood before the band. He counted off the beat, and the musicians tore into the school's fight song.

As any musician knows, practicing and playing are two different beasts. So, yes, Walsh was a little off the beat. But he made up for it with enthusiasm, letting those hands go, returning the smiles of the drum line. He played several more songs during the game, doing his best to keep up.

Even though Acker, who sat next to Walsh, put her fingers in her ears from time to time, she told Walsh she was proud of him.

And then it was over.

But not really.

Days later, Davies sent word to the assisted living center that Walsh could keep the cymbals.

With that, he's now a musician.

"I'm still practicing," he said. "If that band will have me again, I want to return one day."

--Tom Hallman Jr.

thallman@oregonian.com. 503 221-8224

@thallmanjr