Martinez with his award-winning Uvalde High School band

I’d been to the state mariachi festival three times as a band director in my hometown, El Paso, so I came in gung ho. I imagined leading the Uvalde mariachi band to regionals, then to state. But I had less than five months to get them ready for regionals. “Come on, get out your instruments, let’s get going,” I’d say. But the students had been treating mariachi like a free period. They’d just lie on the floor, scrolling on their phones. I couldn’t even get them to move a pencil.

I knew that if I wanted to motivate these kids, I’d have to get to know them first. I put aside music and just talked to them. “Where are you from? What football team do you like? What’s your favorite mariachi song?” That’s when things began to change. Soon I had two kids playing instruments. Then four. Soon it was 10, 15. On the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, I said, “Guys, look around the room. Every one of you has an instrument in your hands. Somebody take a picture. We don’t want to forget this day!”

In February of 2022, we went to regionals and got our butts kicked. But I was happy, because the kids got to see a bunch of other mariachis play. They saw what I was trying to inspire them to be, and when we came home, the juniors said, “We know what it takes now, and next year, we’ll make it.”

“All right,” I said. “Let’s get to work.”

Then that May came the horrific shooting at Robb Elementary School in Uvalde. Our whole town was shocked and devastated. Still, during practice, I tried to keep it business as usual. The band room was a place where kids could make music without having to worry about anything else going on in the wider world.

When fall came, my new seniors stepped up. The Fab Five, I called them. They never missed a rehearsal. I give them all the credit for how well we played at regionals in February 2023. Every day after school, we worked on all the little things: how we step onstage, when to lift our hats, how we look at each other, how we bow. Our advancing to state was a big deal for the whole town of Uvalde. The community gathered with signs wishing us luck. Everyone needed something positive to root for.

At state later the same month, the kids put their hearts and souls into their performance, and the judges were moved. Each judge gives a score from 1 to 5, with 1 meaning perfect. We scored two 1s and a 2. And we won. When they brought out the trophy, the kids were in disbelief; hands over their mouths, jaws on the floor, hugging, crying, families rejoicing, on the phone telling everybody, calling Mexico, “They won the state championships!” And I told the kids, “Nobody can take that away from you. In 50 years, you will still be a state champion.”

To get a group from where they started, which was the bottom, and to accomplish what we did in a year and a half, it’s special. After I’d taken the job in Uvalde, somebody asked me, “Why are you working way out there?” And I said, “If you see these kids, it’s a diamond in the rough. They’re amazing.” They’re all talented in so many different ways.

This year, we advanced to state again, but we didn’t win. And that teaches them something too. Things aren’t always going to go your way. Your responsibility is just to show up and do the best you can do.

I mean, I love mariachi, but it’s not the end-all and be-all. It’s about the life lessons it teaches the students for their future. It’s unlikely any of my students will come back in five years and say, “I’m still playing mariachi.” It’s more likely they come back and say: “Hey, remember when you told us about not giving up when we make a mistake? I didn’t stop. I kept going.” —As told to Gregg Segal

Musician and educator Albert Martinez, 51, is the mariachi director at Uvalde High School and Morales Junior High in Uvalde, Texas, and the director of performing arts for the Uvalde school district.