As sunlight filters through the northwest corner windows of the Tracz Band Hall inside Kansas State University’s Memorial Stadium, it casts a golden glow on decades of memories hung inside a cozy office. Framed photos of friends and mentors hang beside shelves of Cleveland baseball memorabilia. There’s a fist full of well-earned bowl rings. An Ohio State bumper sticker jokes, “This car stops for all animals except Wolverines,” while a bold purple neon sign proclaims K-State Marching Band. At the center of it all sits Dr. Frank Tracz, the longtime director and professor who built his purple legacy note by note.
Frank Carl Tracz was born in January 1956 in Cleveland, Ohio. Raised at the corner of East 128th Street and Miles Avenue, eight miles southeast of downtown, he was the fifth of six children. His father, an Eastern European steel mill worker with an eighth-grade education, instilled in him the Cleveland way: toughness, a relentless work ethic, and community pride. The winters were harsh, the neighborhoods gritty, and nothing came easy. You had to earn respect. You had to fight for everything. It wasn’t just survival; it was learning how to flourish through resilience.
At just eight years old, Frank’s world changed forever when his mother passed away. His father suddenly found himself raising six children alone while working full-time at the mill. Amid the hardship, Frank discovered an unlikely source of hope. His Catholic school decided to start a band, and he jumped at the chance to join. He wanted to play trumpet, but after a minor disciplinary issue, the instrument was taken away, and he was handed a pair of drumsticks instead.
It turned out to be the best twist of fate imaginable.
At Brooklyn High School, Frank did it all - football, baseball, wrestling, and, of course, band. Each activity taught him about teamwork, discipline, and leadership. But by seventh grade, he already knew what he wanted to do with his life: he wanted to be a band instructor. While many of his classmates planned to follow their fathers into the steel mills, Frank dreamed of something different. Music called to him. Not just to play, but to teach, to lead, and to build something lasting through sound.
That dream carried him to The Ohio State University, where his passion for music took shape. There, he marched on the drumline of The Ohio State University Marching Band under the legendary Dr. Paul Droste. His first two years, he played snare drum; his last two, he moved to duo drums, learning the precision and pageantry that would define his career. It was in Columbus that Frank realized music wasn’t just his path forward, but his life’s calling.
After graduating in 1978, Frank returned home to Cleveland during a difficult time for that nation: the oil embargos. Schools across the country were cutting budgets, and young teachers struggled to find jobs. One weekend, Dr. Droste called him with news: “The University of Wisconsin is looking for a graduate student to work with their band program. They need a percussionist, someone who can write drumline parts and wants to be a band director.”
“That’s me,” Frank said without hesitation.
He interviewed, got the job, and that fall moved north to Madison to begin his next chapter. There, he earned his master’s degree, taught in local elementary schools, and served as a graduate assistant for the Wisconsin band program. “I went to class in the afternoons and evenings, taught during the day, and learned how to drink beer,” he joked.
Madison gave him more than an education; it also gave him a lifelong partner. There, he met his wife, Geralyn, a Wisconsin native, and the two have now been married 44 years.
After a few years of teaching in Wisconsin, Frank and Geralyn moved back to Ohio, where he took a position at West Geauga High School, one of the largest high schools in the state. For four years, he poured his heart into that program, believing at the time that high school directing was his true calling.
Then fate intervened again.
At the start of their fourth year, they were ready to buy their first home in Mentor, Ohio. But right before closing, the realtor called with bad news: the house had a mechanic’s lien. The deal fell through. The very next day, the phone rang, this time from Ohio State. The university needed assistants for its band program.
Frank returned to Columbus, earned his doctorate, and soon landed his first college teaching position at Syracuse University in New York.
From 1987 to 1991, Frank taught at Syracuse University, where he and Geralyn welcomed the first two of their three daughters, Jessica and Kelley. Then came another call, this time from Morehead State University in eastern Kentucky.
He took the job, drawn by Morehead’s strong tradition. “It was great,” he said. “Just five hours from Cleveland, and one of the best band director schools in the country. If you wanted to be a band director, that’s where you went.”
Two years later, another pivotal call came, this one from a man named Gary Mortenson at Kansas State University.
Before Frank and Geralyn first arrived in Manhattan, he had no idea where the Sunflower State was on a map. They figured they’d stay for a year or two, just long enough to get experience before heading back east. That was 33 years ago.
When he officially accepted the position at Kansas State in 1993, he arrived with boundless energy and a vision to grow the program. He found strong leadership under President Jon Wefald, legendary head football coach Bill Snyder, alumni director Amy Button Renz, and Dean of Students, Pat Bosco. Together, they fostered a culture that believed in excellence, family, and purple pride.
With his trademark mix of discipline, humor, and heart, Dr. Tracz began shaping not just a band - but a legacy.
When he started, the marching band had a few hundred members. Through his leadership, it grew into one of the most respected collegiate marching bands in the country, dubbed The Pride of Wildcat Land.
Under Dr. Tracz, the K-State Marching Band became known for its precision, power, and unmistakable spirit. “It wasn’t just about music,” he said. “It was about creating an experience, something people could feel.”
That feeling reached its peak in 2015, when the Pride of Wildcat Land received the Sudler Trophy from the John Philip Sousa Foundation. The award, given every two years, honors collegiate marching bands that demonstrate outstanding musicianship, innovative performance, and significant contributions to the advancement of college band performance. Often called the “Heisman Trophy of marching bands,” the Sudler was a crowning moment for both the program and the man who led it.
Dr. Tracz’s success wasn’t built on showmanship alone, it was built on connection. His students describe him as both demanding and deeply caring. He pushed them to achieve more than they thought possible, not just as musicians, but as people.
He believed in structure, in tradition, in doing things the right way. But he also knew how to have fun. His booming laugh, quick wit, and occasional sarcastic jab became part of the band’s folklore. He could bark out instructions one moment and share a heartfelt life lesson the next. For decades, his leadership turned a group of college students into a family bound by purple and brass.
In 2025, after 33 years of dedication, Dr. Tracz decided it was time. “I was just spent,” he admitted. “Physically and mentally, I was tired.”
Retirement had been a topic for years. It’s been discussed between rehearsals, at home with Geralyn, and with colleagues who knew how much of himself he’d given to the program. “I wanted to leave before I ran out of energy, or before everyone started calling me an old, crotchety guy,” he laughed. “Though, maybe they already were!”
But even in retirement, slowing down isn’t exactly his style. He plans to remain active in the music world leading clinics, mentoring young directors, and speaking at events. What he won’t be doing, however, is leaving Manhattan.
“This is home,” he said. “We built our life here. We raised our girls here. This community is special.”
When asked about his favorite memories, Dr. Tracz smiles and recalls a Sunflower Showdown years ago. “We were blowing them out thirty-five something to nothing in the first quarter,” he said, laughing. “Coach Snyder called off the dogs, and I played Happy Trails. I turned around, and Coach just gave me that little smirk. That’s when I knew he got it.”
That simple moment captures the essence of Dr. Tracz’s legacy. He built more than a band; he built a culture of excellence wrapped in laughter and love.
To sum up Dr. Tracz’s remarkable 33-year career at Kansas State, it’s fitting to borrow the words written by Dale Evans, and made famous by cowboy entertainer Roy Rogers: “Some trails are happy, others a bit blue, but it’s the way you ride the trail that truly counts. Yours has certainly been a happy one. Happy trails to you, until we meet again. Happy trails to you, keep smiling until then.”
Thank you, Dr. Tracz! Happy Trails!
We were only supposed to be here for just a couple of years, and I've been doing this since 1993.
As I tell the kids: it's not the goal, it's the process. Because the goal is gonna happen and when you get there the first question I'm gonna ask is, 'Is this it?'