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Over most of the University’s history, its large musical ensembles had been open only to men, apart from a few years during World War II when women stepped into the places of absent military members. Emerging from the cultural shifts of the 1960s and the 1972 ruling that the anti-discrimination law known as Title IX applied to women’s sports, Penn State had decided to open its audition doors to women—but only for concert band. Batutis, a passionate percussionist impatient to be a part of the University’s most iconic ensemble, penned an anonymous protest letter in the Daily Collegian, asking why women shouldn’t be able to compete for musical excellence everywhere.
“Penn State was not a hotbed of radical activism, but there were rumblings of social movements pushing for equal treatment under the law,” says Batutis. “Title IX really forced their hand, and the leadership ended up saving face by saying women had always had opportunity to audition—it’s just that none ever had. Well, I decided that was about to change.”
Once inside the audition room, then-director James Dunlop instructed her to sight-read and play “Proud Mary,” a John Fogerty song made popular by Tina Turner. The piece had difficult syncopation, but she was undaunted.
“I nailed it,” Batutis recalls. “I found out later that Dr. Dunlop kind of ribbed some of the returning guys who flubbed it and told them, ‘A girl played this,’ but I loved the idea that I was being held up as the gold standard.”
Before leaving the audition, Batutis had one final issue to resolve: as Dunlop looked on, she rearranged her long, braided hair to demonstrate that she could wear the iconic Blue Band top hat and blend right in. He looked on with approval.
Not even a broken strap that sent her drum careening sideways broke her focus during the make-or-break marching portion of the audition. She’d earned her spot, along with two other women, horn and clarinet players, and two alternates, to become the first female instrumentalists in the band since the 1940s.
“My time in Blue Band was a remarkable string of years. Penn State went to the Cotton Bowl, the Sugar Bowl, and the Orange Bowl, so under those circumstances, the camaraderie between the entire band was so intense—that happens when you unite behind a common mission—but I will also say that all these years later I still come to Homecoming with a group of women from the early days, and that says something about how closely we bonded in that trial by fire.”
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“My time in Blue Band was a remarkable string of years,” says Batutis. “Penn State went to the Cotton Bowl, the Sugar Bowl, and the Orange Bowl, so under those circumstances, the camaraderie between the entire band was so intense—that happens when you unite behind a common mission—but I will also say that all these years later I still come to Homecoming with a group of women from the early days, and that says something about how closely we bonded in that trial by fire.”
While the women generally felt accepted, there was some sly pushback. Following a performance at Rec Hall, Batutis returned to her gear to find the case for her snare drum had been taken. Only hers was missing. The next day at rehearsal, she told Dunlop what happened. He asked if the incident made her want to quit the band.
“I told him the Blue Band was the one thing that I always knew I wanted to be a part of, and I was staying in the band no matter what,” Batutis said. “He told me to keep my chin up and ignore their antics. And I did.”
Batutis’s talent and hard work paid off. She would go on to become the rank leader of the drum line in her senior year, and when she graduated with a bachelor’s degree in anthropology in 1976, she was proud to become an alum of Penn State and the legendary Blue Band.
Even as Batutis built a successful career at Microsoft in human resources, she remained connected with the University, returning regularly to practice and perform with the band. A full half century after her struggle to join the ranks of Blue Band, she stepped forward again in 2023 to establish the Susan Nowlin Batutis Scholarship, targeted to Blue Band percussionists and performers who contribute to the diversity of the student body, as a way to keep up the drumbeat for inclusivity.
“Donor contributions have been instrumental in propelling the success of the Blue Band,” says B. Stephen Carpenter II, the Michael J. and Aimee Rusinko Kakos Dean in the College of Arts and Architecture. “Susan’s generous gift is a rebuke of systemic sexism and inequality. And what’s so special about her gift is that it is rooted in her own personal story of dismantling barriers and advancing and fostering an equitable environment for all.”
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Hannah LaRue was the first recipient of the scholarship created by Batutis.
Last fall, Batutis had the chance to meet one of the first recipients of her scholarship, Hannah LaRue, then a senior. As a Marylander struggling with the cost of out-of-state tuition, LaRue was shocked and grateful to receive financial support.
“I met Susan at Homecoming,” recalls LaRue. “She introduced herself and gave me this really big hug, and I remember telling her, ‘Thank you. Thank you so much. It’s so great to meet you.’ And she was like, ‘Stop, you’re gonna make me cry.’ It was such a tearful but joyful moment. She’s truly such an amazing person.”
For her part, Batutis is proud to see firsthand the impact of her giving.
“Blue Band has a wonderful Legacy Fund, which allows them to purchase new instruments, or refurbish uniforms, or whatever they need,” says Batutis. “But with this scholarship I had a different emphasis: Before we can focus inward on excellence, we have to ask who has been left out of the room, and I wanted to create resources to unlock opportunities for them. If my scholarship can do that, I will feel proud that I kept up the fight that I didn’t back down from fifty years ago.”