Here is chapter two of my new book “Fishing”. This is a reality book about my experiences fishing from my birth to the present. This chapter, entitled “Night Fishing”, is about the mysterious  and exciting things that happen when pursuing fish at night. Maybe you think you are not a fisherman… but my belief is that everyone is fishing for something even if it does not have fins and gills!

 

Chapter 2

Night Fishing

One of the most productive yet sometimes scary times to fish is at night. Just after the sun goes down the schools of largemouth take advantage of the calm water surface to feed on insects.  When the water looks like glass the rising bass are easy to locate and then pursue. The drawback with totally calm water is that fish are more aware of an approaching boat. When there is a little bit of chop to the surface the fisherman can get near to the reward without being detected. This holds true for both trolling and casting. Dusk is my favorite time for fishing. Besides the chase of the schooling bass, it is beautiful to view the sky on a clear evening. Even as a young boy I took delight in God’s creation of a beautiful sunset. Just seeing the reds and oranges of the western horizon would remind me of the sailor’s poem… “red sky at night, sailor’s delight!” This was usually a good forecast for a nice, sunny day following.

 

As the nights wore on back in my youth, the environment became a little scary, particularly when there was no moonlight. I would often imagine all kinds of monsters in the dimness. I think I could see about three or four feet in any direction on nights like that. The noise of frogs croaking and the peepers were a soothing sound to me. Every now and then as I rowed the shoreline a bass would surface and take a dragonfly or other large insect such as a white Hexagenia . Though the dark frightened me to a certain degree there was also the anticipation of stirring up a large largemouth as my Gitterbug bubbled its way along about thirty feet behind the boat. At night I would usually troll the shores as I had kind of a second sense about how far I was from land. Night fishing for largemouth bass generally didn’t produce many fish, but when the explosion of a bass in the dark happened my heart would jump into my throat. And, I could often count on the fish being a good fighter at night. Exactly why this was true I’m not sure. Maybe because the bass had a trembling heart too!

 

X X X X X

It’s always good to have a little insurance when fishing in the late evening. My most needed policy was to lather up with bug dope before heading out. Most nights I would wear a long sleeve shirt to protect my arms and pants that reached my shoe tops. That left only the need to apply some Cutters to my wrist, hands and head. It seemed that just when I approached a known bass hangout the mosquitoes would swarm around my exposed parts. It took a little faith to avoid slapping at the blood consumers. If I brushed my hands and face too much it would eventually expose bare spots and make me more vulnerable to skeeter bites.

 

Bass after June 15^th had to be at least ten inches in length before they could be kept. And, you were only allowed five fish a day to stay within the limit. I used a stringer to keep my catches alive until I arrived back at the boat dock on our beach. There were five large snaps on a three- foot chain dangling from the back of the boat. Only on a couple occasions was I able to fill the stringer at night. Of course, if I caught some bass during the day that would limit my bag at night. The snaps went through one of the gills and out through the mouth before being closed. The stringer was like a series of large snaps and swivels. Very seldom did any bass die while on the stringer attached to the boat. Sometimes when I hooked the stringer to the boat dock before going to bed, otters or snapping turtles would eat on the stationary bass. I didn’t worry much since even at that early age I had an understanding of the food chain. It’s all part of God’s Plan.

 

X X X X X

When I was ten years old and my brother was fifteen, Jonnie caught the biggest largemouth bass that was ever taken from Long Pond. It weighed a little over six pounds. It was probably about four pounds more than I ever took from the pond where our camp was located. Jonnie had a photograph taken by our mother of the monster bass and it appeared in our local newspaper, ‘The Register-Herald’, which was published in Pine Plains, New York. The newspaper was printed right across the street from our home there. My mother bought several copies of the paper when the photo came out. We gave most of them away to relatives and friends.

 

Speaking of giant fish, I had an experience one dark night on Long Pond that I will never forget. I was trolling a Gitterbug along the eastern shore. It was very still. All of a sudden I heard a loud splash some fifty feet behind the boat. I couldn’t see it, but it sounded like someone had dropped a bowling ball from a great height. It scared me and I thought about going back home right after it occurred. But something made me linger and I continued trolling. Then another explosion happened in another direction. This time I could vaguely make out the splashing water off to my left. As quickly as this took place after the first splash a third and fourth one sounded in other places off to the right and in front of the boat. I wondered if it could be an airplane dropping large objects, but I could hear no plane. Was it large fish breaking the surface? Or was it beaver flapping their tails against the surface? I just couldn’t figure the situation out. Before I finally decided to row back home there were probably another eighteen or twenty of the mysterious noises. My friend, Pete, was sleeping when I went into the house. Pete was staying with me for a week. That particular evening he didn’t want to go out fishing, so I had no one to authenticate the unexplainable occurrence. I woke Pete up to explain to him what had happened. He thought it was just large bass feeding on surface insect life. I mentioned to him that the splashes were much bigger than what a large fish could produce. I was terrified after he said, “Maybe you just imagined it”. To this day I’ve never been able to explain this very weird phenomenon.

 

My Uncle Forrest had a sailboat mooring located about twenty feet out from our raft. Some of the summer he had his small sailboat moored there and the rest of the season he had it situated on Candlewood Lake, near Danbury, Connecticut. When his Long Pond mooring was vacant of its craft my friend from school, Alvis Upitus, and I tried fishing with worms near the anchored mooring at night. As I remembered, Alvis had the first strike at a depth about a foot up from the pond bottom near the anchor. He pulled the fish up on that moonlit night and we beheld the first yellow crappie I’d ever seen in ten years of fishing on the pond. It was about ten inches in length. Alvis was happy to catch the strange looking, black speckled panfish. I was totally mystified by the event. I had only seen this one crappie in all my years of fishing, but we both had seen them in books and magazines.

 

We continued dropping our lines down with worms applied to our hooks and over a period of maybe an hour we caught about twenty of these strange looking creatures. That night we showed our catch to my father, who wasn’t really surprised by our night’s reward. My dad said that the crappies were not particularly good to eat. So we took our stringer of fish to the compost pile where we just dropped them. Though the compost was some fifty feet from the house, in two days time we could smell the crappies’ rotting flesh. A couple days later all that was left of our surprise catch were partially eaten carcasses and a mess of maggots. I’ll tell you the constantly moving mass of maggots almost made us sick to our stomachs. That was certainly a fine kettle of fish!

 

X X X X X

On rainy nights we would often go outside the house to pick up nightcrawlers. They would usually measure about seven inches long and as big as an half inch in diameter. You might think it was easy picking up these hermaphrodites. It wasn’t. Aided with a couple empty coffee cans with some dirt and two flashlights, we would go out to collect these slimy, evasive, underground dwellers. If you pointed the direct beam of the flashlight on the slippery worms, they would escape down their holes in the grass. We soon learned to shine only the perimeter of the beam, where the light was duller, on the elusive nightcrawlers. Very carefully yet quickly, we would grasp the head end of the worms and hold them from slipping back into the soil. Then, very slowly, we would pull the whole worm free from the earth. On a good night’s picking we might catch twenty or thirty of the earthworms that were many times caught as they were copulating. Earthworms, as I mentioned, are hermaphrodites and they each contain both sexes. The male organ is at one end while the female organ is toward the other end. They copulate by situating themselves so that the head of one is alongside the rear end of the other. The two worms would in this way impregnate each other… something we referred to as soixante-neuf.

 

X X X X X

 

 

There’s another form of night fishing. Some would say it’s symbolic fishing. Some of us whom you might call odd fellows do some of the most productive fishing at night from an armchair. Thus the name ‘armchair angler’ has another meaning other than reading fishing books and magazines while reclining in a padded recliner. I don’t want to get too deep into this, but suffice it to say that some of the biggest, and most wary fish, are caught without using a hook on the terminal end of the line. Can it be possible to catch fish in this way? Some would say I’m nuts, but I don’t think so.

 

The Savior, Jesus Christ, taught his disciples that they should be hanging around with sinners. Why do we want to spend all our time trying to save people who have already been saved?. They don’t need to be saved.

Christ instructed his followers that it was better to teach the Plan of Salvation to sinners. How else could they be saved?

 

All people are connected by invisible threads in such a way that each person’s action has an effect on all others. Just by being associated with others we can cause changes in them, hopefully for the better. Describing this phenomenon too much could end me up in an asylum. Does anyone understand what I am talking about? Jesus did not speak too much about the metaphysical aspects of our world, but there is a scientific principle that states, “For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction”. It’s part of the cause and effect of everything that is done. As I mentioned in ‘Chapter One’, fishing is both a literal and a figurative process. I can’t say this too many times. We are all fishing all of the time! It doesn’t matter if you believe in Christ or not. You are still a fisherman and you are still fishing. Some are looking for material things, fame or power. In many cases people are fishing for all three. Jesus Christ taught people how to fish for souls.

 

As I sit here in my home I often think about friends and relatives who are going through troubling times in their lives. Some can hardly make ends meet each month. They suffer for being without some of the necessities of life and have to watch their budgets very carefully. Others have children who are into alcohol or drugs or are into these things themselves. People suffer worldwide. Reaching out to people who need help is sort of like fishing. How can we do something to help these poor souls overcome their trials and tribulations?

 

There are forces of good and evil operating at any one given time in this world. But I believe that, in the long run, good will win the final battles. There are a lot of evil things going on in the world, but there are good things too. We each are given a very special gift when we come into this world… free will. We all have the ability to make choices and are also held accountable for what we choose. The only perfect individual is Jesus Christ. All of the rest of us are imperfect. That’s why we are here… to try to become perfect. I’m imperfect; you’re imperfect. But by striving to help each progress toward perfection, we are doing God’s will. That’s what fishing is all about.

 

X X X X X

Enough preaching, let’s get back to the literal world of fishing. Most of the time it’s a lot of fun and sometimes produces meat on the table and tales to tell others. In the next chapter I am going to talk a little about times when you catch nothing, or next to nothing.

 

My friend, Nancy Nieves, and I walked up a hill in Belchertown to take some photographs for my upcoming trilogy. Nancy is a great photographer and I am thankful to have her collaborating with me on this project. The hike was not especially easy for me at 65 years of age. The trail was very steep in places. But we didn’t stop all the way to the top. It was a cloudy day so the pictures did not provide a clear view of the town below. We will try the ascent on another day when the sun is shining. Here is one of the photos Nancy took.

Nancy also shot some preliminary photos of other places that are mentioned in my three novels. Here is one of the “Gatehouse” on the upper part of Pasquaney River. This place is  described in the last chapter of my third novel, “As Simple Things Go By”.

 

I saw a new Elecraft ham radio advertised in the latest issue of “QST Magazine”. It’s very small and will handle most of the high frequency bands for SSB , CW, Packet Radio as well as AM/FM. The company Elecraft also offers a reduced price deal for the “Buddistick Deluxe” vertical antenna. This antenna breaks down into a 13 inch package with a handy backpacking bag. The company is located in Aptos, California. They are one of only a couple commercial ham radio builders in the United States. This is a HOT item right now! You can set it up in a few minutes in any location such as mountain peaks, your own back yard or in your house. The radio is only about one and a half inches thick by three inches wide and seven inches long. I am buying it and planning on doing some remote location setups. I will mostly be operating CW (Morse code), but will do some voice also. Below is a coiled section of RG-8 coaxial cable to run from the rig to the antenna.

I’ve started a new book. This will be reality based and about my fishing experiences throughout my life. It is my thought that we are all fishermen fishing in and on the waters of life. You catch some,you lose some, but in the end it is my belief that those fish which need to be caught will in reality be caught. Below the photo is chapter one of “Fishing”.

Chapter 1

“A Fisherman”

A couple years before my mother died, she embroidered a fishing scene of a fisherman fishing at one end of a body of water and a fish at the other end of the piece of artwork. The caption to the embroidered picture read, “A Fisherman Is A Jerk At One End Of The Line Waiting For A Jerk At The Other”. This wonderful keepsake of mine tells the whole story of my life as a fisherman.

 

My father instructed me in the art of fishing for various species of the piscatorial wildlife in this wide, wide world. This excursion, that would be the framework of my existence, started when I was about four years old. That is, the physical part of fishing. In actuality, we are fishermen from the beginning of our lives. Even as a child we spend every minute of our lives fishing in a metaphysical sense. Kids begin fishing in a figurative way, though it might not seem like that to the adults around them. In every move of their young bodies babies are reaching out in a proverbial way to try to capture a fish. And they will do this throughout their existence.

 

Fishing with a rod, reel, line, hook and bait was an integral part of my life as my dad took me down to the edge of a pond in my hometown during those early years. And, as I look back on my life in this sixty-sixth year of my mortal probationary period on this globe, he taught me well! Starting with a simple casting rod, casting reel, some twenty-five pound test line and a hook baited with a small earthworm from the compost pile, my father reached over my skinny shoulders to help perform the act of casting the bait ten feet out into a watery world of which I knew nothing. Or did I?

 

As I look back on those early experiments of trying to catch a fish, I think I somehow understood that I did know what fishing was all about. Over all the years since then I realized that the act of fishing was embedded in me body and soul. It took many years to understand that fishing was more than a trout on the table.

 

I am a Christian. In this day and age most people are afraid to acknowledge that fact, even though they go to Church at least once in a while. I am not afraid to say it. I believe in the living Jesus Christ… the One who is actively present in this world… the One who can make us fishers of men!

 

My son, Seth, recently hit a man coming out of a bar in Florida and killed him. The man was intoxicated. My son was going the speed limit and not violating any other laws. But the shock of hearing this tragedy has devastated both Seth and me. I prayed that this incident would not land my dear son in jail, but only time will tell the whole story. I know that God knows that my son is not to blame for the poor man’s death. I pray that the dead man’s loved ones will be comforted in this tragic occurrence. I only hope that the Savior’s net of love will take the man home to a pleasant resting place in Heaven. My Lord Jesus Christ’s love will surely prevail in this seemingly unhappy event.

 

X X X X X

I was kind of a skinny runt of a child with a sunken chest and tall frame for my early age. Though I was a weakling who often had sand kicked in his face by bullies, I somehow endured my frailty and wrapped myself  up in fishing when the weather was right and sometimes during the storms of life. I have always believed in God. I saw His handiwork in everything around me and still do to this day.

 

In my youthful summer days I would spend most of the days fishing on ‘Long Pond’ in West Copake, New York where my father, mother, brother and I had a vacation home. The ‘Pond’, as we called it, was about a mile in length and one hundred yards in width, although the shoreline was not a perfect rectangle. We spent weekends at the camp during the regular school year where my father introduced me to ice fishing in the colder months and bass, pickerel and bluegill fishing from a wooden boat in the warmer weather. Though I wasn’t a very strong kid, I had good endurance and could row our boat for long periods of time and either ‘troll’ or cast to areas that hopefully had a waiting fish for my bait. I would often spend several hours out on the water fishing with worms during my grade school years. Dad only had to ignite the spark to set my angling fire ablaze. After those initial teachings I pretty much learned how to sneak up on waiting sunfish and carefully drop a worm near their spawning beds. Patience is a great virtue in this life and I learned very early how to wait for success. We learn through failure and trial and error. This is not a perfect life and all of us make many mistakes in our lifetimes. But a constant, ongoing faith that we will persevere ultimately beckons us on. My father told me, just before he died, “Don’t give up!” I’ve kept that advice close to me in the last few years as I’ve struggled to make some of my dreams come true. The act of fishing is a great teacher of that quote. As I practiced my techniques they became more refined and productive in fishing and in all of my other pursuits.

 

Fishing for bluegills, which are similar in shape to ‘pumpkinseed’ sunfish, occupied my earliest experiences with fishing. I had to be very precise in my castings of worms. If I placed the bait too close to these fish it would spook them and they wouldn’t go for it. While spawning, the bluegills would be on their beds so I had to carefully lay the bait on the edge of the beds and often they would take the worm. After I had caught four or five of these strong fighting panfish, I would clean them and mom would fry them for the whole family. This produced a good feeling in me for having helped to feed my family. Dad and my brother, Jonnie, taught me how to properly clean a fish. First the head was cut off with a sharp knife just behind the gill plates. Then we would slit the bellies open by inserting the tip of the knife in its vent hole and slicing forward to reveal the guts. After pulling the guts out, the fins would all be removed carefully so that we weren’t pricked by the sharp spines on the dorsal fins. Then we would scale the sides of the fish by drawing the blade from tail to where the head had been located. After rinsing the fish thoroughly they would be taken to the kitchen where mom would dab them in flour and dosed liberally with salt and pepper. Then bacon fat from a Campbell’s soup can would be tossed into the frying pan to fry the fish. I can still almost savor the taste as I write this!

 

 

Over the years I caught and cleaned hundreds of bluegills and pumpkinseeds.  As I approached perhaps sevens years of age I turned most of my fishing to the pursuit of largemouth bass and pickerel. Trolling along the shores of the pond would often produce a largemouth or two as I passed sunken tree trunks and other obstructions. I became very adept at predicting where my trolling would produce a strike. This kind of fishing was dome with spinning equipment and six -pound monofilament fishing line. On the end of the line was tied a snap and swivel which allowed me to change my lures. The most common lures used at this point in my younger years were a ‘Flatfish’, a ‘Jitterbug’ or a rubber worm equipped with orange beads and a small spinner. The Flatfish was a weird looking lure that was drawn a couple feet under the surface of the water as it undulated from side to side in a rhythmic manner. Early on this was my deadliest lure. The Jitterbug was a surface lure that floated on the top of the water and pulsated back and forth while making a gurgling sound to boot! This lure was especially effective at night when the sound of it attracted some bigger bass. These two lures were very effective but I switched to the rubber worms, with three hooks along their bodies, in later years. All three of these lures could be used for casting as well, although my favorite was the rubber worm. It only cost me sixty cents. Generally a rubber worm would last for fifteen to twenty fish, after which they became so mutilated they had to be retired.

 

Another of my angling methods was to approach a school of surface feeding bass from behind and cast to the forward most fish and reel in the lure, bringing it through the entire school of fish until one would strike. This was usually a surefire technique to hook a bass. I’d hook a bass almost every time I did this. The only drawback was that the fish were usually smaller than the ones caught close to shore. Also rowing the boat into position from behind the moving school of fish was difficult because the path of the school would often change. Sometimes I would stand up in the boat and row from that position and often could observe as many as thirty or forty bass feeding on the surface insect life. I referred to this method as ‘stalking’. It took a good deal of practice and endurance to follow a school while it moved about the surface.

 

I did not always keep the bass I caught, as my parents did not like the ‘muddy’’ taste of them. My brother and I did not mind eating bass. We would occasionally keep what we caught, clean them and have a ‘Friday Night Fish Fry’.

 

X X X X X

After a day (and sometimes a night) of fishing I would write in my fishing log what kind of fish I caught, the length of each fish, the date, the approximate time, the lure used, the weather and the location of where the fish were caught. I kept a record for several years. That is, until I turned sixteen or thereabouts, when girls started to look like a better quarry for me!

 

This morning I am at McDonalds in Plymouth, New Hampshire waiting for a car rental enterprise to open at eight o’clock. My Subaru WRX crashed into a guardrail on the Massachusetts Turnpike about a month ago and I’m taking it to a body shop to have it fixed. I will be using a rental car for about a week while Mark at ‘Finishing Touches’ does his magic to put my car back into its original shape. The accident happened on my way down to Pine Plains, New York where I went to visit relatives and friends in my hometown. I did not get hurt physically but was emotionally distraught from the incident. You might wonder what this has to do with fishing? Well, in general, everything has something to do with fishing, at least from my point of view.

 

Though I didn’t take my conventional fishing tackle with me to New York, I brought my guitar and some recording equipment with me. With these tools I often tried to catch fish of a human nature. In fact, I look at all of my hobbies as methods of going fishing. In my wandering about I usually come in contact with at least one individual who, in my opinion, needs to be caught. When I am playing music in front of a bunch of listeners, my goal is to captivate them with my music. Music is designed to capture peoples’ attentions, while the lyrics are what I am selling. The messages in the songs are often about spiritual things. As I mentioned earlier I see God’s presence in all things. As a disciple of Christ I always want to pass along a bit of information that will lead people to Him. Sometimes I do this by speaking directly about Christ’s saving grace.  Other times I act and speak in a way that sets an example of His love. Most of the time I fish for people in social situations where I don’t even know the group members. Once in a while I have a particular fish that I plan to hook and set about my plans to carefully place the bait where it will do the most good.

 

Many times a fish will go for the bait and engulf it but miss being hooked. This is devastating at times and often makes me unhappy. But after a few moments I think about returning another time to snag the elusive prospect. Also, there is the chance that another fisherman will come along and embed the business end of the bait in the fishes’ jaw. Persistence pays off many times and then again a fish can be wary and selective of what it will strike. And, once in a great while a really big fish will come along, take the bait, get well hooked and eventually be landed. I’m sure you get the drift of this line.

 

I’ve caught quite a number of various species of fish in my life, but after catching a lot of one kind, I became centered on catching some big ones. Quality catches replaced quantity landings. From catching hundreds of baby bullheads of about half an inch in length to landing a lake trout of twenty-six pounds, most fishermen seem to run the course of size and numbers. If you want to do really good fishing you have to accept that there will be many small catches and a much smaller quantity of giants.

 

About a quarter mile south of our camp was a boat dock that extended out from the western shore of the pond. The Grau family, who had a nice summer home right on the water, would come up from New York City on weekends like we did in the spring and fall months. They were up all summer too. Their camp was just to the north side of the boat dock. My friend, Terry O’Hanlon, who came from Brooklyn, would come up on some weekends and stay most of the summer as well. Terry was my age. We became blood brothers at about twelve years old. Because of this pact we spent a lot of time together. The boat dock was near his camp too, but his house was situated farther away from the water’s edge than the Graus. I can picture that dock clearly today. It was one of the first places I went after coming up following school on Fridays.  The dock went out about fifteen feet from the shore to its end where it was supported by two inch steel pipes on each side. The depth of the water at the end of the dock was about six feet. The bottom of the pond there was full of various odd shaped rocks both large and small.

 

Obstructions, like docks and rafts, always gave us better chances of hooking different species of fish. This particular dock was home to a lot of rock bass, a weird looking specie about the size of a large sunfish, but with the color and markings of a largemouth bass. The large red eyes of the rock bass made them almost prehistoric in appearance. They would hide beside or under rocks where they could lie in waiting for insect life and smaller fish to pass by. They were a very cautious breed and difficult to entice with a worm. But worms were about the only bait Terry and I could use to catch them. Generally we had to drop the baited hook down and watch closely as we would drift the bait toward the underside of a rock. Sometimes this fishing technique would take as much as a half hour before the rock bass would bite or we became bored and gave up. I didn’t like giving up. Terry was not as devoted to fishing as I was. As my friend headed back to his camp, I concentrated harder on luring one of these prize catches. Though only about seven or eight inches in length, they were great fighters. Employing two of the necessary virtues for reluctant rock bass, patience and perseverance, I would usually prevail in hooking and landing the rock bass. I caught my share of these feisty fish in my younger years, but I never ate one. I’d generally let them go if pulling the hook out of their mouths did not injure them. If they were hurt to the point that they couldn’t swim away, they became a meal for the otters, turtles and other scavengers. .

 

X X X X X

My cousin, Danny, would sometimes come up to our camp in the summer to stay for a week when we were in our early teens. I don’t think Danny really understood fishing. One mid-morning we were out in the boat near some lily pads on the western shore near camp and we tried our luck for pumpkinseeds. Actually we were in among the pads, which at that time of year had beautiful white flowers with yellow centers and had a wonderful fragrance. I was catching sunfish left and right at one end of the boat while Danny at the other end was catching nothing… even though we were both using the same bait… worms. I thought my cousin had probably had his worm taken without hooking a fish. So, I asked him to bring up his line and check his bait. When he did I saw that he had weeds all covering his baited hook.

 

“That’s the problem Dan,” I counseled my cousin. “You have weeds all over your hook!”

 

“That’s alright,” Danny said. “The weeds make good camouflage.”

 

I laughed profusely! Then I thought to myself, without scolding Danny, that fishermen have different tactics in applying their art of angling. It could have been that he wanted to give the poor fish an equal advantage in the game of fishing. Needless to say I spent most of the rest of Danny’s stay with me fishing alone. My cousin read comics and watched our one snowy channel on television while I angled. I can’t remember Danny fishing in the traditional manner ever again! Danny watched a couple of Yankee games on the TV… which I guess could be construed to be a figurative method of fishing. Mostly he fished in a Triscuit box while watching the games! That’s okay Cuz. I understand your fishing methods. I was a baseball fan too, but I’d rather play it than watch it on a black and white television screen.

 

My double cousin, Neil, also was not much of a conventional fisherman. He just didn’t get it. He’d rather spend his time destroying things, like the time we secured some ‘ashcans’ from Terry O’Hanlon who got them through the black market down in Brooklyn. Neil took great pleasure as we went out in the boat to catch mud turtles of many different sizes. I guess I was part of Neil’s dastardly deeds on one occasion when we took  five of the beautifully decorated turtles, wedged ashcans into the front of the poor creatures’ shells, lit the fuses and them dropped them into the water. Well, I won’t go through the gory details, but Neil’s idea turned me even more into an avid angler. I swear I never did anything like that again!

 

Yes, each young fisherman has his own unique strategy for accomplishing his piscatorial endeavors. My mother use to tell me periodically that variety is the spice of life. If every angler fished using the same methods nothing new would be learned. One thing I learned that was new to me one summer occurred when I was fishing among a bunch of pickerel weeds in a cove on the eastern side of our pond. I was around thirteen as I recall and casting from a standing position in the middle of the boat so that I could grab the oars and maneuver the boat every few casts. Using a rubber worm with three salmon egg colored beads and a spinner device I casted toward a clump of pickerel weeds in the middle of the cove. After starting to reel in my line slowly, I had a powerful strike! The big largemouth bass jumped several times as they often do. Then it meandered amongst the weeds and used them as leverage to curtail my efforts in reeling him into the boat. I pulled a little too hard and the six -pound monofilament snapped. Not only did I lose the fish, but my new plastic worm that cost me a good part of my allowance for that week was lost too!

 

Two weeks later I was trolling past some pickerel weeds, about a hundred yards south of where I lost that large bass, with a new worm bought that morning at Ernie Englebert’s Store in West Copake. But somehow I thought this new plastic worm had some special magic to it as there were four beads on it instead of the usual three. I had a strike, but not the usual type of resistance as I started to reel in the catch. After a short battle, which felt like hauling in a log, I lifted the bass into the boat and gasped at what I saw. The rear hook on the new plastic worm had caught the eyelet of the old worm that I had broken off fourteen days ago! When I related this story to my parents and brother they all thought I was pulling their legs. But, I can say that this tale is true. Though the bass was not too healthy, (I guess), from having carried that worm around in his jaw, I just knew it had to be the same fish I had lost two weeks previous. No fish tale!

 

 

Below is chapter ten of “As Simple Things Go By”.

Chapter 10

 

A Great Blessing

 

“I don’t normally bet on lottery tickets,” said Alex to his wife Bess. “But this time, which is the first time I’ve ever spent a couple dollars on a ticket, sure paid me well. Winning $8 million will surely alter the course of our lives, but what do we do with this much money?”

 

“Alex,” smiled his wife, “this is such a wonderful thing. We can help others who are less fortunate than we. Of course our first obligation is to our family, but beyond that we can assist others with their burdens. A blessing like this is surely a gift from God.”

 

About an hour after hearing this great news, the phone rang and it was Layla calling. She brought up the proposal of her family visiting San Francisco for the Christmas holidays. When Layla heard the news of the lottery winning, she almost dropped the phone. This was an answer to a prayer for the whole Samuels family. Bass and Alex told their daughter that they would love to travel to California for Christmas.

 

“That is such perfect news,” said Layla half laughing and half crying. “Valerie and I were talking how the trip for our families to San Francisco would be a hardship, at least in the area of raising money for the expenses. Now our troubles have been answered. I am so happy for you, mom, and dad as well. Have you thought of what you will do with such a large sum of money?”

 

“Only that we will give the larger portion of it to family and friends in need. We would give you and Liam a substantial amount of money so your money matters would be solved. Your father and I talked about giving a sizable gift to the church for missionary work throughout the world. Yes, we would be happy to come to California to visit you and Valerie. But your father said that money does not fix everything in our world. It kind of greases the wheels, but it does not solve all of our problems. Nonetheless it is a sign of God’s love for us.”

 

The large sum of money won in the lottery would not be available for a couple months. It would be paid in yearly allotments of $1 million a year for 8 years. Taxes would need to be paid and the portion of the windfall that would actually end up in the Samuels’ account would be around 4 million. So, for the family’s trip to the west, the Samuels would have to draw on their present assets to pay their expenses. Since Bess and Alex had a few thousand dollars in their bank accounts they would be able to draw on that to pay for their vacation. The Samuels decided they would give 2 million to their church over the next five years. Spreading the gospel throughout the world was one of the family’s prime objectives. They had a number of other charities they would like to help. The Humane Society would be contributed to in a way that would help abused animals to be rescued from their plights. The Red Cross was also in need of funds to help less fortunate people in times of disaster to get the food and medical help they needed. The Samuels also made the decision to give a grant to the National Endowment for the Arts to help those starving artists in the United States. Concord Hospital in Concord, New Hampshire would also receive a contribution. All told Bess and Alex agreed to give away about half of the money received.

 

“We should probably invest the large part of what we have left after the charitable contributions,” Alex said to his wife. “Real estate in New Hampshire is bound to increase in the years ahead. The Lakes region is growing in leaps and bounds as visitors from the southern states moved into our area. Investment in local towns near Pasquaney Lake, as I see it anyway, would probably increase in value in the next decade or more. Some lakefront land would be good for our portfolio. The rest of the money coming in would be secure if we placed it in certificates of deposit for five-year terms. The remainder we could use for living purposes in regular savings and checking accounts. One other thing, I think that in the long run investing in gold would be wise. That would be a good hedge against our other investments. I haven’t checked on the gold price in a long time, but I think it might be going for about $400 an ounce. I will get a newspaper later and look at the business section to find out what the spot price of gold, as well as platinum and other precious metals, are going for.”

 

X X X X X

 

Liam Samuels was practicing his guitar in his bedroom when Alex and Bass knocked on his door to tell him of the lottery ticket news. He had just bought a used Martin acoustic guitar with money he had saved. It was a D-28 with Brazilian Rosewood sides and back, and a spruce top. A friend of his from his years in high school needed money to buy a used car and sold the beautiful guitar for $300. It had a hard shell case that gave the Martin a very tight fit. It was lined with purple velvet. Since Liam purchased the guitar he had been playing it several hours a day and was becoming very adept at the blues. He was playing his own arrangement of the Robert Johnson blues number “Crossroads.” As his parents were knocking on his door, Liam was finishing the old blues tune.

 

” … and I believe I’m sinking down.”

 

“What’s up?” He quizzically asked his parents. “That was a song one of my favorite guitar players wrote and recorded back in 1936 or 1937. Robert didn’t live very long, but he was a very talented writer and musician. He was born May 8, 1911 and died August 16, 1938. His style of playing the blues was top notch back then and even more so today.”

 

“Liam,” smiled his mother, “we have something very special to tell you.”

 

X X X X X

 

“To audition for the San Francisco Symphony Youth Orchestra you must be 20 years old or younger,” announced Wilma Pilch, the instructor for music history 102. “There is a list of the instruments that are needed on the bulletin board out in the hall. Check to see if your main instrument is on that list.”

 

“I don’t think saxophones are used in the youth orchestra,” whispered Valerie to Layla as they sat next to each other in the second row of chairs in their classroom.  “You could audition with your clarinet though. After class we should look at the list. I’m thinking of taking up the cello, but it would take a few years to be good enough to pass the audition.”

 

The list for auditions mentioned that, indeed, the clarinet was an acceptable instrument to audition on for the youth orchestra. Prospective players using a clarinet would be required to do a ten minute excerpt from two compositions. The first would be a clarinet in C and the work to perform was listed as Beethoven, Symphony No. 9, 2nd movement. The second excerpt was proposed as a clarinet in B flat in the composition of Brahms, Symphony No. 1, 3rd movement. The measures used to analyze the audition were 1 to 18.

 

“It’s really too bad that they don’t use saxophones” Valerie said frowning. “It would be a stupendous feat to be in the youth orchestra. Since you are only 18 you qualify for induction into the orchestra and only have to pass the audition and you’d be in. I know from hearing you play the clarinet while looking at classical sheet music that you could pass. It would be the right course to find the sheet music for these two excerpts and practice for a couple of months and then give the audition a shot.”

 

“Great idea,” grinned Layla. “I will stop by the library and find copies of the compositions. I guess why not try. The worst I could do is not pass. I mean it isn’t the end of the world if I do!

 

Layla went to the Berklee School of music library to look up the various concertos that were needed to audition for the youth orchestra. She asked the librarian where she might find the pieces and if she could copy them to take home with her.

 

“They’re right over there,” Jane Mitchell informed Layla. “I think you’ll find them on the top shelf near the far end of the bookcase.”

 

Layla found the Beethoven and Brahms pieces and carefully placed the book pages on the top of the library printer. She made two copies of each composition and then paid Ms. Mitchell for the job.

 

“Thanks so much,” Layla said with a smile. “I plan to audition for the youth orchestra and need these two works to practice the excerpts required for the audition. This is the most comprehensive music library I’ve ever seen. My roommate and I will be back as our school courses progress.”

 

X X X X X

 

Over the course of the next few months Layla would practice the parts that would be needed to pass the audition. She practiced the excerpts for about two hours each evening. The young student was very motivated and confident that she could do this. She was becoming more proficient in playing the clarinet in general and even more so with the two concertos each day as she rehearsed the parts. Her audition was eventually scheduled for the following February. At 10:00 AM on the 14th she would find out if she made that grade or not.

 

Valerie rented a cello from a music store on Market Street in San Francisco. She had wanted to try the cello for years and now was very happy to realize one of her desires. The cello, being a rather large instrument, took some hefting to bring it from the girl’s apartment to school and then back home three days a week. Her lessons for the cello were on Monday, Wednesday and Friday of each week. She learned how to rosin the bow and pluck the strings her first day with the new instrument. After a couple weeks of practicing she could play simple scored sheet music rather well, but it would be a while before she could play harder parts.

 

“I love the sound of the cello,” remarked Layla. “It’s so soft and low that it makes me feel the vibration of its strings through my whole body.”

 

“That’s what I like about it too,” agreed Valerie. “Though it’s a big instrument to carry around it feels like it’s a part of me. The saxophone never did that for me. Even though I am not too proficient on the cello yet, I do feel like it is the more suitable instrument for me.

 

“I would like to give it a try sometime when you are not practicing,” offered Layla. “You probably ought to think about buying one in the near future. Over a period of months the cost of renting it would start to be a drain. I saw one in the music store the other day that sold for $300. It might be good to start saving up for one in that price area.”

 

“Yes,” added Valerie, “I’m paying $50 a month to rent this one. In six months I’d have spent as much as owning one for the rest of my life.”

 

“If you don’t think you can afford $300, continued Layla, “I could ask my parents if they could pay for it. Now that they are financially well off, I don’t think they’d mind. After all what are friends for?”

 

The Christmas holidays were only about a month away. Layla and Valerie’s families made reservations for their flights to San Francisco. Layla’s mother, father and brother, Liam would be in by five in the afternoon on the 22nd of December, while Valerie’s mom and dad would be landing on the 23rd close to noon. The two girls would take a shuttle bus from downtown San Francisco south to the airport to pick up their families. The airport was about a 20-minute ride from downtown. Everyone would be staying at the girls’ apartment.

 

“I am really looking forward to this visit of our families,” said Layla laughingly. “My family has never been to the west coast and from what you said your father has been here once on a layover to Hawaii where he was stationed in the Navy. But, your mother has never been west of Nebraska. Liam will love it here. I just know he will. I’ve asked him to bring his guitar so we can have some jam sessions.”

 

“Likewise for me,” said Valerie. “There are numerous places in San Francisco to visit such as Golden Gate Park, Coit Tower, Lombard St., Chinatown and of course, last but not least, the Pacific Ocean. I can just visualize all of us riding down the ‘crookedest street in the world’. I hope we don’t get dizzy!”

Here’s chapter nine of “As Simple Things Go By”.

Chapter 9

 

“The San Francisco Symphony”

 

Layla Samuels and Valerie Orton were to spend their first year at the San Francisco Berklee School of Music learning many aspects of the music world. Included in their curriculum were courses containing music history, musical notation and especially advanced courses in the particular instruments that the two young women had chosen as their main instruments. Layla continued playing the clarinet and alto saxophone, while Valerie pursued the tenor sax. Both took piano courses as well. Since most classical music was written more than 100 years ago and was composed, for the most part, on pianos or harpsichords, piano was a requirement for graduating from Berklee. In downtown San Francisco, where most of the Berklee students took their classes, Union Square was a hangout for young musicians. Though the majority of the young people who played their instruments on the streets surrounding ‘the square’ were students, some were not enrolled in school. These other musicians played guitars, drums, flutes and horns of all types just to practice their ‘licks’ and gain exposure to the public’s eye. On one early fall day, Valerie and Layla had just finished their last class for the day on musical notation. With her alto sax tucked in a case under her arm, Layla walked beside her roommate, who carried her cased tenor saxophone. Their plan was to see if they could find some local artists to jam with.

 

“See that tall, thin guy over near the entrance to the parking garage with the guitar?” Layla said.

 

“Yes,” replied Valerie. “Do we know him from school? I recall that the young man you met on your arrival at the airport was skinny and tall.”

 

“I think that’s the same person,” added Layla. “Let’s go over and listen to him play. Perhaps we can add some notes to his songs. Improvisation is something I’m sort of new at, but would like to develop it a little. Gee, I’ve forgotten his name already.”

 

“Hi girls,” the young man greeted. “Don’t I know you?” He said as he turned to Layla.

 

“Yes, I think we met on the airplane a couple of weeks ago,” answered Layla. “But I’m sorry, I seem to have forgotten your name.”

 

“My name’s Glenn,” the handsome man said to the two girls. “I’m from Santa Barbara, California.” Glenn extended his right hand to the two female students and shook heartily.

 

“I’m Layla and this is my roommate, Valerie,” returned Layla Samuels. “We were watching and listening to you play. You’re very talented. Do you mind if we play some notes on our saxes as you play?”

 

“No problem,” smiled Glenn. “I would love for you to add some parts to my music. Playing alone is fun, but having additional instruments to the guitar is so much better. I see you are both sax players,” he said, detecting the shape of their cases.

 

The two women took out their horns and tuned them to Glenn’s guitar that he had tuned previously to a tuning fork. After the girls had adjusted their mouthpieces for the proper tuning, Glenn started a blues number, “Me and Bobby McGee.” Before he began the song he informed the girls that Janis Joplin made the song famous. As their new friend played the tune on his Martin acoustic guitar, the girls gradually added some lead notes to the guitar chords. Glenn was playing the song in the key of E, which meant that the first chord was an E seventh. The first chord in a blues sequence is always known as the ‘tonic’ cord. The second cord, an A seventh, was called the sub dominant chord. The third chord was a dominant seventh or B seventh. After playing the dominant seventh B chord, Glenn did what is called a ‘turnaround’ series of descending chords that set up the song for the next verse.

 

The girls did not know the words to the song but had both heard it in the past. As they became more loosened up, their improvised notes became more relaxed and more numerous. After the song concluded they talked about what had just happened.

 

“You two are very talented!” Exclaimed the young man. “We should do more songs sometime. Right now I have to leave for a recording session with some other musicians. Here’s my number if you want to get together and play again. I come to the square often, so after school most days you can find me here.”

 

“That would be great,” Valerie said. “It was a lot of fun adding notes to your excellent blues playing. Perhaps next time he could play more songs.”

 

“Wonderful!” Replied Glenn. “I’ll keep an eye out for you. It would be nice to add some other instruments as well. Maybe a bass and drums would help. Down here musicians who don’t really know each other play at a moments notice. You’re both welcome to join in any time. Hope to see or hear from you soon!”

 

“Same here,” answered Layla. “We look forward to our next jam session. Have a nice evening, Glenn.”

 

X X X X X

 

The girls went back to their apartment and left their saxophones there before going out for supper at Alioto’s seafood restaurant on Fisherman’s Wharf. It being a Friday night, there were many people looking for fish to eat. Or, as in Valerie and Layla’s case, lobster and scallops.

 

“After we eat, how about going to see and hear the San Francisco Symphony play at Winterland?” Layla proposed as they waited for their fresh seafood plates. “I think it costs about $15 to get in. Tonight would be our big splurge for the week. Are you up for it?”

 

“Sure,” agreed Valerie. I haven’t heard a full orchestra play in a couple of years, that is, except for watching a concert on television. I’ve heard that the San Francisco Symphony Orchestra plays all over the world. It would really be a great to be a part of it and travel to foreign countries. That would be my idea of a fun time!”

 

“You bet,” Layla chimed in. “Although it doesn’t pay as good as a big time rock ‘n roll show, we would make up for it in educating ourselves by visiting other cultures. I wonder how musicians audition for a chair in the big orchestras?”

 

“I’m not sure, but there’s probably advisers at school who know the ropes to doing that.”

 

Just then the neatly dressed waiter brought their scrumptious looking plates of seafood and vegetables. They were so hungry after a long day and missing lunch, that they hardly talked until the food was gone.

 

“The San Francisco Symphony Orchestra is really called the San Francisco Symphony,” Valerie informed Layla. “It has most of its local performances at the ‘Davies Symphony Hall’ located on Hayes Street between Van Ness and Octavia. We can take the cable car and bus to its location.”

 

“Great,” responded Layla. “We should probably leave for it now. I hope they still have some seats close to the symphony.”

 

The two young musicians took the California Street cable car to Van Ness and then change to a bus that led to the hall. They anticipated a wonderful concert. The SFS would be performing Debussy’s “La Mer,” an impressionist piece by the French composer. Both girls were very fond of this particular work by the composer. Debussy lived from August 22, 1862 to March 25, 1918 and was very prolific in his writings. His other well-known composition was “Prelude to the Afternoon of a Fawn.” Debussy was born in St. Germain-el-Laye, France and died in Paris. He studied piano at the Paris Conservatory at only 11 years old.

 

They arrived at the Davies Symphony Hall early enough to purchase seats in the sixth row directly in front of center stage. After a wait of about an hour the symphony began to play. The Symphony was led by the famous conductor Michael Tilson Thomas. He had at one-time taught at the Berklee School of Music in San Francisco. Beginning his relationship with the orchestra in January of 1974 when he debuted with the symphony when he was only 29. The announcer introduced Michael Tilson Thomas to a thunderous applause and the concert began.

 

X X X X X

 

“That was nothing short of spectacular,” smiled Layla. “I’ve never heard ‘La Mer’ played so well. The San Francisco Symphony is the best!”

 

“I agree,” returned Valerie. “This was one of the best productions I’ve ever heard too. I would love to hear them perform the ‘Nutcracker Suite’ this coming Christmas. From the reviews we saw at the entrance to this enormous complex it will be a wonderful event.”

 

“We should probably buy tickets real soon, since it is certain to be sold out quickly,” advised Layla. “First row seats are about $30. I wish my mother and father could come out to visit along with my brother, Liam. I’m sure your parents would like to do that too.”

 

“Yes, let’s call our parents and propose the idea to them right away,” Valerie said with a tone of urgency. “It would cost a great deal, but we can help them with the expenses. Giving music lessons to newcomers could add to our income and if we put away all we would make, it could pay for the trip.”

 

Layla and Valerie took the Muni bus back to their apartment and discussed the calling of their families to see if there was a possibility for them to come to visit San Francisco. Though it was a little late that night, especially with the three hours time difference between California and the girls home states, they made plans to call Saturday morning to let their relations know of their traveling idea. The young women talked about the problem of raising money to cover the expenses.

 

“We have room here to put them up,” Valerie said. “The cost of the trip would be the plane fare here and back home as well as the cost of meals and the tickets to the concert.”

 

“Figuring the airplane trip would probably run about $1000 and other costs maybe another $300, we could possibly need to raise a little over $1200,” figured Layla. “It would be less for the plane fares for your parents than mine so that might cut off a couple hundred dollars.”

 

“Well,” added Valerie, “we can see if the idea is agreeable to our folks and how much they can raise to cover their vacation. Maybe you and I will only need to come up with a few hundred dollars. I’m sure we can figure out how to do this. But it all depends on whether our families think they want to go ahead with the proposed plan.”

 

“Let’s sleep on it,” Layla advised. “We’ll call early in the morning. Hope we can manage some sleep with this exciting idea still in our minds.”

 

“Okay, Layla,” answered Valerie. “Pleasant dreams.”

 

Here’s chapter eight of “As Simple Things Go By”

Chapter 8

 

Layla Moves To California

 

Layla Samuels, graduating from Belchertown high school on the 20th of June 2004, had excelled in playing the clarinet and alto saxophone while in her junior and senior years. So much so that she won a scholarship to be put toward college tuition. She chose the Berklee School of Music in San Francisco, California as her place of undergraduate work. The summer after high school saw Layla and her family preparing for her trip west. She had clothes to buy, reservations for her plane trip and a summer job to give her some operating funds to use once she made it to the West Coast.

 

“I think it’s wonderful that you are able to teach students of the summer grade school how to play saxophone,” Layla’s mother said to her daughter in late June. “The money you make from helping these youngsters will certainly help with your expenses once you get to San Francisco.”

 

“Yes,” replied Layla, “I like my work with young musicians and have the added bonus of getting paid well for what I love to do. Also, the practice I have will keep my playing skills up to snuff. I will miss my friends and my family, but I know this decision to move to California is the right one.”

 

“I guess the first task is to find a cheap apartment for you to live,” Layla’s father added. “Berklee is a very famous music school and I know that you will have no trouble finding a career in music after your four years at the college.”

 

“I would eventually like to go for my masters degree and then, possibly, my doctorate in music,” Layla mentioned to her parents. “Playing in a band and teaching on the side will help me to pay my way through school. They say the West Coast is a little expensive… more so than in other areas of the United States.”

 

Layla could play the alto sax and clarinet very, very well. She could read musical composition and also could improvise while listening to others play different instruments. She loved ‘jamming’ with artist friends. All she had to do was figure what key the song employed and she could do that in a matter of a second or two, and then she could add the fills easily. Her favorite well-known artist was Kenny G. He had sold millions of albums and was at the height of his career when Layla began planning her college years. She knew she would have no trouble finding musical events to play on weekends. There was always a job opening for an adept horn player. Plus, Layla was a very attractive young woman. The young men would be falling over their own feet trying to get close to her. Layla liked the opposite sex but her music came first at this point in her life.

 

“If I could put aside $2000 from my summer job, I would be very happy,” said the 18-year-old to her mother and father. “That should cover the first month or two of my expenses once I get situated in San Francisco. From what I’ve seen and heard in the media, California is a very beautiful state and has better weather than the Northeast. Northern California has kind of a rainy season during the winter months. But San Francisco rarely gets above 75°… even in the summer. It’s foggy other times though and kind of cool, especially in the late fall, winter and early spring.”

 

“We have been talking about your venture being a source of good change for you later,” her mother said. “New scenery, a wide array of other people and your new curriculum will certainly open new doors for you. But you have to be very careful not to be swept into negative things such as radical groups of people, drugs and other pitfalls. This move will probably bring many new opportunities but also situations to avoid. Just remember the words we have spoken to you in the past. They were all given to you for your own well-being and welfare.”

 

“That’s right,” Layla’s dad added. “It’ll be an adventure and a real learning experience, but stay aware of the negative forces of the world.”

 

“I will remember all that you have taught me,” replied Layla. “I am a very conservative girl and know how to make right decisions. I am deeply appreciative of the way you raised me and I will draw on your values which have become my values as well.”

 

“We have faith in you, Layla,” her mother expressed. “Keep the faith of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. He will lead you down the right path. Walk with him in all that you pursue. God will be watching over you. Listen to the promptings of the Holy Spirit and you will have a promising life. Don’t forget to pray to God often both in need and in thanksgiving.”

 

X X X X X

 

The summer passed by quickly. Layla enjoyed her work teaching music and her anticipation of her college career. She did earn about $2500 from her job and for playing clarinet and alto saxophone in a small-jazz band. She bought her ticket for San Francisco online. The computer was an important part of her musical aspirations. She recorded songs and publish them on YouTube where others around the world could listen to her music as well as see her pretty face. She would leave New Hampshire on  September 5^th with a flight out of Manchester bound for California. Layla’s brother, Liam, planned to take her to the airport as their mother and father had to work. They said their goodbyes early in the morning of that very special day.

 

“We’re going to miss you, Layla,” her dad said. “We hope to see you for Thanksgiving. You mentioned that you get a week off school for that holiday. Your mother and I will pay for your plane fare back here and then your return to San Francisco. Bring us back some warm, sunny weather.”

 

   “Gee, mom and dad,” Layla tearfully said, “this is not going to be the easiest thing I’ve ever done. I will miss you tremendously, and Liam as well. It’s kind of scary leaving home for so long but I have a deep yearning to follow my dreams. I will write and call often to make me less homesick.”

 

“Sis,” Liam said hugging his sister, “I wish I was going with you. Maybe I can come out and visit you on one of my vacations. I would like to see the state so many young people adore. Send me a picture of the Golden Gate Bridge.”

 

“I will brother,” replied Layla. “You are welcome anytime to come and experience the California life. When we’re out there we probably won’t want to come back home.”

 

“Well, you best be heading to the airport,” advised their mother. “We hate to see you go, but you don’t want to miss your flight. Liam, drive carefully.”

 

“Goodbye,” cried Layla. “I will e-mail Liam when I am out there. I love you and hope that God will be with you.”

 

“You too, Layla,” her mother said. “Listen for the still small voice of the Holy Spirit in all that you say and do. Love you dear!”

 

Liam obeyed the laws as he drove his sister to Manchester airport. They talked about their dreams and desires which would lead them through to prosperity. The plane left at noon.. He would not arrive in San Francisco until seven that night. Brother and sister hugged one another as Layla was approaching the security entrance to the gates.

 

“E-mail me when you get there,” her brother said. “I will be thinking of you often. Have a great trip and I’ll see you on Thanksgiving.”

 

“Right, brother,” Layla acknowledged. “Love you, Liam. Take care of mom and dad. Be talking with you.”

 

* * * * *

 

It was no simple thing for Layla Samuels to go through the routines necessary to plan and then execute her move to California. Simplicity in her life for 18 years lead the young, attractive woman to a position where she was now performing tasks like other adult people. One of the obstacles she encountered in setting up her big move was searching for a roommate to share the expense of an apartment and utilities. Prior to leaving New England she made contact with a Nebraskan girl named Valerie Orton who also was heading out west to attend Berklee School of Music. Valerie went out to San Francisco in midsummer to hunt for a place to rent during their school attendance. Valerie Orton found an apartment on Union Street that was clean and in a good spot for buses that could take them downtown to Market Street where the college was located. There were numerous artsy shops on Union and good eateries a short distance from where they would be renting.

 

Valerie met Layla at SFO around 7:30 that evening to escort her back to their modest, well-kept apartment. The girls had photos of each other as well as cell phones to keep in contact. So they had no problem recognizing each other at the airport in South San Francisco.

 

“Hi Valerie,” Layla said as she hugged her new friend. “Your picture looks exactly like you. So very nice to meet you in person after all our contacts by e-mail this summer.”

 

“Gee, Layla,” responded Valerie, “you certainly are prettier than your photo on the Internet. We should go to the baggage claim to find your bags. Did you bring your horn and clarinet?”

 

“Yes,” answered Layla. “I hope they didn’t get lost. That would be a tragedy, if they did. You mentioned by e-mail that you bought a new tenor sax. We will have to play some music when we arrive at our apartment. I’m really looking forward to starting school on the 12th.

 

“Me too,” replied Valerie. “I think you’re really going to like the place we rented. It has a view overlooking the Bay. We’re up on the third floor; that should give us some exercise each day. Here, let me take one of your bags.”

 

The two young women traveled back to their apartment in the Marina area of San Francisco by bus, with a stopover at Tommy’s Joint on Van Ness Avenue. They had buffalo steaks at the famous restaurant with the extraordinary red motif on its façade. Since they had a week before classes they decided to do some sightseeing over the next few days.

 

“I would like to show you ‘The Crookedest Street In The World’,” Valerie told her roommate. “It’s part of Lombard Street and is paved with cobblestone. We can take a bus down it and then maybe cable car to Fisherman’s Wharf. There’s a store down there where you can buy cheap gifts called “Cost Plus.” I went in the huge building the other day and bought a package of incense for one dollar. They come in a bunch of different fragrances. But for today let’s go back to the apartment and get you settled. I know you must be exhausted after your long trip.”

 

“Yes,” answered Layla, “that would be great. I just want to take my shoes off, have a shower and relax. That was the first time I traveled on an airplane. I met a nice young man on the flight who looked to be around 21. He lives in the Mission District of San Francisco and is a senior at Berklee. He seemed clean cut and was very handsome. I gave him my cell phone number. I don’t really want to start a serious relationship but wouldn’t mind seeing him again.”

 

“That’s great, Layla,” said Valerie. “How about we get out your alto and my tenor before we go to bed. I would like to improvise a little. After all, music is why we came out here. Don’t forget to call your parents before we turn in. I know it’s late but you really should let them know you made it here safely.”

 

That’s a good thought,” Layla agreed. “They told me to call anytime day or night. I will e-mail my brother Liam also. Tomorrow I would like to see the Golden Gate Bridge. How far away is it from here?”

 

“About 2 miles,” responded Valerie. “There are buses that can take us to it. A fun thing to do would be crossing on foot. On a clear day the view of San Francisco Bay and the Pacific Ocean is quite spectacular. It would be a wonderful way to see some terrific views and get our daily exercises as well!”

 

X X X X X

 

“They say some people jump off the bridge and end their lives that way,” Valerie said softly to Layla. “It’s too bad that people sometimes become so depressed that they want to end their lives. I wonder where their troubled souls go when they do that.”

 

“I don’t know,” replied Layla. “I hope that God puts them in a good placein the afterlife. Let’s whisper a prayer for those who have left their mortal life because they couldn’t deal with the suffering in their lives. I’ll offer their prayers if you don’t mind.”

 

“Go ahead,” answered Valerie, as the two girls looked down at the choppy dark water 100 or so feet below the big red bridge.

 

“Father in heaven, please hear our prayer for those who have ended their lives so tragically,” said Layla in a humble and soft manner. “Comfort them and give them peace from the rigors of trials and tribulations in this life. Bless their loved ones in a way to ease their distress after losing their relatives and friends. Help those who have lost loved ones this way that they may know that the departed are in a better place and that those who are still living will one day see and embrace them in an eternal reunion without pain or worry. We are thankful for the Holy Spirit and pray that it may accompany us as we go through our daily activities. Dear Lord and Savior we say this prayer in thy name, even Jesus Christ… Amen.”

 

As a young music students walked across the huge bridge their silence gave them time to reflect on the tragedies in the world, and also to ponder the beauty of that large span that connected San Francisco with Marin County. They both thought that life is a series of opposition in all things. They talked about how good and bad events happen in everyone’s lives and that we would not learn in this life is these alternating occurrences were not present.

 

“Sometimes when we think of past events in our lives, the mind can only reflect on the bad things,” reasoned Valerie. “But then that changes and the world becomes seemingly positive again. This is all part of God’s Plan of Salvation and it enables us to make choices between various alternatives.”

 

“Yes,” added, Layla. “And because of this we become responsible for our words and actions. Every word and action has an effect on the world. There were people in the world that do wrong things and they will be accountable for these acts if not in this life, then in the world to come. The same is true when individuals do good things. These positive acts will bring them blessings here and in the hereafter.”

 

The two young women certainly had their exercise that day and thoroughly enjoyed each other’s words. They walked about 3 miles in total and then returned to the parking lot on the San Francisco side of the Golden Gate Bridge, where they boarded a bus to take them back to their apartment on Union Street. It had become rather warm and they opened the windows in their living quarters. They lay down on their beds and quickly fell into deep sleeps and dreamed of playing their instruments in a large orchestra.

 

Below is chapter seven of “As Simple Things Go By”.

Chapter 7

 

Layla And The Ducati

 

The radio was tuned to WMGM in the Samuels’ living room. Liam was dressing a “Silver Gray” classic salmon fly in the adjoining den. As he applied the Bronze Mallard roof over the top of the married wing, the song “Silver Lining” by the band ‘Dark Clouds’ started playing. It was one of Liam’s favorite folk songs. A warm drizzle hit the leaves on their east side maple tree as the young man hoped the sun would come out soon so he could mow the lawn. Mowing was one of his jobs around the house, which added a little money to his five dollar a week allowance. Liam’s parents came in the kitchen door after going to the family doctor. They both had big smiles on their faces as they entered the den where Liam was finishing his 4/0 Atlantic salmon fly.

 

“Hi, Liam,” his mother said. “What fly are you trying? It looks very nice. I like the white, yellow and green segments to the wing.”

 

“Those colors are actually made from a dying job I did on some white swan. I bought some yellow and green dye at Stop and Spend”, the fly tier added. I really shouldn’t be using the real swan as it’s a protected bird and I’m sure I am not really efficient enough to be using it. But it marries to the other feathers with such an ease that I just had to try the real thing!” “Your mother has something to tell you that is really good news,” Alex offered. “We are going to have an addition to our house. I want your mother to tell you the specifics.”

 

Liam thought for a few seconds and wondered where they would make an addition on their already large house. His parents looked at him with big grins and then they smiled at each other.

 

“Liam, we are going to have a new baby in about seven months,” his mother said very slowly as she articulated each word with great joy. The baby will probably be born around the beginning of January of next year. What do you think of that?”

“Well,” returned Liam. “I’m wondering if it will be a boy or a girl. I hope it’s a boy so I can teach him fly tying and how to play instruments.”

 

“Girls can do those same things too, Liam,” his father intervened. Some of the world’s best fly dressers are women. Look at Megan Boyd, the famous salmon fly dresser, in Brora, Scotland and Kerry Stevens, who made exquisite streamers for collectors. Female instrumentalists are the tops on certain musical instruments.”

 

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” replied Liam. “I will love whatever gender the baby is. It will be fun watching the little one grow and learn. A girl or boy… it doesn’t matter.”

 

The Samuels went to the living room to talk about plans following the child’s birth. Bess said they should discuss some names for the new addition to their family. They talked about redecorating the walls of the baby’s room upstairs.

 

“We should probably hold off the painting until we find out the gender of the infant,” said Alex to his wife and son. “Something like light pink would be good if it’s a girl and maybe a baby blue if a boy. What do you think?”

 

“Sounds great,” responded Bess. “It might be nice to have some three or 4 inch bands of wallpaper with a young person’s theme to them along the top of the walls. It would give the little one something to look at to take off the plainness of the solid color.”

 

“Don’t we need a crib and all the other things a baby should have?” Added Liam.

 

“Definitely,” agreed Liam’s mother. “Eventually we will have to acquire a car seat and a stroller as well. Then there are baby clothes that were Liam’s when he was young. Some of those items would work for either sex. When we find out the gender of the baby, which we will in a couple of months, we can buy clothing accordingly. I wish we hadn’t given the crib and stroller Liam used as a baby away to the thrift shop. There’s no telling where they are now.”

 

The family went through the ‘New Baby Name Book’ the book they still had after Liam was ready to come into the world. For boys, Liam suggested Sam and Seth. The young man had recalled reading the Old Testament and in particular ‘Genesis’ where the scriptures about Adam and Eve having Cain and Abel were. They had remembered that Cain killed Abel and then his parents’ begat Seth. So Seth was the fifth person on earth. Liam also thought that Sam Samuels had a nice ring to it.

 

“Those are some good names, Liam,” his father said. “It is good that you have been thinking about the Bible. Seth is a very nice name. What about girls’ names? Any ideas, Bess?”

 

“One of my favorite names is Layla,” she said with a very emotional voice. “One of the songs that I like uses that name for a title. It was recorded by ‘Derek and the Dominoes’ back in 1971. In fact I’ve thought about that name even before Liam was born. Of course, you’d both have to agree.”

 

“I think it’s a great name for a girl,” replied Alex. “Eric Clapton did an unplugged version of that song in 1990. The name is very uncommon. I don’t think I’ve heard of anyone else with that name. Good pick Bess.”

 

So that was it, Seth for a boy and Layla for a girl. Soon they would be a family of four. Bess was already eager to inform her friends of the coming child. Alex suggested putting some money aside for a small trust fund for the new baby, like they had done for Liam fifteen years ago.

They planned for the future of their family as the children would grow into their adult years. The older Samuels had put sizable amounts of money into certificates of deposit just recently. In 1984 interest rates were at their peak and they had invested wisely.

 

“I want to teach my little brother or sister how to play guitar,” Liam said. “They say that the kids now learn musical instruments and other artistic skills at a very young age.”

 

That night Bess dreamed of going to the hospital to have their baby. It was a girl. She had long black hair and blue eyes. In the dream she also saw Layla in her early teens walking with Liam up a hill and guided by an iron rod. On the side they were walking there were happy people of all ages following Layla and Liam up the path. At the top of the small mountain was a tree with the most gorgeous looking fruits hanging from its branches. The fruits were large and white in color. On the other side of a river were people who looked unhappy. Many of those poor folks were swept away by the rapids in the river. Others there made it to a large house where the inhabitants were carrying on in sinful manners. As Bess dreamed, she saw Layla and Liam eating the large white fruits, smiling after taking one bite. Then Bess awakened.

 

X X X X X

 

Phin Billy and his cousin, Jeff Smith, drove into the driveway of the Samuels on a bright warm day in August. They were both on a motorcycle, Jeff riding behind Phin who was driving. The bike looked brand new. It had a great gas tank with inch and a half stripes of yellow, orange and red along the rear of the tank. Alex and family heard the motor idling outside and went out to see what the commotion was. After greetings between the friends, Phin told how he got ahold of the motorcycle and some specifications of the bike.

 

“It’s a 1985 Ducati 600TL,” Phin proudly announced. “I won the mega bucks last week. I get $25,000 each year for 10 years. It was only the second time I bought a ticket and look what I won.”

 

“No kidding!” Laughed Alex. “I don’t think I’ve ever met somebody who won such a large prize. It couldn’t have happened to someone more deserving. Tell me a little about your machine.”

 

“It is a 581 cc engine,” Phin “began. It’s a VZ four-stroke with about 50 hp. Top speed is about 110 mph. It has an air cooled engine and dual disc brakes in the front and a single disc in the rear. The gas tank holds a little under 5 gallons of gas. The whole thing weighs about 440 pounds.”

 

“And, it’s very quick,” said Phin’s cousin Jeff. Jeff had always been a man of few words. But today he was wound up like a top. “This baby will go from 0 to 60 faster than today’s model of the Corvette. I mean it moves! It really feels like riding on a rocket. When Phin cranked down the gas this morning I almost fell off the back. You ought to take a ride, Alex!”

 

Bess and Liam looked on as Alex admired the classy motorcycle. “I knew Ducati’s were excellent sports bikes. They have a reputation second to no other racing machine these days. I watch the road races on the television. These things lay right down almost on their sides with their rider’s knees sometimes touching the road surface. What is wrong with your front brake lever? It looks like the tip has fallen off it.”

 

“The first day I had it,” Phin continued, “I dropped the bike making a right turn onto Route 104. My right leg was trapped under the rear wheel. I was only going about 5 miles an hour when it fell to the right side. Anyway, a guy in a truck behind me came to my rescue and lifted the bike up just enough to get my leg free. Luckily, I was dressed in my gear with tall leather boots and padded coat and pants. I had my leather gloves and full helmet on too. I was lucky it didn’t turn out worse. So… we picked up the motorcycle, I started it and went home.”

 

“I’ve heard that right turns from a stop sign or red light are one of the hardest things to do on a motorcycle,” responded Alex. “I’m glad you’re okay and that you’re still able to ride your machine. It purrs like a kitten.”

 

“Yeah, and when I really wind it up it almost sounds like a model airplane being revved,” Phin laughed. “They told me at the cycle shop not too rev it above 6250 RPMs for the first 600 miles. Also, I’m not supposed to hit the brakes hard under that mileage either. The bike goes through curves like a jet. They told me to take it slowly until I get used to it. So I’m being careful.”

 

The Ducati was a beautiful machine. Alex thought that one day he would like to have one. The Samuels were all happy to know that Phin had his financial windfall. He had lived most of his life very frugally. Now he would be able to live more comfortably after winning the mega bucks. Phin and Jeff left; the Samuels went into the backyard to talk about their future in the new arrival coming into their lives.

 

Summer passed quickly as the warm weather turned cooler as Fall approached. That change eventually brought the turning of the leaves on trees two yellow, orange and red colors. In October Bess had an ultrasound at the hospital to find out about the health of that growing baby in her womb. The doctor let Bess and Alex know that it was a girl that would be soon coming into their lives. They finished all the painting and other preparations of Layla Samuels’ room. That’s had a baby shower at which Besse’s parents and friends were present. She received a large number of gifts to help her care for the first year of Layla’s life. There were baby clothes, most of which had pinkish colors and girlish motives on them. Alex’s mother and father gave a couple savings bonds to benefit the new born’s later years. A baby book to record the early years of life was given by Reverend Mansfield.

 

“Thank you everyone for the presents you have given us,” Bess said to the guests who attended the shower. “You have all been very generous in helping my family to prepare for the birth and early years of our little Layla.”

 

The Reverend said a prayer. “May God bless the health of Bess in the next few months as she gets ready for Layla’s birth. Bless the little child that she may be healthy. We are thankful for the Holy Spirit, which has attended us here at Bess’s baby shower. We are most thankful and grateful for our Lord, Jesus Christ, and the love that he shows for all of us. May we all turn to him in thanksgiving and when we are in need. We pray these things in the name of Jesus Christ… Amen.”

 

* * * * *

 

On January second, nineteen hundred and eighty-six Layla was born. She weighed six pounds, nine ounces, and was in good health. The birth of the new child brought great happiness into the lives of her mother, father and brother. The whole family was together that wonderful evening. Bess and Layla made a pretty picture as the little baby lay in her mother’s arms. Alex took some photos of the newborn for entry into the baby book.

 

“She is really cute,” Liam said happily. “I am so glad to have a baby sister. Can I hold her mom? I will be very careful with her.”

 

“Of course, Liam,” his mother answered. “Why don’t you sit in the chair and I’ll have your father hand her to you. Be careful to hold her head up.”

 

Little Layla started crying as Liam cradled her in his arms. Then very quickly her crying stopped and she smiled. Nurse Rayleen came into the hospital room and checked to see if Layla and her mother were doing okay. Rayleen listened to Layla’s heart as well as her breathing with a stethoscope.

 

“She seems to be doing very well,” the older nurse told the Samuels. “If all continues to be good we will be sending you Bess and your little Layla home tomorrow. She is such a beautiful child and you are truly blessed with a very healthy girl. I will be checking in periodically over the next few hours to see how things are going.”

 

“Thanks so much, nurse Rayleen, for all you are doing for our family,” responded Alex. “We certainly look forward to bringing Layla home.”

 

“Please accept this gift of one of my salmon flies,” offered Liam. “It is one of my favorites called ‘Jock Scott.’ I framed it myself.”

 

“Oh, thank you so much, Liam,” the nurse said. “You are so kind to honor me with this creation of yours,” Rayleen graciously acknowledged. “It’s so colorful and complex. I can’t imagine how you made this. You are a very talented young man!”

 

At mid-afternoon the next day, Bess and her little bundle of joy were released from the hospital. Layla was wrapped in a couple hospital blankets for the ride home. Bess held Layla in her arms in the back seat of the Samuels’ car as Alex drove them all to Belchertown. After arriving, Bess fed Layla from her breast in the child’s new room. Then her mother laid her down in the crib so Layla could sleep. As Layla and her mother lay sleeping Alex and Liam were downstairs watching the television. The news came on at six o’clock and the weather portions of the news predicted heavy snow for later that night. The forecaster said that a foot of snow was predicted by late morning. Liam was happy because he would probably have the day off from school.

 

“Looks like a big snowstorm, Liam,” confirmed his father. “They’re saying some wintry mix of freezing rain and sleek before the heavy part of the snow. You’re almost certain to have the day off. That probably does not bother you, does it?”

 

“Absolutely not, dad,” replied Liam. “I will get a chance to shovel our walks and some of the neighbors to pick up a little extra money for my fly tying materials. Then I will spend the rest of the day dressing flies. I think I am going to create a new pattern. It will be called ‘Layla’.”

 

Here is chapter six to “As Simple Things Go By”.

Chapter 6

 

Boy Scout Troop 777

 

 James McPherson stayed with the Samuels for the rest of that spring. He was accepted as another member of their family. With the $200 Tim Foster had given him, he bought some second hand clothes at the thrift shop in downtown Belchertown. The Samuels treated him to a new pair of shoes from Bootleggers in Meredin. With his new looks he visited Tim Foster and they discussed the prospects of a job. The school administration agreed to employ him as an assistant to the music instructor. He would basically teach guitar to the middle school students as well as handle band setups and various functions for the regular band and the jazz group. He was very adept at playing the guitar and seemed to have a good rapport with the other musicians. Those young men and women who were interested in learning how to play the six string acoustic instrument enjoyed being taught basic chords and lead notes. After having posted a bulletin on the wall of each classroom about signing up to learn, there soon were 10 perspective middle school youth who entered their names on the list. One of them was a seventh grader named James Taylor. When the 10 students gathered at a meeting after school with the bandleader and James McPherson, there was a feeling of electricity in the air. Mr. Foster informed them about the availability of guitars for them to practice.

 

“The school music administrator, Francis Stanton, had agreed to procure the funds to buy 12 inexpensive guitars for those who are interested in learning. They would put in an order for the instruments immediately.

 

“We will be having our classes with James McPherson after school on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays,” the bandleader said. “We hope that the guitars can be picked up at the Concord Music Store in a few days. So next Monday will be the first class with your instructor.”

 

“I already know some guitar chords,” James Taylor said. “How will I fit in with those who are beginners? I’m wondering if Mr. McPherson can teach me during my fifth period study hall?”

 

“I think we can arrange that,” responded Mr. Foster. “Your teacher has been hired by the school as a part-time instructor but it’s possible that if there is much enthusiasm, we can handle one-on-one sessions with Mr. McPherson. I will talk with the administration concerning this idea.”

 

Lance Samuels was also interested in learning how to play guitar. He was a good friend of James Taylor and had learned a couple chords from Taylor. James had a beautiful Martin D-28 acoustic guitar that his father had given to him for his birthday a few years back. James also had a cheaper guitar (a Stella ‘Harmony’) that Liam played whenever he and Taylor played together.

 

“I have fifth period free too,” added Liam. “I would like to join James and James, if that would be okay?”

 

“That would be good, Liam,” Foster said. “If we could latch onto a couple more students for that, it would be great! In fact, we could eventually have an intermediate class then.”

 

James McPherson and Tim Foster talked after the guitar prospects left that afternoon. The two teachers started to set up some guidelines for the actual sessions with the middle school youth.

 

“It would be good to have a book of simple songs to give each novice. That wouldl help them to study when they are home,” added the man from Scotland. “Maybe some old folk songs or nursery rhymes would do.”

 

“Yes, I agree,” said Foster. “Something most of them have heard in their early years. The familiarity will help them to manage the various chord structures and sequences. It would help if there were visual hints of how each chord would be formed and where to play them in the song.”

 

“Aye!” the Scotsman returned. “The hand that is not forming the cords is important too. It sets the tempo or rhythm of the tunes played. The first guitar player to help me, who lives in Glasgow, said the strumming and picking hand is more important than the hand on the fingerboard.”

 

“ Right, James,” acknowledged Tim. “To get off subject for while, I was wondering if you could accompany me down to Concord to see which make and model of guitar we should procure? I would think that $100 would be a good limit on each instrument.”

 

“Picks and extra strings would be needed too,” James said, “as well as the songbooks. Also straps for the guitars would be good but not absolutely necessary. Cloth bags would be nice also to protect the guitars and to carry them from place to place.”

 

“We could drive down to the music store tomorrow after school if that’s all right with you?” The bandleader asked his assistant.

 

“Fine with me,” replied McPherson.

 

X X X X X

 

 

 

 That Tuesday afternoon James Taylor called Liam to see if he wanted to get together to do some guitar. Liam jumped at the chance to go to James’ house to learn something new from his guitar-playing friend. Taylor’s Martin had a pickup installed on it so it could be played through an amplifier. He also had a microphone that would plug into the amp. This way they could play together without James overpowering Liam’s borrowed Stella axe. Liam only knew about six chords well enough to keep up with Taylor. Liam was familiar with E, A, and B seventh and G, C and D seventh. This amount of ability would allow the two musicians to play numerous blues, folk, country and rock ‘n roll songs.

 

“Hey, have you ever thought of joining the Boy Scouts?” James asked his friend. “You can learn a lot of neat things like camping skills, tying knots, first aid and you would have a nice uniform for the meeting. Tom Davis is the scoutmaster and a very smart man to know. We are studying radio right now and how to send and receive Morse code. You get badges for your shirt as you progress through the various stages. Your first badge would be tenderfoot followed by Second class, First class, Starr, Life and finally the top of the heap… Eagle.”

 

“Yes, my mother has spoken to me about the scouts,” replied Liam. “I suppose it would be fun learning about different things. When and where are the meetings held?”

 

“Well, we meet on the first Tuesday of every month around 7:30 at night,” James answered. “The get-togethers are held in the basement of the Memorial Hall on Church Street. The Masonic lodge meets upstairs on those nights. My dad is a Grand Master. There’s a scout meeting tonight if you would care to go with me.”

 

“I’d like that,” Liam said.

 

“I’ll be riding to the hall with my father,” Taylor added. “We can pick you up around 7:20, okay?”

 

“Sounds good,” Liam responded.

 

The two musicians played a couple of blues songs later that afternoon which James had learned a year ago. They played the Robert Johnson song “Crossroads,” which Johnson had written in the late 1920s and was popularized by Eric Clapton on a Cream album in 1967. Liam played the chords in the key of E, while Taylor did some lead notes to accompany his friend. After that they did their best with “Step It Up and Go,” a blues number that James said nobody knows who wrote. They finished with the ‘Rolling Stones’ version of “Love In Vain.”

 

 

 

X X X X X

 

 

 

 Over the door at the bottom of the steps of the Memorial Hall was a plaque that read ‘Boy Scouts of America-Troop 777.’ James Taylor and Liam Samuels agreed that it was a lucky number.

 

“How did your scout troop get a number like that?” Liam asked.

 

“It just happened to be the luck of the draw,” replied Taylor. “When the troupe formed, back in the early 1940s, it was just the next number in line for newly formed Scout troops.”

 

James turned to reveal his troop patch for Liam to see. It looked very sharp and in good contrast to his first class badge on his authentic Boy Scout shirt. As the two friends entered the large room where the troop met, Liam noticed that not all the young men there had full uniforms. Most had their shirts which were common to all Boy Scouts in America. Some had the official pants and hats as well as brown shoes. The boys and troop leader, Mr. Davis, were in small groups just chatting. At 7:30 sharp Davis shouted for the troop to fall in. They all lined up side by side and the 20 or so scouts were called to order.

 

 “Atten…shun!” Barked Mr. Davis. The troop went through some preliminary official rituals such as the Boy Scout Creed, the Pledge of Allegiance, the Boy Scout motto and they did some drilling and they were asked to be at ease and then again at attention. After about 10 minutes of the standard recitations they formed into four groups to work on various tasks. One group that Liam found himself in was practicing the tying of different knots with 18-inch clothesline ropes. They practiced bowlines, square knots, sheep shanks and other simple forms of the square knot called a ‘granny.’ Another group was studying how to properly set up a campsite. They had a pup tent, cooking utensils, sleeping bags and a flint and steel set up that was used to start fires without matches or a lighter. The third group practiced with maps and a compass to teach them how to get them to a particular location from an established starting point. The last group was studying Morse code. Mr. Davis was the teacher of this interesting facet of Scout education. Around quarter-to-nine Mr. Davis asked everyone to fall in again. Scouts stood at attention and then parade rest while the scoutmaster talked about Morse code. He handed out sheets of paper with the letters of the alphabet and numbers and their corresponding dots and dashes sequences.

 

“What I want each of you to do is learn the Morse code by our next meeting. I will be handing out small buzzer keys so you can practice this important skill.” He showed the troop how to operate the keys. The scouts each made some words up and then very slowly spelled them out using the code sheet they had been given. After Mr. Davis was satisfied that they all knew what to do, he announced that at the coming months meeting they will be asked to copy code at five words per minute. Then based on what they copied, they would have to carry out a procedure based on the coded message.

 

“The first to decipher the coded message and carry out the procedure will receive a very exciting gift,” promised the scout leader. “Morse code was used as far back as the Civil War. Then the code traveled through wires much the same as our phones. In the early twentieth century the code was transmitted through the airwaves by amateur radios. This hobby is used to help in times of power outages when electricity and phone lines are down. It’s also  is a lot of fun. I am a ham radio operator now. I have been since 1946 holding an Extra Class license.”

 

Though Liam was not yet a scout, the Scout leader told them he was eligible for the prize if he was so inclined to study the code. Liam was extremely interested. So much so that when he arrived home that evening he told his parents about the Morse code project and showed them the buzzer key that Tom Davis had lent him. “Whoever wins the code test will receive a grand prize,” Liam told his mother and father excitedly. “I hope it’s a tent or sleeping bag. I have to learn the code and then build up my speed so I can copy the coded message.”

 

“I know a little bit about Morse code,” Liam’s father went on. “Back in World War II the British, Americans and our allies were intercepting coded messages between military headquarters and troops of the Nazi forces. The messages that our people deciphered allowed us to save many thousands of lives on our side of the war. I think your studying of the Morse code is a very noble idea. It’s like another language some say. If you can eventually gain your amateur license you could have a lot of fun and be useful in time of need to aid others who are in a less fortunate situation than us.”

 

Liam and James Taylor got together a couple of evenings each week for the coming month. They killed two birds with one stone by playing guitars and sending each other more coded messages. Both of them had learned the code the first week they studied it. Then for the next three weeks they built up their speeds. They were both becoming very proficient at this. First Liam would tap out a coded string of 10 or 12 words. James in turn would write down on a piece of paper what Liam sent. Then they would reverse their roles so each would have a shot at copying.

 

“I think we’re getting quite good at this,” Taylor said enthusiastically. “Although I think you are a little better than me at copying.”

 

“I don’t know,” said Liam dubiously. “I think we were a close tie. Anyway, if one of us wins that will make all of our practice worthwhile. The test is less than a week away. I wonder what the prize will be?”

 

 

 

X X X X X

 

 

 

‘Be Prepared’, a banner read at the meeting place for Troop 777. It was a rainy evening in Belchertown. The troop had their opening rituals and then it was time for the highlight of the night … the Morse code contest. Tom Davis tapped out the code on one of the buzzer keys. Here in code are the ‘dots’ and ‘dashes’.

 

‘–.  —   ..  -.  -  —   – …. .

 

-…  .-  -.-.  -.-   .-.  —  — –

 

—  .–.  .  -.   -  ….  .

 

–  .  -..  ..  -.-.  ..  -.  .

 

-.-.  ….  .  …  -   .-  -.  -..

 

-…  .-.  ..  -.  –.   —  ..-  -   -  ….  .

 

-…  —  -..-   —  ..-.

 

-… .-  -.  -..  .- .. -.. …’

 

Most of the scouts had no idea what this transmitted message was. There were three or four who copied most of the command. But Liam was the first to decipher the coded words and carry them out. The message read as follows.

 

“Go into the back room open the medicine chest and bring out the box of Band-Aids.”

 

James Taylor was right behind Liam in figuring out the copied code. Liam, however, was quicker to respond to the words.

 

“Scouts, we have a winner!” Tom Davis exclaimed. “Our new friend, Liam Samuels, has carried out the procedure mentioned in the Morse code message. And now I want to award the prize to Liam.”

 

The troop leader walked over to Liam, who stood at parade rest in line with the other 19 present. He handed the young man a foldable plastic washbasin. Mr. Davis shook Liam’s hand vigorously. Needless to say Liam was a little disconcerted. He and the rest of the troop expected something much more valuable. Taylor looked up the washbasin in his BSA catalog. Its cost was … $0.89.

 

When Liam arrived home that Tuesday night he showed his prize to his folks. He told them how unhappy he was for all the studying he had done.

 

“Son,” his father began. “Sometimes the prize for winning is not in its dollar value. You surmounted some hurdles studying the code and persevering through the roadblocks to become the winner among almost 20 other seasoned scouts. Your real prize is that you won … not the wash basin.”

 

“I guess you’re right, dad,” Liam said humbly “I guess you’re right!”

 

Here is chapter five of “As Simple Things Go By”

Chapter 5

 

The Jazz Band Goes

To New York

 

For a Christmas dance at the Belchertown high school, Tim Foster talked with the school’s administration about the jazz band playing the event. It was over a year since the band had first come together and they were getting, as they say, ‘tight.’ They had a repertoire of about 40 songs that they played over and over until they had perfected them. The band was getting some great acclaim. Daniel and Liam were at a level of playing that many considered tops. It was a Saturday night at the high school when the jazz group assembled a half hour before the dance was to begin.

 

“I think we are all ready for this gig,” the bandleader said. “We really have these tunes down pat. I think we’ll open with the usual ‘Bye Ya,’ which the wonderful Thelonious Monk composed. I know it’s a favorite of all of you and should make a big splash as the opening number. After that we’ll do Duke Ellington’s ‘Take The A-Train’. From there on we’ll follow the usual playlist.”

 

The middle school’s art department had fashioned a beautiful banner to attach to the front of the groups set up. Gold letters on a purple background spelled out “The Belchertown Jazz Group.” The trumpets and saxophones were chaired up in the first row. The flutists and clarinets were behind them in row two. While the rest of the band was in row three with the drummer and percussionist up on a foot-high pedestal in the rear.

 

After the group was set up it was nearing the time for the dance to begin. People started streaming in as the band tuned up. Mr. Foster and the chorus director, Miss Plante had chosen Ann Way as the female vocalist and Jesse Cafiero as the male singer. They would sing on about a third of the songs that the group performed. At seven o’clock it looked like the turnout for the show was going to be very big. The high school auditorium, which was usually set up for ballgames and assemblies, had bleachers on both sides for attendees to sit while not dancing. Couples sat together, but unpaired young men and women traditionally sat on opposite sides of the assembly room. The girls who came to dance were asked by the school officials to wear dresses and the boys to wear ties and jackets. No jeans or sneakers were to be worn to the event.

 

“Only problem with playing,” Daniel whispered to Liam, “is that we don’t get a chance to dance. I’m not a very good dancer but I would like to try it sometime.”

 

“Yeah, me too,” answered Liam. “I learned a couple of years ago to do the ‘cha-cha,’ but never danced with anyone at a formal party like this. My Aunt Hal taught me how to dance the ‘choo-choo train and Rodriguez’ parts of that form of dance. Maybe we’ll be able to sit out on a couple of numbers and ask a couple girls to dance. I have my eye on Joan Naples. She’s cute and fun to talk to, but I don’t think she’s here. No … here she comes right now.”

 

“Yes, she is pretty,” added Daniel. “Maybe she and her girlfriend, Holly Pointer could sit near us. I kind of have a crush on her but I think she doesn’t know I exist. Most girls look at me like I’m a geek or something. Anyway, if we could get a break on a couple of songs we could at least talk with them.”

 

Liam waved to the two girls as they came closer, dressed in very attractive short, multicolored dresses. At the end of “Bye Ya,” the trumpeters went over to see Joan and Holly. They talked for a moment and asked them for a dance later in the evening. Much to Daniel’s surprise, Holly seemed very cordial to him.

 

“Guess I was wrong,” smiled the second coronet player to his bandmate. “It looks as though she might like me. That’s great!”

 

“We can take a break on Miles Davis’ ‘So What.’ We only have tiny parts in that song. I’ll talk with Mr. Foster about it between numbers,” advised Liam. “I love Miles’ work!”

 

“Me too,” replied Daniel. “He creates very inspiring compositions. I hope the girls don’t dance with someone else on that song. I suppose we could ask other girls if that happens. I would like to get to know Holly better, but as my mother says, ‘there’s many fish in the sea’.”

 

The two trumpeters returned to their musical chairs and played the next song on the list … “My Favorite Things,” by John Coltrane. The band sounded good. Both players and audience, including the dancers, were having a great time. After 12 songs, Ann Way announced that the group would be taking a 10-minute break. An older man in a sharp looking suit came up to the bandleader and started an interesting conversation with him. The well-dressed middle-aged man told Mr. Foster that his name was Clyde Mavis and that he was a promoter for concert events in the New York City area.

 

“I’ve heard some very positiverecommendations from my associates about your jazz group,” Mavis said with a big smile. “We are currently looking to have some northeast middle school jazz bands perform at Carnegie Hall in Manhattan this coming spring. I’ve listened to your group play tonight and would like to extend an invitation for the Belchertown Jazz Group to come to New York and play a few of your best songs.”

 

“Well, I don’t know what to say,” the bandleader responded. “This is quite an invitation. I assume the event would be on a Friday or Saturday night, as these musicians have school in the spring. That is, unless your show would be during Easter vacation.”

 

“In fact, the program would be on Easter Sunday, the dapper promoter said. “We would pay all the expenses of bringing your band down to the city and putting you up for two nights in a good hotel in Manhattan. The entire band, you included, would be able to have a private meeting with Mayor Lindsay, the mayor of New York. This is all part of a plan to encourage young musicians in the world to follow a musical career after graduating from school.”

 

“Let me talk with my band members after the dance and see how they feel about this proposal, can you wait until 10 o’clock to hear from us?”

 

“Definitely,” answered Mr. Mavis. “If you decide to accept this idea, I will write you a check tonight for $2500 which will more than cover the cost of the trip down to the ‘Big Apple.’ I will surely enjoy your next sets of music. You people are very, very talented. Should you go for the invitation I would send you the entire itinerary for the excursion. Oh, before I forget, here is my card.”

 

“Thank you for your offer,” Tim Foster said with a handshake, “this is a very pleasing proposal to me and I think it will be to my musicians as well.”

 

X X X X X

 

 Tim Foster and all the band members loaded their equipment and baggage into one Ford van and themselves into two other vans for the ride to Blackwater Station on the eastern border of Vermont for the Amtrak train to New York City. They boarded the diesel train after piling all their instruments and bags into a baggage car near the rear of the six-car transport. It would be a four-hour trip to Grand Central Station. The musicians seated themselves happily anticipating their trip and the adventures that lay ahead.

 

“Tickets …  tickets,” the train conductor loudly spoke as he entered the car that carried the 15 band members.

 

Everyone produced his or her tickets for the train official who had on elegant attire with a fancy badge. His hat looked like the ones they wore in “Highway Patrol,” an old television series back in the early 1960s. He punched each card twice with a special mark. The Belchertown students relaxed in their plush, new looking seats and stared out the windows as the countryside rushed by. They would see many pastures and different species of trees and shrubbery on the way to their destination.

 

“Wow, look at those cows,” exclaimed Ann Way. “There must be 100 of them. I knew Vermont had a lot of dairy cows, but not this many, most of our milk in western New Hampshire probably comes from them.”

 

“Yes, and check out those larch trees in that swamp way over there,” Jesse Cafiero mentioned to his singing bandmate. It seems, as they grow over a period of 50 or 60 years, that most of the needles on the lower limbs die. They are very elegant in appearance. There are not manylarch trees in New Hampshire, but the ones that are there are located in swampy places like these.”

 

The particular Amtrak line that these passengers were traveling only made two stops on the way to the Big Apple. One was near Keene, New Hampshire and the other in Hartford, Connecticut. When the band was about an hour into their trip south, Mr. Foster stood up in the aisle and announced that he wanted to give the students a brief history on jazz and the people who were their forerunners.

 

“In 1902, a 12-year-old, Jelly Roll Morton, was probably accepted as being the one who ‘invented’ jazz. The origins of jazz most likely began in the red light district of New Orleans. This particular type of music originated from a mixture of ragtime and French quadrilles. Also a precursor to jazz was found in the hot blues of Buddy Bolden, a famous coronet player.”

 

“This is all news to me,” one of the sax players named Errol Phillips said. “I bet there’s a lot more history to jazz between our time and 1902.”

 

“Correct, Errol,” the bandleader said. “In 1917 a group called ‘the original Dixieland band,’ made one of the first recordings of jazz like music. The name of the recording was ‘Delivery Stable Blues.’ It reportedly sold over 1 million copies. Then in 1925 Louis Armstrong, whom we all know as ‘Satchmo,’ promoted solo improvisation as opposed to a full band playing together all the time. A few years later, in 1943, Duke Ellington played Carnegie Hall for one of the first big, live presentations to a large audience. That’s where we’ll be playing in a couple of days. So what we’re playing has a long history. But that’s not all I have to say historically on jazz.”

 

“So jazz has mainly American origins. Is that right?” Asked Liam.

 

“That is true,” returned their bandleader. “Of course the main instruments involved in jazz through this almost hundred year interval, were invented hundreds of years ago. Musical instruments probably date back to the beginnings of man’s life on this planet. Continuing on let me say that there have been many jazz greats since its origins in the first part of the twentieth century. For instance Charles Mingus was a great jazz musician, who played the upright bass. In 1979 he died in Mexico at age 56. That same day 56 whales washed up on the Mexican coast where they had apparently beached themselves! In 1984, just over a year ago, trumpeter Wynton Marsalis won a Grammy for his tune ‘Think Of One.’ The same night at the Grammy awards, he took a Grammy for classical trumpet concertos.”

 

The group from Belchertown had their lunch in a luxurious dining car on the train. Liam ordered a bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwich on toast that came with potato chips. The others ate their own choices. The whole experience of eating on the train was elegant. As they all finished their meals, Mr. Foster stood up again and addressed the musicians with a very special message.

 

“When we perform on Sunday we will be accompanied by a couple very special guests. Gary Burton and Chick Corea will be performing with us! As some of you may know, Mr. Burton is one of the most accomplished vibraphone players alive today. Chick Corea is of the same caliber on the keyboards. They will both play all five of our chosen tunes on this very special occasion!”

 

Most of the students looked on with open mouths. This would be an event that remained with them for their entire lives. Everyone walked through the cars back to their seats overly excited about the show on Sunday.

 

X X X X X

 

 “Grand Central Station!” Bellowed the conductor as they finished traveling through the mile or so of tunnel and neared their destination. The ramp-ways were dimly lit and inspired a feeling of mystery to the young folks, especially those who had never been to New York. Stage workers from Carnegie Hall picked up the instruments at Grand Central. They would be set up in a music room separate from the performance stage. This way the jazz bands could go there and practice as long as they wanted before the concerts. There wereabout 20 large music rooms that would accommodate the 12 middle schools that were set to perform at half hour sessions on Easter Sunday.

 

Carnegie Hall was first opened in 1891. Since then many memorable events have taken place in the edifice, located on the corner of Seventh Ave. and 56th St. in New York City. A five-day musical festival started the shows in an elaborate interior that Andrew Carnegie, one of the richest people in the world, had built. The red upholstered seats set a striking contrast with the tan colored walls. The lighting around the edges of the four-tiered balconies was nothing short of being exquisite.

 

“It’s going to be quite a fantastic experience playing on this stage,” Daniel said as he and the rest of the jazz band peered out at the stage and concert hall from offstage. “Kind of scary too. I don’t know about you, Liam, but I have mixed emotions about this performance. I know that Mr. Foster has instructed at other shows to concentrate on the music while the audience will take care of itself. Still I am nervous.”

 

“Me too,” agreed Liam. “The rest of the musicians feel the same thing. But if you look at it this way… it’s the chance of a lifetime and something I wouldn’t pass up for anything.”

 

“I guess you’re right,” acknowledged Daniel. “Mr. Foster said we will be going on around noontime on Sunday that gives us about a day and a half to rehearse. Maybe the rehearsals will calm us some.”

 

The stage crewmembers were making up the set and adjusting spotlights for Sunday’s program. None of the students from Belchertown had ever seen a stage as big as this. After the musicians had watched the preparation for the concerts they went backstage to the practice room where their instruments had been placed.

 

“Here’s the playlist for our part of the show,” Mr. Foster said, handing out copies of the songs to be played in the order they would be played. The five numbers would probably take about 25 minutes in total to perform … five minutes under their allotted time. “Let’s rehearse for a couple hours, then go out for supper and to the Chatham hotel afterwards to try for a good night’s sleep. You will probably have a little trouble sleeping, especially on Saturday night, which is normal for a situation like this. Tomorrow we will put in another four hours of practice during the morning. After that we will do a bit of sightseeing. How does visiting the Empire State Building and the Statue of Liberty sound to you all? If you can agree about visiting another prominent place, let me know and we can do that.”

 

“My mother has told me stories about going to Central Park where she, her sister and grandma used to have picnics,” offered Liam. The rest of the group thought it would be great. Liam had told the musicians about the zoo in the park.

 

“Let’s see a show of hands on Liam’s idea,” said Mr. Foster. “If we have a majority we will do it. Of course that is if we have time. I’d like us to be back to the hotel by supper time.”

 

Nine hands went up. It was surely a majority, so the bandleader OK’d Liam’s proposition. They all looked at least halfway pleased. After looking at a map of Manhattan they decided to do the Statue first on Saturday, followed by the Empire State building and finally Central Park. The statue and the park would mean some legwork that would be good for all the group members. It would help them to sleep that night. They took cabs to the Chatham Hotel located on Vanderbilt Avenue at 48th St. After they had organized themselves and showered they walked to Broadway and Seventh Avenue which is where the famed Times Square is located. It was entrancing to the small-town students. Lights everywhere. The streets were crowded and many restaurants and nightclubs doing a lot of business. The group agreed on eating at a place called ‘Bobby’s’ Joynt,’ which was mainly a pizza restaurant. The pies looked very appetizing through the front window. The New Hampshirites looked down with intrigue as they watched men with no legs wheeling themselves along the sidewalks using their hands to propel themselves. There were alcoholics swigging their last gulps of Muscatel from brown paper bags and begging for money so they could get a cup of coffee. The area was quite an eye-opener for the country people from New England who had never seen anything like that except on the television.

 

“This pizza is very good,” remarked Bruce Nelson, the band’s baritone player. “Much better than any place I’ve eaten in New Hampshire. Too bad we couldn’t take a couple pies back to Belchertown,” the skinny, eighth grade horn player said.

 

“You’d need a chest with dry ice to do that Bruce,” commented his instructor. “I think that Manchester might have pizza parlors that make it very similar to this. But yes, this is really good stuff!”

 

The Jazz group ate their pizza talking about the events that would unfold over the next couple days. Excitement filled their emotions as they rose from their seats and headed back to the hotel. They all turned in at nine o’clock except for Tim Foster. He wanted to write some words in his trip notebook to preserve some highlights of the adventure down there in Manhattan. He dreamed that night that the band had been graciously applauded for their performance. There was a standing ovation for the group.

 

X X X X X

 

 As the group climbed the stairway to the head section of the Statue of Liberty, Liam thought of the Memorial Day parade that he had marched in the last year. The statue was a symbol of freedom to people who were persecuted in foreign countries or had no means of supporting themselves and their families. It was a large edifice that invoked a feeling of promise or opportunity. It was the first large structure immigrants saw upon entering the New York area and gave encouragement to hundreds of thousands of these who are down on their luck and almost penniless. It was hope. It was refuge from tyranny and lack of jobs. It was a new beginning. Liam reveled in the love he had for his country and the gift it gave to those who were born there as well as those seeking a new start … a new life in the land of plenty.

 

When the musicians arrived at the crown of the statue they saw and heard a young man with long, straggly hair and unkempt facial growth. He was playing a guitar and singing. He had an open guitar case into which visitors were casting money to help the poor looking soul. The next song he played after the group stood looking out at the New York Harbor was a very spiritual type in both music and lyrics. He sang the words with much emotion.

 

 

 

 

 

“An angel came into my life

 

And took away all of the strife

 

Now all I can do is dream of wings

 

In this spirit scheme of things.”

 

 

 

“I know the spirit is for real

 

Though I cannot see, I can feel

 

The power of its love at hand

 

Telling me of my earthly plan”

 

 

 

 Chorus:

 

“On an angel’s wings,

 

God lifted me up

 

From all earthly things

 

I drank from a cup

 

The water of life

 

Tasted so good

 

Compared to the strife

 

I guess I knew it would…”

 

 

 

“There’s no doubt in my mind

 

As the news reel rewinds

 

And in these pictures I see

 

You looking back at me”

 

 

 

Repeat Chorus

 

 

 

“Then I awoke and saw through my eyes

 

The green and blue of trees and skies

 

My eyes were sandy and as I blinked

 

I saw after-images with each wink”

 

 

 

Repeat Chorus

 

 

 

The song was mesmerizing and the group stood there in awe as the words and the beautiful music came from this young man’s mouth and cheap guitar. It was an astounding presentation he made. The people present all threw coins and paper money into the man’s case. His demeanor and appearance did not interfere with the audience’s happiness that it felt from that gentle spiritual song. At the end of the song he said he had written the words and music when he was 19 years old. It was called ‘On An Angels Wings.’ The musician gave the crowd thanks for contributing money to him. He spoke very softly and slowly.

 

“I’m from Edinburgh, Scotland,” he offered. “I just arrived by ship. I am so thankful to be in America. My family had no jobs, no money and no food to eat. That is why I’m here now. I spent my last bit of money for a third class ticket on the ‘Esperanza.’ I don’t really know where I’m going, but I know where I’ve been.”

 

Mr. Foster walked up to the player and bent down to the man who was playing while he sat on the floor. The bandleader handed him in his card and spoke.

 

“If you ever make it up to New England, come visit us in New Hampshire,” Mr. Foster humbly said. “We can find you work and good living conditions. In fact, here is $200 that my band and I were given to come and play at Carnegie Hall tomorrow at noon. I will leave word at the door to the music hall to let you in for free. We would be delighted if you came backstage while we would not be performing. And when we go onstage you can watch and hear us play jazz.”

 

“Bless your soul,” the young man said with tears in his eyes. “I will be there. This is like a miracle come true!”

 

 “What is your name?” Tim Foster asked the new immigrant. “I will put your name on the guest list. If you can come around ten in the morning we will be in our dressing room. We can talk there.”

 

“Thank you kind sir,” the Scottish guitar player said. “My name is James McPherson. I am 23 years old.”

 

Tim Foster thought quickly that he wouldn’t wait to see McPherson in New Hampshire. Tim would ask him to accompany them tonight. “Okay, James,” replied the bandleader. “We look forward to seeing you again. Go to the Chatham Hotel on Vanderbilt Avenue and Forty-eighth Street. Ask the desk manager to ring us. We’re in room number ‘three’ ‘three’ ‘three.’ My name is Tim Foster. I will come down and then bring you up to our rooms where you can stay the night. Go and get something to eat with this money.”

 

“Bless your soul,” James said. “This is truly a gift from God, meeting you and your folks. I thank my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart.”

 

 

 

X X X X X

 

 

 

 Around 8:30 that night Tim Foster’s phone rang in his room at the Chatham. It was the desk clerk saying a shabby looking man was asking him to call the bandleader’s room. Mr. Foster went down with Liam to assist the man from Edinburgh with his suitcase and guitar. Liam carried James’s guitar while Tim hefted his very heavy bag. James McPherson was very tired from two days of no sleep. Mr. Foster and several of his group sat on their beds and listened to James as he told his traveling story. Around 10 o’clock they all went to bed. Mr. Foster let James take his bed while he slept on a couch. Before James climbed into bed he took a shower and tied his long hair in a ponytail.

 

Easter Sunday morning the band members were awakened by their bandleader. They had four adjoining rooms with four students to each of three of the suites, while Tim Foster, Liam Samuels, Daniel Steele and their new friend, James McPherson stayed in the fourth room. After the band members had showered and dressed in their suits and dresses they were all ready to take cabs to Carnegie Hall. They would stop at the Chatham Hotel restaurant for breakfast. Clyde Mavis met the group at the Hall at 10 o’clock for last-minute preparations before their going on at noon. There were four jazz groups from New York State and Vermont that were to perform before the Belchertown Jazz Group. When the band from central New Hampshire at Carnegie arrived, the first band from Pine Plains, New York was on stage, ready to play their songs. The second in line was from Oneonta, New York, followed by one from Buffalo, New York. The act just before Belchertown’s was from Burlington, Vermont. The five groups backstage that morning talked about music and traded stories about their hometowns and the songs they were going to play. Everyone was in a happy mood and excited about their upcoming performances.

 

James McPherson stayed close to Mr. Foster most of the morning. He kept the card that Tim had given him the day before in his wallet. No need to be on the guest list as the bandleader vouched for him at the artists’ entrance. James had shaved that morning and looked totally different from his previous day’s appearance.

 

“James, you can have any vacant seat in the hall if you like,” Mr. Foster offered his new friend, “or you can stay backstage and watch the show from the side.”

 

“I guess I’ll stay backstage,” the Scot said. “I like being around other musicians. They are all kindred spirits of mine. Thanks so much, Tim. This is all like a dream to me.”

 

The fourth group of the morning was about halfway through their performance as the Belchertown group was finishing their final tune-up. Spirits were high. As the group from Burlington finished their final number, the curtain dropped and the stage crew moved the drums away to make room for Foster’s band to set up. Within five minutes everything was set for the Belchertown Jazz Group to perform. They were all seated and ready for their first song, “Take Five” by Dave Brubeck. The curtain rose to much applause from the full House at Carnegie Hall. The musicians played without one note in the wrong place. They played with perfect technical skills and great emotion in their first song. The crowd roared as they finished their opening tune.

 

The next four songs were perfect as well; “So What” by Miles Davis, then “Take The A-Train” by Duke Ellington, followed by “Round Midnight” by Thelonious Monk and their finale of “My Favorite Things” by John Coltrane. But the greatest treat for the band and the audience was the vibraphone playing by famed Gary Burton and piano by Chick Corea as they performed along with the Belchertown Jazz Group. There was a two-minute long-standing ovation from the crowd.

 

After their parts in the show the group from New Hampshire were the guests of Gary Burton and Chick Corea as well as the promised meeting with Mayor Lindsay. Each member of the band received personalized autographed photos of all three celebrities. Even James McPherson was able to shake hands and talk with the noted artists and mayor. Chick Corea asked James to send him some recordings of his music after having given the Scottish guitar player his personal address and phone number. After their exciting conversations with the notable people and parting goodbyes, the stage crew loaded the equipment into a van to be transported to Grand Central Station while the band went back to the hotel to collect their belongings and head to the station for their journey back home. James rode with them on that afternoon train to Blackwater, Vermont. Around nine that Easter Sunday evening the Amtrak train rolled into their next-to-last leg of the journey. The equipment was loaded into the vans driven by school bus drivers from Belchertown. On the road back home following Route 4, the musicians were quiet after talking so much on the return train ride. Liam and James were the only ones breaking the silence with their low voices.

 

“We’ve traveled a long way,” Liam said softly. “But you, my friend, have come even farther. We welcome you to New Hampshire. I hope and pray that you will prosper here for as long as you decide to stay. I know my parents will be glad to meet you. Tonight you can stay at our home. We are good, Christian folks like you.”

 

“I appreciate all that you and the band members have done for me,” returned the weary traveler. “I think I’m going to like America and New Hampshire!”