Tale 7
Ten Thousand a Hole
Maybe it was an
old Huron Indian tribe trick, mj wondered later, describing it
to Sammy Martinez. First you got a tenderfoot fisherman and
story-collector like mj lorenzo laughing at your tales. Then
while his guard was down, as it almost always was, you made
him think there was a big golden Loch-Ness-Monster of a fairy
tale out there, with golden gleaming teeth, so it would be
easy as pie to hook and catch and haul into the fishing boat.
You supplied the gear, paddled your tenderfoot to the spot,
and showed him where to cast his line. But you never, ever, ever mentioned
that it was bound to
drag him to the other world.
Or maybe he had done it to himself, mj wondered too,
for decades afterward. Bill never said afterward what story he
was about to tell at the moment when mj forgot himself and
asked:
"So, money was no object at that point in Fred's career?"
"Oh!" Bill
said. "Money is no object to Fred even to this day the
way he spends. It is an object, he does
have money problems, but Fred Waring should not be in
the position he's in today. Well. I'll show ya, and
this is true. I was out one day." He dropped his voice and
shifted in his seat, then picked up his martini glass.
Even during
normal conversation, Bill would rarely rest with a statement
alone, such as, ‘Yes, Fred does have money problems’. He was
an inveterate, habitual storyteller all day long every day. A
reasonable person might rightfully doubt a mere statement, or
even a brief example. Plus: the three of them were writing a
book. And mj had asked him a very important question; and
Bill felt obligated to prove
the truth of his answer with a detailed story loaded
with concrete, detailed
evidence, just as was necessary in any American
courtroom or novel; so that mj (and the tape, and the world)
could experience the answer as reality, with a level of conviction comparable
to Bill Blackburn’s.
But a story
took more time, of course; so you had to be patient. Even on
normal days, the longer and more complicated the argument, the
more stories Bill would feel compelled to tell. If the subject
were important and complex enough, you might end up listening
to stories all night,
as they had more than once before this night.
But in the
"I was over at
the golf course at Fred’s Shawnee Inn,” Bill began. “I was
supposed to see Fred Waring that day. And while I was waiting,
I was running around
In the early
forties Fred had bought the ‘Inn’ and its adjacent golf course
in the charming Pocono Mountains country village of ‘
"And I went up
on the hill and he said, 'I have to talk to the guy
over there, d'you wanna wait a minute’? I said, 'Alright'."
Bill sipped
martini. As soon as he stopped and sipped, a fanfare of
trumpets blared from behind mj’s back, then the bass violin
and guitar did three slow Bwmmm-pluck-pluck's, an ancient
dramatic maneuver designed to put an audience in the right
receptive mood for an emotionally powerful song, and the trick
worked on mj. You were prepared by such a
fanfare-and-Bwm-pluck-pluck introduction, to anticipate a
meaningful, heartfelt song, not a mere joke, in other words.
You were to take the words, and feelings, seriously.
In the mirror,
a tenor stepped down from risers looking like Sylvester the
Cat in a tux. This, traditionally, meant there would be a
tenor solo.
Mj sipped too.
His stomach felt queasy. There was a lot going on.
Bill said, "I
was standin' up there looking at this beautiful scenery, and
here is a fairway and here's this hill." He
graphically drew the golf course with sweeps in the air space
over the coffee table and let go a laugh. "And there's a lot
of trees, and over on this side is a bulldozer
crew."[2]
The
Pennsylvanians behind mj’s back proceeded with one of their
standards, "On Top of Old Smokey," except that the magically –
or childishly –
and maybe even, as some claimed, prophetically – transformed
mj lorenzo heard new and un-standard
words.
...On top of Old
Shaaaaaaaaaaaw-neeeee-eeeeeeee,…
(On top of Old
The tuxed
Sylvester tenor pined in a high yet male voice that went
higher than the highest treetops, an incredibly high male
singing voice that was honestly and truly,
socks-knockingly-off-ly pretty.
In the mirror a
band member played violin notes reaching higher and higher,
then levitating, and floating toward the
It was a
magnificent opening, nostalgically magical; sweet; and even a
little sad.
Mj sipped like
nothing had happened. Bill sipped too.
"And I'm
standing up there and I see this little cart come
out," he giggled, "with a fringe around it," he
giggled again; "and it didn't look like any other cart out
there and I thought, 'That must be Fred's cart. Nobody
else would have a cart like that’!"
...All caaho-vered with
Gaaaaaaah-olf!...
(All covered with golf...)
There was a
wispy violin riff.
personal gift to Fred Waring from American cartoonist Jack Tippit
(and ‘Amy’ - one of Tippit’s cartoon character creations)
on the 25th anniversary of the National Cartoonists Association
holding their annual June outing at Waring’s Shawnee Inn and Golf Course
"And I'm standing up there
and I see this little cart come out," he giggled,
"with a fringe around it," he giggled again;
"and it didn't look like any other cart out there and I thought,
'That must be Fred's cart. Nobody else would have a cart like that’!"
"And it comes
along and there's this little bitty man in there."
Bill dropped his voice and hunched over to steer like Fred,
then gave way to shaking head to foot, trying to contain a
howl, "Goin' dooga-dooga!" He howled and howled
after all, while his audience waited. "And he stops the cart
and he gets out of the cart like this." Bill shot up
from his chair and paced all the way to the kitchen and all
the way back with quick steps and extra heavy stomping weight,
"and he's goin'—," Bill frowned
frantically side to side.
"Wheef!!" Docka wagged.
"Eh, that's
Fre-e-ed," Betty Ann said mushily.
The tenor was
inconsolable, singing:
...I lost my Fred
Waaaaaaaa-reeeing pluck-pluck-
Bwmmm...,
(I lost my Fred Waring....)
"Then he goes
over and he gets this giant hammer and a stake." Bill,
standing straight, faced left, then right, like a street mime
doing a wound-up toy demigod. "And people are playin' golf
out there!!! And he goes over and he goes –." Bill hammered an
imaginary stake right through the rag rug and straight into
the floorboard with angry determination.
"That's de-ar!"
Betty Ann reacted. And the strings circled the Poconos on a
fresh breeze, tenor singing:
…When he tripped in the
Rouuuugh... (When
he tripped in the rough.....)
"So I hear this
voice from behind me." Bill acted disgusted: "'Son of a –‘.
And I turn around and here's this workman standing
there in old cruddy clothes." Bill sighed. "I said, 'Is that
Fred Waring’? He says, 'That's him, goddam idiot’. Bill looked
shocked. "He's talkin' about his boss! I said, 'What the hell
is he doing'?"
Bill loomed,
playing the loud workman. "'I knew goddam well this was gonna
happen. He's been playin' golf here for the whole week, and
he's been shootin' that hole bad, and he's gonna change
it’!
"I says, 'Come
on, you're puttin' me on’.
"He says, 'No.
He was out here playin' with somebody yesterday, and he lost
on that hole, and he's gonna change it'!"
Several satyrs
moaned from huge white oak trees around the
…To the tune of Ten
Thaaaaaaahou-sand ooooooo-ooooooo..... (To the tune of ten
thousand....)
– an ecstatic
satyr – [4]
in ancient Greek theater
the singing of the chorus of satyrs commented on the drama on the stage
whereas in a Waring concert
the singing of the
chorus commented on the drama of the conductor’s life[5]
and everybody else's
in either case
if you studied the art
you learned deep and meaningful things about the people from whom it came
such as their religion, politics, family life, personal psychology, etc.
and therefore
since Fred’s musical art stretched from 1918 to 1984
it revealed many of the deepest and most important things about the essence of the USA and Western world
over the course of the
whole pivotal, future-shaping 20th century
"Well the guy
that was with me came back with a cart to pick me up, and I
said, 'This guy is tellin' me –'." He said, 'No, that's
Fred'." Bill did a true devotee of
Saint-Fred-the-King-who-was-declared-Saint-by-the-people, a very, very
awed devotee, and almost whispering:
"'When he can't shoot a hole right, he changes it'!"
It struck a
nerve in mj, and he sobbed a laugh.
Bill thought it
funny too. “I said, 'You're kidding me'. 'No, and it costs ten
thousand dollars to change a hole’!”
The tenor
cried:
...I went for a-
weeeeeeep (he wept:) oo-oooo, oo-oooo... (I went
for a weep, ooooo...)
Poor mj lorenzo
thought he saw something important
through his tears of levity. He forgot his evening’s goal of
The Great Tale, and asked: "How many times has he changed
holes out there?"
"He changes
two, three holes a season!"
The interviewer
wiped his eyes with his increasingly wet red flannel cuffs.
"And that's
what drove him to the point of bankruptcy with the
The tenor
didn't think he was lying.
...'Cause a false-heart-ed
Gaahol-fermmmmmmm-mmmmmmmmm... (‘Cause
a
false-hearted golfer...)
He wailed:
...Is worse than a
Thieeeeeeeeefmm-mmm-mmmmm...
(Is worse than a thief.....)
And mj lornezo
didn't think Bill was lying either. He said, "That's only
thirty thousand dollars a season."
Fred Waring had
millions, right?
Bill nibbled on
that line. "Do you know how much thirty thousand dollars is?!"
"Heh heh," went
Betty Ann. She cleared her throat.
But: at which
silly man was she laughing?
Mj jiggled the
bait. The fairy tale was reachable, he believed. To expect it,
or ask for it to be delivered on a golden platter, would be
unsportsmanlike. The Blackburns had to warm to it. They knew
what he wanted. They would get there soon. "I don't know how
much thirty thousand is for Fred,” said mj. “That's the
point." The back of his neck tingled, his night’s goal felt
closer every minute.[6]
"W'l I'll tell
you what," Bill bit hard on that line of mj’s. "You
know what! I'll tell you what I pay ten thousand dollars for.
You know what they told me?"
Mj hid his
spine-tingling glee. One more golden warm-up tale to introduce
cantankerous Fred, and then the real tale would begin. It was
on the line, swimming closer and closer.
"Where the ten
thousand comes from?" Bill finished the question.
"No, where?"
said mj, leaning forward, aiming the recorder on the oak table
to reel it in, Golden Tail and all.
The tenor
whined,
…A thief he will
Raaaahob yoummm-mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
And take all you
Aremmmmmmmmmm... (A
thief, he will rob you, and take all you are....)
One nice thing
about storytelling, of course, was that you could interact
with the storyteller, unlike TV or movies; and mj lorenzo had
grown up during the age of TV and movies. In fact, those two
visual technologies for conveying a story must have made him
lazy and passive, he thought later. For he had grown up, also,
on stories told by his parents; but, if he had ever known how
to interact with a storyteller, he had forgotten somewhere
along the way, it seemed. The questions he asked resulted from
Bill’s steering him with stories, not from his steering Bill
where he, mj lorenzo, the interviewer, wanted to go, as his
questions should have done. He kept assuming that Bill
Blackburn was headed where he, the interviewer, was headed. He
assumed that Bill would tell him about Fred’s incredible
wealth, moving things closer to the golden tale he wanted. He
assumed that the thirty thousand came from a pot so full of
gold, it sat at the foot of Fred Waring’s rainbow with a long
and multi-faceted, fantastic fairy tale scotch taped to it.
[1] Dominance of his mother’s worldview over his father’s in Bill’s character makeup would probably have been multiplied by the fact that when his parents broke up, Bill spent more time with his mother than with his father, because he did not like his father. This too would come out during the second interview.
[2] An aerial view of
Fred’s golf course and Shawnee Inn is presented within the
Dr.'s Exactly How Mrs. Nixon's
Legs Saved the White House Christmas Concert. The
creek flowing past the Inn and into the Delaware River is
Minisink Creek.
[3] The traditional words for ‘On
Top of Old Smokey’ are: ‘On top of Old Smokey, all covered
with snow, I lost my true lover for courting too slow, For
courting’s a pleasure and parting’s a grief.....’ Whereas the
words mj hears are: ‘On top of Old Shawnee, all covered
with golf, I lost my Fred Waring, when he tripped in the
rough.....’ Apologies
to the creator of the original lyrics, Mr. Anonymous. This
musical arrangement by Stuart Churchill was a Waring
perennial favorite, audiences demanding
it as an encore whenever Fred left it out of the main
program; and the song over the years was always sung by
Fred’s highest tenor, whoever that was at the time. The
version that informed mj's hearing – and
seeing – the song
at this point in the evening can be heard on Decca’s 33
1/3 two-record set, The
Best of Fred Waring and the Pennsylvanians, the
incredibly high tenor soloist being Gordon Goodman.
[4] Portion of a drawing from Ingri and Edgar Parin D’Aulaire’s Book of Greek Myths (New York: Doubleday, 1962), p. 69.
[5] In the mythology
of ancient
The main point, as all of the pundits agreed, and critics of mj lorenzo too, was that about this juncture in the evening mj was beginning to experience the Pennsylvanians’ music as a kind of ancient Greek chorus commenting on Bill’s stories about their godlike leader, Fred Waring, sometimes doing so blatantly, and at other times, hintingly.
[6] The problem here
was that mj lorenzo assumed
that the massive cash-wealth of earlier decades which had
allowed Fred to buy the