TalesofWaringlogo-labyrinthonancientCretancoin;mjage7in1950 click here to
          go home go ahead go back

Tale 43

 

I Married Her So She'd Quit

 

  black ink on
                white paper: Dodd's fictional cartoon creation, Mark
                Trail, smoking a pipe, thanks Fred for his always
                pleasurable music

personal gift to Fred Waring from American cartoonist Ed Dodd

 

I...

          want, a girl,...

 

A plaintive whine in the corner turned sweet, then changed into a refined four-part barbershop[1] sound that was slow, free-rhythm, and dream-like. A private longing of the conductor’s was communicated somehow to sixteen men as if they had been one heart sighing one long musical sigh – in impeccable harmony – his sigh, his own personal, harmonized sigh, one that he would have sung himself for the audience, if only he could have sung a sigh as beautifully as he could make his chorus sing it; but, he could not, of course. Nobody in the world could have duplicated the sound of Fred Waring’s sixteen Pennsylvanian gleemen singing a sigh, not even if they’d had their own chorus, like he had. No one had done it before with a chorus. No one would do it after him in history, most likely, because it was impossible. Fred Waring sighed with a heavenly choir, and he did it not only once in his life, and not just by luck, but every single night, as he was proving right now, for the millionth time.[2]

 

...Just...

          like, the-girl-that-

Married...

          dear, old,

Daaaaaaad....

 

Bill's night-long explanation for leaving Fred was making him reflect finally. "I don't know where I'm goin'," he said, "or what I'm gonna do.”

 

...the Indians disagreed whether the French [Jesuit priests] should be appeased or slain as sorcerers.[3]

 

“'Cause I'm very insecure too. I'm really uptight about it. I'm putting up with Fred until I find something better."

 

Huron men did not engage in verbal disputes and were not supposed to interrupt one another;... verbal quarrels appeared effeminate...[4]

 

He sighed. "What I want more than anything is something without the hassles, with a fair to middlin' –...." He stopped.

 

....each would state his opinion slowly and distinctly, speaking in a special ceremonial style that was full of metaphors, circumlocutions, and other rhetorical devices that were uncommon in everyday speech. Every one listened attentively, politeness and good humour being considered essential.[5]

 

"She thinks I'm particular, but that's all I want. I really don't have delusions of grandeur. I just don't want the hassles. It's not worth it, unless I can do it without all these hassles, y'know, terrible pressures."

 

Violent outbursts were rare and, to the surprise of European visitors, were strongly disapproved of, even if the issue was a hotly debated one.[6]

 

Bill looked done for the night.

 

And mj was not complaining. He had suffered as much as he could, four hours ago. His boyhood artist-saint lay in a corner, deposed and anathematized, as if he had personally wiped out a race destroyed three centuries before his own birth. How could Fred Waring have been responsible for the destruction of the Huron? He had been systematically tormented, left without hope of reprieve, and was still in a hell where Bill had left him, even now, languishing in a spiritual desert.

 

At the same time, in order to show that he did not fear death as a sorcerer might, Brébeuf [the Jesuit priest] gave an athataion, or death feast, to which he invited the people of Ossossané.[7]

 

He addressed them, as he had a right to do on such an occasion, concerning the interest that the Jesuits had in the welfare of the Huron and explained to them the nature of Christian beliefs about life after death.[8]

 

Bill looked at mj as if he might have had a few thoughts more. "It isn't worth it, mj," he said. "I'm gaining weight like crazy. I'm nervous. I'm constantly jumping like that." He started in his seat. "We're fighting, Betty Ann and I. I'm bein' honest. She's worried about where the money'll come from, and so am I."

 

Several days passed and, to the astonishment of both the Jesuits and the people of Ossossané, the headmen ceased to threaten the missionaries... the epidemic had run its course and the missionaries were left in peace.[9]

 

And poor ole mj lorenzo felt sad. A publicly disgraced Fred was better than no Fred at all. He wanted to adopt his poor old favorite choral conductor and take him home as a sort of souvenir, as the Huron sometimes adopted heroic enemies they tortured, and took them home with them permanently as new family members, rather than killing them in the end. Rather than have Fred done in at sunrise, which was fast approaching (on the earth's longest day), he would accept a new Fred instead of the old. The big-Huron-chief-sitting-in-longhouse could not object, because it would happen inside mj, where nobody could touch it.

 

Peyote-ized, as he thought, half asleep and hung over from a night of drinking and visions, he saw one more. In it he carried Fred up from the underworld of the Huron longhouse toward the light of the sun as it was coming up, just below the horizon. It was not the same Fred Waring that mj had envisioned might have entered Bill’s longhouse to stage a concert. And it was not the same leader of a Chosen People who had crossed a winedark sea with them during the night in a rowboat, to a new world and new life; for during the night Fred had changed somehow, as now became apparent. Prophet and priest no more, draped over mj’s shoulder, fanny-forward and in a white gown, he kicked men's black and white show shoes. He screamed; he flapped and wailed in male falsetto; and he drummed on mj lorenzo’s kidneys. This Fred Waring was a male Eurydice, demanding hell instead of rescue by Orpheus. Experiencing Hades had hardened Fred Waring. He had sated himself with knowledge of it; and now, like a juvenile delinquent bonded out from detention, he resented the thought of home. He badgered mj until the poor interviewer wished he had left him in Hell where he had found him.

 

Mj looked at Bill with a little more respect as a result. "Mm huh," he said, understanding.

 

[Father] Brébeuf persuaded an influential man to sponsor yet another feast so that he could address the Huron on the subject of hell.[10]

 

The brilliant light of sunrise flashed through windows now. And Bill yanked mj and his squirming gargoyle up out of the netherworld to God's country, fully and finally, when he said with his usual everyday rowboat-fishing voice, actually interested in mj's feelings: "Imagine how you'd feel, mj. If you had no job."

 

And mj felt himself again. "And Dlune’s pregnant!" he reacted. It woke him from a nightmare.

 

"And I," said Bill, "I'm a habitual eater, that's all. Nervous eater. And although when it comes to business I'm a very logical, practical person, when it comes to, y'know –. I might go out and spend on a boat and a reel, what I can't really afford, and things like that, but that –. I still am not gonna go out and let that boat get in the way of my business. If I can rationalize it away, in any way, that thing will give me relaxation, and take away some of the tensions that I have on my job, y'know."

 

The men were in four-part harmony now, and Conductor-Fred's lovely uplifted Savior-hands were visible again.

 

...She... was a pearl...

 

Bill sighed. "And that's why I could never deal with Betty Ann, with Fred. There was just too much money goin' down the drain to pay her. I mean we're talking in thousands. Money he didn't have!"

 

In other words, before falling in love with her, Bill had repeatedly told Fred to get rid of her, or lower her salary, one or the other; and Fred would not do either one, not even if it made sound economic sense. And, as Bill knew but would not say out loud: when a  man overpayed a woman, it implied something else.

 

...And... the on-ly girl...

 

"And," said Bill, "I half believe, with his warped view, in order for me to win – and he's the type that would do something like this – in order for me to win, I married her so she'd quit!"

 

The music was sad.

 

...That Dad-dy... ev-er haaaaaad...

 

"Da-hawh!" Bill laughed. "I think he half believed something like that." Bill drove a look through mj. "Because he's that type of man. He just might do something like that!"

 

When... [Father Brébeuf’s feast] was over, the [Huron] headmen who were present announced that henceforth they would recognize Brébeuf as a fellow headman.[11]

 

Light filled the room. "He was competitive," mj said, "and you beat him."

 

"Yeh, I, but –, I didn't uh –." Bill plead innocent. "There was no competition ever involved here!"

 

...A good old-fash-ioned girl....

 

The newborn mother-stealing theory cried out to mj, demanding to be fed, and he said, "No, of course. But in his eyes there was competition. And in his eyes you took her away from him. She was the biggest star, even if she cost him money. Plus she was a confidant, ‘a good old-fash-ioned girl’,” mj said with the song he could hear. "And how many of those did he have?"

 

"Not many," he said. "But he uses that ‘confidant’ with her to get what he wants. That's Fred's big weapon. And how he uses it!"

 

What did this mean? Mj didn't care because it was a distraction and he wanted to shine light on one last thing: "It's still the same thing, Bill." The early solstice daylight in the room was helping him think. "She was always sympathetic. She was always friendly and warm."

 

With heart so troooooooue...

 

The second tenors echoed, With-heartsotroo...

 

"She still is," Bill said, "very much so."

 

"Mm." Mj could be patient with thick skulls. It was his job, his nature. "Though he doesn't get to see her as much these days, does he?" The young doctor could go to great lengths to help a friend, especially when there might be something for him to gain.

 

"He doesn't see her at all," said Bill. "He saw her at the concert the other night, is all."[12]

 

"So, Fred's not getting her tremendously valuable sympathy any more," mj said. “I mean, she's not talking with him any more, listening to his sad love stories."

 

One who loves no-bo-dy else...

 

"No," he agreed.

 

But yoooooo-ooooooo...

 

Mj nursed his theory, his infant theory, feeding it so it could survive in the difficult world, his mother-stealing theory. "And this is how he has lost."

 

Bill's nod was reluctant.

 

"'Of course," mj said, "maybe he's substituted somebody else now." It was a last offer of escape. Bill was the closest to forgiving Fred he'd been all night, and Dr. mj was giving him one last chance to not forgive. If Fred had found a substitute for Betty Ann, then the Dr.’s mother-stealing theory would lose traction. And it would be harder for Bill to feel sorry for Fred and forgive him.

 

But: if Bill, mj’s good friend Bill Blackburn, who was all heart, could not forgive Fred Waring, what hope was there for humanity?

 

AaaaaaaaaahI waah-ntuh-girl...

 

"Well," said Bill. "For him sittin' down and bein' able to talk to this new girl, he has to keep this AURA. Plus, I've seen the look on his face when he talks with her."

 

Jaaaaaaaaaauh stlaahi-k'thuh-girl...

 

"Yeh," mj said. "So, that's different from Betty Ann!" He cheered, thinking he and Bill were about to bring peace and happiness to God's country.

 

Tha tmaaaaa reeee deee rooooh lDaaaaad.....

 

"What I'm saying is," mj looked for a way to appeal to reason one last time, "someone irreplaceable is gone, someone close to his heart."

 

The baritones sang a coda. The girl that maaa-reeed...

 

"I, I don't know that. I couldn't say that but I –. He's –. Fred is very hard to fathom anything about. That's all."

 

Men and melons are hard to know, said Ben Franklin.[13]

 

Bill would just, simply, not yield the obvious point.

 

After all.

 

In the end.

 

And it looked bad for the future of humanity.

 

Maybe.

 

Their strange two-man ceremony felt, suddenly, more like a one-man pow-wow. All night long it had, when you thought about it, so mj gave up and quit trying.

 

And he took stock.

 

There had been no great golden fairy tale of courtship tonight, no tale of marriage in Fred's living room, or honeymoon at the White House, just some new tales and a few good ones. Fred was ruined but alive. There had been no life-altering vision, but mj lorenzo had seen the other world and returned intact. He was pretty sure he was intact.

 

There had been no encounter with 'ultimate peace' as Joey had prophesied; but maybe there would be another interview in which he might find the ‘ultimate peace’ to which Joey referred. In the meantime the only ‘ultimate peace’ he knew anything about was death. He could not remember why he was alive and on the planet; but maybe he would come to remember soon; because he felt like he had been initiated tonight by someone who seemed like he knew, Bill Blackburn, into a cult the exact nature of which he had yet to understand.

 

You had to expect befuddling events of this kind on planet earth, apparently.

 

Men crooned Waring tone-syllables, so that every audience in the world could hear the exact English words:

 

Deeeeeeeeee,

Rooooooooooooh,

Ldaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaad.    (Dear old Dad.)[14]

 

"Kuh-whackXX!!" The tape recorder was off.

 

That the Jesuits were not slain..., despite the extreme hostility that many families must have felt towards them, is evidence of the degree to which the Huron now felt themselves to be dependent on French trade goods.[15]

 

The glee club, orchestra and girls, clinging to Fred's two masterly hands, suddenly hit a fast, bouncy, happy Big Band two-step:

 

I,.. wanta-girl

just,.. likethe-girlthat

Mar-ried dear-old

Dad!-ba-Bu-bu- (trumpets:) -Bu-bu-Bu-bu-Sh'Baaaaaaahh!!!......

 

 color cartoon:
              4 beatniks are a band: singer, bass violin, drums and sax

personal gift to Fred Waring from American cartoonist Mel Casson


[1]  Virginia Waring mentions with regard to Fred’s frequent incorporation of barbershop technique into his concerts: “Fred was irrepressible to the end. In July, 1984, three weeks before he died, he was invited to St. Louis to receive an honorary lifetime membership from the Society for the Preservation and Encouragement of Barbershop Quartet Singing in America. He was standing onstage before many thousands in the audience while the presenter was going on and on about the lifetime honor. Fred interrupted, saying dryly, ‘I’m glad you didn’t wait any longer.’ He always saw the ridiculous side to a stuffy situation.” (p. 359) He died three weeks later.

  As for the notion ‘millions of concerts’, 100 concerts a year times 25 years on the road is 2500.
  The song is "I Want a Girl (Just Like the Girl that Married Dear Old Dad)" by Harry Von Tilzer and William Dillon, but the Dr. appears to have heard it a little unlike the only recording of it he possessed, the one on the second side of the second record of "The Best of Fred Waring and the Pennsylvanians." In that version there is no actual barbershop quartet or sound, for example, just the full glee club.

 

[2]  In defense of passages of this nature in his Tales of Waring, Dr. Lorenzo offered corroboration from Virginia Waring’s biography of her husband. See "How It All Started," footnote 4.

 

[3]  Somewhere in Trigger. The exact number of the page for this quotation had fallen in a black hole and no one could find it in Trigger’s stupendous, minutely researched volume of Huron ethnohistory, as of press time, 2019, not Sammy or his editors, or Dr. Lorenzo. But, they could produce a similar thought from Trigger’s final summary statement at the end of his whopping, historymaking 850-page oeuvre (p. 848): “Most Huron became convinced that the Jesuits were malevolent sorcerers who sought to destroy the Huron people. Motives were established why the Jesuits should do this and as the Huron learned more about what the Jesuits believed and did, their actions and possessions were interpreted as proof that they practised witchcraft.”

  Throughout the years of interaction between the two societies, that of the Amerindian Huron tribe and the French Jesuits, there were two Huron groups, each with its own reaction to the Jesuits. One group, called the ‘traditionalists’, wanted to retain their old way of life and have the Jesuits from France disappear; but they needed the trade items which the French traders provided them, traders who said (as the French king had told them to say) that they could not provide the goods (especially guns) unless the Huron accepted the presence and Christian teachings of the Jesuits. The other group were the semi-converted Huron whom the Jesuits were still working on, making them into more perfect Christians. The resulting split and chaos in the Huron tribe weakened them exactly when they most needed to defend themselves against an increasingly aggressive and far more populous neighboring nation of Iroquois. While recognizing this, as Trigger claims, the Jesuits nevertheless persisted aggressively with their chaos-producing attempts at Christianization (p. 849): “Their [the Jesuits’] failure to understand Huron beliefs, or to work effectively to [gradually, and respectfully, and carefully] change these beliefs from within, must therefore be attributed to the limited and [merely] pragmatic nature of their research and to their inability even for strategic purposes to transcend intellectually the values to which they were so fiercely committed. [In other words:] The Jesuits’ desire to destroy Huron religion [as fast as possible] outstripped their search to understand it.” Another way to say it might be: they tried so hard and inflexibly to convert the tribe, they killed it. How can you convert a tribe if it’s dead? Another quote along the same lines, about the Jesuits being ‘sorcerers’: “There can be no doubt that the Huron regarded the Jesuits as shamans or sorcerers who controlled immense power and, therefore, had to be treated with great circumspection. Evidence of this power was perceived in their ability to transmit messages on pieces of paper, to control the weather, and to avoid or easily recover from illnesses that proved fatal to the Indians. The Jesuits further enhanced their reputation by predicting the lunar eclipses of 1637 and 1638, which made many Huron believe they had caused these events to happen...” etc., etc. (p. 566). It was a tragedy of errors on both sides (p. 848f): “Both the French and the Huron used their own concepts of evil as a means of structuring their respective lack of understanding of each other’s ways.” Also p. 848: “As frequently happens in such situations, both the Huron and the Jesuits interpreted those portions of each other’s beliefs that they could not understand, or that they believed threatened their own interests, as manifestations of evil as each conceived of it.”

  Americans and all nations should be studying such history in second grade and every grade thereafter. The Republicans and Democrats are perfectly capable of destroying each other too, and with that, America. This is why Dr. Lorenzo has stressed situations of cross-cultural misunderstanding in almost every work of writing and/or images he has produced.

 

[4]  Somewhere in Trigger. Exact page number lost. See above note. Explanation the same. But the next two quotations from Trigger (footnotes 5 and 6) essentially say the same thing as the quotation here.

 

[5]  Trigger, pg. 59. As for the Huron use of ‘circumlocution’, Dr. Lorenzo offered some canny and far-reaching observations in early 2019. He felt that the Mexican flare for the indirecta, or hint, probably came at least as much from their Native American roots as from their Spanish European heritage, if from the latter at all. Unlike U.S. Americans (and their English European forebears), Mexicans usually did not confront each other either in print or in person, but ‘spoke around’ (literal meaning of ‘circumlocution’) an issue. As Trigger stated in his analysis of the Huron culture, the same was true of their tribal elders, who spoke around an important point they were trying to make, so that the listener(s) could fill in the real meaning on their own, a trick which gave more power to the listener, and taught him to listen carefully if he wanted to survive. It showed the listener more respect, in a way, than just blasting him with the main point, as if he couldn’t figure it out on his own. But it took longer, that was the problem for Americans; who in their impatience when they spoke on a subject (or did practically anything) considered it ‘inconvenient’ to help a listener attain understanding in such a protracted, time-consuming way, a way which showed the listener so much ‘unnecessary’ deference.

  The Dr. felt Donald Trump’s treatment of the leaders of Western democracies was possibly an example of this last, our unfortunately often typically impatient American approach to non-Americans. Trump was an exaggerated example of the phenomenon, in fact, he said in January, 2019, during a Tales of Waring reading for the CAWC, The Canadian and American Writers’ Club, in Ajijic, Jalisco, Mexico. “Unlike Waring, who gave philanthropically to Boy Scouts and U.S. soldiers on leave, and the elderly, the maimed, the needy and so on,” he warned, “Trump shows respect and deference only to filthy rich, super-powerful, tyrannical global oligarchs similar in many ways to himself, no matter what country they come from, as if they were the only kind of people he could ever really and truly understand, identify with and like, and want to emulate, no matter how totalitarian, militarily aggressive against neighbors, murderous, or generally ruthless; and he treats all others like insensate dogs that need a good kick whenever it might serve his selfish purpose. This is, of course, a crime against his true human self, and against his God (he calls himself a 'good Christian'), his Christ, and against most religions and all humanity, for which he will probably eventually suffer abasement at the hands of all of the globe’s people, likely dragging his own country into the cauldron with him, for having been so arrogant as to elect him and keep him in power by remaining in denial and in passive, obedient, brainwashed and depersonalized silence through all of his outrageous transgressions of public and sacred Christian democratic Western-world tradition, just as the Germans did for Hitler. Heil, Donald!”

  Lorenzo's sentences were too long, screeched the writers, but other than that, most agreed heartily enough to stand up around their four long tables and cheer in the middle of brunch for La Nueva Posada’s hotel guests at the lovely lakeside patio restaurant. And Michael Eager, owner of La Posada, was so delighted with the unusually huge CAWC turnout (four long tables when one was standard!) he offered the Dr. free lodging with a lovely lakeside view the next time he came to town.

 

[6]  Ibid.

 

[7]  Op cit, 544.

 

[8]  Ibid.

 

[9]  Ibid.

 

[10]  Op cit, 561.

 

[11]  Ibid.

 

[12]  The concert at East Stroudsburg State College mentioned in two previous chapters: “Those Audiences Are My People;” and "How Important Is Betty Ann?"

 

[13]  Franklin, Poor Richard’s Almanac, 1733.

 

[14]  A further example of lyrics written (and sung) in ‘Tone-Syllables’. For an explanation of Fred’s choral technique of ‘Tone-Syllables’, see "How It All Started," footnote 3.

 

[15]  Trigger, 544.

TalesofWaringlogo-labyrinthonancientCretancoin;mjage7in1950 click here to
          go home go ahead go back

go to table of contents   =
go to page of links