The assignment was as crystal clear as today’s sky.
No fuss, no muss with this one. Just the way she liked it.
Her mark was not native to this country, their customs not his own. He did not approve of an afternoon rest. To him it was the height of laziness. He abhorred sleep, calling it little snatches of death.
For her the quiet of the afternoon was pivotal for a successful mission.
One could set the clock in the bell tower by this man’s routine. It never fluctuated, never deviated. How could anyone lead such a boring existence?
She craved excitement, adrenaline rushes. She’d been waiting for this day for some time. In her mind this could have been accomplished weeks ago but she had her orders.
Everything was planned to the second … literally. She dared not be up there when the bell rang out the time, even with her noise-eliminating headphones. That could potentially destroy the objective.
He was in sight now.
Poised on the highest balcony, her finger on the trigger, she steadily, gently began to pull back until the nape of his neck was perfectly centered in the telescopic lens.
He took his final step. NOW! Almost instantaneously he fell unnoticed to the pavement.
She efficiently stored everything into her backpack, carefully removing the paraglider and slipping it over her shoulders. Swiftly she stepped off the railing. The glider opened smoothly, easing her descent.
Getting tangled in one of the turrets was an unwelcome complication.
With exactly 67¢ in his pocket, Dr. George Powers made his daily trek to McDonald’s for a morning cup of coffee. He would walk from his rent-controlled Greenwich Village apartment, buy his coffee and sip it while flipping though his dogeared copy of “The Complete Organ Method”.
On this particular morning, George trudged through the slush in his beat up boots, 67¢ jingling in his pocket. Placing the coins on the counter, he ordered his usual.
“Sorry” said the girl taking orders. “The price is now 69¢.”
Befuddled, George exclaimed “I’ve been a patron here for years. The price is always 67¢!”
Apologizing, the girl explained that she didn’t set the prices. George scooped up his 67¢ muttering “oughta be a law” and trudged back home.
George was, to put it nicely, frugal. He saw how difficult the Great Depression had been on his parent’s life and livelihood. His father was always saying “Never trust banks!” Fortunately George was an excellent student, earning a scholarship to college and a grant to continue his studies for a Doctorate in Music.
Upon graduating high school, George was drafted to serve during WWII; he was never deployed and spent every day of his four years in the army at Fort Benning, Georgia. One day he noticed a baby grand piano in the corner of a lounge area and asked if it would be okay for him to practice. He was granted permission and in exchange would sometimes play for officer’s dinners. George’s self-imposed rigorous study habits in school carried over to his time in the army, waking at 3AM every day and practicing the piano for almost two hours before 5AM wake up call.
After the army, George enrolled in college, working weekends as assistant organist at Trinity Church in Greenwich Village. He was lucky; the church was close enough to his apartment and school so he didn’t have to pay for public transportation. The following year the organist retired; George replaced him and began teaching organ lessons. At the same time he attended graduate school, earning his Doctorate in Music. He made a decent salary yet continued his frugal lifestyle of eating cheese sandwiches, wearing the same clothes and drinking water from the tap. His only splurge was a morning cup of McDonald’s coffee.
George’s favorite student was Brad Ridgeway; he reminded George of a young version of himself. Brad worked in the mailroom at Dun & Bradstreet; his salary was so meager he could only afford to live at the YMCA. He was determined to become a great organist one day but music school was not in his budget. Brad’s parents worked for Walmart in his hometown of Columbus, Ohio and he wouldn’t dream of asking them for money. Times were tough but he just kept on pushing through one day at a time.
Despite their considerable age difference, Brad thought of George as his best friend; he didn’t realize it at the time but George felt the same way about him. When a very affordable furnished apartment not far from George became available, Brad was able to move out of the Y and settle into a place of his own. He wasn’t crazy about the furnishings but beggars can’t be choosers.
Occasionally on lesson days Brad would walk to George’s apartment building straight from work and the two of them would continue to Trinity Church. They looked like the cartoon characters Mutt and Jeff. At 6’3, Brad towered over the 5’8″ George. The duo was oblivious to the stares of people on the street and sometimes got so caught up in talking about music, they’d walk right by the church and have to backtrack half a city block or more.
One day at his lesson, Brad noticed that George had really let himself go. The soles of his shoes were falling apart, his sweater was threadbare in places, his eyeglasses were taped together in the center and he needed a haircut. In addition, his coat wasn’t warm enough and Brad was concerned about George’s deep persistent cough; he really did not look well at all. Brad asked George if everything was alright, if there was anything he could do. George just shrugged it off, mumbling something about “this damn weather” and the long-term effects of a case of childhood tuberculosis.
At the end of the lesson George handed Brad a tiny sealed manila envelope and earnestly said “Son, hold on to this. Open it only if something should happen to me. Keep it safe and don’t tell anyone. It’s for your eyes only.” Brad slipped the mysterious enveloped into his pocket; that was the first time George ever called him “son” and that made him think of his parents, now gone. Brad knew better than to ask any questions; if George wanted him to know more, he’d tell him.
About a month later, George uncharacteristically missed one of Brad’s lessons. Brad waited at the church for about twenty minutes, then went to George’s apartment to check on him. The landlord informed him that “the old guy” had passed away in his sleep three days earlier. Shattered, Brad slowly walked home; hours later he remembered the envelope. Grabbing the plant in his kitchen where he had hidden the envelope, Brad stuck his fingers in the dirt and pulled out a small plastic bag containing the envelope. He opened it and found a scrap of paper and a key; written on the paper was “G.C.T. 520”.
Brad was stumped by the initials G.C.T. For days he tried to decipher the note, with no luck. One morning while reading the newspaper, Brad’s eyes landed on a short article on the bottom of the page. As he read the headline, Brad couldn’t believe what he saw: “Construction Work to Begin at G.C.T.” As he read on, Brad discovered the three letters stood for Grand Central Terminal – the largest commuter train terminal in New York.
Brad raced to the bus stop and boarded a bus for Grand Central. On the way there he figured out “520” could only be a locker number. Running through the terminal, he finally came upon row after row of lockers. He located #520 and with trembling fingers unlocked it to discover it was crammed with small brown paper bags.
Loosening the tape and peeking inside one bag, Brad’s eyes nearly popped out when he saw it was stuffed with money! Scrawled on the bags in George’s handwriting was “NEVER TRUST BANKS!” Shocked, Brad slammed the locker door and locked it. He scrambled around the area hoping to find a discarded shopping bag or cardboard box. He eyed a big bag tossed on top of a garbage can, swiped it and went back to the locker. Methodically he filled the large bag with all the small bags, tossed his sweater on top to conceal the contents of the bag and returned home as quickly as possible.
Safely back in his apartment, Brad emptied the shopping bag onto his bed and began counting the money bags; there were 75 bags and each one contained 50 $100 bills. George, in his frugality had stashed away $375,000 and put it all aside for Brad. Dumbstruck, Brad slowly sat on the edge of his bed, disbelief washing over him.
Little did Brad know that was just the beginning of his shocking news.
A couple of days after finding the money at Grand Central, Brad received a call from a man who identified himself as a lawyer and the executor of George’s will. “George’s will? What more could Georgepossibly have toleave anyone?” Brad wondered. The lawyer asked Brad to come by his office which he did the following day. When Brad arrived at the office, he was handed an old battered suitcase; the lawyer told Brad the suitcase was left to him by George and its contents were now his. Brad was given the key for the suitcase and left the lawyer’s office.
Once back in his apartment, Brad placed the suitcase on the kitchen table and unlocked it. There was a note resting atop a layer of newspapers. The note read:
“Dear Brad. For all the years as my student, you were the only personI felt I could count on. I know you struggled financially and life was roughfor you so it seemed only fitting that I leave you what I could.In this suitcase are my cherishedorgan books; I want you to have them. Whatever else is in thiscase I can no longer use. It is yours. Bless you and don’t forget – NEVER TRUST BANKS! Fondly, George”
I’m asking myself at this point, dear readers, if you have figured out that in addition to his beloved organ books, George had placed the remainder of his money in the suitcase and had given it to the lawyer for safekeeping?
If you are wondering if this story is fact or fiction, I can tell you without a shred of doubt that it is true; I have not changed the facts, only embellished them for your reading pleasure. You see, in early 2000 I began organ lessons with Dr. George Powers at Trinity Church. Eighteen months later, 911 happened and all lower Manhattan was closed off: I wasn’t able to get down to Greenwich Village for lessons. Shortly after that, knee surgery sidelined me and I was forced to give up the organ all together.
During those 18 months I got to know Brad and a couple of George’s other students casually in passing. On Easter Sunday 2010, I received a call from the secretary at Trinity Church; she was informing all George’s students of his death. Brad had been George’s student for quite a few years and I believe George did the right thing leaving his money to Brad; neither one had any relatives, only each other.
By the time all the money had been counted, Brad had inherited an astonishing $2.5 million in cold cash! This information was revealed to me by another of George’s students while we were attending a memorial service for George at Trinity Church. As it turns out, the student I was talking to was the wife of George’s lawyer.
After the memorial service, I never spoke to any of George’s students again and I never found out what became of Brad Ridgeway. Despite George’s opinion of banks, I hope Brad made some wise investments and is enjoying a very comfortable life!
This organ is almost identical to the one at Trinity Church. The pipes are located at the front of the church while the organ is in the rear. Due to this type of setup, there is always a momentary sound delay.
I hope you enjoyed that incredible story of Dr. George Powers and Brad Ridgeway. Please join me today for a new edition of At The Movies. I look forward to sharing another great video with you. https://rhythmsection.blog/
Welcome back to At The Movies and our featured song for today – “Everybody’s Talkin’ (Echoes)”.
Written and recorded in 1966 by Fred Neil, the version I chose is the one we’re all familiar with – 1969’s rendition by Harry Nilsson. The song reached No. 6 on the Billboard Hot 100 chart and won a Grammy Award after it was featured in the film “Midnight Cowboy”.
The movie was set in New York City and depicts the unlikely friendship between two hustlers: naïve sex worker, Joe Buck (Jon Voight) and ailing con man Enrico Rizzo (Dustin Hoffman).
This beautiful song describes the singer’s desire to retreat from the harshness of the city to a more peaceful place and an easier life. It is among the most famous works by Harry Nilsson.
Now here is “Everybody’s Talkin’.
What a great song and a beautiful arrangement. Both Jon Voight and Dustin Hoffmann were so young in those unforgettable roles. They were the epitome of the odd couple but they made it work. Another great movie with two terrific actors!
Now for the question of the day:
Dustin Hoffman’s character went by a rather unflattering nickname. What was it?
How’d you do? Did you remember his nickname? The answer is given at the bottom of the page.
Thanks for joining me At The Movies; I hope you had a great time. Catch you again next week!
“Donna, it’s here! I swear Sam’s gonna wet his pants! Yeah, that’s right. I was gonna get the smaller grill, but I said ‘Screw it! This is what Sam’s had his eye on all winter. Why not go for the super deluxe model with all the bells and whistles?’ And talk about perfect timing! Delivered right on his birthday. It’s pristine Donna; the kids are mesmerized by it. Oh, no! The kids! OMG, I knew I should have covered it! They’re using it to block their hockey pucks! I gotta go, Donna! This is a disaster. Kids! You little bastards!
Originally all that was available in the world of crayons was a thin mustard-colored paper packet with drab green lettering which contained eight crayons – one each of black, blue, brown, green, red, violet, orange and yellow … fine, reliable, steadfast colors indeed … the proud forefathers of what was to come …. and even though other brands of crayons could be found in every toy or arts and crafts store around the world – various sized boxes containing a multitude of colors – none could compare to the “King of Crayons” … CRAYOLA!
As time went on, more colors were created and updated boxes were designed until finally in 1958 the crown jewel of crayons made its debut; nothing compared to the new bright yellow and green box with red letters emblazoned across the front shouting out “64 DIFFERENT BRILLIANT COLORS WITH BUILT-IN SHARPENER!” – alerting us that this was indeed “The Grand Crayonon”! with one peek inside the magic box revealing to curious and imaginative kids everywhere a rainbow battalion of wax soldiers standing at attention in their cardboard armories … a plethora of pigmentation, a confluence of chromaticity … a legion of luminosity .. gem-like colors galore!
No longer were kids confined to a measly eight colors for now, instead of one red there were four, five hues of orange, eight varieties of yellow, six choices of green, a profusion of eleven blues, five purple shades, an assortment of eight pinks, an incredible selection of ten browns, two grays and one each of silver, gold, copper, black and white while one of the blues was called cerulean, which everyone thought sounded more like a gas than a color!
The artistic possibilities were endless: the sky was no longer just blue but sky blue and midnight blue … trees weren’t plain old green – they were forest and pine green … flowers were carnation pink, brilliant rose and periwinkle while lemons and olives were, believe it or not, lemonyellow and olive green!
And just when you thought the pinnacle had been reached, along comes the totally unexpected … washable crayons, erasable ones, scented, fluorescent and even glitter crayons; now oranges, grapes and cherries smelled like fruit, tulips and violets smelled like flowers and reflected stars sparkled and shimmered in the Pacific Blue.
It’s no wonder why something as ineffably magical as playful, colorful crayons should have their own theme park … The Crayola Experience… a fabulous place where kids and adults can participate in “The Power of Creativity” and say “Thank you, Crayola, forcoloring our world!”
Written in response to GirlieOnTheEdge and Sunday’s Six Sentence Story Word Prompt. The rules: six sentences – no more, no less. Punctuation be damned! The magic word this week is BOX 📦 🖍️
Pamela sat huddled in the corner of the school office, her hands tightly clutching the sweater of her school uniform around her. A few buttons on her blouse were missing and the sleeve was torn at the shoulder. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes swollen from crying and she chewed her bottom lip nervously. No one paid any attention except to toss an occasional accusatory glance her way.
She ran her fingers through her dark hair, realizing her pony tail had come undone. She sniffled and wiped her nose on a tissue in the pocket of her sweater. Staring down at her penny loafers, she was startled by the sudden shrill ringing of the phone on the secretary’s desk.
“Yes, sir. Right away, sir” the secretary said into the phone receiver, then hung up and called out “Pamela, Principal Hoffman will see you now.”
Pamela rose slowly and gathered her school books, still clutching her sweater. “Quickly, Pamela! You mustn’t keep Principal Hoffman waiting!” the secretary snapped at her.
Pamela entered the principal’s office and was shocked to see the drama coach Mr. Booker there. She quickly looked away, her face turning crimson. She felt naked standing there before them, their lecherous eyes staring at her.
“Well, Pamela, do you know why you’re here?” asked Principal Hoffman.
Pamela looked down at the floor shaking her head ‘no’.
“Look at me and answer the question, you insolent little slut!” yelled the principal, aroused by the feelings he was experiencing for yet another woman-child standing trembling before him.
Tears ran down Pamela’s cheeks as she looked at both men, the smug, loathsome expression on Mr. Booker’s face filling her with dread.
He slowly walked up to Pamela until he was close enough for her to feel his breath on her face. “You filthy liar. You know exactly why you’re here” Booker spat out. “You came to me backstage after play rehearsal, rubbed up against me and ripped open your blouse.” He reached out and grabbed her chin. “Admit it now before you get in more trouble!” and obscene thoughts of all the things he’d like to do to Pamela raced through his mind. He was repulsive.
Pushing his hand off her face, Pamela cried out “No! I didn’t do anything! You did!You’re the liar, not me!”
Mr. Booker caught hold of her wrist in his large hand. “Then explain why some of your buttons are missing?” The teacher dared her to speak.
Pamela said nothing at first, then looked into Mr. Booker’s dark eyes and yelled “Because you’re the one who tore my blouse, you pervert!”
Booker raised his hand to slap her but Principal Hoffman banged his fist on the desk. “Pamela, this is a Christian school and we do not tell lies nor do we act in promiscuous ways. Now admit what Mr. Booker said is true.”
She remained silent and shook her head in defiance.
“Fine, Pamela. You’re dismissed. We will be calling your parents this evening to inform them of your disgusting behavior. How disappointed they will be to hear you are following in your sister’s salacious habits. Now, get out!”
Pamela left the office and ran home. She knew her parents wouldn’t return from work for another few hours. She threw herself onto her bed and called her older sister. “Mia” she cried into the phone.
“Pammy, what’s wrong?” Mia asked.
All Pamela said was “Mr. Booker.”
Mia’s heart sank and she felt sick to her stomach. “That bastard! Listen, Pammy” Mia said. “Mom and Dad didn’t believe me and they won’t believe you either. There’ll be hell to pay when Principal Hoffman and Mr. Booker spew their lies to Mom and Dad. Listen, Pammy. Change out of your uniform and toss it in your backpack with some clothes. Don’t take too much. We want it to look like you were never home. Walk as calmly as you can to the bus stop on the corner and use your school pass to get on the bus to Journal Square. From there, switch to a PATH train to the end of the line in Hoboken. I’ll be at the terminal waiting to pick you up; you remember my car is a blue CRV? Someone might be able to ID you getting on the bus to Journal Square but they’re likely to lose track of you after you switch to the train to Hoboken. You’ll be safe with me and Ronnie, Pammy. Don’t worry; we’ve got big plans to get out of this hell hole. where we can be safe.”
Pamela did exactly as her sister said. She left her house and got on the bus to Journal Square. She didn’t see anyone and she never looked back. When she finally arrived in Hoboken, she spotted her sister’s car across the street. She ran to it and jumped into the passenger seat in front.
Without even a glance in her sister’s direction, Pamela buckled her seat belt and breathlessly exclaimed “Oh, Mia. I’m so glad to be here.” When the doors locked automatically, Pamela looked up. To her horror her sister Mia wasn’t in the driver’s seat; it was her boyfriend, Ronnie, and he was waving a very sharp knife dangerously close to Pamela’s face. Pamela always had a bad feeling about Ronnie when her sister first hooked up with him but Mia wouldn’t listen to anything people had to say.
“Why, hello Pammy. I’m so glad you’re here, too.Look at you, all grown up now.” Very slowly Ronnie traced the outline of Pam’s neck with his knife and popped off the top button of her blouse, then the second and the third. He stared at her exposed bra as he rubbed his hard crotch. “Oh yeah, sweetness. You’re getting me all excited. Yes sir. We’re leaving here and driving down south where no one will find us. We’re all gonnahave us a whole lotta fun.” He reached over and ran his rough hands across her breasts. “I bet you taste like sweet Georgia peaches.”
It was then that Pamela heard moaning coming from the back seat and turned to see Mia on the floor; she was bound and gagged and wearing only her underwear. Just as the sister’s terrified eyes locked, Ronnie tossed a blanket over Mia and drove off.
Ronnie flipped on the radio and started singing along to a country song as Pamela looked straight ahead and wept silently.
Wikipedia calls them a “rock supergroup”. Well, I guess they were but funny – I never thought of them that way. I mean, they definitely were all that but to me they were just a bunch of guys – friends, actually – who got together for a very short period of time, recorded some terrific songs and made it all look incredibly easy and fun.
I bet you think you know who I’m talking about and I wouldn’t blame you but you’d only be one-fifth correct … not very good odds so don’t put all your money on “THAT” supergroup from Liverpool because you’d lose.
No, the group I’m talking about was the American/British combo of (in alphabetical order) Bob Dylan, George Harrison, Jeff Lynn, Roy Orbison and Tom Petty, otherwise known as TheTraveling Wilburys. Getting a group together was something George Harrison wanted to do for a long time; the idea finally started to gel when George and Jeff Lynne were chatting it up one night. Some of the best ideas come from two good friends having a nice sit down.
Now, I’m only partially serious when I ask this but I’ve learned never to discount any possibility. If you haven’t heard of The Traveling Wilburys, is there a chance you’ve been in a coma since 1988? Maybe you hadn’t been born yet. Well, the age defense doesn’t really hold water, now does it? We’d have very little going on it our noggins if that were true. No matter our age, something we can all do is broaden our horizons by embracing the new along with the old.
But I digress.
So, if these five guys formed what’s being called a “rock supergroup”, what happened to it after just three short years? The answer is simple: life. And, of course, death. After Roy Orbison died in December 1988, the Wilburys continued as a quartet and released a second album in 1990 which won the Grammy for “Best Rock Performance by a Duo or Group”.
Due to the guys busy solo careers, the group began taking a different direction. The remaining foursome stayed friends and performed on/contributed to each other’s albums until George Harrison’s death in 2001. Today there are only two of the original five still with us – Bob Dylan and Jeff Lynn.
Now that you know about TheTraveling Wilburys, allow me to tell you about the song I’ve chosen for today. “End of the Line” was the final track on their October ’88 debut album; a video followed in December ’88 and a second single was issued in January ’89. Set in a moving passenger car pulled by a steam locomotive, the video features all five members of the group as well as a session musician playing the brushes. Since Roy Orbison died after recording his vocals – but before the video was shot– an image of his guitar sitting in a rocking chair and a photo of him are shown when his vocals are heard (a rather nice touch and a first class act by George Harrison).
Here now, possibly for the first time for a couple of you, are TheTraveling Wilburys performing their hit song, “End of the Line”. I sincerely hope you enjoy it as much as I do.
How’d you like the song? Not a bad little group, eh?
Thanks for being with me today. I’ve got a train to catch.
Greetings and welcome back to another edition of Name That Tune.
I’ve got five clues for you to read and ponder; let’s see if you can guess the name of the song and the artist(s) who made it a hit.
Get those musical thinking caps on and let’s have at it! Here we go:
This song from 1965 tells the story of a very short lived extramarital affair. It’s been insinuated that the song is about a man hooking up with a prostitute but it’s actually about a one night stand that ended very poorly.
This track features a sitar which marked the first appearance of the Indian stringed instrument on a Western rock recording.
The song, recorded by a prominent U.K. quartet, helped elevate Indian classical music, particularly Ravi Shankar, to mainstream popularity in the West.
The name of today’s song is an ironic reference to the cheap pine paneling which was in vogue in London at that time. The lyrics also suggest the woman’s house in which the affair took place was sparsely furnished with just one bed and no chairs!
One member of the group who recorded the song had this to say: “The guy woke up to find the bird had flown, leaving him alone, and he felt the burning need to have some sort of final destructive revenge.”
There you have all the clues; do you think you know the name of the song and the group? Which clue did it for you? Let’s scroll down beyond the spinning record to find out the answer.
Did you guess “Norwegian Wood” by The Beatles? If you did, you are correct. Let’s listen to that iconic and very interesting song right now.
George Harrison learned to play the sitar in India with Ravi Shankar as his teacher. He mastered the instrument in a relatively short period of time; his proficient playing is obvious in this recording.
I wonder how many of you knew the full title of this song is “Norwegian Wood” (This Bird Has Flown). This is one of those songs that has spurred many a debate and continues to do so 58 years after its release.
Thanks for tuning in to this week’s edition of Name That Tune. I hope you enjoyed the post and the video.
Stay tuned tomorrow when Pete will bring us another great cover in Breaktime Whodunnit.
Marla, from Marla’s World, has created a writing challenge. The challenge is for multiple authors to write a single story. She will choose a story that she has written, or that another author has submitted for this challenge, and she will nominate the next person to continue writing it. Once that person has added their section, they will nominate the next author. It will continue like this until the story is complete.
He woke up slowly, stretching out his fatigued muscles as if he hadn’t just spent all day yesterday using them. He laid in the bed staring at the unique shape of the ceiling. He had always loved this house – the architecture made him feel at home and at peace.
He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and tried to stand up, but his calf immediately cramped. It wasn’t a bad cramp, but it was enough for him to flash-back to the competition yesterday between his brother and him. Once a year they met up at this place, the last place they had seen their grandmother, and they created a competition that their entire family would participate in.
Because it was in memory of their beloved grandmother, Tutu Lulu, they had decided that it had to take place on the ocean, as that was her favorite place on the planet since she was a young girl. She had taught them Aloha ʻĀina, or to love and appreciate nature, especially the crashing waves. Therefore, this competition involved the ocean.
They would compete against each other in various “events” such as surfing, speed-snorkeling (which was something they had created as children), and shallow-water scuba diving. The whole family truly enjoyed it, and everyone turned up.
Yesterday had been so much fun, except when Kai, his older brother, and he nearly came to blows in front of the whole family.
Kai accused him of cheating in their speed snorkeling event. He’d won it for the first time ever and wasn’t going to back down to Kai’s arrogance.
The claim was made that he had grabbed onto big brother’s ankle which was ridiculous. But Kai produced evidence in the form of red and purple finger marks above his foot.
A shouting match turned into a shoving match and if his brawny uncles hadn’t intervened, who knows what would have happened.
It was decided to break for their picnic lunch before entering the water for a more relaxed shallow scuba diving experience.
The two avoided each other until day’s end. Stars twinkled and the moon looked larger than ever on the horizon when Kai approached his little brother beside the bonfire on the beach.
Looking at his hands as one finger traced the rim of his sweating beer, Kai whispered to him,
“I heard her, Noa. She spoke to me clear as day.” Kai had taken Tutu Lulu’s disappearance the hardest. She had named him after the sea and had been her sidekick longer than he. He hadn’t really recovered from their loss.
“I’m sorry. But when you, someone, grabbed me Tutu Lulu spoke to me.”
‘She told me that difficult times were ahead and you and I would have to put aside our differences and work together.’
‘Do you think it was Tutu Lulu who grabbed your ankle to attract your attention then?’ Kai ran his damp fingers through his hair.
‘I don’t know, but it makes sense. The finger marks are beginning to fade but looking more closely, they couldn’t be yours as they’re too small.’
The two brothers sat side by side on the sand. There was three years between them, but Noa was the bigger of the two though in the shadows cast by the fire, it was hard to tell one from the other. ‘She always seemed to prefer you. She’s never come to me, not even in my dreams. Did she say anything else?’
‘I doubt it as we started to fight and the uncles intervened. I wonder what she meant?’
Now it was the following morning and yesterday’s events were still preying on Kai’s mind. The competition was over and everyone would be returning to their own homes after the traditional family meal in the huge kitchen. As always, it was a joyous affair, but suddenly their laughter and banter was shattered by the sound of rockets…
Fandango, from This, That, and the Other, continued with
“What the hell is that?” Kai said. He and Noa ran outside, followed by the rest of the family.
One of the uncles looked at the rockets streaking across the sky. “Oh Jesus,” he said in disbelief, “those are anti-ballistic missiles and they’re coming from the direction of Pearl Harbor. Someone go into the house and turn on the television.
Everyone gathered in the living room and silently watched the shocking news that satellites had detected a half dozen missiles launched from North Korea headed toward the Hawaiian island of Oahu. Tensions between the U.S. and North Korea had escalated over the past few months, but no one anticipated that North Korea would actually go so far as to launch potentially nuclear armed missiles at Hawaii.
The solemn newscaster tried to reassure viewers. “Military leaders are confident that our anti-ballistic missiles will intercept and destroy the incoming North Korean missiles well before they get close to Hawaii,” he said.
“And if not,” Noa said, “bend over and kiss your ass goodbye.”
The adolescent and teen years for Noa and Kai were not easy ones. Being half Hawaiian and half Korean, they were constantly teased by the other kids in school. It was their large, loving family that kept them grounded and focused.
The ocean is what saved them and stories at the feet of their beloved Tutu Lulu. Among those special times, Noa and Kai will never forget the days their grandfathers and other elder members of their family recounted the day Pearl Harbor was attacked by the Japanese.
The brothers would often play “war” down on the beach; they spent so much time in the water, their mother teased them about eventually growing fins. As the boys became older, their attention was drawn to exciting careers that would allow them to continue their relationship with the water … that was their calling to become Navy SEALs.
Now, with the television droning on in the background about North Korea possibly launching anti-ballistic missiles at Oahu, Noa and Kai knew exactly what they had to do.
*****************************************
Good news! My friend Pete at Mister Bump UK has been tagged by me and will continue passing the baton.
“Hey, lady! Wait up!” the young man yelled. “You dropped your purse!”
He bounded down the steps calling after her. Finally, she turned around to see what the commotion was all about. Upon seeing the woman’s face, the young man stopped short. She wasn’t an old lady at all but a rather attractive woman in her mid-thirties. The teen was at a loss for words.
“That’s my purse!” declared the woman. “What are you doing with my purse?” Her voice was raised now and took on an accusatory tone. “You snatched it, didn’t you?”
“No! Honest, I would never” the teen stammered. “I found your purse at the top of the steps. I ran all this way to return it to you. See, take a look; one strap is coming loose; you must have dropped it and didn’t even notice with all those bags you’re carrying.”
“Oh, my goodness! Thank you” she replied. “You can never be too careful these days.” The woman reached into one of her shopping bags and handed the teen a bottle of water. “Please let me give you some money for returning my purse.”
The young man gratefully took a long swig from his bottle. Just then he was grabbed from behind. A chloroform-soaked rag covered his mouth; he was quickly dragged to a van and tossed in the back while the woman casually walked away.
“Not bad. That’s four today. That last one was a cutie. He’ll fetch us a pretty penny” she laughed.
Orlando Hightower – or “Keys” as he was known by everyone – was probably the hottest black jazz and rag pianist since the legendary Scott Joplin. He was the real deal, on top of his game at the tender age of 17. The world was his oyster.
Times were dangerous in Harlem, New York. The year was 1923 – the United States’ era of Prohibition and racial segregation.
Orlando was born with fingers wiggling and toes tapping. He had an innate talent to play whatever popped into his head and danced out of his hands. Once he heard a tune it was carved into his memory. He created songs on his grandmother’s rickety upright as easily as someone writing a shopping list.
When Orlando was 12 his mother got a job as chief housekeeper for the Gale Family. Orlando would tag along with her, making himself useful and staying out of trouble. Mrs. Hightower kept him on a short leash knowing how easy it was for young boys to get caught up in the allure of unsavory activities. She always said Orlando was destined to be a man of noble position. A life of crime only led to the destruction of morals; once that happened you had nothing in your future except misery and a jail cell.
Moe Gale was co-owner of the world-famous Savoy Club and an extremely wealthy man. Orlando would entertain himself for hours at the Gale’s baby grand by penning original songs. One of his favorite things to do was write pieces in the pentatonic scale using only the black keys of the piano. Orlando’s talent did not go unnoticed by Moe and he was determined to have him play at The Savoy.
Unlike many clubs, The Savoy had a no-discrimination policy; people of every race were welcome. Moe implored Mrs. Hightower at least once a week to allow Orlando to play at the club and her answer never changed: “When he’s old enough.” Moe would always ask when that would be but Orlando’s mother just shrugged saying “When I know, you’ll know. For now just let him be a boy.”
After almost five years of Moe pleading with Mrs. Hightower, she finally relented and gave permission for Orlando to play at the club – on a trial basis. Moe was ecstatic; he knew a sure thing when he heard one. Moe became Orlando’s manager and kept him on the straight and narrow.
Orlando started at The Savoy as pianist with the large house band and his skills were quickly noticed by the clientele. Soon he became a member of the jazz quartet and shortly after was featured as accompanist for some of the biggest singers of the day.
Finally the night arrived for the debut of Orlando’s solo performance and his career took off like a starship. Mrs. Hightower sat at the best table in the house, her face beaming with pride as she watched her son play. But the thing that brought her incredible joy was the marquee out front –
“Appearing Nightly At The Savoy: The Incomparable ‘Keys’ Hightower!”
Mrs. Hightower could now rest easy knowing her job was done. Orlando had turned into an accomplished, successful and noble gentleman of high character. He made his mother proud.
“Raindrops Keep Fallin’ on My Head” was written by Burt Bacharach and Hal David and recorded by B.J. Thomas for the 1969 film “Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid”.
Based loosely on fact, the film tells the story of Wild West outlaws “Butch Cassidy” (Paul Newman) and his partner, the “Sundance Kid” (Robert Redford). The duo are on the run from a US posse after a string of train robberies. The pair, along with Sundance’s lover, Etta Place (played by Katharine Ross), flee to Bolivia to escape the posse.
Here’s the lilting and uplifting voice of B. J. Thomas singing “Raindrops Keep Fallin’ on My Head”:
Robert Redford and Paul Newman made a great team; their good looks and charismatic personalities were perfect for these types of “partners-in-crime” movies.
Here’s your question of the day:
What other wonderfully entertaining movie with exceptional music, including Scott Joplin’s ragtime compositions, costarred Paul Newman and Robert Redford astwo card-playing grifters?
The answer is given on the bottom of the page.
Nick is back tomorrow Breaking Boundaries; something tells me it’s going to be an exceptional post. Don’t forget to stop by and check it out.
That’s a wrap, kids. Join me next week for another installment of At The Movies.
The Elephant's Trunk 