by Douglas J. Eboch
Hear the story read by the author
In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church at the corner of Wilson and Elm. In this church, as in most churches, many of the odd jobs required to keep things running smoothly and keep the building from slowly decaying fall to volunteers from the congregation. And like any operation that relies on peoples’ generous natures, thing don’t always get done as promptly and effectively as might be desirable. Whenever Pastor Henry O’Donnell got frustrated at the lack of progress on some simple task, he reminded himself that volunteers are, well, volunteering. You must be grateful for what they give you and not begrudge them what they do not. Of course, as healthy as that attitude was, it meant that Pastor O’Donnell often ended up picking up the slack for these chores himself.
One of the most reliable volunteers at the church is Ralph Billings, husband to paid church secretary Tammy Billings. In addition to serving as head usher, Ralph is the unofficial church handyman. The Thursday after Christmas, Ralph went to the church to clean some leaves out of a rain gutter. He’d noticed the clog after the Christmas Eve service and wanted to take care of it right then. Ralph did not like to procrastinate -- if something needed done, best to just do it. But Tammy reminded him that he was wearing his good clothes, and besides, it was after midnight and she was tired.
So Ralph came back to do the chore Thursday afternoon a couple hours before Tammy finished work in the office. It took him a while to locate the church ladder because someone had left it in the back of the social hall instead of returning it to the storage closet where it belonged. But after that brief delay, Ralph was up on the ladder scooping out leaves and whistling “Jingle Bells.” Ralph found whistling happy tunes helped these little jobs go faster.
Pastor O‘Donnell happened by and spotted him. “Hi Ralph,” the pastor called up. “When you’re done with that, would you do me a favor? Since you’ve already got the ladder out, would you mind replacing the Advent banners behind the altar with the ‘Christ is Born’ banners? When the women’s group took down the Christmas decorations, they forgot to do that.”
“Sure,” Ralph said. “Where are the new banners?”
“With the seasonal items in the cellar under the social hall,” O’Donnell told him.
So when Ralph finished with the rain gutters, he put the ladder in the sanctuary and went to the cellar.
Unfortunately, when he flipped the switch at the top of the cellar stairs, the single fluorescent light failed to come on. Ralph knew the church had replacement fluorescent tubes, but they were stored, perhaps unwisely, in the cellar. The two thin windows in the cellar were caked with so much dirt that it was nearly cave dark down there without the overhead light. So Ralph went to get the flashlight from the kitchen off the social hall.
As he opened the door to the cupboard where the flashlight was kept, it wobbled and creaked. Ralph discovered the screws of the top hinge had worked their way well out of the wood. The hinge was on the verge of pulling loose. Not wanting to leave the door in such precarious shape, Ralph got his screwdriver from the car and tightened the screws, again whistling “Jingle Bells” as he worked.
That task finished, Ralph got the flashlight and headed back to the cellar. Unfortunately, he soon discovered the batteries were dead. He sighed, wondering what sin he had committed against light that it seemed to be conspiring against him. He went to the office and got replacement batteries from Tammy.
With the flashlight now operational, Ralph was able to descend into the dark, cluttered cellar with the ladder and locate the spare fluorescent tubes. He set the ladder up and replaced the tube in the overhead fixture, again whistling “Jingle Bells” but with a slightly less bouncy cadence. Ten minutes later, the cellar again had light.
Finishing another task restored Ralph’s spirits. He turned to where the boxes of seasonal items were kept. And his spirits sank. When the women’s group had un-decorated the church after Christmas, they apparently just piled all the decorations in a jumble on top of the boxes. Ralph could have just tossed the whole lot aside to get to the banner, but he knew that pile of lights, wreathes, fake holly boughs and bows would somehow morph over the next eleven months into a tangled mass that would induce headaches when it came time to decorate next Christmas.
So Ralph sorted the decorations and returned them to the empty boxes from which they came. He even relabeled the boxes to indicate which decorations were in each. It was a time consuming task, but “Jingle Bells” once again helped keep Ralph’s spirits up…though a passerby might have mistakenly identified the tune as a funeral dirge the way Ralph was now whistling.
Finally Ralph finished the job by taping the boxes securely shut and stacking them. And at that moment Tammy appeared at the top of the stairs.
“Ralph,” she said. “Could you give me a ride to the bank on the way home? I have to deposit the offering from Christmas Eve.”
“Sure,” Ralph responded. “Let me just hang this banner for the pastor.”
“It’s almost five,” Tammy said. “I want to get there before they close so the deposit goes in before the end of the year.”
“Okay,” Ralph said, though he was growing a little frustrated. “I guess the banner can wait until tomorrow.” So he returned the ladder to its proper location in the storage closet and took his wife to the bank.
Pastor Henry O’Donnell had been on the phone in his office with the door closed when Tammy left. She didn’t like to disturb him in that situation in case he was on a delicate call with a troubled or ill parishioner. As it happened, this time he was arguing with a customer support representative in India about the return of an ill fitting Christmas sweater he had purchased for his wife online. When he finally got the details of the transaction arranged, he emerged from the office to find Tammy gone.
Being the last one at the church that day, Henry made the rounds to lock up. When he went to lock the sanctuary, though, he was surprised to find the Advent banners still hanging behind the altar. “Ralph was supposed to change those,” he said to the empty room. But there they were, unchanged. So Henry got the ladder out of the storage closet, went to the cellar, clicked on the light, retrieved the replacement banners from the neatly organized boxes of seasonal decor, and hung them himself, grumbling the whole time. It only took a few minutes, but Henry was anxious to get home to watch a favorite TV show, so instead of returning the ladder to the storage closet he stuck it in a nook behind the sanctuary and tossed the Advent banners on top of the stack of boxes in the cellar.
“Was that so hard?” Pastor O’Donnell thought as he hurried to his car. “Why do I always have to do everything around here myself?” Then he reminded himself that Ralph was just a volunteer and Henry shouldn’t begrudge him the things he didn’t do.
(c) 2007 Douglas J. Eboch
Sunday, December 30, 2007
Sunday, December 16, 2007
The Third Candle (or The Second Candle Symbolizes Peace)
By Douglas J. Eboch
Hear the story read by the author
In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church on the corner of Wilson and Elm. The Boyer family, which consists of Kevin Boyer, his wife Jill, and their two daughters Mary (age four) and Susie (age two), attends fairly regularly, if not always on time. Their attendance started - at the persistent suggestion of Jill - when Mary was born. Kevin consented even though it was football season. Kevin is a “cheese head” otherwise known as a Green Bay Packers fan. He has never understood why they hold church at the same time as NFL games. It has never occurred to him to ask the question in the reverse.
This Advent season, Pastor O’Donnell had the fine idea of asking some younger members to perform the Advent candle lighting ceremony during the service. He then had the less wise idea to ask the Boyer family to take that honor on the third Sunday of Advent. Jill readily consented. Kevin was no fan of public speaking, but after discovering the Packers weren’t playing until 5:30 that day, he went along with the plan.
The choosing of attire on the morning in question was a major event in the Boyer household. Jill had purchased a gorgeous green velvet dress for Susie to wear on Christmas Day, and decided that it would be perfect for this service as well. But Susie was less thrilled by the cumbersome dress and unimpressed by Jill’s explanation of what an honor it was to be asked to participate in the Advent ceremony. Yet after only forty minutes and three time outs, Jill got the dress on Susie.
Left to his own devices, Kevin would have worn khakis and a sweater, which for him was dressing up. But Jill insisted this occasion called for a tie. Kevin has never mastered the art of properly tying a tie, so Jill ties them for him. On this morning, she cinched up the knot a little beyond the point where Kevin could easily breathe. Kevin suspected, but was smart enough not to vocalize, that this might have been a response to his failure to hear her calling for help with Susie’s dress.
The Boyer family arrived at the church half an hour before the service to practice the brief ceremony. It involved someone taking a long, brass candle lighter and lighting it from one of the candles on the altar. Then, the designated individual lighted each of the first three candles on the Advent wreath in turn as other members of the family explained the symbolism of each candle. Finally, one member of the family would offer a brief prayer.
As Pastor O’Donnell explained this, Mary began jumping up and down, an arm stretched in the air. “Yes, Mary?” Pastor O’Donnell asked.
“I want to light the candles!”
Pastor O’Donnell blanched at this offer. A variety of incidents involving young Mary Boyer flashed through his head. The broken sewage pipe. The melted stained glass window. Mary’s generous repainting of the baptismal font.
“I’ll light the candles,” Jill said firmly. Many of the same incidents were flashing through her mind as well.
Mary was not pleased with this decision and pouted through the rest of the rehearsal. Jill finally coaxed her to memorize her line - “The second candle symbolizes peace” - with a promise of donuts on the way home. They did a test run and all went smoothly.
When it came time in the service for the lighting ceremony, the Boyer family went to the dais. It fell to Kevin to hold the two little girls’ hands firmly to ease any anxieties and more importantly to keep them where they were supposed to be.
Kevin guided the two girls to the microphone while Jill retrieved the brass candle lighter. “Good morning,”Kevin said, and then realized the microphone was not turned on. He released Susie’s hand to flip the switch. Now, on the walk out, Susie had noticed the two Christmas trees on either side of the altar. She knew what Christmas trees meant - presents. When Kevin let go of her hand, she decided to check to see if there were any there for her.
Unfortunately, as Susie was crossing the dais Jill had just turned from lighting the candle lighter from the altar candles. Jill tripped over Susie and the candle lighter swung straight into Kevin’s tie. Kevin looked down in shock as a smoldering black circle slowly grew in the center of the tie.
Jill let out a little yelp as she realized what she had done. She quickly hung the candle lighter on the wreath stand and began patting at Kevin’s tie. She succeeded only in burning her hand slightly.
Over by the piano, Shane Reed acted quickly when he saw the disaster. He grabbed the fire extinguisher which was kept in a little alcove behind him and ran out to Kevin. Shane had never used a fire extinguisher, so he began reading the directions. Kevin meanwhile was trying with desperation but little success to undo the tightly tied tie. Pastor O’Donnell, not a man to panic in a crisis, stormed out onto the stage and ordered Shane to give him the fire extinguisher. He’d take care of this.
As Jill and Kevin and Pastor O’Donnell and Shane Reed battled the blaze of Kevin’s tie, Mary Boyer decided she’d best take the Advent ceremony into her own small hands. She removed the candle lighter from where it hung on the wreath stand.
Although those on the dais were too preoccupied to notice Mary’s actions, they did not escape the attention of the congregation, most of whom were familiar with Mary’s exploits. The collective intake of breath vibrated the flame of the still-lit candle lighter as Mary carefully moved it toward the wreath. Yet everyone seemed too shocked to move.
Mary touched the flame to the first candle. “The second candle symbolizes peace,” she shouted. After all, it was the only line she remembered. She lit the second candle. “The second candle symbolizes peace.” She lit the third candle. “The second candle symbolizes peace.” Mary then went ahead and lit the remaining two candles for good measure, repeating her line each time. She blew out the candle lighter and returned it to its place. The members of the congregation let out the collective breath they’d been holding in a loud sigh. Mary had lit nothing on fire that wasn’t supposed to be lit. Well, the last two candles, sure, but nobody really cared much about that.
Satisfied the ceremony was complete and it was no longer necessary to be dressed up, Susie removed her green velvet dress. Mary took Susie’s hand, and the two girls walked up the aisle to go to Sunday school class.
Meanwhile, Pastor O’Donnell finally got the fire extinguisher ready and aimed at Kevin’s tie. He squeezed the handle and coated Kevin in an inch of foam. The tie no longer smoldered. Kevin, Jill, Shane and Pastor O’Donnell turned in unison toward the congregation who sat wide eyed and frozen like crash test dummies. For almost two minutes nobody moved. Then Kevin walked calmly to the microphone. The little paper with the prayer he was supposed to recite was soaked with foam, so he merely said:
“Dear Lord, we thank you for the warmth of the Christmas season, even when it comes a little too close for comfort. And on a personal note, I hope you’ll understand if I don’t wear a tie to church ever again. Amen.”
This experience will occupy the bulk of a marriage counseling session between Kevin and Jill several years from now.
Hear the story read by the author
In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church on the corner of Wilson and Elm. The Boyer family, which consists of Kevin Boyer, his wife Jill, and their two daughters Mary (age four) and Susie (age two), attends fairly regularly, if not always on time. Their attendance started - at the persistent suggestion of Jill - when Mary was born. Kevin consented even though it was football season. Kevin is a “cheese head” otherwise known as a Green Bay Packers fan. He has never understood why they hold church at the same time as NFL games. It has never occurred to him to ask the question in the reverse.
This Advent season, Pastor O’Donnell had the fine idea of asking some younger members to perform the Advent candle lighting ceremony during the service. He then had the less wise idea to ask the Boyer family to take that honor on the third Sunday of Advent. Jill readily consented. Kevin was no fan of public speaking, but after discovering the Packers weren’t playing until 5:30 that day, he went along with the plan.
The choosing of attire on the morning in question was a major event in the Boyer household. Jill had purchased a gorgeous green velvet dress for Susie to wear on Christmas Day, and decided that it would be perfect for this service as well. But Susie was less thrilled by the cumbersome dress and unimpressed by Jill’s explanation of what an honor it was to be asked to participate in the Advent ceremony. Yet after only forty minutes and three time outs, Jill got the dress on Susie.
Left to his own devices, Kevin would have worn khakis and a sweater, which for him was dressing up. But Jill insisted this occasion called for a tie. Kevin has never mastered the art of properly tying a tie, so Jill ties them for him. On this morning, she cinched up the knot a little beyond the point where Kevin could easily breathe. Kevin suspected, but was smart enough not to vocalize, that this might have been a response to his failure to hear her calling for help with Susie’s dress.
The Boyer family arrived at the church half an hour before the service to practice the brief ceremony. It involved someone taking a long, brass candle lighter and lighting it from one of the candles on the altar. Then, the designated individual lighted each of the first three candles on the Advent wreath in turn as other members of the family explained the symbolism of each candle. Finally, one member of the family would offer a brief prayer.
As Pastor O’Donnell explained this, Mary began jumping up and down, an arm stretched in the air. “Yes, Mary?” Pastor O’Donnell asked.
“I want to light the candles!”
Pastor O’Donnell blanched at this offer. A variety of incidents involving young Mary Boyer flashed through his head. The broken sewage pipe. The melted stained glass window. Mary’s generous repainting of the baptismal font.
“I’ll light the candles,” Jill said firmly. Many of the same incidents were flashing through her mind as well.
Mary was not pleased with this decision and pouted through the rest of the rehearsal. Jill finally coaxed her to memorize her line - “The second candle symbolizes peace” - with a promise of donuts on the way home. They did a test run and all went smoothly.
When it came time in the service for the lighting ceremony, the Boyer family went to the dais. It fell to Kevin to hold the two little girls’ hands firmly to ease any anxieties and more importantly to keep them where they were supposed to be.
Kevin guided the two girls to the microphone while Jill retrieved the brass candle lighter. “Good morning,”Kevin said, and then realized the microphone was not turned on. He released Susie’s hand to flip the switch. Now, on the walk out, Susie had noticed the two Christmas trees on either side of the altar. She knew what Christmas trees meant - presents. When Kevin let go of her hand, she decided to check to see if there were any there for her.
Unfortunately, as Susie was crossing the dais Jill had just turned from lighting the candle lighter from the altar candles. Jill tripped over Susie and the candle lighter swung straight into Kevin’s tie. Kevin looked down in shock as a smoldering black circle slowly grew in the center of the tie.
Jill let out a little yelp as she realized what she had done. She quickly hung the candle lighter on the wreath stand and began patting at Kevin’s tie. She succeeded only in burning her hand slightly.
Over by the piano, Shane Reed acted quickly when he saw the disaster. He grabbed the fire extinguisher which was kept in a little alcove behind him and ran out to Kevin. Shane had never used a fire extinguisher, so he began reading the directions. Kevin meanwhile was trying with desperation but little success to undo the tightly tied tie. Pastor O’Donnell, not a man to panic in a crisis, stormed out onto the stage and ordered Shane to give him the fire extinguisher. He’d take care of this.
As Jill and Kevin and Pastor O’Donnell and Shane Reed battled the blaze of Kevin’s tie, Mary Boyer decided she’d best take the Advent ceremony into her own small hands. She removed the candle lighter from where it hung on the wreath stand.
Although those on the dais were too preoccupied to notice Mary’s actions, they did not escape the attention of the congregation, most of whom were familiar with Mary’s exploits. The collective intake of breath vibrated the flame of the still-lit candle lighter as Mary carefully moved it toward the wreath. Yet everyone seemed too shocked to move.
Mary touched the flame to the first candle. “The second candle symbolizes peace,” she shouted. After all, it was the only line she remembered. She lit the second candle. “The second candle symbolizes peace.” She lit the third candle. “The second candle symbolizes peace.” Mary then went ahead and lit the remaining two candles for good measure, repeating her line each time. She blew out the candle lighter and returned it to its place. The members of the congregation let out the collective breath they’d been holding in a loud sigh. Mary had lit nothing on fire that wasn’t supposed to be lit. Well, the last two candles, sure, but nobody really cared much about that.
Satisfied the ceremony was complete and it was no longer necessary to be dressed up, Susie removed her green velvet dress. Mary took Susie’s hand, and the two girls walked up the aisle to go to Sunday school class.
Meanwhile, Pastor O’Donnell finally got the fire extinguisher ready and aimed at Kevin’s tie. He squeezed the handle and coated Kevin in an inch of foam. The tie no longer smoldered. Kevin, Jill, Shane and Pastor O’Donnell turned in unison toward the congregation who sat wide eyed and frozen like crash test dummies. For almost two minutes nobody moved. Then Kevin walked calmly to the microphone. The little paper with the prayer he was supposed to recite was soaked with foam, so he merely said:
“Dear Lord, we thank you for the warmth of the Christmas season, even when it comes a little too close for comfort. And on a personal note, I hope you’ll understand if I don’t wear a tie to church ever again. Amen.”
This experience will occupy the bulk of a marriage counseling session between Kevin and Jill several years from now.
Sunday, December 2, 2007
Shane - Part 2
By Douglas J. Eboch
Hear the story read by the author
In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church on the corner of Wilson and Elm. A couple of weeks ago, Del Winslow, star singer in the little church’s choir, was simmering with annoyance at newly hired choir director Shane Reed. Shane had recruited Florence Barker to sing a solo in the Christmas Concert. In her youth, Florence had been a torch singer in New York, and Del was put off by the sultry way in which Florence performed White Christmas. Naturally, his objections had nothing to do with Shane’s obvious admiration for Florence’s voice. It was, Del insisted, simply that her style was inappropriate for a church concert.
Del could be blunt when the situation called for it, but in this case he didn’t feel a direct appeal to Shane would be the best course of action. So instead he utilized sixty-nine year-old Henrietta Miggins. Henrietta was of the opinion that people these days had lost all sense of decorum. In her day, decent people wore their best clothes to church, wrote letters on pretty stationary instead of computer screens, and kept their private business private. Henrietta didn’t much care for Florence Barker despite the fact that Florence was actually older than Henrietta. In her day, Henrietta would not have considered Florence “decent people.”
So it was easy enough for Del to whip Henrietta into a righteous lather by describing the unseemly nature of Florence’s performances. And Del well knew that whenever Henrietta didn’t like something having to do with church, she was not shy about letting Pastor Henry O’Donnell know her feelings. Reliably, Henrietta cornered the good pastor after services and lectured him for almost thirty minutes about the obscene version of White Christmas she had heard Florence was performing with the approval of this young hooligan O’Donnell had hired as choir director.
After freeing himself from Henrietta’s clutches, the pastor went to his old friend Del to get what he thought would be an objective opinion about what, exactly was going on in the Christmas Concert rehearsals.
“Well,” Del told him, “I hadn’t planned on saying anything. I want to give Shane the benefit of the doubt. He’s a good kid after all, and perhaps he knows what appeals to the young folks. But if you want my opinion what Florence is doing with the song is kind of racy for church. I feel a little uncomfortable following it with my traditional show ending performance of Silent Night that everyone always says moves them with its holiness.”
Pastor O’Donnell decided he better attend the next rehearsal himself.
So that evening he watched as the choir went through it’s repertoire for the show. He was pleased to discover it was a much livelier program than they usually did and was growing convinced that Shane was indeed a good addition to the staff for more than just the impact his looks had on the women of the church. Then came Florence’s song. Florence was older than Pastor O’Donnell’s mother, but somehow the way she seemed to sigh the lyrics as much as sing them made a warm redness rise in his cheeks. Perhaps this one time Henrietta Miggins actually had a point.
After rehearsal, Pastor O’Donnell pulled Shane aside. “Shane, you’re doing a wonderful job with the show.”
“Thanks! It’s a fun program isn’t it? And isn’t Florence just the most spellbinding singer ever?”
“She’s got a way around a carol,” the pastor agreed. “It’s just…her style is a little…suggestive for a church concert, don’t you think?”
“It’s White Christmas. It’s an Irving Berlin song,” Shane said incredulously.
“Well, sure. There’s nothing wrong with the song. But do you think maybe you could get her to, you know, tone it down a little?”
“Florence was one of the greatest jazz club singers in New York!” Shane protested. “I’m not going to tell someone like that how she should sing.”
“That’s kind of your job,” the pastor responded.
“People will love Florence. Trust me.”
While Shane was defending his show to the pastor, Del had worked his way over to Florence. He indicated the obviously heated conversation Shane and Henry O’Donnell were having. “Good for Shane,” he said.
“What’s good for Shane?” Florence asked.
“Pastor O’Donnell is asking Shane to make you tone down your song. Looks like he’s standing up for you. I’m glad. He should have our back. I’m just concerned since he’s new and all. It would be unfortunate for him to get off on the wrong foot with the pastor.” Then Del went to get a cup of coffee leaving Florence to watch her handsome choir director fume as he put away his music. She didn’t want the poor kid to get in trouble on her behalf. But she also knew Del and suspected somehow he might be behind this.
The next rehearsal Florence informed Shane and the choir that she wanted to try a different song. Shane was concerned that she had learned about the controversy over her previous
choice, but didn’t feel right bringing it up in front of everyone. “Let’s hear it,” he said.
Florence whispered something to Walter Tibble, then stood, hands clasped demurely in front of her, eyes closed. Walter played one verse of What Child is This on the piano, then fell silent. Florence began to sing a cappella.
Her voice filled the room with haunting, perfect tones that spoke of maternal love and quiet joy. Everyone in the choir was frozen as Florence raised goose bumps from their arms with her voice. When she finished nobody spoke. Nobody breathed. Del glanced at the other choir members and noticed tears flowing from more than one pair of eyes.
“Well?” Florence finally asked, “can I do that instead.”
“Sure,” Shane choked out around the lump in his throat. “Yeah, sure. That was great. Um, Del, do you want to do your solo now?”
As he looked around at his fellow singers trying desperately to regain their composure after Florence’s song, Del very much did not want to do his solo. “My throat’s a little sore tonight. I think I better rest it,” he said.
Later, after rehearsal was over, he caught up to Florence in the parking lot. “Listen,” he told her, “I liked the new song you did tonight, but don’t you think it’s a little too similar to what I’m doing with Silent Night? I really loved your version of White Christmas and it does give the show more variety.”
“But Pastor O’Donnell doesn’t like that song,” Florence said. “I wouldn’t want Shane to get off on the wrong foot when he’s just starting out.”
“I’ll take care of Pastor O’Donnell,” Del assured her. “Let’s give Shane the show he really wants.”
So in the end, Florence performed White Christmas in the concert. Henrietta Miggins was scandalized, but a dozen jazz aficionados who came because of a flyer about Florence’s performance Shane distributed at a local cabaret loved the number. Really, so did most of the members of the church who attended, including Pastor O’Donnell’s wife Jennifer who held his hand during the song.
And Del got to close the show with his traditional performance of Silent Night. He received many compliments afterwards, including, to his delight, several from the jazz fans. Pastor O’Donnell noted those came immediately after the fans spoke to Florence and he suspected they might not be entirely genuine. But he kept his suspicions to himself.
(c) 2007 Douglas J. Eboch
Hear the story read by the author
In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church on the corner of Wilson and Elm. A couple of weeks ago, Del Winslow, star singer in the little church’s choir, was simmering with annoyance at newly hired choir director Shane Reed. Shane had recruited Florence Barker to sing a solo in the Christmas Concert. In her youth, Florence had been a torch singer in New York, and Del was put off by the sultry way in which Florence performed White Christmas. Naturally, his objections had nothing to do with Shane’s obvious admiration for Florence’s voice. It was, Del insisted, simply that her style was inappropriate for a church concert.
Del could be blunt when the situation called for it, but in this case he didn’t feel a direct appeal to Shane would be the best course of action. So instead he utilized sixty-nine year-old Henrietta Miggins. Henrietta was of the opinion that people these days had lost all sense of decorum. In her day, decent people wore their best clothes to church, wrote letters on pretty stationary instead of computer screens, and kept their private business private. Henrietta didn’t much care for Florence Barker despite the fact that Florence was actually older than Henrietta. In her day, Henrietta would not have considered Florence “decent people.”
So it was easy enough for Del to whip Henrietta into a righteous lather by describing the unseemly nature of Florence’s performances. And Del well knew that whenever Henrietta didn’t like something having to do with church, she was not shy about letting Pastor Henry O’Donnell know her feelings. Reliably, Henrietta cornered the good pastor after services and lectured him for almost thirty minutes about the obscene version of White Christmas she had heard Florence was performing with the approval of this young hooligan O’Donnell had hired as choir director.
After freeing himself from Henrietta’s clutches, the pastor went to his old friend Del to get what he thought would be an objective opinion about what, exactly was going on in the Christmas Concert rehearsals.
“Well,” Del told him, “I hadn’t planned on saying anything. I want to give Shane the benefit of the doubt. He’s a good kid after all, and perhaps he knows what appeals to the young folks. But if you want my opinion what Florence is doing with the song is kind of racy for church. I feel a little uncomfortable following it with my traditional show ending performance of Silent Night that everyone always says moves them with its holiness.”
Pastor O’Donnell decided he better attend the next rehearsal himself.
So that evening he watched as the choir went through it’s repertoire for the show. He was pleased to discover it was a much livelier program than they usually did and was growing convinced that Shane was indeed a good addition to the staff for more than just the impact his looks had on the women of the church. Then came Florence’s song. Florence was older than Pastor O’Donnell’s mother, but somehow the way she seemed to sigh the lyrics as much as sing them made a warm redness rise in his cheeks. Perhaps this one time Henrietta Miggins actually had a point.
After rehearsal, Pastor O’Donnell pulled Shane aside. “Shane, you’re doing a wonderful job with the show.”
“Thanks! It’s a fun program isn’t it? And isn’t Florence just the most spellbinding singer ever?”
“She’s got a way around a carol,” the pastor agreed. “It’s just…her style is a little…suggestive for a church concert, don’t you think?”
“It’s White Christmas. It’s an Irving Berlin song,” Shane said incredulously.
“Well, sure. There’s nothing wrong with the song. But do you think maybe you could get her to, you know, tone it down a little?”
“Florence was one of the greatest jazz club singers in New York!” Shane protested. “I’m not going to tell someone like that how she should sing.”
“That’s kind of your job,” the pastor responded.
“People will love Florence. Trust me.”
While Shane was defending his show to the pastor, Del had worked his way over to Florence. He indicated the obviously heated conversation Shane and Henry O’Donnell were having. “Good for Shane,” he said.
“What’s good for Shane?” Florence asked.
“Pastor O’Donnell is asking Shane to make you tone down your song. Looks like he’s standing up for you. I’m glad. He should have our back. I’m just concerned since he’s new and all. It would be unfortunate for him to get off on the wrong foot with the pastor.” Then Del went to get a cup of coffee leaving Florence to watch her handsome choir director fume as he put away his music. She didn’t want the poor kid to get in trouble on her behalf. But she also knew Del and suspected somehow he might be behind this.
The next rehearsal Florence informed Shane and the choir that she wanted to try a different song. Shane was concerned that she had learned about the controversy over her previous
choice, but didn’t feel right bringing it up in front of everyone. “Let’s hear it,” he said.
Florence whispered something to Walter Tibble, then stood, hands clasped demurely in front of her, eyes closed. Walter played one verse of What Child is This on the piano, then fell silent. Florence began to sing a cappella.
Her voice filled the room with haunting, perfect tones that spoke of maternal love and quiet joy. Everyone in the choir was frozen as Florence raised goose bumps from their arms with her voice. When she finished nobody spoke. Nobody breathed. Del glanced at the other choir members and noticed tears flowing from more than one pair of eyes.
“Well?” Florence finally asked, “can I do that instead.”
“Sure,” Shane choked out around the lump in his throat. “Yeah, sure. That was great. Um, Del, do you want to do your solo now?”
As he looked around at his fellow singers trying desperately to regain their composure after Florence’s song, Del very much did not want to do his solo. “My throat’s a little sore tonight. I think I better rest it,” he said.
Later, after rehearsal was over, he caught up to Florence in the parking lot. “Listen,” he told her, “I liked the new song you did tonight, but don’t you think it’s a little too similar to what I’m doing with Silent Night? I really loved your version of White Christmas and it does give the show more variety.”
“But Pastor O’Donnell doesn’t like that song,” Florence said. “I wouldn’t want Shane to get off on the wrong foot when he’s just starting out.”
“I’ll take care of Pastor O’Donnell,” Del assured her. “Let’s give Shane the show he really wants.”
So in the end, Florence performed White Christmas in the concert. Henrietta Miggins was scandalized, but a dozen jazz aficionados who came because of a flyer about Florence’s performance Shane distributed at a local cabaret loved the number. Really, so did most of the members of the church who attended, including Pastor O’Donnell’s wife Jennifer who held his hand during the song.
And Del got to close the show with his traditional performance of Silent Night. He received many compliments afterwards, including, to his delight, several from the jazz fans. Pastor O’Donnell noted those came immediately after the fans spoke to Florence and he suspected they might not be entirely genuine. But he kept his suspicions to himself.
(c) 2007 Douglas J. Eboch
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Shane - Part One
Hear the story read by the author
In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church on the corner of Wilson and Elm. Recently the church hired a new choir director named Shane Reed. Shane was thirty-two; from Seattle, Washington; and had a Master’s degree in music. Shane also had a broken heart. He and his high school sweetheart had gotten divorced a few months earlier. In his job interview Shane told Pastor Henry O’Donnell that he left Seattle because he needed a change of scenery. The actual reason was that he felt like putting a continent between himself and his ex. Pastor O’Donnell liked the polite young man with the shy smile and hired him on the spot.
Shane jumped right in, conducting the choir in worship service his first week on the job. Shane’s performance was a little rocky in Pastor O’Donnell’s opinion, but no worse than might be expected. To the pastor’s delight, however, several of the congregants remarked on how much they liked the new choir director as they shook Henry’s hand on the way out of service. It seemed he had indeed made a wise hiring decision.
As Henry O’Donnell drove home with his wife Jennifer and daughter Katie, Jennifer also remarked on what a nice young fellow Shane was. “And hot,” Katie added from the back seat.
“Excuse me?” Pastor O’Donnell said.
“He’s hot, Dad,” Katie informed him with the exasperated eye roll all teenage girls must learn in the Junior High bathroom. “I could tell he has a swimmer’s body. Yummy.”
“Katie!” Jennifer exclaimed.
Pastor O’Donnell noticed Jennifer’s cheeks had reddened. As he thought back, he realized all of the people who had complimented him on hiring Shane were female. It occurred to him it may not have been Shane’s musical prowess they admired.
Shane’s arrival came just as the choir was starting its preparations for the annual Christmas concert. This concert was a sixteen year old beloved tradition at the little church. Though the choir was only fourteen people strong, they were a tight knit and experienced group of singers. Choir member Del Winslow had directed the first couple Christmas concert rehearsals while they waited for a new choir director to be hired. When Shane arrived for his first rehearsal, Del shook his hand warmly.
“Welcome, Shane,” Del said. “You did a nice job at the service last week. We’re really glad to have you here.”
“Thank you,” Shane replied.
“Now, we’ve already put together our program for the Christmas concert,” Del told him. “Why don’t we run through it once for you?”
Shane agreed and for the next hour Del directed the choir in a run through. They performed many traditional Christmas hymns in a traditional style just as they had for every other concert for the last sixteen years. The show concluded with a performance of Silent Night that featured Del as a soloist -- just as it had for the last sixteen years.
When they were done, Shane clapped and praised them enthusiastically. “What wonderful voices you all have!” he exclaimed. Del grinned proudly. Then Shane said, “I would like to jazz up the arrangements a little.”
Del’s smile faded. He was not a fan of jazzing things up. But he held his tongue as Shane proceeded to change the pace and arrangements of several of the hymns, even swapping some out for songs he felt were more “toe tapping.” Poor Walter Tibble, the organist, struggled to adapt. Walter had learned most of the hymns a certain way years ago and was not the kind of fellow who handled change particularly well.
Finally, Shane suggested they conclude the concert with Joy to the World immediately after Silent Night. He thought it would leave the audience in brighter spirits. Del could hold his tongue no longer. He asked to speak to Shane outside.
Once they were alone, Del put his arm around Shane’s shoulders. “You’re obviously a talented musician, kid, but you’re new here. We have traditions. Traditions people expect us to honor. One of those traditions is my performance of Silent Night to close the Christmas concert. People look forward to it all year. They tell me so all the time. I don’t say that to brag, mind you. I’m thinking of you. I wouldn’t want people to be disappointed with your first Christmas concert.”
“I see,” Shane said diplomatically.
“We’re fun people,” Del went on. “Maybe it is time we tried a few new things in the concert. But let’s just take it a little slower. Leave the last number alone.”
Shane had directed the church choir back in Seattle and dealt with singer’s egos there so he knew what the smart decision was. “Okay,” he said. “We’ll end with Silent Night.”
And after that things went smoothly in rehearsals.
Until the day Shane met Florence Barker.
Florence Barker was a seventy-eight year-old widow, and had been a member of the church since she moved to Normal from New York twenty years before. Many of the church women of her generation considered her an odd duck. Florence wore flashy shoes and peppered her discussions with salty language and saucy innuendos. More than one churchgoer attributed Florence’s behavior to her big city roots.
What most of them did not know was that Florence Barker had at one time been a professional jazz singer. Though many of the people at the church had actually owned records she sang on, Florence never achieved the kind of fame where the average music fan knew her by name. Shane, however, was not an average music fan. He was a hard core jazz devotee and when Pastor O’Donnell introduced him to Florence, Shane knew exactly who she was.
Florence was flattered by Shane’s attentions, and not a little taken with his boyish looks. They huddled in a corner of the social hall during coffee hour as she regaled him with tales of nights performing at the legendary Blue Angel supper club in New York until everyone else had gone on to their Sunday afternoon activities except for church secretary Tammy Billings who waited impatiently to lock up. Finally Florence had to put a stop to the reminiscing as her stomach was noisily reminding her that it was past time for lunch.
As they walked out to their cars, Shane asked the question he had been wanting to ask since halfway through their conversation: “Miss Barker, why don’t you sing in the choir?”
“I was never any good at that type of group singing,” she said. “I’m too independent minded. And call me Florence, Sweetie. It’s the twenty-first century after all.”
“Well, if you won’t join the choir, what about doing a number in the Christmas show? It’s my first one and I really want it to be great.”
Florence’s weakness for good looking, earnest young men had gotten her into trouble on more than one occasion, though usually not at church. She agreed to Shane’s proposal. Shane was delighted.
When Florence strolled into the next Christmas concert rehearsal, the babble of conversation dribbled to a stop. Shane called for attention. He explained Florence’s background to the choir and then announced that Florence would grace them by performing a number in the show.
Shane was so giddy at the prospect of working with Florence that he hadn’t noticed the choir didn’t seem to share his excitement. If Florence was aware of their hesitation she didn’t let on. The truth was most of the choir was a bit in shock by this turn of events. Shane asked if Florence had picked out a song.
“I have,” she replied and handed sheet music for Irving Berlin’s White Christmas to Walter Tibble.
“Let’s hear it,” Shane said. Walter began to play the song with a sprightly bounce.
“Hold on there,” Florence said. “Slow it down a little.” Walter dropped the tempo by a third and Florence began to sing. It was unlike any performance that little choir room had ever heard. Florence cooed and purred the lyrics just like the torch songs she performed back at the Blue Angel. She made snow sound naughty and glistening treetops downright indecent. The stained glass windows in the sanctuary next door were in danger of steaming up.
Shane was smitten. When Florence whispered the last line with her come hither phrasing, he clapped wildly. The rest of the choir joined in. All except Del. “This is unacceptable,” he thought.
Though Shane didn’t know it yet, he had just put his new job in jeopardy.
The story of Shane and the Christmas Concert will be concluded in two weeks. Happy Thanksgiving!
In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church on the corner of Wilson and Elm. Recently the church hired a new choir director named Shane Reed. Shane was thirty-two; from Seattle, Washington; and had a Master’s degree in music. Shane also had a broken heart. He and his high school sweetheart had gotten divorced a few months earlier. In his job interview Shane told Pastor Henry O’Donnell that he left Seattle because he needed a change of scenery. The actual reason was that he felt like putting a continent between himself and his ex. Pastor O’Donnell liked the polite young man with the shy smile and hired him on the spot.
Shane jumped right in, conducting the choir in worship service his first week on the job. Shane’s performance was a little rocky in Pastor O’Donnell’s opinion, but no worse than might be expected. To the pastor’s delight, however, several of the congregants remarked on how much they liked the new choir director as they shook Henry’s hand on the way out of service. It seemed he had indeed made a wise hiring decision.
As Henry O’Donnell drove home with his wife Jennifer and daughter Katie, Jennifer also remarked on what a nice young fellow Shane was. “And hot,” Katie added from the back seat.
“Excuse me?” Pastor O’Donnell said.
“He’s hot, Dad,” Katie informed him with the exasperated eye roll all teenage girls must learn in the Junior High bathroom. “I could tell he has a swimmer’s body. Yummy.”
“Katie!” Jennifer exclaimed.
Pastor O’Donnell noticed Jennifer’s cheeks had reddened. As he thought back, he realized all of the people who had complimented him on hiring Shane were female. It occurred to him it may not have been Shane’s musical prowess they admired.
Shane’s arrival came just as the choir was starting its preparations for the annual Christmas concert. This concert was a sixteen year old beloved tradition at the little church. Though the choir was only fourteen people strong, they were a tight knit and experienced group of singers. Choir member Del Winslow had directed the first couple Christmas concert rehearsals while they waited for a new choir director to be hired. When Shane arrived for his first rehearsal, Del shook his hand warmly.
“Welcome, Shane,” Del said. “You did a nice job at the service last week. We’re really glad to have you here.”
“Thank you,” Shane replied.
“Now, we’ve already put together our program for the Christmas concert,” Del told him. “Why don’t we run through it once for you?”
Shane agreed and for the next hour Del directed the choir in a run through. They performed many traditional Christmas hymns in a traditional style just as they had for every other concert for the last sixteen years. The show concluded with a performance of Silent Night that featured Del as a soloist -- just as it had for the last sixteen years.
When they were done, Shane clapped and praised them enthusiastically. “What wonderful voices you all have!” he exclaimed. Del grinned proudly. Then Shane said, “I would like to jazz up the arrangements a little.”
Del’s smile faded. He was not a fan of jazzing things up. But he held his tongue as Shane proceeded to change the pace and arrangements of several of the hymns, even swapping some out for songs he felt were more “toe tapping.” Poor Walter Tibble, the organist, struggled to adapt. Walter had learned most of the hymns a certain way years ago and was not the kind of fellow who handled change particularly well.
Finally, Shane suggested they conclude the concert with Joy to the World immediately after Silent Night. He thought it would leave the audience in brighter spirits. Del could hold his tongue no longer. He asked to speak to Shane outside.
Once they were alone, Del put his arm around Shane’s shoulders. “You’re obviously a talented musician, kid, but you’re new here. We have traditions. Traditions people expect us to honor. One of those traditions is my performance of Silent Night to close the Christmas concert. People look forward to it all year. They tell me so all the time. I don’t say that to brag, mind you. I’m thinking of you. I wouldn’t want people to be disappointed with your first Christmas concert.”
“I see,” Shane said diplomatically.
“We’re fun people,” Del went on. “Maybe it is time we tried a few new things in the concert. But let’s just take it a little slower. Leave the last number alone.”
Shane had directed the church choir back in Seattle and dealt with singer’s egos there so he knew what the smart decision was. “Okay,” he said. “We’ll end with Silent Night.”
And after that things went smoothly in rehearsals.
Until the day Shane met Florence Barker.
Florence Barker was a seventy-eight year-old widow, and had been a member of the church since she moved to Normal from New York twenty years before. Many of the church women of her generation considered her an odd duck. Florence wore flashy shoes and peppered her discussions with salty language and saucy innuendos. More than one churchgoer attributed Florence’s behavior to her big city roots.
What most of them did not know was that Florence Barker had at one time been a professional jazz singer. Though many of the people at the church had actually owned records she sang on, Florence never achieved the kind of fame where the average music fan knew her by name. Shane, however, was not an average music fan. He was a hard core jazz devotee and when Pastor O’Donnell introduced him to Florence, Shane knew exactly who she was.
Florence was flattered by Shane’s attentions, and not a little taken with his boyish looks. They huddled in a corner of the social hall during coffee hour as she regaled him with tales of nights performing at the legendary Blue Angel supper club in New York until everyone else had gone on to their Sunday afternoon activities except for church secretary Tammy Billings who waited impatiently to lock up. Finally Florence had to put a stop to the reminiscing as her stomach was noisily reminding her that it was past time for lunch.
As they walked out to their cars, Shane asked the question he had been wanting to ask since halfway through their conversation: “Miss Barker, why don’t you sing in the choir?”
“I was never any good at that type of group singing,” she said. “I’m too independent minded. And call me Florence, Sweetie. It’s the twenty-first century after all.”
“Well, if you won’t join the choir, what about doing a number in the Christmas show? It’s my first one and I really want it to be great.”
Florence’s weakness for good looking, earnest young men had gotten her into trouble on more than one occasion, though usually not at church. She agreed to Shane’s proposal. Shane was delighted.
When Florence strolled into the next Christmas concert rehearsal, the babble of conversation dribbled to a stop. Shane called for attention. He explained Florence’s background to the choir and then announced that Florence would grace them by performing a number in the show.
Shane was so giddy at the prospect of working with Florence that he hadn’t noticed the choir didn’t seem to share his excitement. If Florence was aware of their hesitation she didn’t let on. The truth was most of the choir was a bit in shock by this turn of events. Shane asked if Florence had picked out a song.
“I have,” she replied and handed sheet music for Irving Berlin’s White Christmas to Walter Tibble.
“Let’s hear it,” Shane said. Walter began to play the song with a sprightly bounce.
“Hold on there,” Florence said. “Slow it down a little.” Walter dropped the tempo by a third and Florence began to sing. It was unlike any performance that little choir room had ever heard. Florence cooed and purred the lyrics just like the torch songs she performed back at the Blue Angel. She made snow sound naughty and glistening treetops downright indecent. The stained glass windows in the sanctuary next door were in danger of steaming up.
Shane was smitten. When Florence whispered the last line with her come hither phrasing, he clapped wildly. The rest of the choir joined in. All except Del. “This is unacceptable,” he thought.
Though Shane didn’t know it yet, he had just put his new job in jeopardy.
The story of Shane and the Christmas Concert will be concluded in two weeks. Happy Thanksgiving!
Sunday, November 11, 2007
Varmints
by Douglas J. Eboch
Hear the story read by the author
In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church at the corner of Wilson and Elm. Ralph Billings is head usher at the church and husband to Tammy, the church secretary. He’s also the unofficial church handy man. Ralph believes good nutrition is the key to a good life. So when he learned that the pre-school Sunday school class known as the Guppies had made cookies one Sunday, he got very frustrated. Karen Winslow, the teacher, should know better than to encourage the kids’ sweet teeth!
But Ralph was a positive guy who didn’t believe in giving negative criticism. Instead, he decided to do something positive: he would help the Guppies plant a garden of healthy vegetables in back of the church. Karen was happy to accommodate his suggestion -- as long as he would be the one showing the kids how to garden. In fact, she secretly looked forward to seeing how Ralph would fare intentionally bringing the kids to a big patch of dirt.
So the following Sunday Ralph got someone to fill in as head usher and wore his overalls and straw hat to church. The parents had been forewarned to have the children dress in gardening clothes as well. Karen gathered the class by the back wall of the church where a section of ground beside the flower garden had been set aside for the project. Ralph explained to the kids that they were going to grow a variety of vegetables and that in a couple months they’d be able to make a yummy salad out of the things they grew. The kids thought that sounded really cool and dived into the work with enthusiasm.
Overall, things didn’t go too badly. Yes, a wayward shovel stroke breached the sprinkler line and the resulting deluge seeped into the adjoining classroom, but it only took Ralph four hours to repair the damage and clean up the resulting mess that afternoon.
Yes, the packet of beet seeds mysteriously disappeared. Little Mary Boyer was not fond of beets and decided maybe she’d enjoy the promised salad more if it didn’t have any.
And yes, Mary was overly fond of snails and slipped several in her pocket while planting, which gave her mother Jill quite a start the following laundry day. But then, Jill was used to finding unusual things in Mary’s pockets.
So overall it was about average for a Guppy class project. And by the end of the church service, a fine garden had been planted.
The following week, Ralph was delighted when the kids came running up at coffee hour to tell him how little shoots were sprouting in the garden.
Two months later, the report from the kids wasn’t as positive. The plants had been growing wonderfully and the first tomatoes were beginning to ripen. But sometime during the previous night, something had dug up several of the garden plants. Ralph went to inspect the damage. It was just as he suspected:
A raccoon.
Thus began a pitched battle. Ralph first tried various repellants suggested on the internet: Cayenne pepper. Moth balls. Coyote urine. Each worked for a few days, but inevitably the raccoon returned.
Then Ralph stumbled across a really clever solution. He bought a mechanical Santa Claus that waved its arms and sang carols to act as a scarecrow. It worked…but then the neighbors complained about having to hear “Jingle Bells” in the middle of summer. So, Ralph was forced to disconnect the speaker. Apparently the raccoons were as relieved as the neighbors at the break from June carols because they quickly returned, ignoring Santa’s waving arms.
There was only one thing to do. Ralph would have to trap and relocate the raccoon.
Ralph purchased a large animal trap and planted it in the garden on a Tuesday evening when Tammy was attending the monthly trustees meeting. He placed the trap at the back of the garden behind the tomato plants and baited it with some shrimp -- a raccoon favorite. He then found a quiet corner where he could read until Tammy was finished. But less than ten minutes after settling in, he heard the loud clang of the trap’s door. “Got ‘im!” thought Ralph.
Ralph grabbed his flashlight and hurried around back. He could see two points of glittering light where the raccoon’s eyes caught the flashlight beam. But as he parted the tomato plants and stepped in to pick up the trap, he realized something was wrong. Instead of a gray-furred critter with black mask, he saw a creature that was all black with a white stripe.
A skunk.
It hissed and stomped its feet in warning, then turned its backside to Ralph. Ralph scrambled backwards, but tripped on the chord for the mechanical Santa. He tried to roll away but he was tangled in the chord.
The skunk sprayed Ralph long and thoroughly. Ralph wailed as the pungent odor assaulted his nose and tears poured from his eyes. In the meeting room the trustees stopped their discussion of parking lot lighting upgrades to ponder what the unholy screams could mean.
Ralph finally managed to scramble away from the skunk gagging and choking. He crawled into the bathroom and splashed water onto his face. He then stripped down and rinsed out his clothes. The smell was horrible. And it wasn’t just coming from his clothes -- it was coming from his skin, too.
Half an hour later when the trustees meeting broke up, Tammy spotted him sitting in the courtyard soaking wet and miserable. She approached, worried, but stopped short when the smell hit her. “What happened!” she asked.
“I caught a skunk by mistake,” Ralph replied. “Can we go home?”
“You’re not getting in the car like that. It’ll stink for weeks.”
“What am I supposed to do?”
“Tomato juice gets out skunk odor.”
“Where am I supposed to get tomato juice?”
“You’ve got tomatoes growing in that garden, right?”
So Tammy drove home to pick up some fresh clothes for Ralph while he squeezed the juice out of several of the tomatoes and began taking a sponge bath in the sink.
Meanwhile, Henrietta Miggins, one of the church trustees, was heading back to her car after giving Pastor O’Donnell a piece of her mind for twenty minutes following the meeting. Normally her tirades lasted longer but she was a little tired that night. As she passed the bathroom, she noticed the door was cracked open a couple inches and there were splashing noises coming from inside. She looked in and saw a half naked man covered in red liquid.
Henrietta sucked in her breath but retained enough composure not to scream. She ran back to the meeting room where Pastor O’Donnell was just locking up. “What now, Henrietta?” he asked.
“There’s a naked bloody man in the bathroom!” Henrietta hissed. “Call the police!” Pastor O’Donnell was skeptical of Henrietta’s report and walked toward the bathroom. Then he saw a rivulet of red running out from under the door. Remembering the odd scream they’d heard earlier, Pastor O’Donnell ran to his office and dialed 9-1-1.
Once the police arrived they quickly sorted out the situation and had a good laugh about it. They called Animal Control to release the skunk and then, being careful not to get too close to smelly, tomato juice soaked Ralph, they informed him that it was a violation of city ordinances for an individual to trap and relocate raccoons. That was okay, Ralph assured them, he had no intention of trying again.
Tammy then took poor Ralph home where she made him sleep on the old futon in the garage for the next four days.
The good news was that the skunk’s liberal spraying effectively discouraged the raccoons and they left the garden alone from thereon out. The bad news was that it also effectively discouraged the Guppies Sunday school class. The garden was abandoned for the year, the remainder of the vegetables left uneaten.
The following week the Guppies once again made cookies. Ralph kept his opinions on this to himself.
(c) 2007 Douglas J. Eboch
Hear the story read by the author
In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church at the corner of Wilson and Elm. Ralph Billings is head usher at the church and husband to Tammy, the church secretary. He’s also the unofficial church handy man. Ralph believes good nutrition is the key to a good life. So when he learned that the pre-school Sunday school class known as the Guppies had made cookies one Sunday, he got very frustrated. Karen Winslow, the teacher, should know better than to encourage the kids’ sweet teeth!
But Ralph was a positive guy who didn’t believe in giving negative criticism. Instead, he decided to do something positive: he would help the Guppies plant a garden of healthy vegetables in back of the church. Karen was happy to accommodate his suggestion -- as long as he would be the one showing the kids how to garden. In fact, she secretly looked forward to seeing how Ralph would fare intentionally bringing the kids to a big patch of dirt.
So the following Sunday Ralph got someone to fill in as head usher and wore his overalls and straw hat to church. The parents had been forewarned to have the children dress in gardening clothes as well. Karen gathered the class by the back wall of the church where a section of ground beside the flower garden had been set aside for the project. Ralph explained to the kids that they were going to grow a variety of vegetables and that in a couple months they’d be able to make a yummy salad out of the things they grew. The kids thought that sounded really cool and dived into the work with enthusiasm.
Overall, things didn’t go too badly. Yes, a wayward shovel stroke breached the sprinkler line and the resulting deluge seeped into the adjoining classroom, but it only took Ralph four hours to repair the damage and clean up the resulting mess that afternoon.
Yes, the packet of beet seeds mysteriously disappeared. Little Mary Boyer was not fond of beets and decided maybe she’d enjoy the promised salad more if it didn’t have any.
And yes, Mary was overly fond of snails and slipped several in her pocket while planting, which gave her mother Jill quite a start the following laundry day. But then, Jill was used to finding unusual things in Mary’s pockets.
So overall it was about average for a Guppy class project. And by the end of the church service, a fine garden had been planted.
The following week, Ralph was delighted when the kids came running up at coffee hour to tell him how little shoots were sprouting in the garden.
Two months later, the report from the kids wasn’t as positive. The plants had been growing wonderfully and the first tomatoes were beginning to ripen. But sometime during the previous night, something had dug up several of the garden plants. Ralph went to inspect the damage. It was just as he suspected:
A raccoon.
Thus began a pitched battle. Ralph first tried various repellants suggested on the internet: Cayenne pepper. Moth balls. Coyote urine. Each worked for a few days, but inevitably the raccoon returned.
Then Ralph stumbled across a really clever solution. He bought a mechanical Santa Claus that waved its arms and sang carols to act as a scarecrow. It worked…but then the neighbors complained about having to hear “Jingle Bells” in the middle of summer. So, Ralph was forced to disconnect the speaker. Apparently the raccoons were as relieved as the neighbors at the break from June carols because they quickly returned, ignoring Santa’s waving arms.
There was only one thing to do. Ralph would have to trap and relocate the raccoon.
Ralph purchased a large animal trap and planted it in the garden on a Tuesday evening when Tammy was attending the monthly trustees meeting. He placed the trap at the back of the garden behind the tomato plants and baited it with some shrimp -- a raccoon favorite. He then found a quiet corner where he could read until Tammy was finished. But less than ten minutes after settling in, he heard the loud clang of the trap’s door. “Got ‘im!” thought Ralph.
Ralph grabbed his flashlight and hurried around back. He could see two points of glittering light where the raccoon’s eyes caught the flashlight beam. But as he parted the tomato plants and stepped in to pick up the trap, he realized something was wrong. Instead of a gray-furred critter with black mask, he saw a creature that was all black with a white stripe.
A skunk.
It hissed and stomped its feet in warning, then turned its backside to Ralph. Ralph scrambled backwards, but tripped on the chord for the mechanical Santa. He tried to roll away but he was tangled in the chord.
The skunk sprayed Ralph long and thoroughly. Ralph wailed as the pungent odor assaulted his nose and tears poured from his eyes. In the meeting room the trustees stopped their discussion of parking lot lighting upgrades to ponder what the unholy screams could mean.
Ralph finally managed to scramble away from the skunk gagging and choking. He crawled into the bathroom and splashed water onto his face. He then stripped down and rinsed out his clothes. The smell was horrible. And it wasn’t just coming from his clothes -- it was coming from his skin, too.
Half an hour later when the trustees meeting broke up, Tammy spotted him sitting in the courtyard soaking wet and miserable. She approached, worried, but stopped short when the smell hit her. “What happened!” she asked.
“I caught a skunk by mistake,” Ralph replied. “Can we go home?”
“You’re not getting in the car like that. It’ll stink for weeks.”
“What am I supposed to do?”
“Tomato juice gets out skunk odor.”
“Where am I supposed to get tomato juice?”
“You’ve got tomatoes growing in that garden, right?”
So Tammy drove home to pick up some fresh clothes for Ralph while he squeezed the juice out of several of the tomatoes and began taking a sponge bath in the sink.
Meanwhile, Henrietta Miggins, one of the church trustees, was heading back to her car after giving Pastor O’Donnell a piece of her mind for twenty minutes following the meeting. Normally her tirades lasted longer but she was a little tired that night. As she passed the bathroom, she noticed the door was cracked open a couple inches and there were splashing noises coming from inside. She looked in and saw a half naked man covered in red liquid.
Henrietta sucked in her breath but retained enough composure not to scream. She ran back to the meeting room where Pastor O’Donnell was just locking up. “What now, Henrietta?” he asked.
“There’s a naked bloody man in the bathroom!” Henrietta hissed. “Call the police!” Pastor O’Donnell was skeptical of Henrietta’s report and walked toward the bathroom. Then he saw a rivulet of red running out from under the door. Remembering the odd scream they’d heard earlier, Pastor O’Donnell ran to his office and dialed 9-1-1.
Once the police arrived they quickly sorted out the situation and had a good laugh about it. They called Animal Control to release the skunk and then, being careful not to get too close to smelly, tomato juice soaked Ralph, they informed him that it was a violation of city ordinances for an individual to trap and relocate raccoons. That was okay, Ralph assured them, he had no intention of trying again.
Tammy then took poor Ralph home where she made him sleep on the old futon in the garage for the next four days.
The good news was that the skunk’s liberal spraying effectively discouraged the raccoons and they left the garden alone from thereon out. The bad news was that it also effectively discouraged the Guppies Sunday school class. The garden was abandoned for the year, the remainder of the vegetables left uneaten.
The following week the Guppies once again made cookies. Ralph kept his opinions on this to himself.
(c) 2007 Douglas J. Eboch
Sunday, October 21, 2007
The Ghost of Ernest Eagleton
by Douglas J. Eboch
Hear the story read by the author
In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church at the corner of Wilson and Elm. The church has long been haunted by the ghost of Ernest Eagleton who died in 1924. Or so Pastor Henry O’Donnell would have his church secretary, Tammy Billings, believe. You see, Tammy is a bit superstitious and Henry is a bit of a prankster. And each year in the week before Halloween, the pastor creates an elaborate prank to scare Tammy.
Henry didn’t make up Ernest Eagleton. Ernest was an actual person who died a rather violent death on what is now church property. You see, the church was built in 1947 on the site of what had been a restaurant. And during the 1920’s when prohibition was in effect that restaurant had been a speakeasy. The original building was torn down to build the church, but one element was incorporated into the new structure: a cellar under the current social hall. The church used the cellar to store files and seasonal items. But during prohibition it had been used to store alcohol smuggled in from Canada. This cellar was where Ernest Eagleton met his demise.
Ernest was a jazz musician who played clarinet in the speakeasy band. He was popular among the patrons and managed his money wisely and was thus able to avoid trouble with the speakeasy’s rather unsavory owners.
That is, until he fell in love.
Not that the gangsters who ran the place had any complaint with love. But Ernest had the misfortune of falling in love with Mazie, the voluptuous wife of the speakeasy’s manager, Marco. Ernest and Mazie were very careful to keep their affair secret knowing that Marco kept a .38 in his jacket pocket which had been used on more than one person unwise or unfortunate enough to upset him. When Halloween rolled around, though, Mazie concocted a risky scheme. She bought two costumes - one a nurse’s outfit which she showed to Marco, and the other a gorilla costume which she hid in the ladies’ lavatory.
One of the reasons Mazie cheated on Marco was that whenever they went to the speakeasy he was always too busy running the place to pay any attention to her. (The other reason was that she had never really loved him and only married him for his money.) But Marco’s preoccupation with making all that money allowed her to easily slip away during the big Halloween party and change into her gorilla costume. She then left a note for Ernest - who was dressed as a baseball player - to meet her in the cellar during his break.
Unfortunately, Marco decided to use the cellar for a business meeting while Ernest and Mazie were having their tryst. Even more unfortunately, her plan with the Gorilla costume was undone by the fact that the mask was very hot and she had taken it off once she and Ernest were alone in the cellar. And as a result of that chain of events, Ernest met his demise.
That story, with various embellishments, was well known to anyone who attended the little church very long and it made a good basis for Henry’s annual Halloween prank on Tammy. Tammy typically worked late on Tuesday evenings because her husband Ralph played racquetball with a buddy. Ralph would pick Tammy up from the church after he was finished and the two would have a late dinner.
So at 6 pm on the Tuesday before Halloween, Henry told Tammy that he was going to do a home visit and left her alone in the office. He drove around the corner, parked his car and snuck back. Then he used his cell phone to call Tammy. He told her he was missing his sweater. When she couldn’t find it in his office, he asked her to check to see if he had left it in the cellar where he had been going through some old files that morning.
Tammy didn’t like going into the cellar by herself at night, but she was a grown woman and wasn’t about to admit her fears to Henry. She got her key chain, unlocked the social hall, and descended the wooden steps into the cellar.
The room was lit by a single, long overhead fluorescent light. The pipes and vents on the ceiling and crumbling boxes stacked along the walls left many pockets of dark shadow. Tammy looked around, trying not to let the ticking and clicking of the pipes and vents unnerve her. She spotted Henry’s sweater draped over an easel at the back of the room.
As she went to retrieve it, she heard another faint sound among the pipes - music.
She furrowed her brow. Nobody else was at the church that evening. Where was music coming from? Then she realized it was clarinet music and visions of Ernest Eagleton stabbed into her mind. She looked down and discovered two used highball glasses resting on a nearby box.
Tammy got out of that cellar as fast as she could.
The source of the music was not Ernest Eagleton’s ghost, of course. It came from a boom box Henry was playing near an air vent in the social hall. Sound traveled quite well through the vent system.
As Tammy bolted out of the cellar, she discovered Pastor O’Donnell doubled over in laughter. “You should see your face,” he gasped.
“That’s not funny,” Tammy responded and threw his sweater at him. She stomped back to the office.
Henry giggled to himself as he retrieved his boom box and started to lock the social hall up again. And then he heard a slow thunk-thunk-thunk sound coming from the cellar. It sounded like something had bounced down the stairs. Tammy must have knocked something over in her mad flight, he thought, and went to investigate.
He discovered a baseball resting on the cement floor at the bottom of the stairs. He picked it up. “Must belong to one of the scouts,” he thought.
And then he heard a rustling from the back of the cellar. He looked up…
There in the shadows was someone in a gorilla costume.
It was too dark to make out the eyes behind the slits in the mask, but there was definitely someone inside the cheap outfit. A muffled voice said one word: “Ernest?”
Henry made it up the stairs only falling once. The next thing he knew he was standing in the middle of the office panting, his shin throbbing from where he’d banged it when he fell, and his heart racing at an alarming rate.
“Tammy, someone in a gorilla costume is in the cellar!”
“Very funny.” Tammy responded.
“No, really!” Henry insisted.
The two of them went back and forth in the same vein for several minutes. Meanwhile, back in the cellar Ralph Billings took off the gorilla costume. It had been well worth the forty bucks he’d spent to rent it, though he felt bad he’d had to cancel racquetball. He shook his head at poor, predictable Henry O’Donnell. Every year Henry played his Halloween pranks on Tuesday when Tammy worked late. Ralph was surprised Tammy still didn’t see them coming. But he suspected perhaps Pastor O’Donnell would skip the prank on Tammy next year.
Ralph shoved the costume in the trunk of his car and went to pick up his wife. While she was gathering her things and Henry continued to try to convince them he’d seen Mazie’s ghost, Ralph slipped the spare social hall keys back in Tammy’s desk drawer.
And back in the cellar the ghosts of Ernest and Mazie were happy to have the place to themselves once again.
(c) 2007 Douglas J. Eboch
Hear the story read by the author
In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church at the corner of Wilson and Elm. The church has long been haunted by the ghost of Ernest Eagleton who died in 1924. Or so Pastor Henry O’Donnell would have his church secretary, Tammy Billings, believe. You see, Tammy is a bit superstitious and Henry is a bit of a prankster. And each year in the week before Halloween, the pastor creates an elaborate prank to scare Tammy.
Henry didn’t make up Ernest Eagleton. Ernest was an actual person who died a rather violent death on what is now church property. You see, the church was built in 1947 on the site of what had been a restaurant. And during the 1920’s when prohibition was in effect that restaurant had been a speakeasy. The original building was torn down to build the church, but one element was incorporated into the new structure: a cellar under the current social hall. The church used the cellar to store files and seasonal items. But during prohibition it had been used to store alcohol smuggled in from Canada. This cellar was where Ernest Eagleton met his demise.
Ernest was a jazz musician who played clarinet in the speakeasy band. He was popular among the patrons and managed his money wisely and was thus able to avoid trouble with the speakeasy’s rather unsavory owners.
That is, until he fell in love.
Not that the gangsters who ran the place had any complaint with love. But Ernest had the misfortune of falling in love with Mazie, the voluptuous wife of the speakeasy’s manager, Marco. Ernest and Mazie were very careful to keep their affair secret knowing that Marco kept a .38 in his jacket pocket which had been used on more than one person unwise or unfortunate enough to upset him. When Halloween rolled around, though, Mazie concocted a risky scheme. She bought two costumes - one a nurse’s outfit which she showed to Marco, and the other a gorilla costume which she hid in the ladies’ lavatory.
One of the reasons Mazie cheated on Marco was that whenever they went to the speakeasy he was always too busy running the place to pay any attention to her. (The other reason was that she had never really loved him and only married him for his money.) But Marco’s preoccupation with making all that money allowed her to easily slip away during the big Halloween party and change into her gorilla costume. She then left a note for Ernest - who was dressed as a baseball player - to meet her in the cellar during his break.
Unfortunately, Marco decided to use the cellar for a business meeting while Ernest and Mazie were having their tryst. Even more unfortunately, her plan with the Gorilla costume was undone by the fact that the mask was very hot and she had taken it off once she and Ernest were alone in the cellar. And as a result of that chain of events, Ernest met his demise.
That story, with various embellishments, was well known to anyone who attended the little church very long and it made a good basis for Henry’s annual Halloween prank on Tammy. Tammy typically worked late on Tuesday evenings because her husband Ralph played racquetball with a buddy. Ralph would pick Tammy up from the church after he was finished and the two would have a late dinner.
So at 6 pm on the Tuesday before Halloween, Henry told Tammy that he was going to do a home visit and left her alone in the office. He drove around the corner, parked his car and snuck back. Then he used his cell phone to call Tammy. He told her he was missing his sweater. When she couldn’t find it in his office, he asked her to check to see if he had left it in the cellar where he had been going through some old files that morning.
Tammy didn’t like going into the cellar by herself at night, but she was a grown woman and wasn’t about to admit her fears to Henry. She got her key chain, unlocked the social hall, and descended the wooden steps into the cellar.
The room was lit by a single, long overhead fluorescent light. The pipes and vents on the ceiling and crumbling boxes stacked along the walls left many pockets of dark shadow. Tammy looked around, trying not to let the ticking and clicking of the pipes and vents unnerve her. She spotted Henry’s sweater draped over an easel at the back of the room.
As she went to retrieve it, she heard another faint sound among the pipes - music.
She furrowed her brow. Nobody else was at the church that evening. Where was music coming from? Then she realized it was clarinet music and visions of Ernest Eagleton stabbed into her mind. She looked down and discovered two used highball glasses resting on a nearby box.
Tammy got out of that cellar as fast as she could.
The source of the music was not Ernest Eagleton’s ghost, of course. It came from a boom box Henry was playing near an air vent in the social hall. Sound traveled quite well through the vent system.
As Tammy bolted out of the cellar, she discovered Pastor O’Donnell doubled over in laughter. “You should see your face,” he gasped.
“That’s not funny,” Tammy responded and threw his sweater at him. She stomped back to the office.
Henry giggled to himself as he retrieved his boom box and started to lock the social hall up again. And then he heard a slow thunk-thunk-thunk sound coming from the cellar. It sounded like something had bounced down the stairs. Tammy must have knocked something over in her mad flight, he thought, and went to investigate.
He discovered a baseball resting on the cement floor at the bottom of the stairs. He picked it up. “Must belong to one of the scouts,” he thought.
And then he heard a rustling from the back of the cellar. He looked up…
There in the shadows was someone in a gorilla costume.
It was too dark to make out the eyes behind the slits in the mask, but there was definitely someone inside the cheap outfit. A muffled voice said one word: “Ernest?”
Henry made it up the stairs only falling once. The next thing he knew he was standing in the middle of the office panting, his shin throbbing from where he’d banged it when he fell, and his heart racing at an alarming rate.
“Tammy, someone in a gorilla costume is in the cellar!”
“Very funny.” Tammy responded.
“No, really!” Henry insisted.
The two of them went back and forth in the same vein for several minutes. Meanwhile, back in the cellar Ralph Billings took off the gorilla costume. It had been well worth the forty bucks he’d spent to rent it, though he felt bad he’d had to cancel racquetball. He shook his head at poor, predictable Henry O’Donnell. Every year Henry played his Halloween pranks on Tuesday when Tammy worked late. Ralph was surprised Tammy still didn’t see them coming. But he suspected perhaps Pastor O’Donnell would skip the prank on Tammy next year.
Ralph shoved the costume in the trunk of his car and went to pick up his wife. While she was gathering her things and Henry continued to try to convince them he’d seen Mazie’s ghost, Ralph slipped the spare social hall keys back in Tammy’s desk drawer.
And back in the cellar the ghosts of Ernest and Mazie were happy to have the place to themselves once again.
(c) 2007 Douglas J. Eboch
Sunday, October 7, 2007
A/V
A/V
By Douglas J. Eboch
In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church at the corner of Wilson and Elm. It was built sixty years ago and is a pretty traditional protestant church. The pastor, Henry O’Donnell, was built fifty-five years ago and is a pretty traditional protestant pastor. But one day Henry read an article about multi-media worship services and decided perhaps it was time both he and the church modernized.
He decided to start small: a screen and a projector in the sanctuary so they could project song lyrics and announcements. The church had bought him a laptop computer a couple years before which he could attach to the projector to provide the media. The church secretary, Tammy Billings, was reasonably good with computers and certainly capable of running the operation from the balcony at the back of the sanctuary which saw little use these days.
Pastor O’Donnell took his proposal to the Trustees committee which would have to approve spending several thousand dollars on the screen and projector. As usual, the committee was split in their opinions. Henrietta Miggins thought that if the church survived just fine without fancy multi-media when her parents were members, it would survive just fine without it today. Ralph Billings, Tammy’s husband, was a technophile and all for modernizing the service. Del Winslow opined that anything that might make O’Donnell’s sermons more interesting was worth a shot. In the end, the motion passed.
Pastor O’Donnell may have intended to start small, but once the equipment arrived he was like a kid with a new toy. He stayed up until the wee hours for several days planning an elaborate slideshow to illustrate his sermon for that week. He was preaching on the duty of Christians to actively help those in need, and as he tapped away at the laptop he had visions of the congregation moved to tears by the power of his presentation.
If Tammy Billings was intimidated by the elaborate show she would be running she showed no sign of it. Tammy believed in organization and preparation. As the pastor revised his sermon and added new images to the slideshow, Tammy simply printed out longer and longer cue lists and practiced until she was completely familiar with the program.
The first hint that things might not go quite as planned came an hour before service Sunday morning. As Pastor O’Donnell headed toward his office, his cell phone rang. It was Tammy Billings. She and Ralph had a flat tire. Ralph was in the process of changing the tire, but Tammy suggested Pastor O’Donnell better go ahead and get his laptop hooked up to the projector.
Pastor O’Donnell was certainly cable of handling that. He and Tammy had done a dress rehearsal Friday afternoon so he knew exactly how to set everything up. Then the phone rang again. “Ralph broke one of the lug nuts off,” Tammy said. “The auto club is coming. But we may miss the start of service.”
Pastor O’Donnell was getting a bit nervous, but he quickly came up with a back-up plan. His wife, Jennifer, could operate the computer until Tammy arrived. It was often the uncomfortable role of a pastor’s spouse to be called on in these kinds of emergencies. Jennifer was not a computer person and was reluctant to take on such a big responsibility. But when Henry showed her Tammy’s neatly arranged cue list she agreed. All that was required for the first half of the service was to bring up the lyrics to the hymns. The slideshow during his sermon was the complicated part and surely Tammy would be there by then.
Yet as the time for the sermon approached, Tammy had still not arrived. Jennifer scooted out of the sanctuary during the offering and dialed Tammy’s cell phone.
“There’s been a complication,” Tammy told her. “Ralph got in an argument with the tow truck man and…well, we’re waiting for a different one. You’re going to have to run the sermon media yourself.”
“I can’t!” Jennifer cried.
“You can,” Tammy told her. “After the hymn that comes before the sermon, turn off the projector and close the file with the lyrics. Open the slideshow entitled September Sermon. The entire text of the sermon is on the cue sheet. When Henry gets to the first red X turn on the projector. After that whenever you see a red X just hit any key to move to the next slide. Easy.”
It sounded easy. After the next hymn, Jennifer turned off the projector as instructed. She closed the file with the song lyrics. She clicked on “open” from the menus -- and realized she didn’t know where the September Sermon file was located. As the scripture was being read, she frantically searched through Henry’s folders. Henry’s filing scheme was not as intuitive as one might prefer.
She still had not located the file when her husband stepped into the pulpit. Jennifer eyed the printout of the sermon. Henry was fast approaching the point where she was to put up the first slide. She clicked through folder after folder. Finally, her eyes fell on a file named September Images. “That’s it!” she thought, and clicked on it.
Pastor O’Donnell was building to the big moment. “Can we Christians ignore the suffering of others? We often do because we avoid seeing it. But we must act when faced with tragedies like this.” Pastor O’Donnell gestured grandly at the screen.
As the file was opening, Jennifer turned on the projector. An image popped on the screen.
The congregation laughed. Not giggles or titters either, but deep guffaws. O’Donnell thought that was a strange reaction to a slide of people left homeless by Hurricane Katrina. He looked over at the screen.
The image projected there was of Pastor O’Donnell in cut-off shorts and a stained T-shirt standing outside a cabin. It was taken on the O’Donnell’s vacation the previous September. Pastor O’Donnell prided himself on being thrifty -- though Jennifer thought that was just a euphemism for “cheap” -- and had made the cut-offs from an old pair of jeans he had worn in college. However the good pastor had gained some weight since his college years and the shorts were extremely tight.
Pastor O’Donnell’s face turned bright red. “Next picture!” he shouted. Jennifer desperately hit buttons on the computer and the image switched to O’Donnell in the same outfit pushing a canoe into the water. The act of bending over had split his tight shorts and a white arc of underwear showed through the gap. Whatever button Jennifer pushed only advanced the slideshow to the next embarrassing image.
Jennifer and Henry O’Donnell’s teenage daughter Katie was guffawing along with everyone else. She had almost forgotten how silly her father looked that day. Then her laughter stopped abruptly as she remembered that was the same vacation she had tried to perm her own hair. Her mother had taken lots of pictures of that disaster. Pictures certain to be coming up soon in the slide show.
Katie dashed to the back of the church, up into the balcony, and hit the “Escape” key on the computer ending the slideshow in the nick of time. For her, anyway.
Somehow Pastor O’Donnell got through the rest of the service. On his way out to coffee hour, Del Winslow let the pastor know that the multimedia had indeed made his sermon more interesting. Henrietta Miggins only sniffed in disgust. Tammy finally arrived and spotted Jennifer. “Did it go okay?” Tammy asked.
Jennifer gave her a nasty look. “Someone needs to tell Henry to be more specific when labeling his files.”
The next week the service returned to its low-tech traditions. The projector and screen did continue to get used for weddings, church meetings and special events and in the end the equipment was well worth the expense…but it was some time before Pastor O’Donnell tried to do a multi-media sermon again.
(c) 2007 Douglas J. Eboch
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