Wailin' Willy and the Gargoyles

Wailing Willy

and

the Gargoyles By

Jennifer Zartman

Hobnail was the sort of town where nothing much happened. The houses were small and the gardens were big, and the people worked hard for a living. Nearly everybody in town went to the high school football games. It wasn’t because they liked football so much as that it was the best place to see everyone and learn about the latest tractor or who had a new television set, and besides, it was the only thing happening on any given Friday night in the fall. Albert Merriweather played on the football team—well, actually he mostly sat on the bench and cheered for the other fellows. He got to play sometimes, and he even kept the team from having to forfeit one night when most of the team got the stomach flu. He played basketball in much the same way, and ran track in the spring. He never won any races, but he made a fairly decent showing. He also had a little part in the school play, ran for president of the student council and somehow ended up being the secretary, worked for his dad at the hardware store on Saturday mornings, and sang in his church’s choir. Mr. Alroy directed the church choir on Sundays, had rehearsals on Wednesday evenings, and edited the Hobnail Press during the rest of the week. One Wednesday evening he came home from rehearsal and collapsed into a chair in the living room. “What’s the trouble, dear?” Mrs. Alroy asked. “Do you have a headache again?” Mr. Alroy sighed and rubbed his forehead. “It’s just, well, I hate to say anything bad about the people who come to choir. They’re so faithful, and they’re all such nice folks.” Mrs. Alroy dried her hands with a dishtowel and came and sat on a little chair opposite him. “So what is it?” “Albert.” “Florrie and Jake’s little boy?” “Yes, dear, but he’s hardly a little boy anymore. He’s taller than I am.” “Oh, I know. And he’s turned into such a nice young man—so pleasant. Not exactly handsome, but such nice manners! He helped me with my groceries the other day.” Mr. Alroy nodded. “So what’s the trouble, Fred?” “He can’t sing.” “Oh. But that’s true of some others, too.” “Yes, I know, but Albert loves to sing, and he sings with gusto.” “Oh dear.” “And he sits in the back with old Jim MacPherson, and when Albert starts singing out Mac turns down his hearing aid.” “You know, I don’t blame him.” “Yes, but then Mac sings off key too. The two of them are great pals, you should just hear them!” “I think I’d rather not.” Mr. Alroy rubbed his forehead again. “Exactly.” “So is that what happened this evening?” Mr. Alroy nodded. “And then Mrs. Dickery said, ‘Mr. Alroy, those two are giving me a headache. Can’t you do something about it?’” He paused long enough that Mrs. Alroy said, “So did you?” “Of course. I gave her an aspirin.” Mrs. Alroy chuckled. Copyright – All Rights Reserved – 2012 Jennifer Zartman

“Then we tried the new piece for Christmas, the one we’re supposed to do with the church over in Rocky Gulch.” Mr. Alroy groaned. “It was that bad?” “Albert and Mac tried to hit a high note and the dogs next door started howling, so half the choir was laughing. Then the sopranos screeched, and Georgiana MacLaughlin got all excited and fainted.” Mrs. Alroy started to laugh and pretty soon Mr. Alroy laughed too, but he shook his head at the same time. “It was a bad rehearsal.”

“Hey, look at this,” Albert said to his buddy, Gilford, a week later. The two of them stopped to look at the announcement taped to the door of Hobnail High’s auditorium. “It’s for a choral competition,” Gilford said. He was a solid fellow in build and thought with brown hair a few shades lighter than Albert’s and pale blue eyes that never quite seemed in focus. “I know—look, they have a category for trios.” “So? We can’t sing trios.” “Sure we can—and it would be so much fun!” Albert pulled a spiral notebook out of his backpack and began writing down the information. “Trio means three,” Gilford said. “We’re only two.” “We’ll get Marshall—he even plays the piano.” “And where are we going to get the music?” “Oh I’ll talk to our choir director at church, Mr. Alroy. He’s cool, and he’d know about all that stuff.” “But this says it’s in Rocky Gulch. How are we going to get there?” “My mom’ll take us. She likes going to things like that.” “You sure?” “Yeah, I’m sure! What’s wrong, you scared?” “No, not exactly.” “Then we’ll do it.” Albert grinned and hit Gilford in the stomach with his notebook and headed off to class.

Mr. Alroy groaned inwardly when Albert asked him about the music, but he looked through his files and found some old copies of trios that weren’t too difficult and loaned them to the boys. On Saturday afternoon Albert and Gilford met at Marshall’s house to start learning the music. “The piano hasn’t been tuned in a while,” Marshall said. He stood taller than Albert, had very blonde hair and sported thick rimmed glasses. He led the way down to a family room in his basement. “We’ll have to clear it off, too. Mom’s been cleaning house, and she’s piled all sorts of stuff down here.” “No problem,” Albert said, picking up a box that sat in front of the piano. “Hey, I remember this movie.” They dispensed with boxes of movies, books, old tax returns, broken tennis rackets, last year’s school projects and a few boxes of clothes that didn’t fit Marshall’s little brother. Then they dusted off the keyboard, and Marshall settled his lanky frame on the piano bench and played “In the Moonlight.” Copyright – All Rights Reserved – 2012 Jennifer Zartman

“Is the piano supposed to sound like that?” Gilford asked. “Well like I said, it’s a little out of tune,” Marshall said, “but I think we can get the gist of it.” “Sure we can,” Albert said. “Can you play my line for me?” They worked on it all afternoon, and Sunday afternoon as well. “We’re going to need to work on this during the week, too, if we’re going to be ready in just a few weeks,” Gilford said. “I don’t have my part down at all.” “I have an idea,” Albert said. “Let’s walk to school together and practice on the way.” “And there’s the lunch hour,” Marshall said. “We can practice then, too, unless you want to spend the whole time mooning over Cecily.” He struck a lovesick pose. Albert punched him. “Lunch is fine.” “Yeah, and Cecily’s been going to the pizza place for lunch with Josh Morgan,” Gilford said. “Woot—the quarterback of the football team!” Marshall said. “Pretty stiff competition there, Albert.” “I think I have to go now,” Albert said. “But we’ll meet tomorrow morning at my house at 7:00 sharp.”

The next morning dawned clear and bright, and the boys decided to work on “I Love You Truly” as they walked to school. Mrs. Dickery’s house was on the way, so they stopped and sang the nicest part of the song under her kitchen window. “Oh, what is that frightful noise?” they heard her say. Suddenly a whoosh of stinking water and old wilted daisies came out the window and landed on their heads, and then the window slammed shut. “Maybe she doesn’t like our singing,” Gilford said. He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his face. “Oh, it’s just because we haven’t learned it very well yet,” Albert said, leaning over to get the icky daisies out of his hair. “Well, let’s just practice during the lunch hour,” Marshall said. “We can go to my house tomorrow.” “Ok,” Albert said. “We’ll get to sleep a little later, too,” Gilford said. “Hey, Marshall, you look cute with that flower hanging on your ear,” Albert said. “Well here, I’ll hang it on yours.” He tried to carry out his threat, but Albert was a faster runner. They got to school plenty early that day.

Later that week they practiced in a neighbor’s cow pasture where there were no daisies. A shade tree spread over the stream that ran through the pasture, and Albert pointed to it. “Dad and I come out here to fish in the summer,” he said. “Right over there. It’ll be a good place to practice.” “That’s a pretty big cow,” Gilford said, eyeing a beast that grazed beyond the tree. “Are all cows that big?” Albert grinned. “That cow’s a bull.” “You sure this is safe?” Marshall asked. “Oh yeah,” Albert said. “The bull’s pretty calm.” “I’m not sure I like bulls,” Gilford said. “If we don’t bother him, he won’t bother us.” They settled down to practicing, and just as they got to the high part the bull bellowed. “Do bulls usually do that?” Gilford asked. “Do what?” Albert looked up. Copyright – All Rights Reserved – 2012 Jennifer Zartman

The bull shook his horns and pawed at the ground. “Run!” They sprinted toward the fence, and heard the rumble of heavy hooves coming after them. They were up and over the board fence as fast as they could go, and the bull kept right on charging. “He’s coming through the fence!” Marshall yelled. Gilford fell when he landed, and Albert stopped to help him and threw a worried glance over his shoulder. “It’s OK, Marshall, the bull stopped.” “Whew,” Marshall said, and then he looked down at his hands. “I’m bleeding.” “And I’ve torn my pants,” Albert said. “Rats.” “I think I sprained my ankle,” Gilford said. Albert started laughing, “We must have looked pretty funny!” “I thought for sure that bull was going to eat us for lunch,” Marshall said, and he and Gilford started laughing too. “I don’t think that bull appreciates good music,” Gilford said. They laughed until their sides ached, and then they went home to clean up and grab a quick lunch before afternoon classes.

The day of the contest finally arrived. “You all look mighty fine,” Albert’s mother said as they piled into the car. They practiced “In the Moonlight” as they drove along, and the people around them began behaving in strange ways. The driver next to them made a funny face and rolled up his window. Then, at the next stoplight, a couple of little boys standing by the side of the road started howling like coyotes. Three cute girls pulled up beside them, and Albert sang the most romantic line to them. They made yowling noises and then drove away, laughing uproariously. “People around here don’t appreciate talent,” Marshall said. When they arrived at the competition, they got a drink of water and found their room. “Which song shall we sing first?” Gilford asked. “Let’s do ‘The Little Church in the Vale,’” Albert said. “Then we can do ‘In the Moonlight,’ and end with ‘I Love You Truly.’” “That sounds reasonable,” Marshall said. After they sang their first song the judge said, “That will be fine, boys,” and began writing furiously on their evaluation sheet. They didn’t win. In fact, they came in last place. Tired, hungry and discouraged, they went home quietly, and nobody made faces at them or shouted or laughed.

“Look here, guys,” Albert said a few weeks later. He put a piece of paper on the table where Gilford and Marshall were eating lunch, and then he sat down and pulled a sandwich out of his backpack. “What is it?” Gilford asked. Marshall picked it up and read it over. “It’s an entry form for the Christmas talent contest,” he said. “Albert, are you nuts?” Gilford asked. “We didn’t do badly enough at the trio contest?” Marshall looked at Albert and cocked an eyebrow. Copyright – All Rights Reserved – 2012 Jennifer Zartman

“Well, we don’t have to sing a trio,” Albert said, “And there aren’t that many people in Hobnail who appreciate really good music anyway.” “So what did you have in mind?” Marshall asked. Albert’s eyes started twinkling. “Well I have this idea. Gil, don’t you have a guitar?” “Yeah, why do you want it?” “For our new act. Tommy Bullford had an electric bass—you remember him? He lived next door to me.” “Oh, yeah,” Marshall said. “Didn’t he join the army?” Albert nodded. “And his bass is just collecting dust. I think I could borrow it, and Mr. Alroy has a portable keyboard. Here’s what I’m thinking.” He explained his plans and Marshall said, “That might work.” Gilford just started laughing, but he signed his name on the entry form, and the boys started working on it the next Saturday. As the talent show got closer, Albert, Gilford and Marshall drove their friends crazy hinting about their act, and Marshall’s mother declared more than once that she would be glad when the show was over and they didn’t have to practice any more. On the night of the show they kept themselves busy back stage. Their friends watched for them and wondered where they were, because they didn’t sit down front with the other acts. Then, for the last act of the show, the lights dimmed, a smoke machine started putting out mist, and on to the stage came a band like none of them had ever seen before! The singers wore neon-striped pants and vests with flashing lights. Large, fake jewels glittered on their instruments. The one with hot pink hair stepped to the microphone and said, “Hey everybody! I’m Wailin’ Willy, and these are the Gargoyles!” The two band members with blue and purple hair waved their hands and did a little dance, and the audience cheered. Wailin’ Willy started to clap his hands over his head. “Put your hands together!” he yelled. The crowd took up the rhythm and stomped on the off beats. The auditorium reverberated, and the stage lights flashed in bright colors. “That’s right!” The band started to play, the audience screamed and cheered, and there was so much noise that no one could tell if they sang a little off-key. Wailin’ Willy danced across the stage with his bass and sang “Oh Baby, Baby, I’m a Luv You.” The keyboard player pounded out the rhythm and danced in place, and the girls screamed louder. The cheering lasted long after the last chord echoed through the building. Albert, Marshall and Gilford had won a contest at last!

The next day Albert got a call from the school principal. “Congratulations on winning the contest, Albert. That was quite an act!” “Thank you, sir.” “Say, I was wondering if you might consider becoming the school announcer for athletic events. I know that you’ve been involved in our athletic program, but we could really use someone like you behind the microphone.” “Really?” “Yes indeed.” “Oh, yes sir, I’d like that a lot.” “Then stop in and see me on Monday.” “Yes sir!” Albert hung up the phone and let out a big whoop. “Gracious!” his mother exclaimed. “You scared me. Hey, stop that! Put me down!” Copyright – All Rights Reserved – 2012 Jennifer Zartman

Albert whirled her around, then he danced through the house and out the door. “Be home in a bit, Mom—I’ve gotta go tell Marshall and Gil!”

The Hobnail Press sponsored a community talent contest every spring with a grand prize of a hundred dollars. Every business in town donated prizes, so they could also award a gift certificate from the Merriweather Hardware Store, a fruit basket from Vernon’s Grocers, two free hamburgers with drinks from the stand on the corner, and a free haircut from Bill’s Barber Shop. “We should enter,” Albert said. Gilford and Marshall nodded. “It would sure be nice if we could have a drummer, though,” Marshall said. “Somebody really cool,” Gilford said. Silence reigned for a moment while they all thought deeply. “I’ve got it!” Albert said. “I know the perfect person!”

“What a lovely evening!” Mrs. Alroy said as they walked out to the car the evening of the talent contest. The sunset flamed the sky with red and orange, silhouetting the tree across the street. The bushes in front of the house looked soft with new growth, and a gentle breeze stirred the tulips along their driveway and brushed her cheek with their fragrance. Mr. Alroy smiled and opened the car door for her. “You know, dear, I don’t think you’ve had a headache lately,” Mrs. Alroy said. “Are choir practices going better?” Mr. Alroy shook his head. “I don’t know that I’d say that. Albert and Mac are still buddy- buddy, they still sing off key, and Mrs. Dickery still complains.” He paused and thought for a moment. “Maybe I’ve just gotten used to it.” Mrs. Alroy smiled, and it wasn’t long before they pulled into the empty parking lot for the Hobnail Community Center. Mr. Alroy unlocked the door and flipped on the lights. “I’ll just go make sure everything is in order,” he said. “Georgiana, you look lovely this evening,” he heard Mrs. Alroy say a few minutes later. “You think so?” Georgiana took off her jacket and hung it on the rack. “I’m so nervous!” “No need to be, dear. You’ll do just fine.” Mrs. Alroy smoothed a stray lock of Georgiana’s hair and patted her cheek. Georgiana found a seat down front and saved one for Mrs. Alroy, who stayed by the door to greet everyone as they came in. The chairs filled up before the show started, so Mr. Alroy and Albert’s dad bustled around setting up more chairs for the late comers. “We have lots of young people here tonight,” Mr. Alroy said. “How nice! Albert must have encouraged them to come.” Mr. Merriweather smiled. “I wouldn’t be surprised. He’s been real excited about this.” The show started close to on time; they were only ten or fifteen minutes late. Mr. Alroy stood up to officially welcome everyone and announce the first act. Two young boys started them off with some rather poor magic tricks, then a teenage girl and her brother juggled some pins, and they didn’t even drop very many of them. Mrs. Dickery read a poem by Edgar Allen Poe, and after a piano solo by the church organist, a farmer read a humorous paper on how to plant wheat. Copyright – All Rights Reserved – 2012 Jennifer Zartman

Georgiana sang “Red Sails in the Sunset.” Her voice wavered, and she trembled enough to cause the ruffles on her dress to quiver. Some small boys in the front row snickered until Mrs. Dickery jabbed them in the back with her poetry book. The roster held quite a few entries, and the judge’s panel sitting off to the side wrote lots of notes and whispered to each other between acts. As the show went on the high school students sitting in the back got a little restless, but on the whole they behaved very well. “And for our last act,” Mr. Alroy finally announced, “we have a new group in town, Wailin’ Willy and the Gargoyles.” The teenagers in the back whistled and cheered, and the lights flashed. The band danced out of the side door and Mr. Alroy gasped. “It can’t be!” he said, but nobody heard him. The crowd was on their feet, stomping and clapping their hands in rhythm. “Good evening, everybody,” Wailin Willy yelled, and the music began to thunder through the hall. Willy danced with his bass, the keyboard player wiggled in place, and the guitar player just stood still and grinned at the writhing audience. And there, pounding away on the gleaming set of drums, sat Mr. MacPherson in a fuzzy orange wig, neon striped pants and a flashing vest! The band thundered, flashed, and wailed. The audience stomped, cheered, clapped, and screamed. Mrs. Dickery scolded, but nobody listened, and Georgiana fainted. Mrs. Alroy caught her, and Mr. Alroy wished he’d brought some aspirin—he suddenly had a headache! It didn’t take the panel of judges long to award the grand prize to Wailin’ Willy and the Gargoyles, so they played an encore. The building throbbed, and the young people danced, and time slipped away. “Goodness, it’s midnight!” Mrs. Alroy said as Albert helped his father and Mr. Alroy put the final chairs away. A man had been standing near the door, quietly watching. He stepped forward now and held out his hand to Albert. “I’m Sam Frasier with KLIM radio in Cedargrove.” “Glad to meet you, sir, I’m Albert Merriweather.” Sam smiled. “Also known as Wailin’ Willy.” “Yes sir!” Albert smiled in return. “What brings you all the way across the state to our little talent show?” “We’ve been thinking of opening a new station in these parts, so I was in the area. We’re going to need some talented folks for our new station, and I wondered if you might be willing to come work for us.” Albert’s eyes went wide and he shook Sam’s hand again with great enthusiasm. “Yes, sir. For sure!”

The next Wednesday evening Mr. Alroy’s phone rang just before he left for choir practice. “Mr. Alroy, this is Albert Merriweather, and I have some bad news for you.” “What is it, Albert?” “Well, Mr. Sam Frasier just called me about that radio job, and he wants to meet with me tonight, and get me started on being a DJ.” “Well, that sounds like good news, Albert.” “Oh, yes sir. I’m real excited about it, but I won’t be able to come to choir any more. I’m real sorry.” “Well, son, sometimes things like that happen. We’ll miss you, especially Mr. MacPherson, but it’s a great opportunity for you, and we don’t begrudge you that at all.” “Thank you for understanding, sir!” Copyright – All Rights Reserved – 2012 Jennifer Zartman

Mr. Alroy hung up the phone, kissed his wife, and did a little jig on the way out to his car.