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Wednesday, Aug. 31, 2005 | ||
What do you think of this story? | Something old, something new
By SALLIE SATTERTHWAITE Dearest readers, Excuse my offering an old column, but Im taking a short break to bring you some new material. This one was published in 1996, long before many of you lived here. In any case, I think youll enjoy it, keeping in mind that the setting and the people involved were at least 30 years younger. In one of my previous lives, I was a church pianist, an occasional accompanist for Sunday School and church functions since I was about nine years old. And in all those years, nothing really interesting happened until I teamed up with Marryin' Sam, a.k.a. John Weber, pastor of Christ Our Shepherd Lutheran Church. I don't know what there is about the man, but give him room in a thunderstorm. If lightning is going to strike, it's going to be where he is. When the Lutherans first organized their Peachtree City congregation in 1975, I became their pianist, a "temporary" arrangement that lasted five years when we hired an accompanist who could also manage a choir. Now most non-musicians think a pianist just extends fingers over keys, and presto! music issues from hammers and strings. Sounds fill the air: solemn for funerals, soft for meditation, romantic for weddings. Nothing to it. And savvy musicians keep at their fingertips a repertoire of appropriate music for every occasion. I wasn't so savvy in the old days. Neither was John then, and sometimes tied the knot sans rehearsal. The first time he called me to play a wedding for him was back when the congregation was quartered in a warehouse on Dividend Drive. "Don't worry," John said. "The bride doesn't want anything special. Just a little something while the guests are being seated, and maybe the Wedding March. It's going to be a small wedding." I was naive, I admit it. I believed him. I dug out something short and noncommittal, the theme from "Love Story," I think, and "Wedding March" from Lohengrin. He was right; there were only a few guests. I walked in about the same time they did, and played "Love Story." As I finished, I looked toward the door to see if it was time to start "Wedding March." John's at the door smiling. John's always smiling. That doesn't mean he feels smiley; he just does it. He gave me a "keep playing" sort of gesture, and I repeated "Love Story." I was half through when he walked nonchalantly up to the piano, smiling at the guests, leaned over and hissed though smiling teeth, "Keep playing. We don't have a bride." I squelched the urge to leap up screaming, "What do you mean we don't have a bride?" Instead I whispered it, smiling. "She isn't here," came the reply. "Just fill in." "John, I cant just fill in. I only play with music in front of me, and I didn't bring anything else. You said..." "I know, I know. Stand up. I'll see if there's any music in this bench." Smiling. I stood slightly, still smiling and still playing "Love Story," while he rummaged around behind and below my back. The rest is a blur. I think he found something, a hymnal maybe, which he flipped open, and for all I know I played "Onward Christian Soldiers. The bride eventually showed, 35 minutes late. Do you know how long 35 minutes is, when you're completely out of music? Never again, I swore to myself, will I arrive with less than twice the amount of music needed for the time allowed. John's pretty unflappable. The closest I've seen him to flapping was the time we had a 7 p.m. rehearsal that went awry from the start. Weber runs a tight timetable; his previous engagement was timed to get him to the rehearsal at exactly 7 p.m., and he had dinner plans for exactly 8. Rehearsals run about 45 minutes. The bride got there moments after 7. She said she didn't know when her fiancé would get there. "He's Latino, you know, and theyre never on time." Her attendants wandered in about 7:15, and by now John was no longer smiling. The ceremony was to be carried out through a translator since the groom spoke only Spanish. And neither made the rehearsal. John left, seething, about 8 p.m., and I ran the party out of there and locked up at 8:15. Next day, however, it all came off. Latino was on time, the Spanish flew, and the bonds of matrimony snapped shut. And throughout the 20-minute service, guests kept arriving, the last during the benediction. Then there was the Saturday the organist failed to show up and John called me to fill in. I doffed sweatshirt, donned blouse, reached blindly into the music cabinet, and set a record driving to the church left-handed, all the while flipping through music with my right. Need I say, the church was wall-to-wall with stony-faced guests sitting in silence wondering, I'm sure, wheres the music. I rushed in, conferred briefly with John, then tried to look relaxed as I made my way to the piano. John was smiling, as usual, and I was halfway to the front of the church when his stage whisper caught up with me: "Better late than never!" I've played so many weddings for John that I know by heart what he tells the participants during rehearsal. "Don't be nervous. Emily Post won't be there. Whatever happens, when all's said and done, you'll be married. Relax and enjoy yourselves." And he's right. In all the years we've worked together, I've made mistakes and he's made mistakes, but the bride and groom seldom do. Except, sometimes, in their conviction that they were destined for each other. Unfortunately, not every Weber wedding turns out to be permanent. His funerals - now that's a different matter. They take. | |
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