As the laughter ends, Tom Thibodeau points to the audience and says, "My best Christmas memories revolve around music, with friends, family and loved ones. Think about it. Going to church or school to listen to a children's program, carols sung around a piano at home on Christmas Eve, or Christmas songs played on speakers during a walk through Rotary Lights. Music can be listened to, and appreciated alone, but the best times come from listening to music with those people who mean the most to you. It has special powers that bring people together."
He rubs his hands together, and finishes with a smile on his face, "You know, I just had an epiphany -- music is love audibled. Isn't it?" The crowd claps in appreciation.
Tom pauses, gets serious and says, "Ladies and gentlemen, I give you String Ties."
Liz, our good friends, Doug and Peggy, along with two of our newest international students, Maelle from France and Nicole from Sweden, are enjoying the first half of a ten-year holiday tradition of sorts, String Ties Yuletide Show, at Leo and Leona's roadhouse near Newberg Corners.
The bar is a one-of-a-kind place with a re-crafted Amish dance floor and rafters. Strings of lights hang magically, floating from unfinished walls and ceiling, seemingly held in place by an assortment of great sports and tavern memorabilia. Splashes of orange and red Christmas lights combine with smaller streaks of white and yellow, leading one's eyes to a simple wood stage beneath a large sign that reads Leo & Leona's TAVERN. An American flag hangs proudly next to the sign, a reminder of the rebellious 60's when protesters used the flag as a symbol of personal freedom. For many years, this roadhouse has been a home to folk, bluegrass and anti-establishment songs from Simon and Garfunkel, Crosby Still, Nash and Young, Bob Dylan and Arlo Guthrie.
But one memory has always stayed with me through the years. Now, listening to String Ties sing their holiday songs before an audience of music fans on this December afternoon, it stirs to the forefront of my mind. The sights and sounds of a fiddle and violin dim and fade, like the view of our surrounding countryside during the season's first snowstorm -- present one moment, only to vanish the next, to be replaced by an image of a little boy standing before a full church on Christmas Eve....
My feet hurt from the dress shoes I'm wearing, an ailment that would stay with me into my older years. But tonight, I am uncomfortable for many reasons, and not just my sore toes. My corduroy slacks, paired with a matching blazer and plaid vest felt restrictive, a not so subtle reminder that I was on display -- like a Monarch butterfly pinned to a board in science class -- and bad behavior would not be tolerated. My parents must have felt my bow tie was the height of fashion, but I preferred an open necked shirt that didn't scratch my neck and chin.
I desperately longed for this spectacle to be over, and to begin the night's main event -- the opening of presents left at home by Santa Claus.
But first, it is the annual Children's Program, held on Christmas Eve at First Evangelical Lutheran Church, and I am struggling to remember my lines, about to be recited by my fourth grade classmates. I had been sick the week leading up to Christmas, and had missed a few days of school, where we practiced our bible passages, a popular part of the holiday program put on by the church's grade school children.
The weeks leading up to the concert involved walking from school -- only a block away -- to the church where we would practice singing songs and reciting our passages, all in proper order and with the necessary volume to reach the back of the church. How strange it was to be in church when there was no service being held. The echoes of more than one hundred children marching down the aisle to our assigned pews swirled around our heads and climbed to the second floor balcony where the church's large organ and pipes cast a disapproving look at this intrusion of disorganized chaos.
I don't remember much about earlier programs, but this year's 4th grade participation required telling the story of Jesus' birth, beginning with Luke 2 --
"And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be taxed. This was the first registration when Quirinius was governor of Syria. And all went to be registered, each to his own town. And Joseph also went up from Galilee, from the town of Nazareth to Judea, to the city of David which is called Bethlehem, because he was of the house and lineage of David to be registered with Mary, his betrothed, who was with child.
And while they were there, the time came for her to give birth. And she gave birth to her first born son and wrapped him in swaddling cloths and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn.
And in the same region there were shepherds out in the fields, keeping watch over their flock by night. And an angel of the Lord appeared to them and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were filled with great fear. And the angel said to them, fear not, for behold I bring you good news of a great joy that will be for all people. For unto you this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord."
Our part was to memorize and recite the verses then finish with the singing of "Hark The Harald Angels Sing."
(Truth be told, I always sang it using Harold's Angels, causing Mr. Follendorf, our 4th grade teacher, to search for the culprit in disapproval.)
It seemed like we were always memorizing parts of the bible. Every Friday morning I would stand in from of my teacher's desk and recite either a song or some new verse from the Old Testament. Fortunately, the Christmas passage was one I had heard before, not that I could recite it, but at least I understood what was going on. With some Bible passages, I didn't have a clue.
Slowly, but surely, kindergarten through third grade, recited their parts and sang their songs. In faithful Lutheran tradition, applause and enthusiastic support was kept to a minimum.
At last, the moment had arrived, and my classmates and I stood facing the church's alter, highlighted by a large statue of Christ ascending into Heaven. A beautifully decorated Christmas tree -- with tinsel and handmade ornaments --and a lighted star had been added to the front of the church for the holiday season.
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As we had practiced, everyone turned to our left -- never to the right -- to face the congregation consisting of parents, uncles, aunts and grandparents. Somewhere mom and dad sat quietly, watchin the second of four children performing tonight.
For a fleeting moment, I thought how strange the church looked tonight, the stained glass windows along the sides of the sanctuary -- usually so bright and colorful on a Sunday morning -- were dark and ordinary. The characters depicted in stained glass -- Jesus speaking to little children, Jesus walking on a stormy sea, and Jesus praying in the Garden of Gethsemane, among others -- appeared lifeless and pale. It was as if God had dimmed the building's natural and man-made beauty, to highlight our performances. Although I highly doubted our performance could hold a candle to Mary Magdalene finding an empty tomb on Easter morning.
But I've heard my father say Jesus works in mysterious ways.
Surprisingly things went pretty well, as periodic memory kicked in to help traverse the lengthy Bible passage. Parts I couldn't remember, I mumbled. I'd been singing "Hark The Harald Angels" all my life, so no trouble there. In mere moments, our part had been regurgitated and I was back sitting in the pews waiting for the upper classmates to finish their part. Immediately, the tension left my body and I could relax -- even my feet were feeling better. Karen Miller, a girl sitting next to me, was trying to contain a giggle, which immediately made me check my pant's zipper. Thank God THAT didn't happen.
One of the best parts of our Christmas program came at the end of the show. In the basement of the church, were wrapped boxes of candy for every school child. The fun was wondering which box of candy you were getting -- chocolate stars, chocolate-covered nuts or chocolate-covered raisins (my favorite). The not so fun part was waiting patiently as we noisily traveled down the aisle , waiving at relatives and finally finding mom and dad. We continued through the church narthex and vestibule before winding our way down narrow steps to the basement. The wait was excruciating, as we nudged past kids on our way to our mouth watering reward.
It was an innocent time, when my biggest fear in life was performing a simple program for my mom and dad. A time when people eagerly gathered in a darkened church to listen to the story of a savior born in Bethlehem, and to join in the singing of Christmas carols. A time when some of us still believed in Santa Claus -- before my older brother and sister spoiled the magic. Of simple Christmas toys, like electric football and Tonka tractors. Or of mom pushing us out the door early to sit in a cold, station wagon with dad so she could put our presents under the tree.
And a time when my behavior was still influenced by making sure I was on the Nice list, not the Bad.
The holiday season was always one of the best times of the year, and a big part of it was myself and my siblings participating on Christmas Eve. Rewards of candy treats certainly helped, but as the years would go by and my own children participated in Christmas programs at church, I never forgot the enjoyment that came from sharing our voices as shepherds and angels telling the story of our savior's birth. It wouldn't seem like Christmas without music of some kind.
And like a flickering candle, whose wick is at its end, the memory fades and brings me back to the present.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I give you String Ties!"
One of the band members, Larry Sebraneck, squints into the audience and says, "Hello, everyone, thanks for coming out tonight. It is so great to be back doing this show. After a rough time last year, we couldn't wait to get back on stage."
Larry rested his arms on his guitar. "As you can see, a lot has changed in the band since you saw us last. Our banjo player became a snow bird and left for Arizona, taking his amazing talents with him. Which was tough on the band. But, you know, we enjoy playing this music so much, that we couldn't let it go. It wouldn't be Christmas without it. So we found two of the best musicians around to play fiddle and banjo, Betsy and Rick."
The crowd applauds enthusiastically.
"Thanks again for coming to this little place of ours. We hope you'll like it."
He finishes tuning his guitar, while other members of the band are tinkering with a fiddle, banjo and mandolin. Larry Dalton, smiling while he leans against his standing bass, waits for the others, who are still talking to each other.
Eventually, the preparations are done and a hush settles over the audience in anticipation of the first song.
As the first notes and words of "Christmas Times a Coming" begin, red, purple, green and white lights wrapped around each performer's microphone stand, flash on. I look down the row of chairs and see everyone smiling and moving with the music -- their faces lit in reds and yellows. Doesn't matter if you're young or old, Democrat or Republican, American, Swedish or French, music is universally liked. It's the moment we've all been waiting for and a reminder the next two hours are going to be full of surprises, fun stories, biting retorts, amazing talent and wonderful songs.
Exactly what this crowd needs to get us past COVID and another long Wisconsin winter.
God Jul
Joeux Noel
Merry Christmas
