Ladies and Gentlemen...The Redeemers

by Michael Scott Miller

  When Bert dismissed the band, Jack came running over to Aaron, but Aaron explained that he couldn’t stay. Dave observed Aaron’s unusually downbeat demeanor. “Everything okay?” he asked.

  Aaron paused. “Yes, fine, it’s just…no, well--” The frustration was evident in Aaron’s face and his eyes were glassy, not quite teary, but teetering on the edge. “It’s just that I can’t believe it’s happening again,” he managed to get out.

  “What is?”

  “Oberlin.”

  “What does Oberlin have to do with this?”

  “I heard what Ethan said to you, you know, about me dragging down the band. It’s just like what happened at Oberlin.”

  Dave sent Jack into the house.

  “So you went to Oberlin?” he asked of Aaron.

  “Yes, believe it or not. But I never finished. The instructors said I wasn’t taking it seriously enough. That I didn’t work hard enough. But I was practicing! They just didn’t believe me.”

  “What happened?”

  “Early in my second semester there, I got a call to come to the dean’s office. Evidently several of my instructors had questioned whether I had the mettle to be there.”

  “Go on.”

  “They told me that I needed to work harder. My first semester scores weren’t that good, but I had attributed it to being a freshmen. I guess they hadn’t. Anyway, I was told that I had until the end of the second semester to get my scores up.”

  “And?”

  “And it didn’t happen. I was asked to pack my bags. So I came home and started working down on the wharf, washing dishes. That’s where Bert found me.”

  “Wow,” Dave whispered, “that’s a disturbing story.”

  “Yeah, so now I feel like it’s déjà vu. It’s just a matter of time until you guys give me the pink slip.”

  Dave nodded and pressed Aaron’s shoulder. “I wouldn’t start worrying about that yet. I think the guys like you. You can’t worry about what Ethan says. I don’t think he’s had a kind word about anyone.” Then he held up a finger. “However, I’m not sure that you’re giving it your all.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, be frank with me. How much are you practicing?”

  “I practice!” exclaimed Aaron defensively.

  “Do you have a drum set at your apartment?”

  “No, you know my drum set’s here. I can’t take it back and forth all the time. I use my drum pad in the apartment.”

  “Look, Aaron. I’ll give you a key to the garage. You can come here whenever you like. The garage is far enough both from my house and the neighbors that I don’t think you’ll bother anyone. Do yourself a favor. Just come and play. No excuses.”

  Dave let the exasperation he was feeling show. He knew deep down that once he stripped away the wonderful relationship Aaron was building with his son, what he was left with was an underachiever. A slacker, just as Ethan had said. “You know, Aaron,” Dave concluded, “I wish that Jack had half of your God-given ability.”

  “Aaron!” The conversation was cut short by the shout from Jack, who had tired of waiting and had returned. “You said you’d help me with my homework today.” The prior week, Dave had told Aaron that Jack was struggling mightily in his social studies class work. They were studying U.S. geography. Aaron had asked Dave if he could tutor the boy. Dave didn’t see any harm in Aaron trying so he had agreed.

  “Okay, okay,” Aaron said to Jack. He rubbed Jack’s hair playfully. He turned on the spry tone that adults often use when conversing with children. “Let’s go in the house and you can show me what you’re supposed to be learning.”

  Escorted by Dave, Aaron and Jack set up at the small, rectangular dining room table. Ann was preparing dinner on the kitchen counter nearby.

  “Let me see your assignments,” Aaron began.

  Jack pulled a folder from the backpack that lay under his chair and handed a stack of slightly wrinkled papers to Aaron. With few exceptions, the papers had checkmarks indicating that the work was correct. On several pages, there were little notes such as ‘Nice work!’ or a smiley face. One of the sheets had a line drawing of the United States and Jack had written in all the state names. Another had asked for the capitals of ten states and Jack had filled in nine of the ten blanks correctly.

  Aaron caught Dave’s eye. “I don’t get it.”

  “Come with me,” Dave said. “Jack, could you start working on tonight’s homework, please? I need to speak to Aaron for another minute.”

  Aaron rose from the table and joined Dave in the hallway. Dave spoke in a quiet tone. “You see, Jack can do the work. It just takes him much longer. He’s incredibly determined and methodical. Did you see that map?”

  Aaron nodded.

  “He used his textbook to copy the state names, one by one, onto that paper. And it took him well over an hour to do it. We try to help him, but he really wants to do it and learn it on his own. The problem is that he has difficulty absorbing the material. Once the exercise is complete, he is unable to spit it back out on the exams. He seems excited about you helping him, so maybe you’ll have some luck.”

  “Okay, now I understand. I’ll see what I can do,” responded Aaron who then returned to the table.

  * * *

  “Let me see your test results,” Aaron said to Jack.

  Sure enough, the papers which Jack handed Aaron were marked with F’s and D’s and occasionally a D+ or C-. Jack had evidently made it this far on the strength of his homework assignments, Aaron concluded.

  “You like music, right?” he asked Jack.

  “Yes,” Jack answered.

  “Let’s start with a little song. This is one I learned when I was your age.” He started singing, “Alabama, Alaska…” and continued through all the states. All the while, Jack sat there attentive and smiling. “…Wyoming.” Aaron finished. “See? I’ve remembered that for my whole life. Now this time, you sing with me.”

  Aaron wrote out the names of all the states in alphabetical order and the two sat there, singing together. “Now the country music version,” Aaron instructed and sang it with a southern twang, eliciting giggles from Jack. “Now the hip hop version,” Aaron shouted and shifted styles, motioning his hands like a rapper while Jack made beat box noises. When they finished, Dave and Ann clapped.

  It was getting to be near dinner time, so Aaron wrapped up the lesson. He instructed Jack to work on the song and told him he wanted to hear it after the next practice session. He also told him he’d teach him some cool tricks about remembering things about the states.

  Over the course of the next several weeks, the two continued to work together. Aaron would remain after the practices and coach Jack through his homework. Aaron had been an only child, and often wondered what it would be like to have a little brother. With Jack, he began to realize what it was like to emotionally invest in someone.

  Aaron used mnemonics to help Jack remember things like Dogs Play Near Golf Courses, My Mother Says New Violins Never Need Repairs to remember that the thirteen original colonies were Delaware, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, Georgia, Connecticut, Massachusetts, Maryland, South Carolina, New Hampshire, Virginia, New York, North Carolina, and Rhode Island. And through the songs, the word associations, and other learning tricks, it seemed as if Jack was making some progress. In any case, it was obvious that he took Aaron’s approach seriously as he worked to absorb the teachings.

  * * *

  In the band, Aaron’s drumming continued to be a sore spot. He had made a few trips to the garage as Dave had suggested, but only for an hour here and there. During a break in one of the sessions a few weeks after Aaron had overheard Ethan, Bert approached him. “Can I talk to you outside for a few minutes, Bongo Joe?”

  This was the one part of the business world that Bert surely didn’t miss. He enjoyed the creating – discovering talent, placing managers, working with producers. He despised the destroying.

  The two walked outside, behind the ga
rage. The bright sun shone on them, and both squinted as they waited for their eyes to adjust to the light.

  “Bongo Joe, this is hard for me to say, so I’m just going to say it straight out.” Bert took a deep breath. “I really like you personally. The band really likes you. But you’re not cutting it.” In the back of Bert’s mind, he could hear the pledge he had made to Charlie, what seemed like a lifetime ago, that he would address Aaron’s skill level if it came to impact the band. And it had.

  “Are you saying you’re kicking me out?” Aaron was visibly shaken.

  “No. Not yet, anyway. But we’re going to have to start looking at other drummers if you can’t pick it up. I know in the beginning that you told us you hadn’t played in awhile, so we hoped that with time and practice, you’d come around. After all, the audition in your apartment wasn’t spectacular. You know that.”

  Aaron nodded.

  Bert continued. “I just don’t see any significant progress being made. Everyone else is making strides. As the manager, these are the types of things I need to address. You know, as they say, it’s business, nothing personal.”

  “I understand,” said Aaron, pulling himself together. “I’ll work harder. Don’t worry. You don’t have to start looking yet. Can you give me a little more time? I really like being part of the band.”

  “I’m happy to hear that, Bongo Joe, but you need to realize that it’s not all about having fun. There’s work – serious, hard work – that needs to be done here.”

  Aaron returned Bert’s gaze solemnly.

  “Look, I can give you a little more time. That’s fair. I just don’t want it to come out of the blue if we have to make the hard decision. Consider this your friendly warning.” Then Bert gave him a smile and extended his hand. Aaron took his hand and shook it, and the two strolled back around and into the garage.

  That wasn’t the only conversation Bert needed to have that day. As the band members were packing up their instruments and saying their good-byes for the day, Bert approached Gene. “Can I walk you to the bus stop? There’s something I wanted to ask you about,” he said.

  The bus stop was a half mile away, and the two men started walking toward it along the neighborhood streets.

  “Gene. You haven’t said a lot, but I know you’ve got some thoughts. You’ve been in this business a long time. You’ve seen bands come and go. My question is, well, what’s missing here?”

  “You don’t think it’s going well?” Gene asked.

  “Do you?” Bert countered.

  “I’m not sure yet,” Gene responded in his soft-spoken, earnest voice. “You’ve cobbled together a pretty diverse group here, Bert. It’s gonna take some time to get everyone in harmony, to break down the barriers, to get chemistry.”

  “Go on.”

  “But there’s a lot of heart and soul in these guys. My gut still tells me you’re onto something.”

  “What about Bongo Joe? How much of our trouble is his drumming?”

  Gene gave a half-smile. “That’s a piece of it, to be sure, but I don’t think that’s the main issue.” The men waited at a traffic light, then crossed the street and headed north.

  “What is the main issue?”

  “I think we’ve got to get these boys out of the garage.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean,” Gene said, “where did you find Abe?”

  “Singing in the Montgomery Street subway station.”

  “How about Charlie?”

  “The subway at Sixteenth & Mission.”

  “Ethan?”

  “Okay,” Bert said, beginning to see the light. “I get it. But what about the others?”

  The two men had reached the bus stop. Gene halted. “Dave has spent his whole life in front of people,” he continued. “The subway ain’t exactly Lincoln Center, but it beats the hell out of playing in some garage for him.”

  The bus arrived, and people were stepping out and maneuvering around Bert and Gene. When the riders were done exiting, Gene stepped onto the first step of the bus and turned back toward Bert. “Think about it, Bert,” he said. “I think it’s time for a change in venue. These guys like to be in front of an audience.” The bus doors closed. Bert watched Gene give the fare to the driver and walk toward his seat as the bus pulled away.

  Chapter 9 – The Subway

  Gene’s message echoed in Bert’s head on his long walk home and all through the night. Is this the time to make a radical change, or is it better to patiently grind it out as we’ve been doing? How long can I keep the band together without a light at the end of the tunnel? He had asked Ethan to give him until the end of the school year to have something to show for his efforts. He knew how long he had there. But the others? There weren’t any rumblings of dissension yet, but Bert had learned long ago to anticipate problems and make course corrections along the way. If you waited until your ship sprung leaks, sometimes you couldn’t bail water fast enough. And what about Bongo Joe? Will our talk have any impact? Or do I need to find a new drummer?

  It felt great to have his mind fully engaged again, Bert thought to himself. He’d trade the troubles of his life on the streets for these new troubles any day.

  When he awoke the next morning, he had arrived at a decision and felt renewed with energy. He would follow Gene’s counsel. It was Sunday, an off day for the band, so he went down to the Powell Street BART station to scout out a spot. He had his eye on a large open space inside the main entrance, with the chrome and glass entrance to the San Francisco Shopping Centre, a massive indoor mall, just across the tiled concourse floor. All week long the area bustled with activity.

  Bert had some logistical issues to address there, and in short order, located electrical outlets used for the cleaning equipment that the band would be able to utilize for the instruments. He also arranged for the use of a storage closet in the mall to stow the band’s equipment.

  When Bert returned home, he called the band members to tell them to meet at the new location on the coming Tuesday. He called Dave first. “Dave, I’ve got some good news for your wife. She can have the garage back. We’re going underground!”

  “Underground?” Dave asked.

  “Yes. I’ve got it all arranged already. Gene and I thought that the band needed a change of scenery. Nothing against your garage, of course, but we thought it might help the band to get back to its roots by playing in the subway corridors. What do you think?”

  “Do you think we’re really ready to play in public?”

  Bert hesitated. “Truthfully, Dave, no, I don’t.” But you know what? I think these guys kind of enjoy being out there in public. Hell, you do too. And it’s not like we’re at some major arena. It’s just the subway. We can practice there in full public view.”

  “That would work for me,” Dave said. “And it will help keep the peace here with Ann, though I know Jack will be disappointed to not have the band here.”

  “Okay, then I’ll see you there Tuesday.”

  Bert made the round of phone calls to the others. Aaron was the only one with practical concerns, explaining to Bert that he couldn’t just leave his drum set disassembled in some storage room if Bert wanted him to keep practicing.

  “Hmmm,” mused Bert. “I have an idea. Why don’t you go ahead and get yourself a second set that you can keep near the subway?”

  “Buying a second instrument might be easy for some of the guys, but remember, I’m just a lowly dishwasher.”

  “All right. Tell you what, and this will show you how much confidence I have in you after our talk. How about if I front you half the money and you can pay me back out of your first few paychecks once we start playing paid gigs? You could get a used set.”

  “And if we don’t ever get those gigs?”

  “We will,” Bert replied confidently. “But just to ease your mind, you won’t owe me anything if that doesn’t happen. Consider it a cost of the band for me.”

  Bert made the offer not without worry. He had
scraped together enough money to keep the band afloat for a little while, but he had to keep these unexpected contingencies to a minimum. As much as his head told him to cut bait with Bongo Joe, his gut told him to keep the faith. And Bert always followed his gut.

  Aaron agreed to split the cost with Bert, who hoped the arrangement would help the drummer make a stronger commitment to the band. Sure enough, by day’s end, Aaron called Bert to say he was in possession of a perfectly serviceable, albeit slightly dinged and dirty, drum set he’d found advertised in one of San Francisco’s alternative weekly newspapers. It was amazing how effective Aaron could be when he applied himself, Bert thought.

  The band convened on Tuesday just as Bert had envisioned, setting up inside the main entrance between two large cylindrical support columns. To their right was the entrance to the mall. To their left, the outside world. The enormous face of a man on a backlit indoor billboard advertising cologne seemed to look on.

  “Look around, everyone,” said Bert. “See all the faces watching us with curiosity as they pass?”

  Sure enough, the mass transit riders all turned their heads as they passed the band’s set-up, no doubt curious at seeing a full ensemble rather than the more common solitary performer.

  Bert continued his sermon. “They are your audience for now. And believe me, they’ll let us know how we’re doing. If we’re doing well, you’ll see it in the smiles on their faces as they pass. You’ll see it as they linger and maybe stop and listen for awhile. So play to the crowd. They are our barometer.”

  Bert called to the drummer, “Bongo Joe, you ready? ‘Whipping Post!’ Four count!”

  Aaron smacked his sticks together and the band all joined in on cue for the Allman Brothers’ song. Ethan’s electric guitar work was deft, as usual, and filled the subway’s open space beautifully. Dave’s keyboard supported the melody and Gene’s pulsating base line bounced off the ceramic tiles. Charlie’s sax wailed. Abe crooned from deep within his soul. “Sometimes I feel….sometimes I feeeeeeel.”