Pappy and the Band Leader
by Rod DiGruttolo
Saturdays were collection days on my paper route. I had to start early, before customers began to head off on whatever diversions they’d planned. I‘d go house to house collecting the subscription fee, about thirty five cents per week. “The Route Book” was touted as the most important item in the entire business experience. It was simply pages of dated pasteboard tabs designed to be torn along perforated lines and given as receipts. Though it was important, I felt interaction with customers was more important.
On collection days I strengthened working relationships with customers and occasionally established friendships. This was how I met and came to know Mr. Merle Evans, band director for the fabulous Ringling Brothers Barnum Bailey Circus.
On tour most of the year, the circus spent the winter months in Sarasota. Performers, managers, and various other members of the circus entourage resided here. Some maintained temporary winter homes, mobile homes, or rented houses, but many more came home to families who lived year round in the quiet neighborhoods of Sarasota.
When Mr. Evans was in town, he would often be found in the garage behind his home tinkering with some project or another. The garage didn’t have room inside for a car as it was crammed with a multitude of wondrous things. Beautiful, painted posters depicting famous trapeze artists, jugglers, clowns, colorful tents, bandwagons, and circus trains were pinned and tacked in a patchwork of brilliant color.
Black and white photos intermingled with the colorful montage and covered nearly every square inch of every wall. On collection Saturdays Mr. Evans often invited me into his fantasy world where I’d gawk, wide eyed and mouth agape, as Mr. Evans patiently pointed out selected items and regaled me with antidotes of the Big Top.
One Saturday while I enjoyed his hospitality, I told him my grandfather would be arriving in a few days for a visit. “Pappy” played the trombone and performed with a small-town band in rural Pennsylvania for many years. Pappy was a big fan of circus music and of Mr. Evans in particular. Each year during his visits we attended at least one, and more often, several performances of the circus. Pappy always reserved seats directly across from the bandstand and reveled in the music. He would all but ignore the performers and instead kept an intent eye on the band leader while he quietly hummed along and tapped his foot in rhythm with the music.
Mr. Evans smiled his usual broad smile and asked. “Why don’t you bring him around next Saturday? I’ll give him the fifty-cent tour.”
In my own way that’s what I’d been angling for, but hearing the invitation made my heart skip a beat. I remember stammering “Thank you” several times and nearly stumbled over my own feet while hurriedly leaving before he changed his mind.
The following week, Pappy and Grandma arrived on Thursday just as they planned, and I spent an hour each afternoon collecting weekly subscription fees ahead of schedule.
I’d chosen not to tell Pappy what I’d planned, but instead I asked him to go fishing on Saturday. He’d happily agreed because in addition to loving the circus and its music, he was an avid fisherman.
When Saturday morning dawned I was awake with the sun and anxious to go, but I was forced to bide my time in order not to be early. I dawdled over breakfast and took my time loading the car with fishing tackle. All the while Pappy grumbled slightly about the fish biting early. Finally, we set out, it was around eight o’clock. I told him we’d have to make one stop so that I could collect from a customer who’d not been home earlier in the week. He agreed, albeit reluctantly, and we arrived at Mr. Evans’ modest home on Shade Avenue a few minutes later.
“He’s usually around back in the garage.” I said in my most blithe voice. “Come on back with me, he’s a nice guy. You’ll enjoy meeting him.”
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Pappy followed; resigned to the fact we were getting a late start and probably wouldn’t catch the big fish that day anyway. When we rounded the house I saw several men in the garage. My first thought was that Mr. Evans had forgotten about the visit and would be too busy for Pappy and me. But as soon as he saw us he came out to meet us, he sported his usual friendly smile and reached out his hand in greeting.
Pappy recognized him at once and whispered hoarsely, “Do you know who that is?”
I smiled broadly as Mr. Evans shook hands warmly with Pappy, invited us inside, and introduced the men in the garage. They were all members of the circus band and each was famous in his own right. Pappy was thrilled. It was as if a dream had just come true.
After a few minutes of introductions, Mr. Evans said. “Your grandson tells me you play.”
“Oh… ah, I just toot a bit with a bunch of old friends.” Pappy humbly croaked – nearly speechless in the presence of his heroes.
“We’ve been waiting a while and our trombone player hasn’t shown up. Would you sit in for a few numbers?” one of the men asked. A smile on the man’s face and a sly twinkle in his eye as he winked in my direction, told me this was going to be a day my Pappy would never forget.
Mr. Evans retrieved a beautiful golden trombone from a black case on the workbench and my Pappy, truly a musician at heart, pulled a mouthpiece from his pocket. “Don’t go anywhere without it” he said as he inserted it into the horn.
For the next couple of hours my grandfather played music with men he most admired. After the jam session ended we walked back to the car – I walked, my grandfather nearly floated. At the car my Pappy hugged me hard and couldn’t hold back tears that welled up in his eyes. He asked that I keep this day special, something only he and I would share.
He never boasted about that day. In fact, he mentioned it only once more that I know of. Pappy died a little over a year later, he was unable to make another trip to Florida – although my grandmother continued to visit each year.
Five or six years had passed. I was preparing to graduate from high school and Grandma and I had a few precious minutes alone together. She told me then how Pappy had shared with her the details of that special day, and how much he cherished those memories, even in his final hours.
Even today, when I hear circus music, a picture of Pappy, his cheeks puffed out “tooting” his trombone with the light of pure joy in his eyes, appears clearly in my mind.
I Love You Pappy!
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Rod lives in Sarasota, Florida with his wife Betsy. A father, step-father, grandfather, and great-grandfather. He grew up on the West-Coast of Florida. Living in perpetual summer adjacent to beaches and warm, clear water has to be as close to an ideal childhood that any boy could ask for. Rod was an auto-mechanic for many years and served a stint of about eight years in the role of a law enforcement officer. Rod enjoyes writing stories based on life experiences, though most are embellished with a story-teller's bent to make them seem even more fun, exciting, or scary than they really are. |
Great story Rod... John Wolf
