MY GRANDDAD'S VICTROLA. Pts. 1-4

How come I can never remember that word? Every time, without fail, that I attempt to summon it, it remains stubborn and refuses to come out of hiding.

Perhaps it’s because you rarely hear that ‘made up’ word today.

…Victrola

My thirty-something year old mother, (she seemed so much older) packed my brother and me into the car and drove us over to Uncle Gordon’s house. We happened to be visiting my grandparents in South Georgia at the time. (Funny, how people use visits to a primary relative’s house as an excuse to visit more peripheral relatives which they would never otherwise visit).

At any rate, we pulled up into my uncle’s yard, were greeted at the door, swigged on soft drinks, and generally ‘shot the breeze.’ After a few minutes elapsed, my mother’s uncle asked if we would like to listen to a couple of records, and with a smile amended his monologue to explain that this wasn’t just any kind of record player. It wasn’t a record player at all; (though it managed to do something very much the same).

Leading my mother, brother and me into his study, he pointed to what appeared to be an antique cabinet on a Fife & Duncan table, stepped over to it, and lifted the lid to reveal the strangest set of knobs and shafts and protrusions I’d ever seen. And as I analyzed the machine, I noticed what appeared to be a hand crank on its right side; (similar to the crank on one of those old Depression-era cars, except smaller).

And with this my Uncle Gordon walked over to the non-descript set of nuts and bolts, (and gears and screws), fitted what appeared to be an 8 or 10 inch cylinder onto the main shaft, cranked it up, and lowered a needle into place. And viola! The strangest excuse for music I had ever heard wafted throughout the room.

I was simply captivated, and thought it was one of the most unique things I’d ever seen (and/or heard).

Fast forward five decades

The year is 2012 and my second cousin and I happened to be dialoging a bit on a social media site, and I mentioned her Grandfather Gordon, and having once seen and listened to his Victrola. And with this, Annette (for that is her name) made me aware that our common cousin, Barbara currently owned that formerly 50-60 year old musical instrument; but which by now was approaching or had surpassed the century mark. Of course, I was both surprised and bemused that this ethereal phantom of the past had reassumed corporality. I never expected it to go any further, and when our conversation ended, I got about my life and relegated the relic to the same mental shelf from whence it had been temporarily un-shelved.

However,

(always an interesting choice of words denoting the emergence of something unexpected)

a few years later, actually this very week, Barbara contacted me and informed me that she was ready to sell the Victrola, but only to another family member; as she wishes someone whose father or mother bears the Ring surname to serve as its caretaker.

It goes without saying that I ‘volunteered’ and immediately agreed to her asking price of $500.

Strange. No, Providential that I have been given the opportunity to purchase my great uncle’s 100 year old Victrola; but not just any Victrola, (properly referred to as an 'Amberola'). But, rather the very machine with which I became familiar as an adolescent, and now again, as a man entering the sunset of his life.

*Interestingly enough, since I wrote this blog, my Aunt Olline Ring Coombs made me aware that my grandfather, Earnest Ring, first owned the Victrola, and at some point gave, traded or sold it to his brother, Gordon.

VOICES FROM THE PAST

I wrote an earlier story about having once visited my great Uncle Gordon.

I had just turned 13, and my family and I were vacationing at my grandparent’s house in southern Georgia. As my mother, brother and I sat in my uncle’s parlor, he stood up, walked over to an unusual wooden box, lifted the lid, and proceeded to turn a crank on the side; (which reminded me of the old timey handle on the front of those Henry Ford Model T’s).

Suddenly, a black cylinder mounted on the inside top of the box began spinning, and the strangest music I’d ever heard filled up the room. I’d seen those old black and white films of Al Jolsen singing, and what I was hearing reminded me of his style of music and vocal characteristics.

For all I knew my exposure to my great uncle’s Victrola was a one-time experience; at least in terms of ever seeing and hearing his personal music box again. He was in his late 60’s or early 70’s, and I never expected to see him again. (And as it fell together, I never did).

However…

(One can always tell something unexpected is about to be revealed when this word appears on the written page).

However, a full half century later this former adolescent is easily as old as my dearly departed relative was at the time, and (strangely enough) I was recently afforded the opportunity to not only see and hear my uncle’s ancient Victrola again,

…but to purchase it, and provide it a place of honor in my very own home.

Did I mention my great Uncle’s entire collection of audio cylinders came with that old music box? (Well, they did). It seems these cylinders have a Plaster of Paris base, with the standard black plastic record coating on the outside. And of perhaps a hundred audios, the inner core of perhaps 2/3 of them are beginning to crumble; (which leaves me wondering if there is any hope of repair).

 

But as for the thirty or so cylinders which are still usable, once again I have been given the opportunity to listen to the strains of that ethereal old music coming out of the internal horn; tucked just behind a framework of metal and what I refer to as ‘speaker cloth.’

My uncle evidently enjoyed religious music, as thus far I have discovered more than a ‘handful’ contain this particular genre of hymns and spiritual melodies.

Yesterday, having pushed the audio cylinder onto the roller, I turned the crank 8 or 10 times, and flipped the switch. Suddenly, the familiar old hymn, “Rock of Ages” wafted through the speaker. At first, several male and female voices blended; ultimately metamorphosing into one female voice finishing the verse.

Strange, the Edison Amberola 30 player was patented in 1903, and according to a notecard which my uncle wrote out by hand, my particular version of the machine was originally purchased in 1917.

The owners of the surreally poignant voices have easily been dead and gone for three quarters of a century. No more will they walk their native soil, but rather have become part of it.

…However,

(there’s that word again)

they have left something of themselves behind.

And, would you believe it? In spite of the tiny cracks and pops which are part and parcel of such an ancient recording, and in spite of the decidedly English tilt of their repertoire, the tenor of their voices struck something deep inside of me.

Deep calling out to deep. A rather apt way of putting it, I think. They were here and I was not. I am here and they are not. And yet, they have lent me their voices, and have instilled something grand and lasting within me.

They have simply left something of themselves behind.

And for this I am grateful, (and intend to do as they have done before me).

   

THE FOUR MINUTE EVERLASTING RECORD

I recently purchased my great Uncle’s 1903 Edison Amberola, (erroneously referred to as a ‘Victrola’) and which was first owned by my grandfather; (having been purchased at Sears & Roebuck in 1917). Interestingly enough, I first heard it play over half a century ago, (and then forgot all about it).

The device is enclosed in a small cabinet, on top of which is a steel head and a stylus designed to play cylinder shaped audios; (or records as they were already known). Earlier today, as I was examining one of the small cardboard boxes into which the cylinders fit, I noticed some writing on the outside.

‘U.S. 4 Minute Everlasting Record’

And as I reflected upon the text, it seemed to me that the wording affixed to the box was almost prophetic; given that not only the player and the audio cylinders, and those disembodied voices remain, long after they who vocalized the words have gone on to their reward, but their cardboard trappings, as well.

On a similar note, the owners of the construction company for which I work once purchased several hundred red bricks which had been dislodged when the city paved the street upon which they had been installed.  Some of the bricks still bear the fingerprints of the masons who originally fired them; decades after the hands that made them and the owners of those hands were laid to rest in the loom from which they were made.

And more personally, my own father ‘left something behind.’ Well, to be sure he left plenty of stuff behind. His audio recordings upon which he spun those long since lived childhood stories. His family research. And hundreds of beautiful landscape paintings; some of which adorn the walls of my home.

And as is the case with these few foregoing examples, the creations are left to us; whereas the creators have passed from the earth.

Ultimately, however, not even the creations are eternal and will dissolve into the dust whereby they are composed.

Thankfully, this ‘ain’t’ all there is, and the redeemed have something to look forward to.

Scripture informs us that “For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son that whosoever believes in Him should not perish but have everlasting life.” (John 3:16)

(and)

“This life and the lust thereof is passing away, but he who does the will of the Lord endures forever.” (1^st John 2:17)

No, my friend. In spite of the assurances on that century old cardboard box nothing on this side of the heavenly realm is eternal, but like those ethereal voices on those old recordings is quickly passing away.

(Scroll down)

WALTZING IN THE NEW YEAR WITH THE OLD HOME SINGERS

As you can plainly see from the date of this story, it is New Year’s Day. And it occurred to me in the past several hours to ‘ring in the New Year’ differently than I’d ever rung it in before.

It so happens that I recently purchased a wonderful family heirloom. A cousin made me aware of another relative who owned an Edison Amberola, (similar to a Victrola); which surprisingly enough, my grandfather owned a very long time ago, and which ultimately ‘fell into the hands’ of my great uncle. If that were not enough, the latter of the two played this early version of a record player for my mother and me over half a century ago. (Needless to say, I was still in high school at the time).

Not only was I fortunate enough to purchase the Amberola, but my great uncle’s tailor-made cabinet, and over a 100 audio cylinders came with it.

Not ones to celebrate with alcoholic spirits or by surrounding ourselves with dozens of inebriated celebrants, like so many earlier New Year’s Eves, we…stayed home.

And like so many years prior to the one which we were now ending, I turned on the television, clicked my way through the channels, and thought to myself,

“Well now, let me see. We have Jennifer Lopez from New York City singing and dancing her way into our hearts, and wearing… the most bizarre gold ‘shimmery’ excuse for an outfit; which left little to be imagined.

And I said to myself,

“Self, there has to be something a bit more visually moral upon which to focus this New Year’s Eve.” And I summarily turned to a channel featuring Mariah Carey in Los Angeles.

Right there ‘in front of God and everybody’ Mariah strutted and shimmered and sang her way into some people’s hearts; albeit not my own.

(and)

Speaking aloud to no one in particular, (though my wife was seated just steps away), I exclaimed,

“Old Mariah must have bought her outfit at the same store where Jennifer Lopez shops.” (For I kid you not, their ‘lack of clothing’ was virtually identical, and they might easily have sung a duet; had they not been on opposite sides of the country).

And with this unwelcome development, I aimed the channel changer at my wide screen T.V. and clicked the scantily dressed, slightly past prime time performer into oblivion. 

 

Did I mention I had a backup plan? (Well, I did). No, I hadn’t changed my mind. Alcoholic spirits and the comradery of wild celebrants still hadn’t worked their way up the list of my priorities for the evening.

You see, in the past few days I came across one of the 4 minute audio wonders which had as its title, “Auld Lang Syne,” (by Robert Burns), and of course, I connected that old ballad with the approaching New Year’s celebration. Never a backup plan at all, for my decision to slip said cylinder on the roller, turn the crank (for what seemed like an eternity), and lower the needle had been premeditated.

As the notes of that old familiar ballad began to waft their way across the room, and as those dearly departed voices of those dearly departed singers rose in unison, I invited my wife to her feet. And taking her in my arms, we waltzed ourselves into the New Year.

By now, I had clicked the television back on to watch the Times Square ball drop, (and drop it did).

10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2

and

…1

And it suddenly occurred to me that my wife and I had been accompanied by a musical instrument purchased in 1917; (at Sears & Roebuck). Exactly 100 years prior to the New Year which she and I were at that very moment celebrating with one another.

Afterward

There was a time when these dearly departed, disembodied voices owned physiologies of their own in which they resided, and lived, and loved, and moved, and breathed; when they were, and we were not. 

I mused it was possible that in the entire world at that moment, no other couple had chosen a century old Blue Amberol audio cylinder with the music of “Old Lang Syne,” as sung by “The Old Home Singers,” to waltz in the New Year.

I like to think that my wife and I were in better company ringing in the New Year with the archaic voices of “The Old Home Singers,” (God rest their souls) than we would have been with Jennifer Lopez, Mariah Carey, or any of those other so-called recording artists of our time and ‘culture.’

By William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from "(Mc)Donald's Daily Diary" Vol. 40. Copyright pending

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