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 (Amberola) 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).


Post-script - Since I purchased the ancient record player and the audio cylinders I discovered there was a tool to 'ream out' the inside of the cylinders; which I subsequently purchased. As a result virtually 100 percent of the audios can be played, and provide excellent sound. 


Also, since I purchased the Amberola both my aunts informed me that it was originally owned by my grandfather Ring, my great uncle Gordon's brother. Of course, it was an added bonus for me to discover this information.

(Mc)Donald's Daily Diary. Vol. 50. By William McDonald, PhD. Copyright pending.

If you wish to copy, save or share, please include the credit line, above