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.
By
William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from "(Mc)Donald's Daily Diary" Vol. 35. Copyright pending
