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Singing for the SheriffBy Lee Ann Alexander I wish you had been there at the sheriff's prayer breakfast this morning. It was over at the Knights of Columbus Hall right beside the landfill. The smell’s not really as bad as they make it out to be. After about the first 20 minutes, your nose gets used to it, and you don’t mind it at all. I had just arrived bright and early at 6:30 a.m. when our loyal road crew leader Chance called in sick, so I decided to take the liberty of setting up the sound system. Justin was there, and so we looked it over. “I think I can handle it,” I said, kicking a monitor with the toe of my shoe while glancing at the countless coils of wires. I added, “I installed my own CD player in my car.” “Are you talking about the same installation incident where you disabled your car alarm and air conditioning?” Justin ventured cautiously. “See, there you go getting hung up on details again,” I replied, setting him straight. “All you have to remember about electrical situations is that red is hot and black is not … or is it the other way around? Whatever, the point is, I can handle this.” “I’m really going to miss you,” Justin replied with a twinge of sadness as I picked up an odd looking cord. Ignoring him, I set to work with a diligence that comes from knowing music can bless the soul in a unique way. I was excited to know that through ministry and song, our band could single-handedly turn around the entire sheriff’s department. The band started trickling in slowly, as I plugged in wires frantically and tried to get speakers positioned. The low-ceilinged hall was filling up quickly, and a buzz went up as deputies mingled about, anxious to get started and eat. Liz leaned over where I was hunched down adjusting the mix and asked, “It’s time to get going. You almost ready?” “In a second,” I said. “Hurry up. We need to have a moment of prayer.” As it turned out, we were running too far behind to stop for prayer. Besides, I had the system together and the guys were supposed to know what they were doing. So I just rounded up the gang and we got to our instruments as soon as the sheriff finished blessing the food. I had tuned my guitar with the old yellow piano in the back of the Knights of Columbus Hall, so I was all in tune with myself and happy as a lark. I didn't bother to do a sound check and make sure that I was in tune with everybody else, but I figure you can’t always worry about little things. I gave the sign for the first song, and the drummer counted it. The minute we kicked it off, a sinking feeling settled in my gut. My guitar thundered out loud and clear-that is, clearly a half step sharper than everybody else. I'm not talking about just a hair out of tune; I'm talking make-your-hair-stand-on-end out of tune. It was awful. Well, we couldn't stop right in the middle and let me tune up, so in the middle of the Blake Jones Singers plugging away, I started trying to tune my guitar. I couldn't hear myself really, but I started turning knobs like crazy at least to make myself feel better. To make matters worse, the whole affair was being filmed live for the monthly gospel music television special. “You’re out of tune,” Miguel whispered when we finished the opener. “I know!” I whispered back. I had decided to race over to the equipment stand between songs and grab Miguel’s tuner. But Blake apparently had no idea that there was a thing in the world wrong. I had just set my guitar on its stand and was trying to nonchalantly get out of view of the camera when I heard him bolt out the first few lines of “Hallelujah Meeting.” I was in a quandary about whether or not to sprint to the equipment stand anyway or just go back and keep playing. The end result was that I got caught like a deer-in-the-headlight right in the middle of the camera. I finally decided to ease back over and pick up my guitar. It was at this point that my heel got hung in the bass player’s guitar cord. If I had tripped it would have been fine. But instead, I pulled the power to the bass. The loud pop wasn’t too bad, but when I tried to catch myself, I wound up in the bass man’s lap. (The cameraman tried to stifle his laughter so the camera wouldn’t shake too badly.) Somehow I made it back to my guitar-though the possibility of regaining my composure seemed lost at this point. I heroically began playing away, still trying to tune up. Finally, about the first chorus of the last song, I decided I was in tune-the bottom three strings anyway. So I really started to jam out. We were winding it up when all of the sudden, there was this loud explosion followed instantly by a horrible, blood-curdling mike squeal. I raced to the mixer and started pulling wires to no avail. At some point I found the power switch and shut that bad boy down after about ten good seconds. “Talk about a big finish!” Sheriff Taylor cried out happily, and the whole hall broke out in laughter and applause. Did I mention yet that all of this is being filmed? I couldn’t have been more embarrassed. I was angling my way around to sneak out the back door, but the sheriff raced up and put his arm around Blake and signaled to all of us to stay still. “I’ve known Blake for a long time,” he said proudly. “But who knew he could sing like that?” The crowd broke out in applause again. So I stopped and looked out and surprised myself to see people genuinely appreciative of the music. “Talk about an easy crowd,” I thought to myself. “I don’t know what it was,” Sheriff Taylor continued, “but I felt something when you folks sang.” A general murmur of agreement went up from the crowd. “Thank you for coming out,” the Sheriff finished up. As I marched to my seat dejectedly, I went over and over every mistake. I couldn’t believe everybody else didn’t notice. Blake was all smiles, and Miguel and Justin were grinning ear to ear. “Did you hear that?” Justin said excitedly. “Hear what?” I said, somewhat less than enthusiastic. “These people felt something when we sang!” he quipped happily. “Yeah,” I muttered to myself, “probably Chance’s $3,000 system blowing up.” The minister of the day jubilantly delivered an address about relying on God’s power for triumph. As he closed it out with prayer, I thought again about where I plugged in the monitor wires and the speakers. I was trying to remember if I had the bass amp on channel five or four when I felt a warm hand on my shoulder and realized the service was over. “Young lady, thank you folks for coming out today,” an elderly gentleman said, beaming down at me. “Thank you,” I said, pushing aside my sound system problems for the moment. “I lost my daughter two years ago, and things haven’t been the same since. But that song about the joy we’ll have in exchange for tears really got to me,” he said with an honesty that pierced me. He didn’t finish and just nodded as he turned to walk away. I couldn’t say anything either, and when Chance suddenly appeared, I didn’t even care. “Miguel called me, and I came fast as I could,” he said breathlessly. “Do you think it was something on the speakers or the monitors?” “I don’t know,” I said absently. He asked something else about it, but I was looking over the crowd. He poked my arm curiously, waiting for a reply. “You know,” I said. “Why don’t you take over the sound? I think I’m going to go meet some of these people.” “Okay,” he said and trotted off. I quickly whispered a prayer of thanks to Him for putting my mind back on what mattered. I found Blake talking with a young deputy. “Well, how ‘bout it?” he said with a warm smile. “I think He did it in spite of me.” Blake chuckled, “The funny thing is that I knew in my mind that the sound wasn’t right, but I could see those people were being moved, so would you believe that it really sounded good to me?” About that time Chance turned the system back on and the horrible mike squeal burst loudly through the speakers again. I just laughed and had Blake introduce me to the Sheriff.
ninetyandnine.com © 2002, Lee Ann Alexander --------- Lee Ann Alexander makes her home in Denham Springs, La. While being involved in many areas at her local church, she also is pursuing her M.A. in English Literature. At the risk of growing up, she is considering getting a “real” job in a few months when she graduates. |
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