Welcome to Newtonberg (5 page)

“I’m getting there. Just hold on. This is all
important to the story, I promise,” said Cliff. “So anyway, the
first day of school comes, and Coach Franklin takes his first music
class. The kids are a bit confused, to say the least. And Coach
Franklin is, too. He struggles through the first class, and
afterward, he goes to see Gladys.

“‘I just can’t take it anymore,’ he told her.
‘I don’t know anything about music, I don’t know if those kids were
playing the right notes, and I don’t know what to tell them to do
to make it right if they were the wrong notes.’

“‘Just stick with it until I can hire a band
director,’ Gladys told him. Just as he was getting ready to leave
the office she handed him an envelope.

“‘Here,’ she said. ‘It’s for you.’

“Well, the envelope was from Garrison’s Mill
High School and was addressed to the Newtonberg High School Band
Director. He took it down to the field house and opened it.”

Cliff paused to take a drink. There were
cries of protest from the crowd of regulars.

“What did it say?” asked Big Tom Wallace. Of
course, he already knew what it said. He’d heard the story before,
but it was one of his favorites.

Cliff cleared his throat. “It said:

Dear Sir,

I have recently been informed that
Newtonberg High School now has a music class, and consequently, a
band. Congratulations, and may I be the first to welcome you into
the elite group of music-makers. We look forward to seeing your
band perform and especially look forward to your halftime
performance during the Garrison’s Mill -Newtonberg game this
September.

Sincerely,

Samuel F. Hutchins,

Band Director,

Garrison’s Mill High School

“Well, this was news to old Coach Franklin.
No one had mentioned anything about halftime shows. Besides,
halftime was when he was supposed to be in the field house, going
over the first half of the game with his players and planning the
second half. How was he supposed to do that AND oversee the band?
And besides, what were they supposed to do, just stand there?

“The next morning, he went back to see Gladys
and asked her his questions.

“‘What do you mean, what are they supposed to
do?’ asked Gladys. ‘They march. Surely you’ve seen marching bands
before.’

“‘Yes,’ said Coach.

“‘Well, that’s what they do. They march.’

“‘But
how
?’ asked
Coach.

“‘You were in the Army,’ said Gladys. ‘You
know how to march. Teach them.’

“So what could he do? Not much. Coach
Franklin went into his classroom the next day, told one of the boys
to grab a bass drum to keep time with and took them all down to the
football field. They spent the rest of the week learning how to
march, up and down the field. Back and forth, back and forth. Over
and over again until they got it right, everyone in step.

“He went to the library over the weekend, and
Madge Bennett helped him find books about marching bands and music.
He took them home and read them. He went back to school on Monday
and had a whole routine planned out. You see, what he realized was
that a band routine isn’t that different from a football play. It’s
just longer and set to music. So where before the X’s and O’s
represented players, in marching band routines they represented
trombones, and trumpets, drums, clarinets, flutes...”

“...tuba, saxophone...” chimed in Al,
again.

“...and so on,” finished Cliff.

“Now, through some fluke of scheduling, the
Homecoming game was the second game of the season, and their first
game was out of town. Being a new school, Newtonberg didn’t have
that many buses, so Coach Franklin decided that the band would only
play at home games, since there wasn’t enough room for the band
students, the instruments, and the football players on the same
bus. So that meant that the second game of the season would be the
Homecoming game,
and
the debut of the Newtonberg
High School marching band.

“The kids worked hard. I have to give them
that. They worked really hard. Practiced in school and after
school.

“Of course, there were people in town
talking. Saying how it was wrong to put these kids through all
that. We didn’t even have a proper band director, why should we
send them out to be embarrassed, blah blah blah. But the kids
didn’t pay them any mind. They kept working and practicing and
rehearsing. And when the day came, they were as ready as they could
be.”

Cliff paused at this point to take a drink,
giving Rick Murchison another chance to ask “But, what does all
this have to do with the football game?”

“Keep your pants on, Rick, I’m getting there.
So anyway, football season comes and things get off to a good
start. Newtonberg won the first game, out of town against Potter’s
Grove. Won it 21-7, if I remember correctly. Al’s son, Mike, was
the starting quarterback in that first game.”

“Sure was,” agreed Al. “Big Tom here played
defensive end.”

“That’s right,” said Cliff. “Almost forgot
you were in there, Big Tom.

“Anyway, the Homecoming game came and
everyone in town showed up. Even some from out of town. People came
from as far away as Houston and Dallas to see the game, old
townspeople who had moved away and made good elsewhere. And of
course, everyone from Garrison’s Mill came because of the school
rivalry.

“They had all the preliminary proceedings,
introduced the candidates for homecoming queen, introduced the
senior class...”

“...all ten of ‘em,” said Big Tom. A wave of
appreciative laughter rippled through the group.

“...the national anthem, and everything else.
The first half of the game was hard-fought. For every touchdown we
scored, which wasn’t many, Garrison’s Mill would score one. When
halftime came, the score was tied 14-14.

“Halftime came, and as is the custom, the
visiting team’s band went first. Garrison’s Mill High School’s band
was a model of precision. They matched each other step-for-step and
beat for beat. Their lines were straight, and every note was in
tune and on time. They got a standing ovation at the end, and not
just from their side. Newtonberg people were just as impressed, and
for good reason.

“Next they announced the Homecoming queen and
her court. During all this, our little band has been standing
patiently at attention on the other side of the field.

“Then the announcer got on the PA. ‘
And
now, ladies and gentlemen, making their debut, your Newtonberg High
School Marching Band!
’ And the crowd just erupted. People were
on their feet, cheering. You couldn’t even hear the music. If those
kids played one note wrong, we didn’t know it. And the cheering
didn’t let up until they ended their routine and left the
field.

“Well, the look on the faces of those kids
when they came off the field was priceless. They were exhausted.
They were crying. They were
proud
. They were
proud of themselves, and they were proud of the school and they
were proud of this community. And that’s something that money can’t
buy. Those kids came away that night with the greatest gift of all:
self-esteem.”

At that, Cliff stood up, put the towel back
over his shoulder, and went back behind the bar. The regulars got
up, got their belongings together, took their glasses to the
counter and made their way toward the door. Rick Murchison paused
at the door, dumbfounded.

“I don’t get it,” he finally said. “Who won
the game?”

Cliff smiled and made his way toward the
door. “I don’t remember. And I doubt anyone else does. Oh, sure, it
was in the paper and someone could look it up if they wanted to.
But that wasn’t what was important that night. That night, for
once, it wasn’t about football. It wasn’t about who the better
quarterback was, or which team had the fastest runners. That night,
it was about the kids, not about the game. It was about pride. And
that’s what made it the greatest game.”

And with that comment, Cliff turned off the
lights and locked the door.

The annual Newtonberg Christmas Festival is
held each December, usually on the second or third Saturday of the
month. The Festival has been held annually for over 40 years, since
the Widow Missus Harriet Johnson’s late husband spearheaded the
campaign for it when he was on the city council.

It starts with a parade beginning at John and
Joanna Swensen’s Café that makes its way through town and ends at
the High School football field, where there is a carnival set up.
There are games, craft booths, and plenty of other activities for
the kids. Afterwards, there is a dessert auction at the Café, with
the proceeds being divided between the youth groups at the three
local churches. And of course, a traditional Santa’s Workshop is
set up where the kids can meets Santa Claus and have their picture
taken.

It’s a well-known fact among the adults in
town that Mayor Al is Santa Claus, and has been since he took
office over twenty years ago. Al and his wife, Miss Gladys, have
always loved children. Since the Lord never blessed them with their
own, they have been surrogate parents/grandparents to just about
every kid in Newtonberg, and Al wouldn’t have it any other way.

This year, however, was different. It was Al
and Gladys’ fiftieth anniversary. Al had finally managed to take
her on the skiing holiday she’s always wanted, and they were going
to be out of town for the Festival. He appointed Rick Murchison as
Mayor pro tem, and the Widow Missus agreed to find a replacement
Santa for the festivities.

While it was the first time for Al and Gladys
to miss it, it was a real homecoming for several other people. For
one thing, it would be the first time little Philip Kelly would
visit the Festival. His mother, Emily, was bringing him to
Newtonberg to see Santa and spend a little time with his uncle and
grandmother.

* * * * * * * *

The Festival is nothing if not
well-organized. After 40 years, the Widow Missus has it down to a
science. There are people in town that have been involved almost as
long as the Widow Missus, and each year they take charge of their
own little part of it. Cliff Magnuson organizes construction of the
booths and tents for the Festival. The Swensens take signups for
the booths at their Café, help organize the parade and handle the
dessert auction. The city council and police department start
discussing the Festival in September, planning out the parade
route, street closures, and handling the publicity to let people in
the surrounding communities know about it. One year, they even
managed to get it mentioned in
Texas Monthly
.

Of course, the highlight for the kids is
still Santa Claus. While she has turned over the organizational
details of Santa’s Workshop to Janet Carmichael in recent years,
the Widow Missus has always handled the selection of the Santa
herself. For years, Santa was played by her husband. After his
death, she felt it a personal duty to make sure that the role was
filled by a fitting person, someone who loved kids and loved the
town. Mayor Al had been a perfect choice.

This year, though, she was coming up
short.

Cliff Magnuson had volunteered his services
almost immediately. While she liked Cliff and appreciated
everything he did for the Festival, the Widow Missus felt he’d be
putting too much pressure on himself by adding the role of Santa on
top of it all. There was always something that came up during the
Festival – an electrical outlet that stopped working, a tent that
started to fall. She depended on him to be available to deal with
things like that. It would be hard to explain to the kids why Santa
had to leave to replace a fuse.

John Swensen certainly looked the part, but
he was in the same situation. With the dessert auction and parade,
it would be too much to handle, even with Jo’s help. Besides, with
his distinctive Minnesota accent, even the smallest child would
know it was him as soon as he opened his mouth to speak.

That was the trouble: she kept finding that
either the men she thought of weren’t appropriate for the part (too
tall, too short, too young), or were already involved with other
areas of the Festival.

She was still trying to find her Santa when
she stopped by the library to collect the library’s November
subscription check for the
Sentinel
. Mike Baldridge, the
librarian, was talking to Cap Blakeney when she walked in.

“Morning, Mike. Morning Cap.” She smiled.

“Good morning, Missus Johnson,” replied Cap.
“I was just telling Mike that Emily is bringing Little Philip to
the Festival this year to see Santa Claus.”

“Oh, that will be wonderful,” she said.
“We’ll be sure to make multiple copies of that picture so you and
your Mom can both have one, too.”

Cap smiled. “Thank you! I’d like that.”

Mike handed her the check. “So, have you
found someone to play Santa this year since Al won’t be
around?”

The Widow Missus shook her head. “I’m still
trying to find someone. Everyone I’ve considered is either too busy
or the wrong size or the wrong age. It can’t be just anyone. It has
to be just the right person.”

She took a second and looked at Mike. He was
just about the right size. He was a bit young, in his early
thirties, but her husband had been about his age when the first
Festival had been held. And the kids loved him – Wednesday story
hour was always a big success.

Mike noticed her staring. He shook his
head.

“If you’re thinking what I think you’re
thinking…”

“Oh, come on now. Not even for the children?”
the Widow Missus smiled. “Not even for Janet Carmichael?”

Mike blushed, suddenly flustered. Cap
chuckled. He knew how Mike felt about Janet. It was another one of
those things he’d figured out.