FICTION by: Gary A. Robertson
In the year 1911, way back in the hills of Western Kentucky a boy with “bad eyes” was born. His Mama, Malissa, was heartbroken when she saw the boy’s crossed eyes, but her husband, Buck, told her not to worry and that “The boy will make a fine farm hand.” That boy was Christened William Monroe, better know
to us as Bill Monroe.
Learning to read wasn’t easy for Bill, until he discovered that if he covered his right eye he could see fairly normally with the left eye. He secretly used this technique and slowly learned to read and do simple
arithmetic. Even later in life Bill could be seen covering that one eye when he had something to see clearly. Those crossed eyes caused Bill much pain and rejection and while difficult, Bill would use this as part of his basic character. The other boys and girls would pick on him and called him all sorts of terrible names. Finally, after 5 long years of being rejected by his “friends,” Bill chose to drop out of school. Bill was heard
to say, “Heck, boy, I got enough schoolin,’ ‘cause I can read and cipher!”
Everyone in Bill’s family was musical except for Bill’s Papa, Buck. He was one of those folks who could really care less about music. If it was around, well, it was fine, but if it wasn’t, well it didn’t really matter to
him. Like the rest of his family, Bill loved music too, but being the youngest he was kind of left out of things when it came time to play music. The only thing Bill could do was to pick ups his brother, Birch’s, Guitar
when he wasn’t around. Bill found he had a natural talent for music and learned the chords on the Guitar quickly. The only problem was when the family began to play music, Bill didn’t have an instrument to play.
Along about that time, around 1921, there were folks that went around to the various churches and taught what they called, “Singing Schools.” They would teach folks to sing the old standard hymns of the day using a technique called, “Shape Note” hymnals. Each note on the staff had a different shape, depending on the name of that note. That way folks didn’t have to learn standard musical notation; they could just sing the notes based on their shape. Now Bill wanted to go to one of those schools. but because he had dropped out
of school and because he had those crossed eyes, Bill’s papa wouldn’t “waste the money” sending him. Bill was heart broken; once again he had been singled out as “different” and it made him even more determined to learn to sing.
Buck Monroe was a logging man and made his living sawing down the large trees along Jerusalem Ridge there at Rosine. Bill loved to ride their old mule, Pete, back up in the ridges and snake those logs down to the sawmill. It was on those days back along the ridges that Bill would practice singing. He developed a style that was all his own that wouldn’t come to light until many years later. Bill had heard Jimmy Rodgers sing the Blues on the Victrola and loved to try to copy Jimmy’s style. Of course, it didn’t come out sounding quite the same.
One day Buck came to Bill and told him he was old enough to go with him on a lumber selling trip over to Owensboro. Bill’s older brothers had left to go up north to work at factories, leaving young Bill behind, which due to the hard labor required by the logging and lumber business, forced Buck to think of Bill as more of an adult than he actually was. Bill was excited and sat up on that wagon seat next to his Papa like he was the king of the mountain. That’s the way he felt, too. As they arrived in Owensboro, Bill was awestruck by all of the enormous stores and hotels. Bill was gawking at everything and noticed that one store had an announcement that Santa Claus would
arrive there the very next day. Bill, and been, secretly, wishing for a Guitar of his own, so he asked his Papa to let him go there the next day to see Santa. Buck told Bill that if he worked very hard and helped deliver the lumber that he would let him go.
The work was exhausting, but Bill was used to it and he and Papa finished the job in time to get a steak supper at one of the hotels. Bill felt even more of a man as he tied that big napkin around his neck and
plowed into that fancy hotel steak.
When morning arrived a light snow had begun to fall causing Buck to want to get going because, “You never know what the weather has in store this time of year in Northern Kentucky. He shook Bill awake saying, “Come on, William, we’ve got to get moving.” Bill sprang out of the haversack and hurried to get dressed. He was ready to go see this guy, Santa Claus, he had heard about. Buck would have nothing to do with it. He knew he had to get moving back toward Rosine. It was a two day trip by wagon and the weather was menacing. Bill was not the type of child to whine, but he was determined to see Santa Claus. He reminded his Papa he had promised, and so, begrudgingly, he told Bill he could go, but only for a short while.
Bill ran, skipping along the street and into the store. It was early and Santa was just setting up shop over in the corner of the store when Bill arrived. Bill rushed over to Santa to tell him about the Guitar he wanted. He remembered he had been carrying around a page from the Montgomery Ward catalog, so he got it out to show Santa just the Guitar he wanted.
On the ride home Bill never felt a single bump or rut in the road. He was a million miles away dreaming of that new Guitar. Buck noticed Bill’s far away look, but didn’t know why Bill was acting that way. Buck had a surprise for Bill tucked under the wagon seat and he hoped Bill would enjoy it.
The cool days of autumn gave way to the even colder grip of winter as Bill waited for Christmas to come. Finally Christmas morning arrived. Bill got up to find his usual stocking filled with nuts and an orange.
What a treat! Buck had also cut down a fine little fir tree from up on the ridge and Malissa had decorated it with bows and candles. Bill liked the tree, but he was looking for something else. Disappointment gave way to despair as Bill could not find a Guitar anywhere in the house. He was sitting in the kitchen, moping with his head in his hands when Buck and Malissa brought him a small package wrapped in a flour sack. Inside was a little Tater Bug Mandolin all tied up with a big red bow. Malissa said, “Bill, it don’t seem you have much interest in music, but we thought you might want to try learning something.” Bill’s disappointment over not getting the Guitar brightened into a broad smile. He promised his parents he would practice on that Mandolin until he was the best Mandolin player in the world. While Santa hadn’t brought the Guitar that Bill wanted, through Bill’s parents love, Santa brought much more. Bill hugged his Mama and shook his Papa’s hand and then took the Mandolin over by the fireplace and started working on
fulfilling his promise.
Bill kept that promise and in doing so, shared his love of music with the world.
Merry Christmas!
"The preceding story was originally published in the December 2001 issue of “Bluegrass Virginia.” Remember it is fiction, based loosely upon some factual details of Bill Monroe’s life. I would like to wish all of you a very Merry Christmas."
No comments:
Post a Comment