CHAPTER ONE

Tootin' with Ted

The Griswold Symphony was performing Beethoven's 9th in the park one blustery, October day. It was so windy, two tuba players had to tie their music to the stands. After playing their part in the first movement, and having two movements of rests before being needed again, the musicians sneaked across the street to a neighborhood bar.

There, they downed a few drinks, all the time listening to the orchestra. When they heard their queue, they tossed their money on the counter and stumbled across the road. A bit tipsy, they managed to make it back to their seats. They tried to untie the music, but the strings were too tight and the process caused them to topple off their chairs. At that moment the conductor noticed and thought to himself, "For heaven's sake, it's the bottom of the 9th, the score is tied, and the basses are loaded!"

Okay, it's a joke, and an old one at that, but it serves as an illustration. Tubas lend themselves to humor. They're funny. So are tubists. Big, awkward, and cumbersome. The instrument anyway. Along with bagpipes, kazoos, and Rodney Dangerfield, they get no respect.

Imagine a romantic scene with candlelight, roses, and strolling tubists. One would find a better atmosphere at McDonald's. No jail is complete without a harmonica. Replace it with a tuba. Picture Liberace without his Steinway, blowing a tuba instead. Okay, that works, but you get the picture. And if a picture paints a thousand words, Ted Trotsky is worth five velvet Elvises.

This is Ted's Opus. Like Martin Luther King, he had a dream¾okay, a nightmare.

Born to a middle class couple, in a middle class neighborhood, and the middle of three male children, Ted was the proverbial blade of grass between a rock and a hard place. His early years were uneventful. A big baby, even at birth, Ted continued piling on the poundage until he reached a strapping weight of two-hundred thirty three pounds. It was no surprise he was drafted to play the tuba, for who could picture such a portly boy with a piccolo?

Following high school, Ted found work bussing tables at Harry's Hamlets. He saved what he could of his meager earnings and tips, hoping to earn enough to further his musical education. His heart was set on playing for a professional orchestra. Unfortunately, college required money. Symphonies required ability. Ted had neither. But a failure is one who doesn't try, and what Ted lacked in talent, he made up in perseverance.

Never one to give up, Ted placed a simple ad in the Griswold Enquirer. Wanted: Musicians to start a jazz band. Contact Ted Trotsky at 555-444-3333, before six and after five.

When he returned from work the following day, his answering machine was blinking. Ted returned the calls, all four of them. Taking just their names and setting appointments, he cleaned his two-bedroom house for the weekend auditions.

At one o'clock Saturday afternoon, Ms. Gertrude Schulmeister arrived, accordion in tow. Although he wouldn't classify a squeezebox as a musical instrument, Ted kept his opinion and his disappointment to himself. If anything, he was polite. Respected his elders. And Gertrude was old. She qualified for AARP thirty years ago.

Ted offered to carry the accordion to the audition room, formerly a combination family-living-dining area. He reached for the handle and hoisted it over his shoulder. Ms. Schulmeister thanked him as she was having difficulty maneuvering the case and her walker, too.

"I appreciate you taking the time and effort to come here today." He reached to shake her hand. "My name's Ted."

"Fred?"

"No, Ma'am. Ted. Ted Trotsky."

"Speak up, Ned." Gertrude banged her hearing aid on the palm of her hand. "I must need new batteries. You're going to have to speak louder."

"I...was...just...thanking...you...for...coming...today," Ted shouted.

"I'm not deaf. Just hard of hearing. There's no need to talk slow, sonny. I can read lips. Just face me. Okay?"

"Can do." Ted spoke those words while removing the portable piano from its case, preferring the floor to Gertrude's pop-eyed stare.

"What you say? Canoe? Make sense child."

"Nevermind." Ted bit his tongue. It was going to be a long thirty-minutes.

He strapped the instrument around Gertrude who was bracing herself, using the top bar of her walker. She was a fragile thing, hunched over from years of poor posture and playing an instrument that weighed more than she did. Her white hair was thin and resembled a halo of haze. Rhinestone, cats-eye bifocals with thick lenses hung on the tip of her nose, like fingers clinging to a cliff. Any further down, they would tumble, and just in case, she wore a tarnished eyeglass chain.

Ted sat on the couch and picked up a clipboard. "Would you like to warm up first?"

"No need." Gertrude looked left to right. "Must of left my sweater in the car. Don't matter, but you could turn the air-conditioning down a bit."

It wasn't on.

"For my first piece, I've chosen, "Lady of Spain."

Gertrude began. Tapping her feet and swaying in sync with the melody, she mustered enough strength to squeeze the folds with only an occasional burp. Ted cringed and made a note on his sheet. Heard worse, but a tuba and an accordion?

Gertie finished and smiled. "Well?"

He fumbled for the right word. "Great," was the best he could do without a thesaurus.

"Thanks, but I don't need a break yet. I could use some water, though."

While he was fetching a glass and some cubes, Gertrude announced her next tune. "Tea for Two." It sounded like "Lady of Spain." So did her next three renditions, including one she composed herself. Ted drew a sigh of relief when the doorbell rang. He thanked Ms. Schulmeister and offered to help her to her car.

Jerry Katz made himself comfortable as Ted escorted the woman outside to her car. Ted couldn't believe the woman was still driving. Heck, the woman was so emaciated, he couldn't believe she was ambulatory.

 Gertrude pointed at a 1989 Caprice, but it wasn't necessary. It was the only car on the street with a dented bumper and matching hood.

'Call me Gertie' was grateful. Ed, she said repeatedly, was the answer to her dream, and did she mention that this was the best day she'd had in the past twenty years? Since Milton died, leaving her with six children to raise. On twenty-five dollars a week working at the Five and Dime? Ned was her savior, her fairy godfather.

"Life," she told Fred, "is filled with irony. You trade one dream for another, just to earn the right, for one brief moment to do what you desire. I'm dying. After all these years, I'm going to have my chance."

 Ted didn't want to hear anymore, but Gertie rambled on. A music career at eighty. Jed was her guardian angel, sent to make her last days worth living. Ms. Schulmeister promised to light a candle for him, each Sunday, at Our Lady of Perpetual Redundancy. He was a saint, manna from heaven, God's answer to all her prayers.

The longer she spoke, the worse Ted felt. How could he tell her tubas and accordions weren't his idea for a conservative, but hip, jazz band? He could no more break her heart than bludgeon his own¾with the new set of steak knives received at Christmas from his well-meaning great-aunt, Henrietta Blout, who he had great affection for, and who thought his being a vegetarian meant he was a pet doctor.

He waited until she was out of sight, making sure she didn't damage any of his neighbors cars parked along the street. When he returned to his apartment, Jerry was warming up. Playing bongos and bobbing his head side to side in time with the beat.

Oh, boy, he thought. Every band needs percussion, but why bongos? With a tuba and an accordion? He had already decided he couldn't tell Gertrude he didn't want her. A year wasn't all that long to make a dying woman's wish come true. But bongos? If bad luck comes in threes, I can't wait to beat the world record.

Jerry, 'the cool', Katz was a strange looking dude, dressed in a black turtle-neck sweater, black jeans, black socks, and black leather pumps with two-inch heels. As Ted stepped closer, to shake his hand, he noticed the make-up. Lipstick. Rouge. And then there was the pink yarmulke. Lovely, he thought. And so was his cologne. A mix of flowers and garlic. The scent made him sneeze and Jerry quit banging long enough to whip a white lace hankie tucked from beneath his sleeve.

Ted used the handkerchief to hide his amazement. Taught to be polite, he popped two ibuprofen and settled into the couch for the longest thirty minutes of his life. All Jerry left out of his set was the Bob-a-Loos.

"Marvelous. You're very talented. I never heard the theme from Gilligan's Island played quite that way. I'll call you when I make a decision."

Jerry slapped a business card in Ted's hand before leaving. "Cool. Real Cool. Can't wait for rehearsals. Just not on Shabbos, from Friday to Saturday, sundown to sundown. Oh, and the occasional holiday. Other than that, I'm free."

With a sigh, Ted closed the door and poured himself a shot of whiskey. Mr. Fifties, the beatnik, wasn't going to make the cut. Who ever heard of a band that couldn't play on weekends? He had two more hopefuls.

Both applicants proved as entertaining as their predecessors. There was Mary Margaret Shawnesey, a fifteen-year-old high school student who played the xylophone. She was quite the virtuoso. But with a tuba and an accordion? Not in this lifetime.

Last, and to his relief, was De'Wayne, 'from Swayne,' Pendleton. A six-foot-six basketball guard from the Detroit Pistons. De'Wayne was black. De'Wayne was ominous. De'Wayne played the ukulele, but not October through April and not on practice nights. Oh, and not during Ramadan and Kwanzaa.

Stuck with only an accordion player, Ted considered going solo but nixed that. He was about ready to abandon the whole idea when Fergus Shawnesey, delighted that his daughter was going professional, offered his restaurant as the band's first gig. Though Ted hadn't offered the position to Mary Margaret, it was obvious she left the audition with a different impression of what, 'I'll call you if I'm interested', meant.

Things could be worse, thought Ted. That following Sunday afternoon he found out how. Rabbi Katz arrived at his door. He didn't take too kindly to Ted's rejection of his son, and knew without knowing Ted's reasons--Jerry's unavailability to play on Friday nights and Saturdays, smacked of prejudice. Though the Rabbi admitted to little knowledge of the music industry, (a cantor could be considered a musician if one referenced the Al Jolson story, and if one considered singing "Mammy," music) was well aware of what did and did not constitute anti-Semitism.

Ted welcomed Jerry to the 'Toots'. Since his dreams of having a real jazz band vanished with having an accordion, a xylophone, and bongo drums, he also welcomed De'Wayne to the fold. Perhaps they could play circuses.

With that accomplished, Ted set about making a schedule. Creating the world was simpler and took less time. After going through the 'I can't' list, he was left with three possibilities: Monday nights from six to eight, Tuesday evening from ten to eleven-thirty, and Thursdays anytime after six-thirty. He picked Thursday and Gertie was forced to give up her bowling league, which she forgot to mention she had joined, but it didn't matter because she couldn't remember where she had left her bowling ball.

They arrived on their time, at eight o'clock. Gertie was a bit upset about hitting a mailbox and worried about the Feds arresting her for tampering with the US mail. After calming her down, everyone was ready to get started.

Ted passed out the scores. It took him a month to find and transpose the music for everyone but Jerry. He would have to improvise and Ted didn't give it a second thought. Anyone who could wear an angora sweater with plaid capri pants could be counted on to wing it. But an argument ensued over what type of jazz they should play. Shouldn't everyone have a say?

Ted shrugged. What did it matter?

Jerry banged on the bongo. "I think we should play, bebop."

"You would," said Mary Margaret, sticking her tongue out. "My vote is for swing."

Gertie seconded it. "I like that." And she began to sing, "Swing low, sweet chariot."

"That's gospel." Mary Margaret interrupted.

"And what's wrong with that?" DeWayne crossed his arms.

Thirty minutes passed and nothing was accomplished. Ted had to step in before the argument turned into a fistfight. "This is my band. My idea. Since there is no category, we will give it our own name. I've decided to call it Jazzy Jazz."

"That's a dance term," said Mary Margaret.

"I can dance." Gertie waltzed around the room, almost tripping over her accordion case.  DeWayne caught her before she landed head first in Jerry's lap.

"Give me a break guys. There is no such thing as a jazz xylophone, ukulele, accordion or bongo drums."

"You forgot tuba's."

"No, I didn't. The first jazz groups used tuba's to provide the bass because stringed instruments couldn't be recorded properly. Modern technology made jazz tubists extinct. I just wanted to be in the forefront of its Renaissance. But nobody is going to take our motley crew seriously. Truth is, this is a joke. I quit. All we need is a monkey grinder and we can play on street corners¾except for odd numbered days, alternating Tuesdays, and the Feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe Day."

Gertrude began to cry.

"Now you've done it. You've made Gertie cry." Mary Margaret patted the old woman's back. Jerry handed her a lace handkerchief.

"Listen man, why don't we start all over. Jazzy Jazz is fine with me. I'll even get permission from my coach to rehearse on practice nights."

"And I can get special dispensation from the B'nai Brith to play on Shabbos."

"Can you do that, Jerry?" asked Ted.

"No. But it sounded good."

Ted rolled his eyes. "This is it. Here's the music. Learn it by next week. Those of you who are sincere, show up for practice next week. Any questions?"

Gertie raised her hand. "I don't know any monkey grinders, but Mr. MacDuff, my plumber, plays the bagpipes."

As soon as the house was empty, before going to bed, but after banging his head on the wall, Ted gulped eighteen ibuprofens.  He fell asleep to the faint notes of an imaginary bagpipe bleating Amazing Grace, or was that Lady of Spain?

#

Shawnesey's Seafood, Sushi Restaurant and Lounge was located on Main Street next to a large paved parking lot, which was once a small park named Paradise. Easy to find, one only had to point out the neon sign, which featured a Japanese Samurai in a leprechaun outfit holding two sets of chopsticks.

The inside decor was equally confusing. Paper lanterns and silk screen dragons adorned the wall while red and green plaid cloths and vases of heather set a semi-formal table. Fergus Shawnesey wore khaki Dockers, a pinpoint Oxford shirt, and Italian penny loafers. Only his multi-colored plaid tie, hinted at his Scottish ancestry. He greeted the band at the back door and showed them to the broom closet where they could set their belongings.

Ichi, Mary Margaret's mother, bowed and excused herself. She was busy waiting tables in a vintage Iro-Utchikake wedding kimono of red, with gold peonies, chrysanthemums, ocean-waves, and phoenixes. All she was missing was a rainbow wig and bulbous nose.

Ted felt at ease. The 'Toots' (what he named the band members) couldn't have found a more fitting gig for their Thursday night debut. Only DeWayne had to cancel a previous engagement¾he was to be the Bingo Caller at his church's annual Tupperware and Tools, Exposition and Charity Festival.

Everyone looked smart in their white shirts and black pants, a last minute change in attire.

"You look great guys," said Ted.

Gertrude pouted. "We would've looked a lot better if Jerry's Uncle had come through with the costumes."

"I told you, DeWayne needed a fifty-two extra-long and anything over a size forty-six has to be custom-made. Just ask my uncle if you don't believe me. Red-sequined jump-suits aren't easy to come by. Now, if you had picked purple, or fuchia..."

"I still think we should have gone with the basketball uniforms. So what if you were able to get them wholesale. I could have gotten them free in exchange for advertising."

Ted shook his head. "Let's not let a little thing like our outfits spoil our gig. Okay? I think we look smart."

"Oh, that reminds me," said Gertie handing Ted a plastic Kroger's bag. "I have a gift for you."

"Another one? You shouldn't have. Your raspberry and chestnut angel's food cake with the prune icing was enough."

"I'm glad you liked it, but this is different. Something to distinguish you from the rest of us. You're the leader and everyone in the audience should know that."

Ted nodded. There was no way to say no. He opened the sack and pulled out a hand-crocheted vest. "Peacock-blue and chartreuse. My favorite colors. Thank you very much."

"Here. Let me help you with it." Gertie slipped the vest on. "Perfect. And I'll let you in on a secret. Guess."

Ted leaned over and whispered. "Is it edible?"

Gertie shook her head. "Of course not. Who ever heard of edible yarn?"

Ted quit holding his breath. Who ever heard of chocolate-coated door-knob covers? It was a fair question.

"I give up. Tell me."

"I'm making you a matching pair of pants. Just wish I had the time to finish it. Didn't have much notice."

There is a God, thought Ted, looking at the ceiling. "I look forward to wearing them. Can't wait. Shall we all head to the kitchen?"

The kitchen was the only entrance from the back closet to the main dining area. Ted opened one of the double doors and took a peek. The lounge and all the tables were filled to capacity. There was even a line behind the cash register.

"It's standing room only. I can't believe this. All these people have come to hear us. Let's do our best and show them a real good time."

Unbeknownst to Ted and his group, Griswold was holding its annual Billy Barty Fan Club Extravaganza and the local Holiday Hut, in conjunction with the restaurant, offered a package deal. Two free with ten. Meals, not rooms. Mary Margaret kept her mouth shut. She didn't want to spoil the excitement and magic.

Fergus took his place on stage and grabbed the mike. "Good evening. I'm delighted to see all of you. I hope everything is to your satisfaction. We have a special evening planned for you. In their first engagement ever, I'd like to introduce to you Griswold's own jazz band, Ted the Tubs Trotsky and the Toots. The one playing the xylophone is none other than Mary Margaret Shawnesey, my daughter. I'd like for you to give them a big hand.

Fergus clapped. Most everyone joined in. Ted took a deep breath and made his way through the tiny aisle between tables. Gertie followed by Jerry, DeWayne and Mary Margaret. Fergus locked his arm around his daughter's neck.

"Isn't she cute, everybody?" Fergus said giving her a noogie. "And she's only in the tenth grade."

Mary Margaret stomped on her father's left foot and took her place behind the xylophone. Ted bowed. The applause continued. He looked at his friends, for that is what they had become these past few months, and smiled. No matter what¾no matter if they were laughed at or heckled¾no matter if the only song Gertrude could play was Lady of Spain¾they were a success.

Now this story could end happy...

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