Good Night, Sweet Prince
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Today was that sad, sad day. It had come at last. Ten o’clock that night would mark the end. The good old radio announcer, Tom Sudholt, Collette’s favorite throughout all the years, complaining about the weather and traffic and everything else, claimed that he was not ‘choking up’, and that it was merely sinuses. Collette wasn’t so sure about that… It was all so terrible. Like losing an old friend, really…
Back to a short week. Collette and Puck were home for the day. And it was now day ten of Donkey’s disappearance. As he had said Monday night, while Collette searched, “Where’s Donkey, Mama? Is he in Heaven? Maybe he’s not. Maybe he’s just on ‘acation (vacation) wiff his other Donkey friends.”
And in still further unfortunate news… The World Cup.
Collette decided to watch the match. Uruguay versus Holland. She wanted to see Forlán play again even though the loss felled them at the end. 2-3. And yet… Holland hadn’t got away with it so easily. Uruguay had surprised them all. But there was nothing like seeing Forlán take that goal in the first half. Beautiful.
Aside from that, Collette basically got nothing done. She and Puck listened to the radio all day. And Puck asking about from where everything came: “Where does syrup come from?” “Where does wind come from?” “Where do cars come from?”… And, “You’re a genius, Mama.”
And at dinner…
“What’s this, Mama?”
“An onion.”
“I can’t eat Onion!”
Mom dropped off the kids for math that evening before her Bible study. But it was worth little even trying to pretend interest. Until Collette mentioned the vigil being held at the radio station. And Mom immediately suggested that they go. Collette needed little persuasion. She looked up the address of the seminary. And a little over an hour later, she and Mom were on the road to Concordia.
Somewhere on the ride in, the final sign-off was made. And the last piece of music began.
Forty-five minutes later, they had arrived. In the warm muggy dark of the Saint Louis evening. It was so quiet there. A build of storms in the east. And the silent red flash of the radio tower. As they approached, they could hear the music of the final hour-long symphony. A small crowd had already gathered, and those who had not brought their own candles, received some.
And of course, Bing English was there. Of anyone Collette could think, Bing would be there. Loyal fellow.
Lightening flashed. A crack of distant thunder. Everyone was quiet, talking low, listening to the music, which was rapidly nearing its end.
It seemed only fitting, then, that the rain began to fall. The candles flickered and sputtered, but did not go out, as most of the crowd adjourned to the stone-covered porch. Collette slipped under the spare overhang of the brick wall and held her candle at her side where it occasionally sizzled from a drop of rain. And the music played on. Beethoven’s 9th.
Just at its end, minutes before, the rain ceased. And the crowd mingled together again around the music. And with the last powerful strains, Classic 99 was over, with the applause of the crowd to cover any residual static.
“Well done!” a man called out. “Bravo!”
There were a few brief parting words. Many thanks. The candles still fluttered in the passing of the cool rain.
“To a new station!” someone called out.
And there were more cheers, followed by the crowd singing Auld Lang Syne, as Collette knew they would. And then A Mighty Fortress is Our God. And then that was the end. But people stayed around to talk and to wait awhile longer. Finally, they left as well, Collette looking over her shoulder one last time, and off into the night…
“You and the others have been the best audience in the world. For the rest of my days it will stay with me, those happy memories of what we were able to do, once upon a time. Robert Frost once wrote: ‘Nothing gold can stay’… sadly true but thanks to you… the glow remains.”
~ Tom Sudholt