Nathaniel

Shockey

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December 17, 2008

My Priceless Christmas Gift from Gordon

“Nathaniel, there was something I wanted to talk to you about before tonight’s concert. I don’t expect anything to happen, but just in case . . . If I keel over, I want you to ask Dorothy to step in for me. She’s the alto in the front row, and she has conducting experience.”

“You’ll be fine, Gordon.”

“But just in case.”

Our church was about to put on our annual Christmas Vespers Concert, and our 70-plus-year-old interim choir director was bent over with fatigue. The day before the concert, he had been through a grueling two-and-a-half-hour dress rehearsal. It went late because some people weren’t there, some orchestra members were unprepared, and everything sounded choppy. Everyone involved was nervous. After the morning rehearsal, Gordon went on to direct another choir, which he had founded, in one of many tightly packed performances.

The next morning, the day of the concert, he arrived early to conduct the choir for two morning church services, after which he gave me his morbid backup plan as though he were discussing an F sharp. Then he went home to get a few hours of much-needed rest.

Everyone arrived an hour and a half before the concert, and Gordon made a point of reminding me of his just-in-case plan.

“I got it, Gordon. Stop talking like that. It’ll be fine.” I was mostly worried that we might suck.

During the pre-concert rehearsal, things didn’t sound much better than they had the previous morning. The cellos kept getting two beats behind during Handel’s “Rejoice Greatly.” The altos, who are usually the most reliable section of the choir, kept singing a D sharp instead of D natural during an a capella number. I was freaking out, and Gordon looked tired.

Finally the thing actually started. The first piece was the unaccompanied one and the altos actually sung a D natural. “Rejoice Greatly” was the second number, and the cellos never fell behind. I was shocked and little excited. But as I sat at the organ bench during a Scripture reading, Gordon sat down on a chair next to me. He was drenched in sweat. For a second, I stopped dreading all the mistakes I could potentially make and began to worry for my conductor. Every successive time he sat next to me his forehead was even shinier and he seemed to hunch over even more. But as one song after another passed us by, we never fell our on faces, and neither did Gordon.

We got through it and it was the best we had ever sounded.

Gordon and I were both given flowers during the ovation, which was a first for me, and I nearly cried. I can hardly remember feeling such relief. It was weird.

As my wife and I were leaving the church, I realized that I had yet to privately congratulate Gordon. I told my wife I’d catch up with her and went to find him. He was leaving, gingerly, and I told him how proud of him I was. We hugged, rather awkwardly, and I realized he was not altogether comfortable with full-blown hugs.

My wife told me later that she had talked to him after the concert. He had said something to the tune of, “Nate’s like the son I never had.” And once again, I was holding back tears. My picture of Gordon was finally beginning to clear up. He’s reserved face-to-face, but a secondhand gusher. That rather reminded me of my father.

The entire experience will undoubtedly go down as a highlight of Christmas 2008, and will be hard to top. It reminded me that Christmas is about giving, and giving is not about things. It’s about your time, your energy and your love.

Gordon gave nearly everything he had. And as an added bonus, he did it without keeling over.

Just as Charlie Brown’s friend Linus reminded him of what Christmas was all about, my friend Gordon reminded me of the best way to celebrate it. May we all be so lucky.

© 2008 North Star Writers Group. May not be republished without permission.

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