hobgoblinn (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hobgoblinn) wrote2008-06-05 08:49 pm
hobgoblinn) wrote2008-06-05 08:49 pm
Something Amazing, and some excitement
Last night Wee Hob and I got dressed up to attend the annual banquet for the Bishop's Choir. I haven't been as regular and faithful to the group as I'd like to be, and I was honored to be invited anyway. But the real honoree that night was an amazing fellow who has devoted the last 74 years of his life to this chorus. Here's the article that ran in the local paper.
The night began rather ominously, as we had a tornado warning and had to spend the first half hour in the basement offices at the local college where the banquet is always held. Luckily, I'd got a glass of wine just before the evacuation was called, and our beer-meister came with the cooler as we got settled in. When we were allowed back upstairs, we had a lovely dinner and Wee Hob was fairly well behaved, even though his best pal, the young goblin grandson of our fearless leader, was doing his best to come up with clever ideas to get them both into trouble.
They showed still photos, then a video of the choir's trip to Rome in the 1980s. There were recordings of Cliff from the 1970s, singing some of his signature solos quite well. And then the Good Monsignor presented him with a replica of the Pieta, similar to the replica that graces our Cathedral, a lovely token of appreciation from the Parish for an unimaginable 74 years of service. The Good Monsignor was quite gracious; in fact, he sat next to me at dinner and did not give me any reason to wish to hex him. He wasn't effusively friendly, but then, he's not that way with anyone.
Cliff's brief speech, hampered quite a bit by tightness of the throat and being so emotionally moved and overwhelmed by our outpouring of love, was very touching. We all sang with and for him, of course. He wouldn't be retiring now if it weren't for the fact that a couple of months ago he suffered a heart attack at mass and now can't get up the stairs to the choir room for practice, or up the winding stone staircase into the choir loft for mass.
I hope I am as gracious when it comes time for me to pack it in. You could tell it almost kills him, not to be able to sing with us any longer. But he's right, there does come a time when we have to accept our limitations. Still 74 years. He's right-- it's nothing to be ashamed of, and a feat unlikely ever to be equaled.
The night began rather ominously, as we had a tornado warning and had to spend the first half hour in the basement offices at the local college where the banquet is always held. Luckily, I'd got a glass of wine just before the evacuation was called, and our beer-meister came with the cooler as we got settled in. When we were allowed back upstairs, we had a lovely dinner and Wee Hob was fairly well behaved, even though his best pal, the young goblin grandson of our fearless leader, was doing his best to come up with clever ideas to get them both into trouble.
They showed still photos, then a video of the choir's trip to Rome in the 1980s. There were recordings of Cliff from the 1970s, singing some of his signature solos quite well. And then the Good Monsignor presented him with a replica of the Pieta, similar to the replica that graces our Cathedral, a lovely token of appreciation from the Parish for an unimaginable 74 years of service. The Good Monsignor was quite gracious; in fact, he sat next to me at dinner and did not give me any reason to wish to hex him. He wasn't effusively friendly, but then, he's not that way with anyone.
Cliff's brief speech, hampered quite a bit by tightness of the throat and being so emotionally moved and overwhelmed by our outpouring of love, was very touching. We all sang with and for him, of course. He wouldn't be retiring now if it weren't for the fact that a couple of months ago he suffered a heart attack at mass and now can't get up the stairs to the choir room for practice, or up the winding stone staircase into the choir loft for mass.
I hope I am as gracious when it comes time for me to pack it in. You could tell it almost kills him, not to be able to sing with us any longer. But he's right, there does come a time when we have to accept our limitations. Still 74 years. He's right-- it's nothing to be ashamed of, and a feat unlikely ever to be equaled.