Christmas Carols at the Bar

     We saw them standing outside the bar as we drove up. “Ah, the smokers,” one of us said.  When we got out of the car, the smell of cigarette smoke drifted across the ice-covered street.

     Should we really go into this bar?  But we had been there before, a year ago.  It was a nice place.  A noisy place, but friendly.

    As we passed through the smokers and our leader started through the doorway, one of the smokers, a young man said, “Here comes the real singers.”

     “What?  You know us?” I said.

     “Yeah, you are a barbershop quartet?”

      “How do you know that?”

     “I just know,” he said.

      “You work for Santa Claus?” I asked.  He laughed and I was the last of the four of us through the door.

     Inside a band was playing in the corner just to the right of the door.  They were on a small raised stage.  They had four or five microphones and speakers.  I didn’t really look at them as I threaded my way past the bar.

     “Let’s head for the back,” I said.  Three of us got the booth as far away from the band as we could.  It was a bluegrass band playing Christmas carols.  Folks at the bar were singing along.  Ted had disappeared.

    The evening began at 7 p.m. in the parking lot of SOJ church.  I was a bit early as was Ted.  We were sitting in his car perusing the evening’s repertoire.  A lady got out of a car and started across the parking lot in front of us.  She hesitated, looked at the church, which showed only security lighting inside, turned, looked again, finally started back towards her car.

      Ted stepped out of the car and asked, “Do you need me to help you get into the church?”  Ted has a key.

      “Well, I was going to attend the advent service tonight.”  Suddenly, I remembered the announcements from Sunday.  The final advent service wouldn’t be at the church.

     I leaned over to call through the open car door, “They’re meeting at the beer joint tonight, for beer and carols,” I said.  “I don’t know which beer joint, though.”

      “Oh,” she said.  “That’s right.  I forgot.”  She went to her car and was gone.  The other two guys pulled up beside us in their cars.

     We went on to our date at the country club singing for a Rotary Christmas party.  We had fun.  I hope the Rotarians did, too.  There was a real live Santa Claus there.  He was handing out presents when we got there.  He introduced us.  We sang.

     I got to ask Santa a question.  “How are you getting along with your new reindeer?

     “You mean Rudolph?” he asked.

     “No, Rudolph is one of the old ones now.  This one has kind of a funny name for a reindeer.  Olive, I think.  Her name is Olive.”  Santa shook his head.  The other guys in the quartet started muttering at me.

      Finally, one said, “There’s no reindeer named Olive.  What are you talking about?”

      “Well if there is no reindeer named Olive, why do we sing, ‘all of the other reindeer used to laugh and call him names?’”  Santa high-fived me.  We sang our last song and left for the church parking lot where we left our cars.

       A beer sounded good.  It was only a little after 8 p.m.  We stopped at a bar we had been to once before in a shopping strip near Lemay and Drake.

      Seated in our booth, the three of us waited for a waiter, debated whether we had to go to the bar and order for ourselves, or what.  Ted finally showed up.  “We’re up next,” he said.

       “Whattya mean?  You didn’t.”

       “Yes I did.  As soon as the band gets done playing this number, they are taking a break and we’re singing.”

      The band stopped playing and we worked our way from back of the building to the front.  This time I was looking.  First, I recognized John, the widowed bass player in the SOJ church’s bluegrass praise band.  He was standing by the end of the bar.  We shook hands and said hello.

      On stage was the fiddler and leader of the bluegrass praise band.  It wasn’t the praise band with him.  It was another band he plays with.  Then I saw the pastor and several other folks I recognized from having sung at SOJ a few times in past years.

      This was the beer joint where the final Advent service was being held.  No wonder Ted had an “in” with the band.  So that’s why the guy outside among the smokers recognized us, having just seen us three days ago when we sang at church.  Were all those guys out there smoking in front of the entrance Lutherans?  Was the lady there, the one in the parking lot I told I didn’t know which beer joint?

       My detective skills should be labeled “defective” skills.  Or my power of observation is limited.  Head-slap, Duh, and all those things.

      We sang three Christmas songs, stopped by the bar, got our beers and headed back to the back.  Ted wasn’t done. 

      In the other back corner, across the room, sat a guy wearing a Marine cap.  Nothing would do but we sing the Marines Hymn to him.  “But Ted, we can’t sing while the band is playing.”

      “That’s OK.  We’ll wait till they’re done with this number.”  When the band stopped, Ted got us up and led us to the booth where the Marine and his lady friend were trying to have a quiet supper.  We sang.  They thanked us profusely.  We went back to our beer and our conversation.

     The band was packing up. The Advent service was finished.  In the relative quiet, we hashed over the night’s work, the year’s work, what next year would bring.  Dick takes off for Hawaii in a week and doesn’t come back until April.

     We were down to a couple of swallows of our beer, and near the end of our energy for the day.  The waitress came over.  “The man in the corner wants to buy you guys a round,” she said.

    “No, no, thank you, thank him,” we all said.  We turned and waved to the Marine.  Then we went to his booth and he got up, shook all our hands, and thanked us again, and we thanked him for his generous offer.  We explained we still had a job to do tomorrow, sing for a church’s widow’s group.  Can’t stay out too late anymore.

      We filed out of a much quieter place than we had entered.  Outside, there were no smokers.  The bandsmen had all their gear loaded and were ready to depart.  There weren’t too many cars in the parking lot.  

     It was closer to 8:30 p.m. than 9 p.m.