Ah, good morning! Good morning, and welcome to Sunday Griot! And Happy New Year! I’m glad to see so many of you up and around after what could have been a very late night last night. There’s bagels in the back, plus some crackers and cheese left over from the New Years’ party.
Oh yes, and strong black coffee if you need it.
Well, when you’re ready to settle in, grab a chair and I’ll tell you the story of The Chautauqua Speaker. And then, if you would, please stick around for just a moment.
One summer day in 1899 Reverend Alvin Brown rode into a small town in upstate New York. At the town’s livery stable he got off his horse, and then tipped the young man who would be taking care of his mount.
“See that he’s well taken care of,” he said.
The young man, about 12 years of age, looked at the silver coin in his hand and gushed his thanks.
“So,” the preacher continued. “Will you be coming to my performance tonight?”
“Performance?” the young man asked.
“Yes, my boy, I’ll be speaking at the chautauqua tonight.” Reverend Brown indicated a large tent that had been set up in the town square, easily visible from the front door of the stable.
The young man thought about this for a moment. “Will there be something in your speech for me?”
“I try to include something for everyone,” said Reverend Brown.
The young man said yes indeed, he would be going, and the preacher left to find his hotel room and get ready for that night’s performance.
Now, in this world where TV networks do their best to outdo each other by presenting competing blockbusters in the same time slot, somehow it’s nice to know that that sort of activity is as old as entertainment itself. For instance, on the night in question, a rival chautauqua organizer in a slightly larger town down the road had secured the services of none other than William Jennings Bryan, who had run for President in 1896 and would do so again in 1900. Bryan was a legendary orator, and naturally people flocked to see him. (It didn’t hurt that Bryan was a Democrat, and this part of the state was heavily Democratic and had voted overwhelmingly for him three years before.)
So when Reverend Brown got to the tent that night and took the stand, he saw only one person there with him. It was the boy from the stable.
“Hello there,” said Reverend Brown, “where is everybody?”
The boy looked over his shoulder to his left, then to his right, and finally up at Reverend Brown and shrugged.
“I see,” said the speaker. “Shall I go on with my remarks?”
The young man looked at him. “Well sir, I don’t know much about speechin’. In fact I don’t know much about anything except takin’ care of horses. But I do know that if I’m at the stable, I’ve got to feed the horses. Even if there’s only one horse to be fed.”
Reverend Jones thought about this for just a moment, and then responded, “Very well.” And he went into his speech. And oh, what a thing of beauty that speech was! He ranged from Genesis to Revelation. He strode from Homer to Shakespeare. He talked about world events and his family. He strode up and down the podium like a pacing bear, delivering his message.
Finally after about two hours he stopped and looked out at his one-man audience. “Shall I go on?” he asked the young man.
Once again the young man looked at him. “Well sir, I don’t know much about speechin’. In fact I don’t know much about anything except takin’ care of horses. But I do know that if I’m at the stable I’ve got to feed the horses. Even if there’s only one horse to be fed.
“But I wouldn’t feed him everything in the bin.”
This story is a favorite over at Global Griot (the radio show that was the inspiration for Sunday Griot), where they tell it three or four times a year. It’s a slightly long-winded way of expressing the old showman’s tenet “Leave them wanting more,” but told a bit more humorously. (Their version involves a traveling mullah; I moved it to a chautauqua to make it a little more American, not realizing that meant I was going to have to learn how to properly spell and type “chautauqua.”)
And now for an announcement: Sunday Griot is going on hiatus. Unfortunately my Sunday schedule has changed, and I can tell from posting this story this morning that I’m not going to be able to post every morning at the accustomed time. So, I’m going to take a few weeks off, see if I can figure out a schedule at a different time of day that will work better, and then hopefully come back with some more stories in a few weeks.
Thank you to all my regular readers, the people who encouraged me to do this in the first place, those of you who comment regularly and those who had told me Sunday Griot has been a part of their Sunday mornings. This is not, I emphasize, a GBCW; I’m not going anywhere yet, I’m just going to be doing other things on Sunday mornings for a while.
So, once again, thank you for reading, until we meet again may all your stories be happy ones, and as always, cheers to all of you.
Being a native New Yorker, I’ve always known the pronunciation, but will just have to trust you on that spelling. And I will trust you to find another time to post, while I choose another Sunday diversion.
I remember songs, not stories. Here’s one for you –
There’s a fog upon L.A.
And my friends have lost their way
We’ll be over soon they said
Now they’ve lost themselves instead.
Please don’t be long please don’t you be very long
Please don’t be long or I may be asleep
Well it only goes to show
And I told them where to go
Ask a policeman on the street
There’s so many there to meet
Please don’t be long please don’t you be very long
Please don’t be long or I may be asleep
Now it’s past my bed I know
And I’d really like to go
Soon will be the break of day
Sitting here in Blue Jay Way
Please don’t be long please don’t you be very long
Please don’t be long or I may be asleep.
Please don’t be long please don’t you be very long
Please don’t be long
Please don’t be long please don’t you be very long
Please don’t be long
Please don’t be long please don’t you be very long
Please don’t be long
Don’t be long – don’t be long – don’t be long
Don’t be long – don’t be long – don’t be long.
I’ll be waiting right here for you
Well, I for one, will miss y ou here. I do look forward to your Sunday stories. I will be hre for you to tell one too when you should decide to return. Happy New Year. Hugs…..
My Sunday portion of Griot will be missed, even though it’s sometimes late before I get here, but I’m here, and will remain so in waiting for your stories Omir.
Happy New Year and my best wishes that it brings all your good fortune you may hope for this year.
As always, it’s a pleasure to hear, peace friend, till the Griot Flows Again, here at the pond ; )