Crescendo

by Allen Cheney

  “How about we move to New York, Winnie? I mean, really do it.” Fred held a serious tone and an equally thoughtful expression. “We’ll head up here after graduation. Give it our best shot. What do we have to lose?”

  Winnie beamed. She had always dreamed of a life on stage, and she could envision her aspirations coming true. But it wasn’t just her own goals of stardom that had set her eyes on the future. He could have suggested they move to the Arctic and live in an igloo for all she cared. She would have followed Fred Allen anywhere. As long as they could be together, secure, safe . . . she would be happy.

  Just as they were losing themselves in the magic of the moment, a guard shouted from behind them. “Hey! What are you two doing in here?”

  Fred grabbed Winnie’s hand, and they raced out the nearest exit, running full-speed down the grand staircase, as Winnie called out behind them, “Sorry, sir!”

  That afternoon they rode the ferry out to the Statue of Liberty and ate a hot dog from a street cart. They even mastered the subway, heading to Coney Island where they rode the roller coaster at sunset. They sat close together as the ride twisted and turned, shaking them into a riot of laughter.

  Fred and Winnie found themselves drawn especially to the bohemian vibe of Greenwich Village, where beatniks gathered to recite poetry in the coffee shops. Alleys held sketch artists and poets for hire. Music flowed from every stoop, the food was as exotic as the languages that fell from the tongues, and rules seemed not to apply to this restless group of free spirits.

  They had never seen a place more embracing of artists, musicians, and actors. Around the corner, the wide-eyed couple passed a group of street performers singing “Two Lost Souls” from Damn Yankees. On a whim, Fred and Winnie jumped in and joined the impromptu performance, feeling absolutely free.

  “We’ll live here, in the Village,” Fred said, as they danced in the street with perfect strangers. “We’ll make friends from all around the world.”

  “Artistic friends. People who think like we do,” Winnie chimed in.

  “And we’ll spend our lives creating,” Fred added. “Music. Theater. Always creating something new.”

  “Yes!” Winnie cheered.

  By Sunday they were still starry eyed. But before heading back to Chautauqua, Fred said there was one more place he wanted to see. An employee at the bus terminal pointed out the desired destination on a map, and together Fred and Winnie made the thirty-minute ride through the Upper West Side, out toward Riverside. There, on the corner of Broadway and 121st Street, Fred stood speechless as he gazed up at the oldest independent, nondenominational center of religious studies in America. Union Theological Seminary was constructed of sturdy brick and limestone, a Gothic Revival design that stretched for nearly two full blocks. Its intimidating spires rose high above the city streets, with a long path shadowed by the institution’s trademark tower. It looked nothing like the modern skyscrapers they had seen all weekend and seemed more like something found in Europe from at least a century earlier.

  Fred’s awe was evident as he surveyed the historic campus. “This is it, Winnie. The School of Sacred Music. All those songs we’ve learned at LaGrange? Many were composed right there in those buildings. And you know what else is in there?”

  Winnie shook her head, stumped.

  “Some of the world’s best organs. Madame told me they produce the purest tones she’s ever heard.”

  Just then majestic bells rang out from back near the Hudson River, where another series of spires stretched toward the skies. “That must be Riverside.” Fred was speaking faster, already heading toward the iconic church. “It’s got a Möller organ too, one of the largest ever built.”

  “I bet they’re about to start services.” Winnie hurried beside Fred as the bells continued to toll. “Listen!”

  Together the couple wove their way through the colossal entrance, noting the series of concentric arches in the doorway where sculpted figures formed majestic pillars of stone. Inside, the elaborate nave felt cavernous, with room for more than two thousand congregants, sturdy arches stretching high overhead. The pair threaded their way among fellow attendees to claim a spot on a back pew. Neither said a word throughout the entire service. As the organ hummed, its vibrating tones pulsed through the stones beneath their feet. Rich waves flowed through the pipes in layers, growing louder and louder as the choir added to the sacred sound, singing in perfect, powerful harmony that brought a hum to one’s bones. Winnie caught a glimpse of light in the corner of Fred’s eye. Sure enough, as the organ reached its powerful crescendo, a small tear pooled there, and Winnie sensed a shift in Fred’s mood.

  After the benediction Fred led Winnie through the emptying sanctuary. The service had lifted his spirit in the way only music could do. “What I would give to play an organ with that kind of sound to it. Or conduct a choir like that.”

  “Give it a few years,” Winnie said with a smile. “Anything is possible.”

  By Monday morning Fred and Winnie were back in Chautauqua in time for their final week of lessons, and the following weekend they were stepping aboard a Trailways bus bound for Georgia.

  Back at Hillcrest the Allen home provided a stark reminder of all the reasons Fred wanted to move to New York. Music had become an escape for Fred; creating, his refuge. The stage had not only given him a voice; it had long supplied a source of the much-wanted attention, approval, and affection he had lacked from his family.

  For Winnie, though, music was simply a joyful expression of her talents. While they now shared a plan to chase their dreams, Winnie sang because she had been loved; Fred performed because he had been deprived of love.

  When Fred and Winnie returned to school after their summer in New York, they were no longer two naive kids from Georgia working on random degrees. Now they knew where they were heading, and they were eager to finish their studies at LaGrange so they could move to the next phase. Together.

  On August 16, 1954, Fred celebrated his nineteenth birthday. To mark the occasion, he and Winnie had planned a romantic outing to Pine Mountain, a forty-five-minute drive from LaGrange. It was a beautiful area made famous when Franklin D. Roosevelt, seeking relief from polio, had built a small vacation cottage nearby. It was in that little white house that FDR suffered a stroke in 1945 and died. But not quite a decade later, Fred and Winnie climbed to the top of that mountain to celebrate life.

  After a picturesque hike and a lovingly prepared picnic, the couple drew close to one another as the sun sank low behind the trees. “Beautiful,” Winnie said, staring out at the majestic sunset. “When we get really old, around sixty-five or so, we should come back here and hold hands and jump off the mountain together. Go out with a bang before we become irrelevant.”

  “You? Irrelevant?” Fred laughed. The sky shifted slowly, moving from pastel pinks to tones of orange, pale as summer melons. As the earth kept spinning, the light soon reflected the color of plums across the horizon. Finally cloaked in the safety of a night sky, Fred counted to ten in his head, trying to steel his nerves.

  Inhaling deeply, he pulled the engagement ring from his pocket and placed it in Winnie’s hand. He did not get down on one knee. He didn’t even ask if she would marry him. Instead, he sat there close to Winnie and held his breath.

  Without a word, Winnie slipped the ring onto her finger. Neither spoke as the stars began to fill the sky. Moonlight broke from behind a cloud, catching Winnie’s glistening eyes. Then she leaned her head softly on his shoulder with gentle affection, and Fred knew her choice was true. She had chosen him.

  Fourteen

  Fred and Winnie were married on April 8, 1956, the wedding ceremony taking place in the beautiful sanctuary of St. Paul Methodist Church in Columbus, where Winnie walked the aisle in a classic white ball gown, long-sleeved and layered with tulle and lace. Nearly four hundred guests were in attendance, including the many close friends who had stood by Fred since middle school, despite his family’s poverty and trials.

&n
bsp; Fred made a dapper groom, dressed to the nines in his black bow tie and white dinner jacket. The couple could not have been more stunning, both blessed with good looks to match their charming personalities and outstanding talents. Winnie, too, was surrounded by her closest friends as attendants, and as her minister led the ceremony, she allowed herself to take it all in.

  Her parents hosted the wedding of her dreams, with flickering candles and fresh flowers, a towering cake and beautiful music. After the ceremony the president of LaGrange College gifted the newlyweds a week’s honeymoon in his family’s rural mountain cabin. It was a generous gesture, one that reminded Fred and Winnie yet again of the value of community.

  The world was alive with possibilities for the newlyweds. Elvis released his debut album that year, Buddy Holly recorded his first session, and Fred was invited to join Mensa, an international society for people with exceptionally high IQs. The talented couple continued performing, studying, and dreaming of their star-filled future in New York.

  By 1957, Fred had graduated with honors from LaGrange College, earning his bachelor of fine arts degree in music with a minor in German. Like many graduates in that era, Fred had no idea what to do next, but he continued dreaming of a bohemian life with Winnie in Greenwich Village, where he hoped they would spend their days creating music and sharing their talents with the world. If they worked hard, he believed they might even land a role on Broadway or with the Metropolitan Opera. Maybe he could even compose scores at the Union Theological Seminary School of Sacred Music or hone his craft with the professionals at Juilliard.

  But as summer progressed, the couple remained in LaGrange. In addition to producing their radio show, Fred had continued working for local churches while accompanying various vocalists around the region. Winnie enjoyed her full-time job with the Troup County Chamber of Commerce while singing alongside Fred for public and church events. They were getting by as well as any young couples do, but they had yet to find their lucky break. One morning, Winnie joined Fred in the kitchen and said, “Honey, I want to move to New York as much as you do. But it’s not happening right now. We’ve reached out to everyone we know there, and nothing has opened up. I think it’s time we consider another option.”

  “What kind of option?” Fred asked, wrestling a copy of the New York Times. He had once again been circling employment ads.

  “Well, right now, we just need to get settled,” Winnie said. She had given this plenty of thought. “We could save some money. Gain some experience, and then give New York a try.”

  Fred’s brow pinched. “I don’t know. Shouldn’t we just go ahead and move up there, give it our best shot? If it doesn’t work, then we can settle for something else.”

  “How do we do that, Fred? I’ve been thinking this through, and I can’t find a way to make it happen.”

  Silence brewed.

  Fred folded the paper and put it off to the side. “Isn’t that what we said we wanted to do? Rent a little place in the Village? See what comes?”

  “So we move up there and do what? Wait tables? Stand in line for auditions with thousands of others hoping to get lucky? We might as well head to a casino. It’s a gamble, Fred. And let’s face it . . . we don’t have that luxury.”

  Fred sat now, rolling the ink pen in his hand. “You’re right that we have nothing to lose, so isn’t that as good a reason as any to give it a try?”

  Winnie eyed the paper. She’d spent her entire life dreaming of stardom, picturing herself on the silver screen or the stage. Madame and others had insisted she had what it takes to make it in New York or Hollywood, but now that it was time to take the big leap, she was struggling to find a viable path. “I just think it’s better if we have a real plan, Fred. We need to keep making connections, take time to do some research. Build some savings. Then we’ll be better prepared.”

  “You really want to stay here?” Fred’s voice became tense, no longer able to conceal his disappointment.

  “Not particularly,” Winnie said, looking out the window of their humble apartment. “We both know there’s not much work to be found here in LaGrange. But Columbus has three hundred thousand people, Fred. Mother and Daddy feel certain we can find good jobs there.”

  Fred hesitated. Columbus surely was a better option than LaGrange, but it wasn’t what he had envisioned for their future. What had changed since he and Winnie had stood in awe in the cathedral or stared up longingly at Union and promised to return after graduation? “So you want to move to Columbus?”

  “I don’t know. I mean, it’s not what I wanted either, honey. But . . .”

  Winnie glanced at the framed photo on the entry table, remembering the four hundred well-loved guests who attended their wedding. “We do have family there. And so many friends.”

  “Maybe it doesn’t have to be New York,” Fred puzzled. “But I have to find a place where I can create music. I’m not myself if I don’t have that outlet.”

  If Winnie noticed the hitch in his voice, she didn’t say. And from that day forward, they set this new plan in motion. Winnie soon resigned from her job with the Troup County Chamber of Commerce, and after three and half years on air together, the couple ended their long-running program, Songs for You. Then they packed their belongings for the move to Columbus, one hour south of LaGrange.

  With the connections they’d maintained, Fred and Winnie were given a warm homecoming. One particularly helpful friend was Nell Langley’s boss, the internist, Dr. Dillard, who had gone out of his way to help the young couple get established. His son helped them find a rental duplex, and the doctor even offered Fred a chance to go to medical school. He, like everyone else, was impressed with Fred’s intellect, and he was convinced the young man would make a fine physician. Fred, however, knew he was not cut out to be a doctor.

  With medical school off the table, Dr. Dillard, who was also a member of the local school board, secured a job for Fred within the Muscogee County school system. It was a position that placed Fred in charge of music education for all the elementary schools in the district.

  The afternoon it happened, Fred joined Winnie on the Langleys’ front porch swing and told her the news. “Oh, honey. That’s wonderful!” She threw her arms around him, filled with joy. “I knew things would work out for us here. I’m so relieved.”

  Fred didn’t know what to say. It was a good job offer, but he was unable to silence the voice in his head. No matter how hard he tried to shake it, he kept hearing, It’s not Union Theological Seminary. It’s not Broadway. It’s not the Metropolitan Opera. It’s not New York!

  Winnie leaned back. “What’s the matter, honey? Aren’t you excited?”

  He gave it some thought before responding. “Grateful, of course. But excited?” He grew quiet again. He was young and creative and abundantly energetic. His mind had never really been challenged, and he still longed to head off for the Big Apple, where he hoped to make it big. “I’ve watched this happen to so many people, Winnie. They put their dreams on hold, and before they know it, it’s too late.”

  “We’re still young, Fred.” Winnie gave her best smile. “Besides, you said it didn’t have to be New York. Remember? You said as long as you get to create music, you could be happy. We both agreed to move here to Columbus. I thought this is what you wanted.”

  Fred shook his head. “Not exactly.”

  Winnie took his hand in hers and said softly, “Honey, I know this isn’t everything we dreamed of. But it’s a good start. In this position you’ll not only have a career in music, you’ll be helping children explore their own talents the way Madame and others have done for us.”

  With reluctance, Fred accepted the school position and began to shift from a student mind-set to that of a teacher. By the fall of 1957, he was earning a steady paycheck and decent benefits, so Dr. Dillard suggested the couple leave their rented duplex and purchase their first house. They found the perfect starter home, just a few miles from the Langleys, and with a loan from the ever-generous
Dr. Dillard, they signed the purchase agreement.

  Fred loved Winnie and relished seeing her so happy in her role as a homemaker. He also soon discovered how much he enjoyed teaching music to young students. As an educator, Fred proved successful. His classes provided a welcome and fun release from the more traditional courses the kids endured, and since he had been hired straight out of college, Fred could easily relate to the current trends and interests of the youth. Teaching was no easy gig though, and because Fred did nothing halfway, he poured immense passion into his role as their mentor. This often left him exhausted in ways he had never imagined, especially since he was also earning his master’s degree at Auburn University at the same time.

  Winnie noticed the way children responded to Fred. He had a natural gift of empathy, and his genuine spirit allowed him to connect deeply with people of all ages, adapting easily to various intellectual levels without ever making anyone feel less than him. He was charming and funny and talented and cool. The kids wanted not only to be around him, they wanted to be him.

  This was especially evident one Saturday afternoon when Fred, who had barely been teaching a few months, gave his scrub bucket to two young neighbors eager to help the couple wash the family car. One of the kids accidentally sprayed the hose at Fred, only to have him race around the driveway, pretending to be upset.

  Winnie chased after Fred, laughing. He let her catch him, wrapping her in his wet, soapy arms as she squealed. The children giggled as they covered the car in suds. Then Winnie said, to Fred, “You’re going to be an incredible father.”