Crescendo

by Allen Cheney

  Fred held her gaze as all sound seemed to disappear. “What did you say?”

  “I said, you’re going to be an incredible father. Our baby is going to love you to the moon and back.”

  “Baby?” His head spun dizzily.

  “Baby,” Winnie laughed. “Due in June.”

  The news slowly broke through to Fred, and he was overcome with pride. He gave his wife a kiss, right there in front of his red-faced students. Then he turned to them and announced, proudly, “We’re having a baby. We’re having a baby!”

  The girls cheered, jumping up and down and showering the happy couple with the hose. The water trapped the dazzling sunlight, reflecting a rainbow of hues across the hood of the car. It may not have been stage lights or marquee signs, but to Winnie it was the most beautiful glow she’d ever seen. If ever there was magic in the world, this was it.

  With news of the pregnancy Winnie focused all her efforts on creating a nursery, attending numerous showers, and preparing a welcoming nest for their child. By June 13, 1958, she had suffered an excruciatingly long and painful labor—endured solely by the never-ending flow of nitrous oxide—to shuttle their beloved baby into the world.

  In the waiting room Fred joked with visitors who asked if he wanted a girl or a boy. “As long as the baby’s not ugly, I’ll be happy.” His twist on the usual wish for a healthy child brought humorous relief to the nervous wait, but when he finally was allowed to see his new baby girl, he had a moment of panic. It seemed his lighthearted jokes had caused an ill-fated consequence. In the row of round-headed infants, his newborn’s head had been distorted, stretched into a lopsided form with a sack of fluid swelling grotesquely beneath the scalp.

  “What’s wrong with her?” Fred asked the nurse in a panic.

  “Nothing at all,” she said with a smile, signaling an attendant to bring the baby out to meet the anxious father. “It’s not unusual for the skull to shift under pressure, especially during a rough labor like Winnie’s. This strong little girl of yours kept hitting the pelvic bone again and again for nearly two days. Plus, she’s got a little bubble of fluid beneath the scalp, but that’s nothing to worry about either. We call it caput. Very common.”

  Fred’s worst fears surfaced as he took his baby from the attendant’s arms. “Will she . . . will she be okay?”

  “Absolutely,” the nurse said and smiled. “Give it a little while. She’ll be as perfect as can be.”

  Fred ran his palm across the baby’s misshapen head. She carried a full cap of dark black hair, like her father, so long and thick that the nurse had pulled it back with a tiny pink bow. Now, as Fred held her, he no longer noticed the physical deformity at all. Even with the sac of fluid on her malformed skull, she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

  “She’s already perfect,” Fred said, moving to a chair as he fought tears. The baby’s big blue eyes held his, and whether she could really focus on him or not, he felt truly seen. More than that, he felt loved. A love like nothing he had ever known. As he shifted her in his lap, she reached for his hand, wrapping her tiny finger around his and holding with a fierce grip as if to say, “I’m yours.”

  By the time they were allowed to enter Winnie’s room, Fred had already developed a strong bond with his beautiful new baby girl. Together, the young parents named their darling daughter Allison Elizabeth in honor of their much-admired mentor, Madame Elizabeth Gilbert. As Winnie pulled her baby close, Fred stroked Allison’s tiny hand. His gold wedding band was nearly as big as her fist, and his heart surged with protective adoration. As he gazed into the eyes of his child and his wife, he felt a powerful wave of gratitude. He leaned close, delivering gentle kisses to Winnie and Allison. Then he whispered, “You are the we of me.”

  With a family of three, Fred and Winnie were feeling happy and settled in Columbus, where Evelyn Land had become Allison’s godmother and a loyal community surrounded the young family with love. They became involved in a large Methodist church near Fort Benning, where Fred played organ and served as choir director. His role in the schools continued to deliver the creative challenge he craved, and he became eager to build a more impactful music program for the kids of Columbus while also launching a television program to bring music education to a wider audience. When the newly constructed Richards Junior High School opened in 1961, Fred saw another golden opportunity. He took on the role of the school’s choral director, creating a new choir for seventh and eighth grade girls.

  Working directly with these adolescent singers proved to be a surprisingly ideal position for Fred. He was able to relate to their quirky personalities in a way many teachers failed to understand. And their talents blossomed. Soon the chorus began performing for school events and competitions. Then they started to receive invitations to sing at fairs and political rallies, ribbon cuttings and church revivals. They quickly developed a strong reputation for being the best in the state, and Fred continued to challenge the girls as they grew from grade to grade.

  As it turned out, another perk to leading the choir was that Allison was growing up in the company of Fred’s students, finding a real sisterhood. She often tagged along for the many practices and performances, and their father-daughter bond proved as tight as the connection Winnie and Allison shared.

  People in LaGrange had always expressed such high expectations for Fred and seemed certain he would head off to the big city “to make something of himself.” He certainly never imagined he’d be directing middle schoolers in Columbus. Yet the sounds he drew from them were heavenly, almost unnatural. He didn’t talk down to the girls. Instead, he taught them using the same methods his college instructors had used, achieving a level of discipline inconceivable for such young students. As a result, the loyalty they offered him was devout. They truly loved Mr. Allen, and even better, he helped them learn to love themselves.

  For most teachers this would be satisfying. But Fred was not like most teachers. His brain was always spinning, always searching for the next puzzle to solve. And so he began to wonder: If he could do this with a group of middle school girls, what could he do with a group of fully developed singers in New York? He had never forgotten the sound of that choir in Riverside, and he still longed to create music of that caliber.

  One day in 1963, as the school year was in its final weeks, four-year-old Allison was playing in the living room while Winnie was carrying a box of baby clothes to the attic for storage. She had just reached the second rung from the top when Fred came crashing through the front door, shouting, “Winnie! Winnie!” The young mother, terrified by the sudden commotion, nearly lost her balance as she rushed back down the ladder, fearing the worst.

  With her hair in a bandanna and sweating from the oppressive heat, Winnie ran toward Fred in a panic. “What? What’s happened?!” She saw no blood, at least. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

  Fred held an oversize envelope in front of his wife and said, “I can’t believe it. I’ve been accepted!”

  Once Winnie caught her breath, she followed Fred into the kitchen, confused.

  He was far too excited to sit down, and his sentences were flying faster than Winnie could process. “Union! I got into Union!” He lifted Winnie into such a big hug, her feet left the kitchen floor. Seeing the confusion on her face, he exclaimed, “Seminary! New York! I got into Union Seminary!”

  “What do you mean you got in?” She laughed, nervously, squirming her way back to the ground. “When did you even apply?” As Fred told her the details, Winnie went pale. “You applied without telling me?”

  Fred sighed, suddenly realizing Winnie had been blindsided. “Why would I have worried you with it? I never thought I’d actually be accepted.” He couldn’t stop smiling as he repeated, “Plus, I figured if I did get in, it would be a nice surprise.”

  “Surprise, indeed.” Winnie forced a smile. “I . . . I don’t know what to say.”

  Fred didn’t seem to notice her hesitation. Instead he glided through the kitchen, overj
oyed, repeating the good news as if he was still trying to accept it himself. “Can you believe it, Winnie? Union!” He waved the letter with enthusiastic celebration.

  When Winnie didn’t respond, Fred finally lowered his voice. “Aren’t you excited for me?”

  “Oh, goodness, yes. Of course I’m excited for you, honey. I’m so very, very proud of you! And happy. Yes, of course. I guess I’m just in shock. I mean . . . I didn’t know you were even considering this.” She read the letter again, sitting as she tried to process all it meant. “Fred, are you unhappy here? With our life?”

  Fred stepped toward the window, where he spied the neighbors washing their dog on the front lawn. The scene reminded him of the day he had learned of Winnie’s pregnancy. He looked at Allison, the physical evidence of years already passed since then. Had he missed his chance to see what he could do with his talents?

  “Winnie, I love our life,” Fred rushed to explain. “You and Allison . . . you’re everything to me. And I’m proud of all we’ve accomplished here together. You’ve helped me build an incredible choir, not only at school but at church. But I want to see what more I can do out there. Union is the best music school in the country. It’s not the kind of opportunity people walk away from.”

  Winnie stood, fighting tears. Around them were all the signs of a happy life. Allison’s tiny clothes, folded neatly in the laundry basket. A magazine of party ideas for her upcoming fifth birthday. An herb-basted brisket in the oven, roasting for dinner. A burst of bloom from the outdoor flower gardens, tended lovingly in the early hours before the sun took hold. Sure, they had once dreamed of New York and stardom. But that was before they had Allison. Since then, they had built the perfect life right there in Columbus, and Winnie had never imagined it wasn’t enough.

  She looked at her husband, trying to understand his desire for more. “What does this mean for our family?”

  Fred moved closer, wrapping her in his arms. “Well, I guess it means we’re moving to New York.” He kissed her forehead, gently, assuring her that he was with her and this was no solo gig.

  Winnie lowered her voice. “We’re so settled here, Fred. It’s a lot to leave.”

  “It is,” he agreed. “And we can always come back when we’re ready.”

  “But what if you don’t get a job here again? We were lucky to have all these pieces fall into place. It doesn’t always happen that way. Not with a career in the arts.”

  Fred held Winnie’s gaze and hoped his wife would understand. In the background “Because of You” played from the kitchen speakers, triggering a flood of memories from their college radio days.

  “Dance with me?” Fred asked, swaying his wife to the music. Together, they moved slowly, singing along quietly to the song that had meant so much to them at LaGrange. As the final verse came to an end, Winnie looked up at her husband with a kind resolve.

  Fred gazed into her eyes. “It isn’t every day a man gets to dance with the love of his life.”

  Winnie softened her voice. “It isn’t every day someone gets accepted into Union Seminary either.”

  Fred exhaled. “I know it’s a lot to ask.”

  “It is,” she admitted. “But what marriage doesn’t involve some level of sacrifice? Besides, you would do the same for me.”

  As Allison ran to them, weaving between their legs with her adorable giggle, Winnie added one final thought. “I’ll tell you what. I’m willing to give it a try. I’ll leave my family, my friends. I’ll take the risk for you, honey. Because I believe in you. And I love you more than words could ever say.”

  Fred lifted Allison between them, pulling them all together in a family hug. “I love you more, Winnie. I love you more.”

  “But Fred . . .”

  “I should have known you’d strike a hard bargain,” he teased, trying to lift any remaining worries. “What will it take? A pair of earrings? Frequent flights home to visit family? A flashy going-away party?”

  Winnie wanted nothing of the sort. Instead, she looked at her daughter and, seeing ten years into the future, tried to picture Allison navigating adolescence so far from her extended family, her supportive and loving community—Winnie could not imagine how her own life might have been without such a strong foundation. She was also remembering the wild sights she had witnessed in Greenwich Village and the chaos of the crowded subway, the crime in the streets. What had once excited her now drew a mother’s innate fear.

  “Fred, we work with the girls in chorus. You see how fragile they are at that age. Rearing a teenage daughter is going to be difficult enough, even here in Columbus, but it could be downright dangerous in a place like New York.”

  “It is your nature to plan ahead,” he said, laughing kindly.

  “You knew that when you married me,” Winnie said with a smile.

  “I just want to give it a try,” he countered. “See where music can take me. You knew that when you married me.”

  Another span of silence settled as Winnie shifted Allison to her hip.

  “All right, honey. We’ll do it. We’ll follow you to New York, and we’ll be your biggest fans. But please just promise we won’t stay there forever. We’ll move home before she turns thirteen. Deal?”

  To Fred, this was a no-brainer. Without any worry about so many years in the future, he stole one more kiss from each of his girls and said, “Deal.”

  Fifteen

  In May 1963, the stars aligned to send this young family off to New York City. But first they would be spending the summer in Atlanta.

  Fred had remained in touch with his Atlanta-based voice teacher, Ralph Erolle, a man who had introduced Fred to the city’s famous Theater of the Stars. This prestigious program at Chastain Park was sponsored by Fox Theater and brought in some of the most acclaimed talents of the day. Ralph had encouraged Fred to audition, and after grueling rounds of competition with more than three hundred performers, Fred had been cast as one of only eight chorus singers to tackle the challenging productions.

  Landing the coveted role proved to be both a tremendous honor and a major commitment. The entertainers were expected to perform eight shows a week and to master many of the latest musicals, performing acts from Wildcat, Music Man, and Carousel beneath the glow of the moon. The extra work would give the young family some much-needed money before heading off to New York for Fred’s studies in the fall. Plus, it would give Fred the stage experience he had been missing, not to mention the reputable Actors’ Equity card—proof he had officially become a professional.

  As if that wasn’t reason enough for Fred to be excited, a famed vocalist from New York City had been hired to direct Theater of the Stars that summer. In his fifties by this time, Emile Renan was a renowned American stage director who had garnered countless accolades as an operatic bass-baritone. Well established with the New York City Opera, he frequently performed internationally.

  Emile noticed Fred’s uncommon talent while they worked together, and the elder vocalist complimented the young singer for his rich vocal tone and natural ear. The two soon began sharing regular lunch breaks at restaurants on Peachtree Street, where Emile mentored the promising performer. He was not a big man, but he was fit and affable, with a little mustache that was always perfectly groomed to frame his warm smile.

  Being much older than the twenty-eight-year-old Fred, Emile was generous with his advice and encouraged the young performer to dream big. One night after a show, he walked with Fred through the broad outdoor amphitheater, chatting casually as they made their way beneath the haze of the fading lights. “You really do have it all. You know that?”

  Fred stayed quiet, but deep down he wanted to smile. Not because he needed adoration but because he had always felt significant loss in his life from his own father’s lack of understanding and encouragement. Here was Emile Renan stepping up to fill that void, telling Fred, You have something special, and I value that in you.

  “I’m serious. You’re a rare find, Fred. A true virtuoso. Tall, handsome
, a talented singer and pianist. Dancer too. And don’t tell me you don’t see it. I mean, every night, you’ve got the audience in the palm of your hand!”

  Fred, always humble, shrugged off the compliments and tried to shift the conversation back to his upcoming studies in New York.

  But Emile was persistent. “It’s true. A lot of people have one, maybe two star qualities. But you . . . you hit the jackpot.” He put his arm around Fred with fatherly affection.

  Emile had the charm and appeal of Clark Gable, with dark, pensive eyes and a penetrating stare that could shake even the strongest of souls. There was no easy way to ignore his incredible energy. He represented all Fred had ever wanted to be—smart, sophisticated, and successful—the absolute counter to the toxic male role models he had known from his own family. And now he was telling Fred that he could have it all too, if he wanted it. “Look me up when you get to New York. Let me connect you with the right people. Give you some lessons in my studio. See what happens.”

  The offer took Fred by surprise. By then he had learned that Emile was not only an opera powerhouse, he was an influential director and an esteemed voice teacher. This was not a man who had to ask people to take private lessons under him. This was a man with a waiting list too long to measure.

  With Fred a bit thunderstruck, Emile wrapped up the conversation with another jovial laugh. Patting his protégé on the shoulder, he said, “Give me the chance, Fred. I’ll turn you into the next Broadway sensation. Or, hell, Sinatra! The sky’s the limit, son. Trust me.”

  As Fred made his way home that night, his head was in the clouds. It wasn’t just a promising future in show business that had left him so dreamy eyed. It was the fact that Emile had called him “son.”