I
remember Miss Bobell, bless her dear heart.
She had been the church organist for decades and was a blessing to the
congregation, yes she was. I knew Miss
Bobell back in my college days, back before the war, when I was working at a
church in LA (Lower Alabama). She was
old school, which was really old back then, believing that order and formality
should prevail, even as sinners were flocking to the altar during revival time
to escape everlasting perdition and persecution.
Miss
Bobell presided over the organ loft with a refined and dignified air which
complimented the reserved and stately preacher, the venerable Dr. Graham. She listened to Handel while most of the
congregation listened to Hank Williams, and she tried, bless her heart she
tried, to instill a little culture into that southern flock whose musical
repertoire ventured little beyond Conway Twitty and Loretta Lynn.
Miss
Bobell had every reason to be proud, for she reigned over one of the few pipe
organs south of Montgomery. While the
organ itself was a fine instrument, installed by one of the great organ
companies of the north and pampered by Miss Bobell to maintain its melodious
integrity, the unwieldy pump that supplied the air flow had been overhauled by
the good old boys down at Leroy’s Machine Shop much to Miss Bobell’s
mortification. When the deacons saw the
estimate from the organ company up north (doing business with any company “up
north” was suspect in LA) they decided that Leroy could fix the motor just fine
at a fraction of the cost. The result
was that every time Miss Bobell turned on the switch there was a loud mechanical
ruckus following by a sucking “whoooooosh” as the air powered by Leroy’s
makeshift contraption invaded the delicate pipes of the organ.
Now
Miss Bobell was a woman of ritual and part of her regimented routine each
Sunday was to turn off the organ at the beginning of Dr. Graham’s sermon,
ostensibly so people could clearly hear the learned scholar without distraction. It would take place after the anthem which
she always accompanied with flamboyant dexterity. She would first look over the congregation to
bask in the glory of another musical triumph and then she would proudly take
her seat at the back of the organ loft.
Then, just as Dr. Graham was announcing his hermeneutical theme of the
day, she would hit the organ switch and there would be a noticeable “shwoooosh”
as the air escaped the instrument, much like the sound of air brakes releasing
on a truck or train. The sound was a
sedative to many of the faithful who would settle into their pews with their
eyes fluttering as Dr. Graham commenced on his laborious message in his
professorial monotone.
Miss
Bobell apparently also had the spiritual gift of discernment, especially when
it came to predicting the welcomed conclusion of the preacher’s discourse. She sensed when Dr. Graham was nearing the
end of the sermon, or when she felt it was time for the sermon to end regardless
of Dr. Graham’s intentions, for just as he was about to reach his conclusion,
even if he was in a rare moment of inspired glory, she would flip the switch to
engage Leroy’s pump resulting in the loud mechanical ruckus followed by the
sucking “whoooosh.” All over the
congregation heads would jerk and eyes would open as people glanced at their
watches before reaching for the books to sing the final hymn. Poor old Dr. Graham, with a lamented look of
defeat, would say a meek word in conclusion just before Miss Bobell launched
into her glorious final musical selection.
I look
back on those wonderful days almost half a century later and realize than it
took both Dr. Graham and Miss Bobell to make the Word of God complete. Dr. Graham may have put people to sleep, but the
content of his messages were rich in thought, deeply grounded in the Word of
God and powerfully true. Miss Bobell,
bless her dear heart, may have been eccentric and regimented, but she lifted us
up to the heavenly places with her glorious musical repertoire. But the power---the real power may have come
from the good old boys at Leroy’s Machine Shop.
They were the ones who stirred the church and woke the faithful from
their slumber, much like the Holy Spirit.
And
that’s the way God works, through the good old boys at Leroy’s machine shop
just as much as the scholarly Dr. Graham and the artsy Miss Bobell. I remember them all, especially Miss Bobell,
bless her dear heart!
