Recalling Miss Bobell, Bless Her Dear Heart

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!