Standing in the Rainbow Page 7

  “Honestly,” said Dorothy, “I don’t know why I go to so much trouble if you don’t know the difference. I could just stick a pot on my head for all you care.”

  When she left the room Mother Smith said, “Now you’ve done it.”

  Doc shrugged. “Well, they all do look alike, only this one looks like a pancake with some fruit and a dead bird on top.” Beatrice Woods, who was sitting at the table, laughed. Doc leaned over and spoke under his breath. “Count yourself lucky you can’t see it. You wouldn’t know whether to shoot it or eat it.”

  After Doc had gone back to the drugstore they all sat around the table talking about the upcoming trip. Dorothy sighed. “I just wish I could lose ten pounds before I go.”

  Mother Smith said, “I just wish I was eighteen again and knew what I know now.”

  Dorothy said, “What would you do differently?”

  “Oh,” she said, “I’d marry the same man and have a child, of course, but I would have waited awhile before I did it . . . maybe been a bachelor girl like Ann Sheridan or a career woman and had my own secretary, smoked cigars, and used bad language.”

  Dorothy and Beatrice laughed and Dorothy said, “Beatrice, if you could have any wish come true, what would it be?”

  Beatrice, whose favorite radio show was the Armchair Traveler, thought for a moment. “I would wish I could get in a car and drive all over the world and never stop.”

  Dorothy reached over and touched her hand. “Would you, honey?”

  “Oh yes,” she said. “Wouldn’t that be fun?”

  “It sure would,” said Mother Smith and quickly changed the subject. She could see that Dorothy was about to get emotional. What was doubly heartbreaking about Beatrice was that even though being blind had limited her life, she did not have an ounce of self-pity and they had to be sure she never heard any in their voices. And it was especially hard when the thing she wished for could never come true.

  A week later, the old adage about the boy who cried wolf once too often came true for Bobby when he woke up and claimed he couldn’t go to school that day because he had broken out all over in big red spots. Dorothy knew this was the day of a big math test that he had probably not studied for. Last year at this time he had claimed his leg was broken. The year before it was appendicitis. So she sent Anna Lee to his room for the third time with a simple message. “Mother says if you’re not up and dressed and out the door in five minutes you’ll wish you had spots.”

  “But I do!” Bobby protested. “Come here and look at all these big red spots all over me and I feel sick. . . . Come and look.” He pulled up his pajama top for her to see. “Look at these spots, they’re getting redder by the minute, and I feel sick and I think I have a temperature, feel my head.” But Anna Lee ignored him and said as she left, “Stay in bed—I don’t care, I hope you do get a whipping.” Bobby got up, mumbling and grumbling to himself, and put on his clothes and went to the kitchen to find his mother, who promptly handed him a banana. “Here, eat that on the way to school.”

  “But, Mother—” he said.

  “I don’t want to hear it, Bobby. Now you go on before you’re late.” He mumbled some more under his breath and stomped down the hall and out the door, slamming it behind him.

  At about 2:00 that afternoon Bobby’s teacher called.

  “Dorothy, I just wanted you to know that I had to take Bobby down to the sick room because he was all broken out in red spots. Ruby says he’s come down with measles and needs to be quarantined.”

  Dorothy was alarmed. “Oh, no. Tell Ruby I’m on my way to get him right now, and thank you for calling.”

  Dorothy could not have felt any worse and Bobby played the part to the hilt. “I told you I was sick, Mother,” he said in a thin voice and by the time Anna Lee got home from rehearsal, at 5:30, Bobby was propped up in his bed like a king, his every whim catered to. His bed was covered with loads of new comic books his father had brought home for him from the drugstore. He had already been served ice cream, two Cokes, and a 7UP, and his mother stood by ready to do his slightest bidding. When Anna Lee walked into the room, Dorothy looked at her daughter with stricken eyes. “Your brother has the measles—the poor little thing really was sick.” Bobby lay back and smiled weakly for her benefit and waited for Anna Lee to apologize. But instead of an apology she looked at him in horror and said, “Measles!” and ran out of the room to scrub her hands and face.

  She was terrified of contracting a pimple, much less the measles. She had a performance to do. She was president of the Drama Club this year and was in the upcoming school play. It wasn’t until Nurse Ruby assured Anna Lee that she could not catch the measles twice that she consented to go anywhere near him. Even then she wore gloves and a scarf over her face. She could not afford to take any chances. Not only was she in the school play, she was the lead!

  Mother Smith, Jailbird

  UNLIKE HER SON, Doc, who was easygoing, Mother Smith was a thin feisty little woman who had been quite a beauty when she was younger. Born in Independence, Missouri, right down the street from Bess Wallace, who eventually married Harry S. Truman. He and Mother Smith had once played the “Missouri Waltz” together on the twin pianos, and she often remarked about the president, “I met him on his way to greatness.”

  Mother Smith had always been a free-spirited woman, long before it was fashionable; she said you could not be born and raised in a town called Independence and not have it affect you. And it must be true: She had been one of the state’s early suffragettes and in 1898 she, along with a group of her college girlfriends, had marched on Washington to fight for votes for women and had been arrested for disturbing the peace. This is a story Bobby and Anna Lee loved to hear over and over. “They sure threw us in the old hoosegow that day,” she would say, then laugh and add, “Your grandmother may be a jailbird but we finally got the vote!” And although she was already in her forties at the time, she had been the first woman in town to get her hair bobbed. She had also visited a speakeasy in Kansas City, gotten a little tipsy on a teacup full of bootleg gin, and had played a jazz tune on the piano. But since she played organ for the First Methodist Church she did not spread that one around.

  Mother Smith had small, dainty feet and was proud of them and liked to show them off. She owned over thirty pairs of shoes. And if Bobby got his curiosity from her, then surely Anna Lee had inherited her love of shoes. Just last week Anna Lee had gone downtown on Bargain Day and had spotted a pair of black-and-white saddle oxfords in the window of Morgan Brothers department store she was dying to have. But of course of all the shoes in the window those were the only ones not on sale. She had already spent her entire allowance buying her prom dress and was broke. For the next week, she was busy racking her brain trying to figure out how she could earn the money and living in fear someone else would buy them before she could. Every day she would go down and stare at them but she was having no luck until a few days before Doc and Dorothy were to leave for the convention in Memphis and Mother Smith suddenly had to go back to Independence to look after her sister, who had fallen and broken her hip. Even though Bobby’s measles were practically over, Dorothy did not feel she should leave town with him still sick. She was still a little nervous about either of her children being ill, but to everyone’s surprise Anna Lee immediately volunteered to stay home the entire weekend and baby-sit Bobby and look after Princess Mary Margaret for the price of the shoes, if she could get it in advance. Nurse Ruby said she would come over and check on him every day, and Jimmy assured her he would look after both Anna Lee and Bobby, too. So with much coaxing from everyone Dorothy decided to go after all.

  For the next three days Bobby knew that Anna Lee was his captive slave. He spent them propped up in bed, listening to the radio, reading comic books, and barking orders for Cokes, root beers, ginger ale, ice cream, and anything else he could think of, while poor Princess Mary Margaret, a worrier from birth, wandered from room to room looking for Dorothy, clearly wondering where in th
e world she had gone and if she was ever coming back.

  Doc and Dorothy had arrived at the Peabody Hotel in Memphis for the pharmaceutical convention on Friday night and the next day they were having a lovely time visiting with all their friends, unaware of the disaster in the making behind the scenes. In room 367, just down the hall, Norvel Float, the entertainment chairman for the big awards banquet, was fit to be tied. He had just been informed by telegram that the singing duo Willy and Buck, also known professionally as the How-Do-You-Do Boys, whom he had personally booked eight months ago for that night, had gotten into a fistfight over some woman in Shreveport, Louisiana. Buck had broken Willy’s nose and run off to Chicago with the woman. Needless to say, they had canceled at the last minute and Norvel Float was left holding the bag with 723 pharmacists who would have no after-dinner entertainment. He immediately got on the phone and frantically called every booking agent in the area. But they had nothing. Not a single tap dancer, singer, comic, or even accordion player was available for that night. He even tried to get Tommy Troupe, the man who did birdcalls and was terrible at it, but was informed that Tommy had died a month ago. As a last-ditch effort Float took a chance and called one of the local radio stations, WRCC, located upstairs on the eighteenth floor of the hotel. The man there was not encouraging. He said all they had to offer was a traveling gospel group that had appeared on their station that morning at 6:00 A.M. and was still in town. Norvel hired them immediately over the telephone, no questions asked, sight unseen. The man on the phone hesitated a moment and then asked, “Are you sure you want them? They’re kind of raw.”

  “Listen, mister,” said Norvel. “I’m desperate. At this point, I’ll take anything I can get. Just have them here by nine-thirty.” He hung up a happy man. He had no idea what or whom he had just booked; he was just relieved to have something that could carry a tune.

  The banquet that night was a splendid affair. Doc and Dorothy and all the other druggists and their wives were decked out in their finest formal attire. When Doc went up to receive his award, amid much applause, he looked so handsome and distinguished in his tux with his silver hair glistening in the spotlight that after he came back to the table Dorothy whispered to him, “I’m married to the best-looking man here.”

  He laughed and whispered back, “You’re just saying that because you’re stuck with me.” Later, after all the other awards had been given out, the emcee for the evening came out and read what Norvel Float had hastily jotted down on a service napkin backstage:

  “I hope you all enjoyed your dinner and congratulations to all the winners. And now, on with the show. Tonight we are lucky enough to have with us, all the way from Sand Mountain, Alabama, the famous Oatman Family Gospel Singers . . . and here they are, straight from their successful appearance on WRCC’s Yellow Label Table Syrup Gospel Hour to sing some of your good old southern gospel favorites.”

  At this point the curtain opened, revealing the five Oatmans, a mother and father, two boys, and a girl. The mother, seated at the piano, a two-hundred-pound woman with white skin, her jet-black hair in a bun, without makeup, and wearing a homemade lavender dress, suddenly and without warning attacked the unsuspecting piano and took off from there, one chubby hand banging out the rhythm while the other banged out something else. The small upright seemed to be jumping up and down, fighting for its life, as she pumped away at the foot pedals. And again without warning the large older man, the two younger men, all in matching suits, and the young girl who had been standing motionless sang out at the top of their lungs, “HAVE YOU HEARD THE GOOD NEWS?”

  There was not a person in the room that could not help but hear the good news. Minnie Oatman would see to that. Hers was the strongest voice in the group, a deep whiskey tenor so powerful it was said she could knock the paint off the back wall when she really let go. Those that did not care for her voice simply said she was loud. Over the next half hour the group ripped right on through “Glory, Glory, Clear the Road,” “Every Time I Feel the Spirit,” “Mansion on the Hill,” “Tell Mother I’ll Be There,” “Some Glad Day,” and “When I Reach That City.” As they sang away, the pharmacists and their wives, particularly those from New York, Boston, and Philadelphia, sat in the audience, stunned, while most of the southerners nodded and smiled and tapped their feet. But the Oatman clan seemed completely oblivious to the audience one way or the other and continued on with rousing renditions of “Hang On, It Won’t Be Long Now,” “What a Day That Will Be,” “I’m Climbing Higher and Higher,” and ended with a song that Minnie proudly informed them she had just written that very morning while sitting in the hotel coffee shop having breakfast. She said, “It’s called ‘Can’t Wait to Get to Heaven’ . . . hope you like it,” and threw her head back and proceeded to sing out with full-throated joy.

  I’ll climb up those crystal stairs

  And run down that ivory hall

  Right up to that throne of gold

  Because I know Sweet King Jesus

  Will be waiting for me there.

  Oh I’ll know Him when I see Him.

  I’d know Him anywhere.

  His wounds have turned to rubies.

  Where thorns once did dwell

  Diamonds now sparkle in his hair.

  Can’t wait to get to Heaven

  Oh I’ll be so happy there

  To leave all this pain and sorrow.

  All my struggles will be lifted

  No more earthly burdens to bare.

  Can’t wait to run up those crystal stairs

  And down that ivory hall.

  Can’t wait to shout . . . Hallelujah!

  At last my trials are over

  ’Cause Sweet King Jesus will be there!

  When she hit the final E-flat at the end of the song and held it, many people in the room heard the ice in their glasses crack. Some singers sing at the top of a note, some at the bottom, but Minnie Oatman had perfect pitch and always hit the note dead center with the accuracy of a silver bullet. More than a few in the audience still had a ringing in their ears long after the curtain closed.

  The Oatmans Are Coming

  IT HAD BEEN a lively show, to say the least. When it was over Doc commented to the man next to him, “I’ll say this for them: I never saw folks look more forward to dying in all my life.” But Dorothy had thoroughly enjoyed the show. She had heard gospel music before but she had certainly never heard it sung like this. What the Oatmans may have lacked in polish and style they certainly made up for in enthusiasm. She and Doc were not particularly fans of gospel but she knew that a lot of her listening audience out on the farms loved it. While most of the other banquet attendees began stumbling out of the room in a daze, headed for the bar, not really sure what they had seen and heard, Dorothy headed backstage to find the Oatmans and compliment them on their performance.

  When she finally found her way backstage they were still packing up their sound equipment. She walked over and introduced herself to Minnie Oatman and told her how she had so enjoyed their singing and said if they were ever in the vicinity of Elmwood Springs, Missouri, she would love to have them on her radio show. Minnie, who had worked up quite a sweat, was dabbing her face with a big white handkerchief. She said, “Well, bless your heart,” then turned and called out, “Ferris, ain’t we doing a revival somewhere in Missouri this year . . . or is it Arkansas? Look it up in the book. This nice lady wants us on her radio show.” She apologized to Dorothy. “We hit so many places, honey, I can’t keep up.” Ferris Oatman, who weighed a hundred pounds more than his wife, struggled to pull a long thin black book from his inside coat pocket. After he looked through it he said, “We’re booked at the Highway 78 Church of Christ outside of Ash Hill, Missouri, first week in July.” Minnie turned to Dorothy. “Is that anywheres near you, honey?”

  Dorothy said, “Yes, I know Ash Hill; it’s not that far away from us. I’ll be happy to have somebody come and pick you up—and bring you back. Where will you be staying?”

  Minnie
laughed. “Oh Lord, honey, we never know till we get there. We stay with whoever can put us up. The church usually finds us a place. There’s six of us including Floyd—he’s out in the car waiting, he don’t work banquets, just churches and revivals, so if you know of a family willing to put one or two of us up for a week, let us know. You don’t happen to have an extra bed or sofa, do you?”

  Dorothy was put on the spot because the woman had just agreed to appear on her radio show. She glanced over at the young girl in the group, who looked to be about fifteen or sixteen, and said, “Ahh . . . well, as a matter of fact, Mrs. Oatman, we have a girl just about your daughter’s age and I’m sure she would be just tickled pink to have her stay with us.”

  Minnie looked up to the ceiling and sang out, “PRAISE JESUS!” and looked back at Dorothy and said, “I tell you, Mrs. Smith, the Lord just drops good people right in our path every day.” She sang out again in a loud voice, “THANK YOU, SWEET JESUS!” Dorothy was a little taken aback at this display and quickly added, “But now, Mrs. Oatman, just so you know, we’re not members of the Church of Christ and I don’t know if that matters but—”

  Minnie waved her hand and dismissed the idea.

  “Oh honey, that don’t matter a whit just as long as you’re Christian and don’t drink alcohol or smoke or gamble.” Before Dorothy could say anything one way or another Minnie yelled, “Ferris, we already got one placed in Ash Hill,” and then turned back to Dorothy. “That’s real kind of you, and of all of us, she’s the leastest trouble, hardly eats a thing, you won’t even know she’s there.” She waved the long white handkerchief at her daughter. “Betty Raye, come over here. This nice lady wants you to stay with her when we’re over there in Missouri.” Betty Raye, a pale thin girl with light brown hair and brown eyes, wearing a lavender dress exactly like her mother’s, came over somewhat reluctantly.