Day 8
Driving
And yet it took us twice as long—almost eight hours—to drive to Peru. (Illinois, that is.) Although a map will back reality up, in my mind, it is absurd that Niagara is closer to Kirtland than Peru, Illinois is. That’s probably a negative to being a Westerner. When yer barn and raised on the frontier, tain’t possible to keep all that Eastner mappin’ straight.
But the hours were reasonably well spent. Brieanne, fun queen, taught me a much improved version of Battleship (it’s played on paper), and after our morning, on-bus devotional, Lindsi and Wendy performed a very shocking song entitled “(Just like us, they long to be) Scandalous.” If “A Musical Extravaganza” pushed the limits of good taste, then this song threw it out the window allowing the bus to run over it, then dragging for ninety miles before finally falling into a rank ditch. It was, for me, a freeing moment. For today was the long awaited day, the debut of a sequel.
Songs from a Bus
The day after Mr Nauvoo, I received this note in the Thank You Box:
Dear Mr. Engaged,
Thank you for the puppet show! Your musical extravaganza exceeded anything I imagined. I guess the only question now is Will there be a sequel?
Love,
Heidi
Well, Heidi, the answer is yes. The sequel was a long time coming, but it had never been the proper time to proceed. But now, finally, it was.
I had been composing the sequel on the bus for a few days, picking my songs and writing lyrics and sculpting it for the best effect. As I have boasted before, “A Musical Extravaganza” truly had been a phenomenon. Sequeling it was dangerous. So many sequels pale before the original’s legacy, and I didn’t want to produce a secondary product. On the other hand, I was better prepared now to create something of impact, as I knew my audience so much better. For instance, I was aware of a country song that someone felt obligated to play every day during lunch for fully one-half of the semester. And I knew that a number of people at the Academy had a serious case of Disney’s “The Little Mermaid” stuck-in-the-head. I had learned the Chicago Theory (when Chicago’s Greatest Hits emanates from a young lady’s apartment, you know her heart is broken and she could use a friend). All these things I had learned, and I knew that with the greater history we students now shared, I could fashion something even greater, perhaps, than the original.
Like any sequel, “A Musical Extravaganza II” had certain advantages built in—already beloved characters and a guaranteed base audience that can be hyped to unhealthy levels of anticipation through careful advertising. The only things it needed were a careful balance of old elements and new elements, an appropriateness to the audience’s current situation, and a proper length. The length was easy—it needed to be no longer than the original and preferably slightly shorter. (I did not want them to ever have a chance to get bored, shorter = better.) As for the balance of old and new elements, all I kept were my characters and the format of a narrated opening with all dialogue done in song. All the songs were new except one that was incomplete in the original but found its finished form in the sequel. Finally, making the second Extravaganza appropriate for the current status of my audience was cake—I set it on a bus.
Brother Dahl had heard the rumors that I was about to premiere my new operatic opus, and was concerned. And this concerned me. For if my original Extravaganza had pushed the limits of decency, well, this one said straight out what had previously only been implied. If he read it, I feared a sudden end. Canceling “A Song for Mandy’s Sister” had been fully justified, as the outside community would have had the opportunity to judge us based on its unhealthy sentiments, but I was only performing this on the bus! Only we to be present! How could it matter?
Fortunately (and there’s a religious analogy in here somewhere), Emily the Wholesome and Sister Toone the Motherly (albeit a known door-tier) came to my rescue and vouched for the product, sight unseen.
That done, it was time to break the trust (a trust I am quite sure they knew would be broken) and premier “A Musical Extravaganza Hits the Road –or– Songs from a Bus”.
Jennifer held my manuscript and the mike and turned pages for me, as LeAnn, Marcus and I kneeled in the bus aisle and entertained the masses. Lines like “Alone on a bench in what’s one big corner” and “Everywhere we go / You’re always in my arms / On my lap / In my soul” hit too close to the established Bus Buddy practice not to be laughed at. It’s not like the Bus Buddies were fooling anybody—especially not a worldwise, engaged guy like myself. I knew perfectly well they were only pretending to be asleep when they fell into each other. (At least some of the time that is—I’m willing to give them some credit. Say, fifty dollars. With 21.99% APR.)
As I returned to my seat, Brother Dahl shanghaied me and amusedly asked whom exactly I was referencing. I slyly promised to give him a list on the fourteenth—the day we flew out; and then I shared a hearty laugh with Brother Dahl, my own personal Star Chamber.
The Bother of Leadership
I can’t help but notice that I occasionally tend to paint myself as the consummate, wild-eyed rebel, but such is simply not the case. I do push boundaries, I can’t deny that—progress can’t occur without a little boundary pushing—but I never illegally cross them; nor do I support those who would cross boundaries just to be wild and crazy youth. I don’t believe in that. Anyone who is willing to use their brain on the subject has realized that rules and leaders are necessary for the purest strain of freedom. Anarchy is necessarily selfish, and an overly selfish society is a society with no respect for the individual—except for MeMeMe, of course. And when all we are thinking about is ourselves and the plotting of our survival—what sort of freedom is that? A meaningless sort of freedom, that’s what. We may be “free,” but we will never be free to read a book or contemplate our place in the cosmos or compose a song for our children. No, we will have to spend every moment protecting what is emphatically Ours, sleeping on our swords in a world where everything has become slippery.
It was important to me that Brother Dahl realized I was not trying to undermine his authority. All I was doing was my job as a humorist and making fun of What Is. A leader’s job, obviously, is quite the opposite—a leader protects What Is. But both the leader and the snide, little man with a barbed pen and yarn-haired gloves have the same goal: to make things better. Just, the humorist gets to have more fun in the pursuance of this worthy goal. And we don’t have any responsibility for actual policy either. But the leader! Oh, the leader! The poor leader has all sorts of responsibilities and thus consequences he must deal with. Good leaders deserve our support and gratitude. And even bad leaders deserve some measure of respect—if for no other reason than their office—because honor for the office alone might prove enough to prevent the return of anarchy. But while in Nauvoo, I am glad I had a leader I could gladly support, whose judgement I trusted and who I knew had the best interests of us all at heart.
Such a leader is something to pray thanks for indeed. And not just at a church school, or in the church itself. If you have a good leader anywhere in life—at work, in your community, in the fancy-schmancy political realm—it is something to feel good about. And you might also feel good that they are the ones who have to mess with all that icky responsibility stuff. What a bother that must be!
Denny’s
I wonder. Do you suppose in those “good old days” that supposedly once were, people really did talk to their gas station attendants and their waitresses and their parking meter ladies and build a friendship in under five minutes? I wonder. I rather suppose that perhaps there were not all that many more such friendlies then, than there are now.
I am occasionally such a person, and I accompanied some even more frequently friendlies into a Denny’s for some caloric refreshment when the bus stopped for lunch. We were, you see, hungry. Our server was a lady by the name of Joy. Conversation ensued and it ended up she was familiar with those so-called Mormons and as a matter of fact had only just ordered a complimentary Family First video off of the television and had found it rather quite good indeed you see because she had these two young girls and was concerned about how best to mom them when she also had to work and all that. Joy, you could easily tell, was a good mom who really, truly loved her kids and wanted only the best for them. We had some great two-minute chats with her as she took our orders and brought more water and then our food and then the check. We made sure to leave a good tip—it might be, after all, her lasting impression of those so-called Mormons.
It’s a funny thing. People love to tell us young Latter-day Saints how we are a Shining Beacon to all those who come in contact with us. We generally shrug it off—probably do to a combination of humility and incredulity—but occasionally we are forced to recognize that it is true—people do notice us; and our very way of being, which to us seems so nondescript, is to another, a blazing example of a Better Way. When the waitress at Denny’s tells you after only half an hour of acquaintance, that she wishes her kids could grow up to be like you . . . what are you supposed to think?
When we receive baptism, we make a covenant that changes us forever. And gives us a huge trust to live up to. But we are different from the world, even if we are too myopic to realize it. So kids—live up to that trust, just assume people are watching you. Be the best Latter-day Saint you can be—you owe it to those who are kept from something wonderful only because they know not where to find it.
Peru
Peru’s Fairfield Marriott wins the award for the finest hotel we stayed at. When we arrived, they had chips and dips and salsas and pretzels all laid out for us. How cool is that? Can you imagine a better welcome from a hotel? And the ironic thing is, this Marriott was actually the least expensive place we stayed in (the gloomy EconoLodge being the most).
Even after gorging ourselves on greasy goods to the point of no longer requiring dinner, it was still too early to turn in, so we headed out into the wilds of Peru, Illinois. And what did we find but a mall. And although malls are still no better than dirt, Peru being well-paved, there was no dirt to be found, so I accompanied a handful of students to the mall. The mall was strangely deserted. All I can assume is that the locals know of an unpaved spot somewhere in town and were out baking mud pies, but we, lacking that information, took to wandering. The best thing we could find to do was go to the restroom. To commemorate this new low, I took a picture of Jeff dancing across the tile in his slicker-yellow jacket (Note: although the jacket was slicker-yellow, it was not a yellow slicker), new shades and my last-legging hat.
That done, we determined to watch a movie.
I had not been keeping up with the national media while in Nauvoo and so I was startled to learn that DreamWorks had finally released its second animated feature. I had loved The Prince of Egypt, and so was excited by the possibility of watching The Road to El Dorado. The movie began with us the only people in the theater. It being a private showing, I determined to have a unique experience, and in company of some other adventurous moviephiles, climbed onto the short stage about three or four feet off the ground and immediately under the movie screen; using my jacket as a pillow, I lay flat on my back and watched the movie. One by one, my companions gave up and removed from the stage to the chairs until I was left alone, flat on my back looking up.
Although it was a small, mall movie screen, lying directly beneath it and staring straight up made it feel enormous. At times I felt as dizzy as if it were an IMAX presentation. I had to sway my head back and forth in order to take in all that was happening on the screen. It was, I think, a much better movie from my position, for while certainly not a powerful film like The Prince of Egypt, I was rousingly well entertained.
When the film ended and the silly Elton John music began, Mandy and Brandon returned to the stage and began dancing. I was a little worried of being stepped on, so I started inching backwards in order to slide down the stairs on my back. The problem was, there were no stairs. Suddenly I plummeted four feet to the ground, landing squarely on my upper back and shoulder blades. Everyone was suddenly terrified that I had killed myself, including me. It was a miracle I hadn’t landed on my head or crunched my neck. In fact, incredibly, I wasn’t hurt at all. Except for a strange sensation in the top back of my head, I felt fine. Better than fine, in fact. My neck was more crickless than it had been in ages! Fantastic! A crickless neck, I decided, was most certainly worth eight hours on a bus.
return to the table of contents
Thanks for revisiting Nauvoo with me. I would love to hear your thoughts.