Tangentially NSA

 

      I was approached shortly after the semester began to be secretary of the new Nauvoo Student Association’s¹ new presidency.  The Toones selected Greg (whom I’ll call G-Rock when I’m feeling particularly self-indulgent) as president and he selected Kate and SaraAnne as counselors, me as secretary.  The four of us had Big Bang responsibilities.  We were to decide on committees—how many, what they do, etc—committee heads, and who’ll serve on which.  By the time we finished, everyone was to have a role.

      Oy nelly!

      In the end, we created eight committees.  Our concept was one of empowerment.  The President was given free reign in creating the committees and we, in turn, gave the committees authority to do anything they wanted.  Then we leaned back and coordinated just enough to keep the committees to keep from stepping on each other’s toes. 

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      With that brief introduction to the NSA, let me switch gears entirely and talk about Brother Best and his ukulele.²

      At the Mr Nauvoo pageant, Brother Best, for the talent portion of the program, played his ukulele and sang verses from the “Mormon Sunday School Song” such as this one:

      The Lord made Satan and Satan made sin;

            The Lord made a cubbyhole and put Satan in

            Satan got sore and said he wouldn’t stay,

      And he’s acted like the devil ever since that day 

      That was his first number; his last was this beauty:

            Jonah was a traveler—so runs the Bible tale—

      He took a steerage passage in a transatlantic whale

      Jonah in the belly of the whale felt oppressed.

            So he pushed on the button and the whale did the rest 

      (Exit to thunderous applause.)

      Later, in Bible as Lit (and again, even later that that, in AmLit), he shared with us a ditto with all the verses.  In addition to the good ones, there were some real stinkers—Such as:

            Esau was a hunter of wild & hairy make

            His father left him half the farm and half to brother Jake

            Esau saw the title to his farm wasn’t clear

            So he sold it to his brother for a sandwich and a beer. 

      WHAT??  Besides the fact that it’s just not very funny, it’s wildly inaccurate.  Wildly.  Guess Mormon Sunday School just ain’t the place to be pickin up Bible stories.  But before we move on, the chorus:

            Young folks, old folks, everybody come;

      Join the Mormon Sunday School and have a lot of fun

      Please to check your chewin gum and candy at the door

            And you’ll hear some Bible stories that you’ve never heard before 

      Yeah.  I’ll say.  But if you’re interested in my opinion, I rather suspect the “Mormon” part of this song was tacked on after it was lifted from mainstream Christianity.  Or rather, mainstream humor lampooning mainstream Christianity.  Otherwise, shouldn’t there be some Book of Mormon stories as well?  I can hear you murmuring, complaining that this lack suggests a real travesty, a real injustice, a real oversight.  Well my friend, I can assure you are not the first to so murmur.  The Bests (Brother and Sister), aware of this oversight, spent some time on a road trip and composed some verses hilighting some great Book of Mormon stories.  Their contributions to religious verse on just this one trip are inestimably important, and with their permission I have included them in Appendix A, along with a rough layout of the melody.  I say “rough” because, as you may have noticed, the rhythm varied wildly from verse to verse, and thus the actual notes vary as well.  But that’s enough of that.  Time to move on to another abrupt topic changes.

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      The third part of this intro should be taken as an apology, for as anyone interested in literature can tell you, occasional poetry is A) stigmatized and B) rightly so.  Sure, there‘re a few exceptions such as Emerson’s shot heard round the world, but all we have to do is look at some of the special occasion schlock that England’s poet laureates.³

      Occasional poetry is poetry written for an occasion (obviously).  For instance, Ralph Waldo Emerson, whom I’ve already mentioned, wrote a poem titled “Hymn: Sung at the Completion of the Concord Monument” and dated April 19, 1836.  This is the first stanza:

            By the rude bridge that arched the flood,

            Their flag to April’s breeze unfurled

            Here once the embattled farmers stood,

            And fired the shot heard round the world. 

      The poem is in reference to that pivotal moment in history when the British and Americans first shot at each other, triggering (haha! get it?) the Revolutionary War.  The poem is beautiful and powerful as it recalls that fateful day and discusses the monument raised to memorialize it.  The final stanza: 

            Spirit that made these heroes dare

            To die, or leave their children free,

            Bid Time and Nature gently spare

            The shaft we raise to then and thee. 

      Perfect.  We’re not always so lucky.  Consider some of those beleaguered poet laureates of Britain past.  For instance, a year after the death of George III (yes, that George III), poet laureate Robert Southey commemorated his (no doubt) triumphant entry into the spirit world with “A Vision of Judgment” which is generally considered to be the biggest hool o’ schlock ever written.  (Although at about a zillion lines, I doubt anyone’s read the whole thing in decades and decades—if ever.)  You remember George, don’t you?  The crazy guy who was king when the shot heard round the world was heard round the world?  Yeah, him.  The blue pee guy.  Ends up everyone in heaven's been anxiously awaiting him.  Oh, hoorah!  It’s King George III!  Let’s judge him a lovely judgment!  Heaven ho, Georgie boy!

      Lord Byron loved this poem so much that he wrote one of his own “The Vision of Judgment”s.  But in this “vision” of King George’s judgment, we learn this:

            Here Satan said, “I know this man [George] of old,

                  And have expected him for some time here;

            A sillier fellow you will scarce behold 

      Robert Southey appears in Byron’s poem as well as a defender of the illustrious King George.  He starts reciting poetry in George’s defense when...

            Saint Peter, who has hitherto been known

                  For an impetuous saint, upraised his keys,

            And at the fifth line knocked the poet down 

      This is what happens to occasional poets when they get to heaven.  Peter knocks them down.  Why?  Because poetry ordered for an occasion will generally lack that inspiration that cannot be bottled and that makes great poetry great.  Occassional poetry is a bad idea (usually—let me hedge a bit).

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      The moral of the story is that I am crazy.  If writing and reciting occasional poetry is a good way to get Saint Peter to hit you with his keys, why am I about to share some of mine with you?  I’m not Emerson!  (Or Tennyson or Wordsworth to mention some more reputable British poet laureates) (or even Robert Southey for that matter).  But I’m going to, and that is how the three introductory sections I’ve just written go together:

            Theric as NSA secretary

            Mormon Sunday School Song

      + Occasional Poetry                 

            The NSA Song 

      The occasion in question was Greg telling me in a meeting that I should write a new Mormon Sunday School verse for the JSA and all its students.  Me, not intelligent  to leave well enough alone, and being partial to flattery (such as “Wow Theric.  You’re so neat.  You can write anything.) wrote not just one verse, but one for each committee and faculty couple at the Academy.

      Knowing that these verses are occasional verse and recognizing that there wasn’t much of a rhythm sequence to begin with, I hope you can recognize the song as a narrative device and not expect another shot heard round the world.  I don’t do that.

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      I take all the blame.  Except maybe a little for Greg.  After all, wasn’t it his idea?  I spent an hour or so after the meeting writing the verses and refined them over the next week.  They still need some work, but now they’re historical (dead), so I ‘m not messing with them anymore.⁴

      It wasn’t until several days later that I realized I had never written one verse for the whole Joseph Smith academy as originally commissioned.  So I wrote this verse which serves as the chorus:

            Welcome friends to old Nauvoo and to the JSA

            We hope that you’ll be happy and that you’ll enjoy your stay

            And as long as you simply have nothing else to do

            Perhaps you’ld like to sing this song—at least a verse or two 

      You like that?  Do you find it properly reminiscent of the original chorus?  Can you imagine singing it after every verse?  I hope not.  I can’t.  It’s really not all that good.  According to the legacy left us by the Sunday School song, I guess we should, but you don’t have to though.  (I’m not going to.)

      But that’s the chorus!  And now that it’s out of the way, we can move on to the first verse.  It’s about the presidency. 

            We all know Greg our president picked a girl named Kate

            We also know ‘bout SaraAnne and how those three are great

            But to prevent translation and to leave us all alone

            They dragged along old Theric to keep them in mortal zones 

      Ha ha!  What a wit.

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       And so that’s the NSA presidency.  We four divvied up the committees, each taking a couple to look over and we held weekly meeting in which we made certain no schedule conflicts happened.  Then, at the end, we let the Toones take us out for ice cream on Mulholland.  What a great job!

      And that’s the NSA.  Toodledoo!

 

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Thanks for revisiting Nauvoo with me. I would love to hear your thoughts.