"I Thought You Said We Were Invited to Supper"
(A long day at Simpsonville)
Screen 1of 3It was early spring in the year 1929.
I had just finished playing a trumpet solo at the district music contest being held at Simpsonville, Kentucky, when Captain Stutzenberger told Wally Becker and me that all three of us were invited to have supper at the home of the Gormley sisters, two spinsters who lived close by. He said he had gone to school with them some years before and that they wanted to renew old times with him. And he added that Miss Rebecca, the sister who had invited us, also said she wanted to meet the two cadet musicians he had brought to compete in this music contest, winners from which would be advanced to the state finals in Lexington.
This invitation to have supper in a private home was welcome news. The day of competition had been long and tiring, and it was not yet over. I had completed my participation against other trumpet players, but Wally was scheduled to play his saxophone solo that night; and therefore we had to eat supper somewhere in the vicinity. At noon we had gone to the only cafe in the village--a small, quick-fry place located in an alley next to the post office--but we changed our minds at the front door when we saw how crowded and dirty looking it was. Instead of eating there we returned to the school cafeteria, only to find that everything had been sold except a few cartons of milk and several pieces of homemade cornbread. The milk was cold and the cornbread was very good--something like the kind my mother used to make. That was our lunch, not too much of it but adequate.
The invitation to the spinsters' home was even more attractive to Wally, since Miss Rebecca had suggested that during the supper hour he could practice his saxophone solo at the home of their next door neighbors who owned a piano.
Captain Stutzenberger had not talked to Miss Kate, the other sister, but Miss Rebecca had said for us to be at their home in time to begin eating promptly at six o'clock. She knew that Wally was to play at 7:30 that night and said she did not want us to be rushed or late.
Hungry and ready for a good meal, we arrived well before six o'clock, after a short walk from the school. We were cordially greeted by both the ladies at their ornate front door, part of it beautifully carved wood, and on either side were some colorful pieces of stained glass leaded together in artistic designs. They showed us into their formal parlor, furnished in traditional Victorian style and giving the appearance of always being ready for company but rarely used for that or any other purpose. I can still remember that the uncomfortable plush-bottom chair Miss Kate had offered me scratched my legs, even through the heavy cloth of my military uniform.
Conversation was polite but somewhat stilted. Two old maids, an always-to-be bachelor teacher of music, and two, hungry seventeen-year-old cadets did not have much in common to talk about. Wally and I contributed to the talk chiefly by answering questions posed by the sisters, and the answers were purposely brief, since our thoughts were primarily on food--what it would be and when was it coming.
Both ladies were very curious and at times quite opinionated but not in an objectionable way. Miss Kate wanted to know where Wally and I were from and what our fathers "did," a typical question in the South at that time. When I told her I had no father, she asked how long he had been dead; and then when I replied I didn't know whether he was dead or alive, she straightened up suddenly and gave me the feeling she thought I was being impudent or flippant. This line of questioning ended abruptly when I revealed that my father and mother were divorced when I was a baby, after which she lamented, "Oh, my!"
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