Saturday, March 13, 2010
A couple weeks ago, a member of the Recreation staff handed Mike and me a flyer for an upcoming musical fund-raiser at the Soldiers Home. It was called “Canteen Memories,” and we both thought it sounded fun. I pictured men and women decked out in ancient Army camouflage, strumming guitars around a fake campfire and belting out “Over There” and “When Johnny Comes Marching Home.”
I was a little bit off.
My son came with me, and we met Mike at Chilson Hall. We’d heard the show was free for residents and volunteers, but that was only half accurate. Mike was free, but it cost us $20. But it was a fund-raiser, after all—the show was put on by a well-meaning group called VetsMeetVets, and this was their first public fundraising effort.
The stage was lined with big stuffed animals, with a giant American flag as a backdrop. The Hall was appropriately festive for St. Patrick’s Day, and there were several long rows of chairs set up, many of them filled.
Ray McDade and Bingo regular “Mac” joined us at a round table toward the back.
My son and I noticed one speaker-looking piece of equipment, and a long program that leaned more toward “easy-listening hits” than my imagined “canteen memories.”
I leaned over and whispered to him. “I think this might be kind of karaoke-style,” I said.
This time I was off only by a degree.
It was all karaoke, complete with lyrics projected onto the wall next to the stage. Turns out the entertainers are friends from a karaoke bar. Some were veterans; others were married to veterans or current service members—and they all were trying to do something positive.
The emcee was a natural—very personable and entertaining—and he kept the show moving through “My Girl,” “My Guy” and even a “42nd Street” tap-dancing number. (And, when he saw none of us had won a thing in the raffle, he sweetly delivered stuffed animals from the stage to Ray, Mike and Mac.)
It was a talented bunch, to be sure. And not too long after Intermission, I started to appreciate that on a whole new level.
I looked over at Mike, and he had his head down.
“Some of these songs are starting to get to me,” he said.
Then he shook the emcee’s hand and said, simply, “Thank you.”
I had thought Mike was asleep, but he was merely lost, just for an afternoon, in his own canteen memories.
A couple weeks ago, a member of the Recreation staff handed Mike and me a flyer for an upcoming musical fund-raiser at the Soldiers Home. It was called “Canteen Memories,” and we both thought it sounded fun. I pictured men and women decked out in ancient Army camouflage, strumming guitars around a fake campfire and belting out “Over There” and “When Johnny Comes Marching Home.”
I was a little bit off.
My son came with me, and we met Mike at Chilson Hall. We’d heard the show was free for residents and volunteers, but that was only half accurate. Mike was free, but it cost us $20. But it was a fund-raiser, after all—the show was put on by a well-meaning group called VetsMeetVets, and this was their first public fundraising effort.
The stage was lined with big stuffed animals, with a giant American flag as a backdrop. The Hall was appropriately festive for St. Patrick’s Day, and there were several long rows of chairs set up, many of them filled.
Ray McDade and Bingo regular “Mac” joined us at a round table toward the back.
My son and I noticed one speaker-looking piece of equipment, and a long program that leaned more toward “easy-listening hits” than my imagined “canteen memories.”
I leaned over and whispered to him. “I think this might be kind of karaoke-style,” I said.
This time I was off only by a degree.
It was all karaoke, complete with lyrics projected onto the wall next to the stage. Turns out the entertainers are friends from a karaoke bar. Some were veterans; others were married to veterans or current service members—and they all were trying to do something positive.
The emcee was a natural—very personable and entertaining—and he kept the show moving through “My Girl,” “My Guy” and even a “42nd Street” tap-dancing number. (And, when he saw none of us had won a thing in the raffle, he sweetly delivered stuffed animals from the stage to Ray, Mike and Mac.)
It was a talented bunch, to be sure. And not too long after Intermission, I started to appreciate that on a whole new level.
I looked over at Mike, and he had his head down.
“Some of these songs are starting to get to me,” he said.
Then he shook the emcee’s hand and said, simply, “Thank you.”
I had thought Mike was asleep, but he was merely lost, just for an afternoon, in his own canteen memories.