The Rebels of Iron Mountain

Music was an important part of my life growing up, especially in my teen years.

My sister was recently reading an old letter from our mom to her mom. Mom was telling grandmother about our dad taking me as a little kid to a basketball game. She said I was not at all interested in the game but was enthralled by the pep band. So, I guess my interest in music began at an early age.

In fourth or fifth grade I scored high on the musical aptitude test, so I was encouraged to start playing an instrument. For some reason, I was drawn to the trombone (maybe brass instruments more generally, but particularly the trombone). So, when we went somewhere to select an instrument, I told the guy I wanted to play trombone. The salesman looked me over and took some measurements and said, you shouldn’t play trombone, your arms are too short.

Ok. This is the beginning of a broader story about me. When someone tells me I can’t do something, well, “dagnabbit,” as our granddaughter would say, I am more determined than ever to do it. So, I got my trombone. I’d grow my arm longer if I had to. I guess I was already showing signs of becoming a rebel.

Growing up, singing in church was a big part of my life. Our church was one of those traditional protestant churches with the big choir and four-part harmony throughout the congregation. I sang bass in the choir.

At some point in high school, several of us teenage boys started singing as a quartet. After a while, the pastor dubbed us “The Messengers.” We especially loved singing southern gospel songs.

Now about the same time, there was this professional gospel quartet called “The Rebels Quartet” out of Tampa, Florida. They would come to our church once a year and put on a concert. They were very popular, very full of energy, very flashy in appearance and performance. They were our models.

One year -- I think it was our junior year of high school -- to our surprise and dismay, The Rebels were disinvited by the church. The story we heard was that some church elders had discovered that these guys smoked and told off-color jokes, and maybe engaged in other unsavory or “un-Christian” behavior.

We, "The Messengers," being the real “rebels,” decided to take matters into our own hands. I took on the role of lead instigator, called up one of The Rebels in Tampa, and invited them to do a concert at the high school in Iron Mountain. We, "The Messengers," would organize everything, put out posters to advertise, etc.

When I was on the phone making these arrangements, my dad caught wind of who I was talking to and said, “Walter, I forbid you to do this.”

I paused for just a second, then just ignored him and went on with my dealing.

So, it was set to happen. Not only were we going to hear our heroes in concert again, but we were going to be on stage with them, and be the opening act.

The wheels of rebellion were turning.

Turmoil ensued at the church. The night set for the concert happened to be the night for church choir practice. Of course, many choir members wanted to go to the concert and began excusing themselves from choir practice. The choir director (also father of one of the boys in our quartet) was livid. He first tried to pressure us, through his son, into cancelling the concert, but then as the choir overwhelmingly decided to skip practice and attend the concert, he had no choice but to give in.

And so, the die was cast. The Rebels came to town and the big night was upon us.

I think they were wearing black suits and thin ties (IBM style). We were wearing light blue lapel-less jackets (sort of like The Beatles). I was the bass singer in our group. My counterpart in The Rebels Quartet was a tall thin man with a pencil mustache named -- get this -- London Paris.

I don’t remember the actual songs we sang, but one was probably one of our favorites -- “Just a Little Talk with Jesus.” I especially liked this one because it showcased my deep bass voice. The chorus went like this:

Now let us have a little talk with Jesus

Let us tell Him all about our troubles

He will hear our faintest cry

and He will answer by and by

Now when you feel a prayer wheel turning

Then you'll know a little fire is burning

You will find a little talk with Jesus makes it right

Soon our “warm up” act was over and we could just sit back, relax and enjoy the show.

In the end, it was not a great night for The Rebels. As I recall they just broke even, or maybe even lost money on the deal.

But for The Messengers (the Rebels of Iron Mountain), it was an experience we’ll always remember as a great success!

And, yes, our fathers finally forgave us.