MOREY GROVE

While attending college in Minnesota I supplemented my G.I. Bill allowance with funds from working nights as a bartender. One of the places at which I worked was a lively spot called The Hot Fish Shop. There was a lounge attached to the restaurant called, strangely enough, "The Fisherman's Lounge". The lounge featured nightly entertainment with 2 to 4 piece bands playing favorites from the 1970's. Who can forget such unforgettable melodies as "Tie a yellow ribbon around the old oak tree". Yes, I suffered through many nights listening to the tunes of Tony Orlando and Dawn.

On a nightly basis, all sorts of interesting people would come through our doors - locals, tourists and other folks just passing through town. One of the most unforgettable people that I knew was a man named Morey Grove. He was a tall, thin, plain-looking man and was about the most well-liked person in town. He didn't come in that often, but when he did, people gravitated to him unlike anyone I have ever seen. Despite Morey's plainness, women flocked to him like he was George Clooney. The reasons for why women loved Morey were never clear as he was a simple man, certainly not wealthy, important or attractive looking.

Men also liked him. He was a guy who was very comfortable with himself as well as with other people. He had an undefinable character about him that made him interesting. He was more of a listener than a talker and, when he laughed, he laughed heartily. I don't know what Morey did for a living - I suspect that he was involved in the insurance business, but I cannot say for sure.

The first time that I met him, he came into the lounge and many of the locals, especially the women, came over to greet him. There were hugs and handshakes and the bar seemed to liven up with his presence. He ordered a beverage which was paid for by another patron and he continued to join in the fun and entertainment. That's another thing - I never saw Morey buy a drink for himself. People were always saying to me "get Morey a drink on me."

That was testimony to how well-liked he was.

The first time I witnessed what happened when Morey came into the lounge, I was dumbfounded. And it would happen every time he came in. About a half-hour after he walked in, people would begin chanting "Morey, Morey". The crowd would grow louder. Morey tried to ignore it. The crowd grew even louder. Finally, someone would plead with Morey to go out to his car and "get it". 

The first time I witnessed this, I was not certain what "it" was, but I was about to find out.

After continued pleading and a few kisses on the cheek from the adoring women in the crowd, Morey would go out to his car and "get it".

"It" was a clarinet that Morey had been playing for many years. It was his pride and joy and he loved playing what he called his "licorice stick". He seemingly knew every song that was ever written. You name a song and Morey could play it.

When Morey returned from his car with the old, worn black box that contained his prized clarinet, the crowd would go berserk. He would set the box on the bar and, slowly and methodically, do the setup of the instrument. He would entrust me to the safe handling of the protective box that his fine clarinet came in and he would proceed toward the stage, the crowd now in a fever pitch in anxious anticipation of hearing Morey play any tune that anyone could name.

As Morey stepped to the microphone, the crowd grew dead silent. He was about to play. Someone called out the name of a song and, of course, Morey knew how to play it. Pausing just long enough to build excitement, Morey, with eyes shut and having the crowd in the palm of his hand, started playing the tune.

And it was the most incredible thing I have ever heard in my life.

Despite the fact that Morey had been playing clarinet since he was a child, he was arguably the worst clarinet player in the world. If they gave awards for how one could make a clarinet squeal, Morey would win hands-down. When he played, dogs would howl, children would scream, people would close their windows.

There were a few chuckles in the audience but, for the most part, the crowd was courteous. After playing his tune, the crowd would erupt in enthusiastic applause, begging him to play another song. He never did, instead preferring to pack up his clarinet, finish his drink and bid goodbye.

In all, despite his lack of talent on the clarinet, Morey brought smiles to the faces of the people who adored him.

And that's what entertainment is all about.

Readers, enjoy your day.