Before we have our discussion let’s all stand in honor to our young subject here tonight. Go ahead, stand up.
Before you start reading, put down your book and stand at attention for a few minutes; let’s honor the subject
of our story. You don’t want to stand up? Okay. But let me tell you that you will stand up; and you not only
will stand up, but you probably already have. Yes, most likely if you have lived anywhere in the civilized world
for any length of time you have at one time or another stood in honor of that about whom we here write.
His father was a barber, but for little Freddy, skilled labor was out of the question. A lawyer would he be, and
regarding that there would be no further discussion. Freddy, however, persisted. Would Father mind if
Freddy just learned how to lay the violin? Absolutely, positively not! No son of his would be seen dallying
about in such frivolous pursuits. Surely he could not object to Freddy at least listening to music from time to
time! No. Not even listen. Freddy would not be allowed to waste away any precious time in this evil practice
…, this music!
So it was that Freddy faced his future, certain of its outcome, yet wishing and longing for something else.
Music. Music is what appealed to little Freddy. Of course he would follow his father’s wishes, as any good and
loyal son who lived during the 17th century would, but oh that his father would allow him this small diversion!
But it was not to be. Freddy was forbidden to engage in any way any form of musical enterprise. Freddy was
not to be allowed to even listen to music.
One day a famous pianist staged an impromptu concert on the town square, and on his way home from school
Freddy had stopped to listen. Ah such sweet sounds that emanated from the stringed, percussion
instrument! Oh so beautiful were the melodies of the harpsichord, so full and wondrous were the vibrations!
“Freddy! What are you doing here? Are you to disobey me? Go home a once!”
Having been reprimanded by his father who happened along, Freddy ran home to his room, and throwing
himself onto his bed, he cried inconsolably. But Freddy had heard the song from the gods. Music was to him
like nectar to the bees. He must find a way! He must be allowed to pursue his dream.
Now living at this time with Freddy and his family was his father’s sister. Freddy’s aunt was a spinster, and not
having children of her own, she had observed the strife that existed between her brother and his son. She
was not one to interfere in family matters, but she was sensitive to the needs and desires of the child. She
visited with little Freddy and tried to console him. Surely his father knew what was best for little Freddy. He
was merely a boy, and he must obey his father. A good boy always obeyed his father’s wishes. His father’s
desire for Freddy to be a lawyer was better than most, who simply apprenticed their children to the highest
bidder – usually in some factory or mine. No, Freddy should consider his blessings and be grateful that this
was not his father’s intentions for him.
But why should he not be allowed to even listen to music? Could he not be allowed to just listen to it? Freddy’
s aunt consoled the boy, and assured him that she would speak to his father. Perhaps if he could be
persuaded to allow Freddy to just listen to music he would not be so obstinate toward his father’s wishes.
But Freddy’s father remained adamant. “My son will be a lawyer, and that is an end to the discussion!” So it
was that all of Freddy’s hopes and desires to follow his dream of music put to rest. And so it would remain that
Freddy would become a lawyer and his desire of and longing for music would never be fulfilled. It would be
that way except …, except for the courageousness and selflessness of the aunt. She happened upon an old,
used spinet in a second-hand shop, and with savings from her meager earnings as a seamstress had
managed to purchase it, and on a day when Freddy’s father was away she had the spinet delivered and
ensconced in the attic.
Now Freddy’s aunt would enter into a pact with Freddy that no one was to ever find out about the instrument,
for if Freddy’s father ever found out she would be expelled from the house. So the aunt would enter the attic,
and carefully and meticulously she would wind the chords of the instrument in sewing cloth and thread so as to
muffle the sound. Freddy would sneak clandestinely into the attic at night and at times when Father would be
away, and he would pick at the instrument, learning its sounds and teaching himself how to play. In time
Freddy would learn to coax some fine sounds from the instrument, and his aunt would deliver sheet music and
books from which Freddy would teach himself how to read music.
And so time went on. Freddy continued with his school work, and on the pretense of preparing for the law,
Freddy would in fact be studying music. His father would eventually find out, of course, but by the time he did
find out Freddy would already have established himself as a person of extraordinary musical talent. Freddy
had the capability of taking any piece of music – even that which he had never heard – and playing the music
at the piano without missing a note! Such a fine musician and pianist Freddy would become that he would
eventually in time turn to writing music. And what beautiful music he would produce!
Oh yes! Freddy, the little boy whose father strictly prohibited from even listening to music would some day
become a composer of music. And not just any music – oh, no! Freddy would compose some of the world’s
great music. So great, in fact, that his music invoked great outpourings of emotion from some of the world’s
great leaders. Why, once when listening to one of Freddy’s great masterpieces of music, the king of England,
himself rose from his seat and stood in honor of the greatness of Freddy’s work. Yes. The king of England.
And not only the king of England, but even to this day, anyone who listens to this same masterpiece rises from
his seat and stands in honor. I have seen it done, and I have done so myself. And so have you. Yes, every
time we hear those words “For the Lord God Omnipotent reigneth! Halleluja! Halleluja! Hall-e-lu-jah!” We
stand to our feet. We always stand to our feet when we hear the “Hallelujah Chorus,” part of Messiah, one of
George Frederick Handel’s great masterpieces.