I will never forget my first gospel music concert. It was a gift from our church pianist.

Mr. McAboy wasn’t your average pianist. He was an elderly, silver-haired, gentleman with a slight deformity. He had two thumbs on his right hand. Now you would think that would have slowed him down on the ivories, but rest assured, it didn’t. He loved music and he passed that love onto the youth of the church. He’d spend many hours each week, teaching me as well as others, new music to sing on Sunday.

I had no idea what I was in for, when he and his lovely wife, invited me to a gospel music concert, featuring the Blackwood Brothers, and The Statesmen Quartet.

My musical experience during my fourteen years of living, had been church hymns, and what little Rock-N-Roll my Southern Baptist mother would allow in the house.

As we made our way to our auditorium seats one week later, I begin to sense that this was a “Big Deal.” There was an excitement, fluttering in the air of the crowded auditorium, and as that red velvet curtain, sweep open to reveal the stars of the evening, the crowd went wild.

When the music started, sweet melodious harmony, like I’d never heard before, every cell in my being vibrated.

 I was spellbound as I watched them, joking, sharing laughter, and crying tears while rejoicing, as they sang about our Lord and Savior.

I don’t remember the songs they sang. In fact, I’m not sure I even heard them announced. I was  locked into the vibrations that were bouncing off the walls of that auditorium. I could feel the presence of Jesus, as if he was sitting in the seat next to me.

I was slightly aware of the McAboys, nudging each other and exchanging knowing glances as they watched me, all wide-eyed, and with my mouth open. I must have looked as though I was trying  to physically absorb this delicious event.

At the intermission Mr. McAboy made his way to the table where the Blackwood Brothers and The Statesmen were chatting with fans. He had asked me if I wanted to go, but I was far to shy to dream of standing face to face with these marvelous singers, much less speak to them. 

When he returned, he handed me an album of the Blackwood Brothers, saying, “Here’s a little something, so that you won’t forget this evening.” Forget? I could never forget, not in a million years. It didn’t matter that I didn’t have a record player at home and I didn’t dare tell them, for fear they would take back this precious gift.

 I stared at the bright yellow cover and compared the images dressed in bright red jackets, to the faces on stage in front of me.

As the music started again, I caressed the album thinking, “I am holding a bit of that wonderful music, in my hands.”

I was quiet on the way home. The McAboys, asked me what I liked best about the concert, and I answered politely, but my mind was whirling from the evenings events. I was thinking how my friend Donna had a record player in her home. She had shown me a rack full of 33 1/3 RPM albums, but she was not allowed to play them. I couldn’t wait to show her mine,

“I will be fifteen soon. When I’m sixteen, I will get a job and buy a record player.” I promised myself.

That was a promise kept. When I turned sixteen, I started working at the local bakery and the first purchase I made was a record player.

It was a small portable Hi-fi system, with a hinged lid which opened to reveal the turntable. The brown tortoise shell pattern on the exterior glistened under the store lights, promising a future of musical delights. I convinced the clerk to allow me to purchase it  “On Time.”

It was agreed; I was to make four weekly payments at ten dollars each, and one final payment of six dollars. I rushed to that store every Saturday, marking off the weeks, anxiously, waiting for the day I could take my record player home and play my album. Many times I had slipped that record from the cover, imagining the sounds trapped in the vinyl.

When the day finally arrived, I was too excited to think. I rushed home with my long awaited treasure, and straight to my room. I plugged in the small player, took a deep breath, and placed the record on the turntable. It was pure magic. I lost track of how many times I played each side. I shared a room with my sister and I do remember her protesting to Mother, about the nonstop playing of the same songs.

I still have that album, forty some years later. I keep a turntable in my loft and many days I steal away to listen to my album collection. I have a vast array of music, all dear to my heart, but none evokes emotions and memories, quiet as strongly as that Blackwood Brothers album.

As the sweet melodies play, I recall an evening when a lovely couple, gave a fourteen-year-old girl . . . the gift of gospel music.

Barbara (Bobby) Smith is known widely, both locally and online for her inspirational short stories and poetry. She loves singing, song writing and performing at local events. She hosts the weekly Monday night jam show at the Bull Shoals Theater of the Arts in Bull Shoals, AR.   http://Frontporchswing.homestead.com/index.html  e-mail her : indy113@yahoo.com