To the Gals in My Life – All of You, Young and the Young at Heart

  So think of this as my version of Julio and Willie’s song, “To All the Girls I’ve Loved Before … sort of. Big difference, it’s not merely past tense but present as well. It’s meant to be a special Valentine tribute to “my ladies”  -- a way to say how much you’ve meant to my life, each in your own way – and still do.

You brought real beauty to my life, not the store bought variety

Or the kind you get from the gym

(Though of course some gals often spend

A lot of time thinking about their shape)

Me Too!

But I digress … as I’m known to do

For I must confess

If that was all you had going for you

I could say, “Hey, you look great” or another phrase that flatters

Leave it at that, as if that’s all that really matters

Of course if I did then I’d hardly be sending this e-mail

To someone who’s simply just another female

Nope, there’s a genuine, wonderful loveliness inside

That makes the outer beauty mean so much more

There’s all the laughter, the magic, the honesty

The kindness, compassion, sheer delight and almost

At times, childlike spirit of each of you,

Just being who you are

And that of course frees me up

To be the man I want to be

The insecure one, at times, who lives there inside of me

No need to pretend with you

I know I can depend on you

To love me anyway

Despite my flaws and “off-the-wall” style

You accept me and support me

Though you can’t tell it

(Since I’m not exactly the Cheshire cat

When it comes to expressions like that)

My heart is wearing a great big smile

Indeed, knowing you has made all the difference

Made this journey of mine so worthwhile

You are the fairer sex, so the cliché declares

Truly with you I’ve my fair share of moments

When you showed

(And not by words alone)

How much you cared

A gift like that, you can’t mass produce

You can’t demand, you can’t buy

Nor can you fully express your thanks

Though with this bit of verse

I’m giving it a “Gagliardi” try

I’m just your “not so average, slightly weird, prone to poetic

Inclined to speak his mind and gush a bit

Kind of guy”

Who prefers ten words when it comes to three

But you know well enough

How much I love words

Putting them here, putting them there

Making them fit in creatively

Yet to break this all down

It’s a simple thing

(And by the length of things

Probably overdue)

Time to pause and say on this Valentine’s Day

To each and every gal of mine

I LOVE YOU!

George Gagliardi, February, 2014

Christmas, 2013

Greetings, Friends and Fellow Seekers,

    It’s been another extraordinary year and I could easily fill up all the white space on this page with tales of my exploits. Now that’s exploits not sexpl … well, anyhow you get the idea. However, I’m going to keep it brief and just touch on some of the biggies for yours truly this past year in order of their appearance – New Year’s Eve with Singapore Slingers, Captain Fantasm /Pocket Sandwich Theater (piano), My Wilshire concert featuring a whole bunch of talented folks doing my music (Yes, Virginia there is a CD of it), Jester’s annual show, Jim Rivers memorial birthday party, Robin Hood Melodrama (2 songs), Las Vegas, Me and Marilyn on my birthday, Breckenridge Village in Tyler, Winnsboro Kiddz on Stage, Wilshire Winds concert (Celebration of Freedom, my piece), New England trip, Tom McWhorter party, Denver trip incl. Operation Christmas Child stint, Wilshire Winds Christmas concert (If Every Day Were Like Christmas Day, my song), New England revisited on the 19^th of this month. Add to all that this list of even more gigs with AChord, Nobles of Note, Dave Washburn’s Three-quarter Fast Jazz Band, Singapore Slingers, Dallas Banjo Band, Mark McKenzie Quartet, throw in at least a dozen new songs and … well, you can see I’ve had plenty to be thankful for this year – and believe me I am.

  But being thankful has also made me very mindful of friends and acquaintances who have had a rough year. They’ve had to deal with the pain of loss – it’s a pain most of us know too well.  And for them, and perhaps for all of us even now at Christmas time the vacant chair at the table is … The following has been written especially for them. Why? Because I felt they needed a word to be said in their behalf and elected myself to be a spokesman. Well, let’s be honest – I don’t think I was the one who elected myself spokesman. It was really His idea, I just sort of did my best to put it into words.

For After All, It’s Christmas

Okay, it’s Christmas time

Time for fun, frolic and fellowship

And good feelings and laughter

And being together and …

And … and for some – memories

Remembering that someone we loved

Is no longer here

So instead of a smile a tear

Comes to our eyes for a moment

Or maybe longer

It’s a moment with a feeling

A feeling that may grow stronger

As the homey, warm-hearted Rockwell scenes we see

Remind us in clear detail just how great being family can be

And despite the holiday glow everywhere

We know a sadness inside

That we try not to show

Might even try to hide

Not all that anxious to share

It’s a burden

One we’ve learned to bear

Not because we’re martyrs

But because we care

Always have, always will

Best to keep it to ourselves

For after all, it is Christmas

Okay, that’s enough, right!

Are you trying to bring us all down

Turn the red and green that colors

Our Christmas Dreams

Into something so gloomy

That it starts to look more

Like our worst nightmare on Halloween night?

Uh, no, I’m not

But in case you forgot

Christmas is supposed to be

Something a whole lot more than

What it’s become

I believe it started out as

A celebration of the arrival of a Son

The Holy, Life giving

(and in His case, literally) One

And pardon me, (which I know He will)

But if this season doesn’t have something hopeful,

Something real

To offer those in pain, those whose scars are deep

Who sometimes can’t help but weep

Because their world is now shattered

For suddenly it seems nothing much really matters

Like it did when she, when he was here

Well then let’s just turn Christmas over to Hallmark

Or Wal-mart or whoever and be done with it, shall we

Because this is God we’re talking about and let’s be clear

He knows hurt, he knows sorrow and I believe when we cry

He knows the weight of our tears

And He doesn’t expect you “put on a Happy face” when your heart is broken

Just because the Yuletide gods demand it

His grace is unending, his arms always open

For all His children

Though I confess I don’t fully understand it

But maybe especially at this time of year He sees those

Wounded, weary and lonely

And recalls not only a baby’s birth

Coming to a troubled and unwelcoming earth

But remembers how it felt to lose His only Son

To a world who certainly took their time remembering Him

And if God does indeed weep, and I believe He does

He would have then – even though He knew the rest of the story

And so do we who are people of faith – know the rest of the story

Oh, I don’t mean now that we trust

We blithely say, “Hey, everything is just all right with me”
What I do mean is that we can make it

We can, it’s not easy and it sure can be overwhelming at times

Even so

We can put one foot in front of the other

Wipe away the tears as we go

Do our very best with His help to grow beyond where we are

And look for the Star, like the wise men did

Not exactly sure where it will lead us

But believing He would never lead us astray

And if may, I’ll quote myself

“As long as He’s leading the way

We can say

Thanks to the Father, we’ve made it this far

Thanks to the Father, we know who we are”

And so does He, so does He

To those battle worn and beaten down,

My prayer would be

May you feel Him walking beside you

Willing to guide you, a never failing Father

Brother, Sister, Mother, Savior

Compassionate,  Strong, Kind

Giving you the very best present of all

His unconditional, full of “amazing grace” Love

To each one of you at this Christmas time

Merry Christmas,

George Gagliardi, December, 2013

It's Too Early For Easter ... Or Is It?

 Wednesday, Easter's a few weeks away

Me, I'm quick to say I'm not ready for Easter -- not just yet

Couldn't seem to get into the spirit of the thing

(More than likely I hadn't let the Spirit get into me)

No matter, there it was, Easter would be here soon, too soon

Or so I thought

I said, "Man, I'm just not ready for Easter"

My pastor, he caught me off guard, taught me a lesson  

A brief but timely response

It essentially boiled down to this --

When you're dead, Easter is never too early.

Talk about sobering, man, was he ever on target with that

I was looking for an Easter feeling -- as if there really is just one

So I wasn't quite ready for it to come barging in

Wait a while, a few more weeks, maybe

Strange thing about timing though, it doesn't much pay attention

To what you had planned -- Life just steamrolls right over you

And ready or not, here it comes -- sort of like this Easter

I'm speaking with conviction here

Conviction borne out of a recent experience

Having been, if not steamrolled, at least put flat on my back -- literally

Laying in a hospital bed, waiting to find out if ....

No, you don't even have to ask

I was once again reminded in a very concrete manner 

About how fragile we are, how mortal we are

And how precious life is, what a gift life is

(You bet I caught the "connection -- it was easy to see)

If that's not a big piece of what it means to celebrate Easter 

(Once you dig deep inside words like "salvation and redemption")

Then it's not about anything at all that matters

Ah, but it is, it is and Hallelujah I'm here to say

I believe it all over again

It's a good time to stand in awe of the Miracle

Moving from "being dead as a doornail" to being so full of life                         

 That I wouldn't be surprised if several angels

Were dancing on the head of a pin that morning

While the Father clapped his hands in sheer delight

At what He had pulled off

And brother don't you know when you realize 

You were closer to leaving this planet

Than you care to think about

Had you not listened to that inner voice 

(Hey, pal, "Something's not right here, better check it out")

A voice that I'm pretty darned convinced was of Divine origin

Well, all of a sudden Easter looks different

It's not a bunny or a brightly colored egg or a delicious brunch

Or a new outfit or even a great musical presentation

It's a whole lot more than that

It looks like the brightest hope you could ever imagine

It looks like something so wonderfully impossible 

That it couldn't possibly be true

And yet your heart knows it is

God did a good thing, the best thing

Anyone could ever do

He spit in the "face of death"

And got away with it

For those of us who believe He did

We can too

Yes, for me this year, Easter ...

Feels different and yes ...

Right on time

George Gagliardi, March, 2013

Christmas Greetings, 2012

Christmas Greetings, my friends, 

A bit of  history — I’ve been sending these “letters” out since 1979. They started out in the typical holiday format, chronicles of what I’d been up to that year, etc. I did this for a couple of years and by the third one I decided I was tired of spending all that verbiage on my exploits, such as they were. So … the next time out I used the Christmas letter as a way to offer some sort of creative writing for the Season — a poem, story, a song — something that seemed more like a gift than a recap, blah, blah. Now a big piece of the shift in this emphasis is that as a bachelor, I have no one to talk about but me — no spouse, kids, not even a pet. (Which is fine by me.) Since you folks seem to like these Yuletide ramblings of mine and have been gracious enough to say so, I’ll continue.

To recap then, the year in brief — This past year I had my 65th birthday and have been celebrating all year long by traveling, playing music and visiting friends. Some places I’ve been — Columbus, OH; Breckenridge Village in Tyler, TX; Pittsburgh, TX; NYC (Prior to Sandy’s devastation); Atlanta, GA; Charlotte, NC; Wilton, CT; Townsend, MA; Denver, CO; Kansas City, MO. These visits took place in June, October and November, mostly via Amtrak, of course. Every stop was full of warm welcomes, great times with friends and opportunities to make music of all kinds in all sorts of venues. Of course at home I’ve been very busy doing my local music thing — playing and writing. One of the many highlights of the year was being able to do arranging for and performing in the Wilshire Baptist Church program Hanging of the Green on December 2nd. This year the tone was specifically jazz and man, I loved it. We had the very talented contributions of Garrett and Luke Wingfield, Mark McKenzie, Jon Hock, Russ Allor, Lyndsey Jones and of course all the Wilshire folk from the church music program there. It was a great way to start off the Christmas Season. I actually could go on and on with how much fun it’s been to be 65 this year but I’ll stop so I can get to the “meat” of this epistle — leastways I hope it’s got some substance to it.

To quote a portion of  Lee Mendelson’s lyric for the TV special, “A Charlie Brown Christmas” — “Christmas time is here, happiness and cheer, fun for all, the children call their favorite time of year”.

And yet I’m betting that not every one of you reading this epistle are feeling that way at all. For some of you this is a difficult time, a stressful time and perhaps a time of sorrow as well. And so I thought this year I’d try and say something to you, for you. You see if Christmas doesn’t have a message for you too then it’s not much of a message is it.

It’s a Small Word, After All …

A baby was born, long ago on a Christmas morn in a manger, etc.

And the aching soul, having borne one too many burdens may well be tempted to say, “That’s nice” or perhaps even more harshly, “ So what?” What indeed?

What does a birth of a Jewish kid some 2000 or more years ago have to say to me now?     

It’s a good question and it deserves a good answer. However, I don’t have one — at least not exactly. I don’t have one custom made for you as you try and make sense of that which makes no sense. I don’t have one that makes the pain go away or fills the empty heart. But what I do have is this … hope.

It’s a small word, easily lost among the clichés of the world and not hard to submerge beneath a sea of cynicism and anger. But let’s think about this word for a moment.

What if hope were not just a word but a person? A person who knew first hand about heartache and loneliness and  being abandoned. A person who’s birth was cause for violence and greed and hatred for some and at the same time, an occasion to bring out the whole angelic choir — (Trumpets included, I’ll betcha) — for others.

It was the kind of birth that was so remarkably unremarkable in its locale as to be ludicrous. If this is God’s idea of how to introduce eternal hope to the world, well … man, what could you have been thinking. This baby boy is it? This is the hope we’ve been waiting for? And I suspect He was smiling as He was saying, “Yes, just wait and see.”

I guess that’s the hardest part of hope sometime, the waiting. But turns out God was right. Jesus did more than “make good”, he “made good” by making miracles and making the lives of people better, people who most folk had given up on. Well, I’d say when hope looks like that then it’s worth putting your faith in or at least investigating.

Well, that’s what people of faith, me included, believe about Jesus. He was/is the embodiment of hope, that God is not “asleep at the switch”, even when it seems He is.

I wish for all of you, who find sadness an unwelcome companion this Christmas, the hope that He brings, that He ushered into this crazy, mixed-up, unfair, unjust world that first Christmas years ago when he was born. It’s a hope as vital and alive as the heart that receives the gift of love and gives the gift of love. And with all my heart I wish that kind of hope for you this Christmas and the whole year through.

Merry Christmas (Anyway),

George Gagliardi

December, 2012

Death at Easter?

Whoa, what’s wrong with this picture?

Death at Easter, indeed.

Aren’t you forgetting something, pal.

Easter is when He arose, not when He died.

Besides who wants to think about something so gloomy.

It’s Spring and, depending on how the weather cooperates,

You’ve got sunshine, beautiful blossoms, birds singing

And heck, you’ve even got the Easter bunny

What’s this nonsense about death at Easter, anyway

Death is so final, so morbid, so … well, real.

Exactly.

You see it occurred to me that you can’t really have a resurrection

Without someone or something dying first

Now those of us who profess to have faith

Or those wish that they did

Or even those who’d like to be able to believe in something or someone

Will buy in on some level that something happened that first Easter

People of faith, such as myself, believe that God simply raised Jesus from the dead

(Simple for God but far from simple for us)

Death is enemy numero uno and, as has been quoted endlessly --

“Nobody gets out of here alive”

But Jesus did – at least that’s how the story goes

And that’s also my story and I’m sticking to it

My story?

Well, yes, in a way.

You see, getting back to this death at Easter thing,

Dreams can die, hopes can die, faith can die

And like all things dead, they get buried

But they don’t have to stay dead

They can be brought back to life

Not by wishful thinking or sheer willpower or clever maneuvering

They can be made alive again by … (or you ready for this?)

The grace of God

The unfailing, unearned, totally free grace of God

The kind of grace that can restore that which is broken

Or heal wounds too deep too imagine

Or shine the light of forgiveness on a dark and troubled soul

Or raise a man from the dead

That’s right.

God’s been in business of resurrection for a long time

And He’s still at it.

Death at Easter – Merely a Prelude

But one we’d do well not too ignore

Because as Abbie Huff, minister and wise woman, declares

“Look to the Broken Places. If it’s resurrection and new life

you’re looking for, the broken places are where we start”

Amen and amen.

Happy Easter

George Gagliardi

Christmas Letter, 2011

Greetings, friends.

  Or perhaps I should say fellow travelers since I’m convinced more than ever that we’re all on a path, a journey. I certainly have felt it this year as much as any. Maybe because I’ve literally been out “riding the rails” this Fall—Portland, Denver and Plano(?)  

  News dpt: I have a new CD out which most of you already have. It’s entitled “Songs Unsung … Until Now.” In addition to my continued opportunities with the various groups I play with — Singapore Slingers, AChord Trio, Nobles of Note big band, Mark McKenzie Quartet and Dallas Banjo Band — I’ve had some delightful experiences working with the Plano Children’s Theater as pianist/musical director and with a special needs group at Highland Park United Methodist Church, The Jesters. Moreover, it’s been a year of surprises — from my being hired as the melodrama pianist at the Pocket Sandwich Theater to a recording by Gloria Gaynor of a song I co-wrote with my pal, Cynthia Clawson to my working with a local burlesque troupe, the Lolly Bombs. (Now don’t tell me I don’t have an interesting life. HA!) Heck, I’ve even got some videos on my Facebook page and my website www.georgegagliardi.com, including one of me in KC’s Union Station. That is story unto itself. But speaking of stories, let’s get to this year’s installment.

The Enchanted Mandolin

   The children were excited. It was two days before Christmas and tonight he would be here. For more years than anyone could remember he had been coming to their little village. Whether fair weather or foul, he was always there. As reliable as Christmas Day itself, he never failed to appear and it was always the same schedule, year after year after year.

   No one knew his name. They simply referred to him as The Storyteller for that’s what he did, he told stories, wonderful, magical stories. Stories that delighted both children and grown ups alike. He would arrive about dusk, have a simple meal at the Inn and around mid-evening the people would start gathering in the Inn’s cozy dining room, lanterns all aglow, a welcoming fire blazing in the massive stone hearth. 

   When he came in, he would greet everyone, pull his favorite chair over in front of the fireplace and smile. Then he would lean back, grey eyes a twinkle, tilt his head to one side while stroking his long white beard - as if remembering some long ago event - and then begin.

   “It happened this way, a long time ago. (He rarely started off with “once upon a time”, that was not his way.) A certain young man decided that the best way to experience the beauty and wonder of this world was to get out and see it, to explore it, to travel. So he did.

He didn’t have much in the way of possessions – a few clothes, his favorite journeyman’s hat, a journal and an old, well worn mandolin – well worn from hours of playing in this town and that, from being on the road, from one too many nicks and scratches -- hazards of, if not carelessness, then clumsiness. The sort of tangible reminders one has from living out on the highways and byways of this world.

   Now it so happened that one Christmas Eve as he was traveling through the country he found himself in a mining town, perched high in the mountains, next to the Great River. On this particular day the tiny hamlet was a place of great sadness because one of their own, a young mother, had disappeared and could not be found. The people there all feared the worst -- that she had been swept away by the Great River the day before and was gone forever. The search parties had combed the area but to no avail. Sadder still, now there was a little girl, Sally, who had no Mommy to rock her or hold her or tell her bedtime stories or just be there for her with a warm smile on a cold winter morning. Her daddy had died in a mining accident only two years ago and so it had been just her and her mother – and now she was gone.

  He was there in the town square, preparing to unpack his mandolin when he learned of the tragedy from one of the locals. The news broke his heart. He put away his instrument, sat down and stared out at the vast mountain range that surrounded the village. He felt utterly helpless. He’d come to play his mandolin, to lead the townspeople in some Christmas carols, to help celebrate this festive night but now … there didn’t seem to be much point in that. So he sat there, despondent.

   After a time he took out his journal and was writing down his feelings when he saw a little girl approaching him, obviously curious as to who he was and what he was doing there. She moved cautiously toward him, not saying a word. It was Sally. He smiled, put down his journal and said hello -- Still not a word. He took out his mandolin and showed it to her. Would you like to hear some music? Slowly she nodded. And he began to play.

  He began with a simple Christmas song he knew the little girl would recognize. Was there a trace of smile? No, not even a glimmer of one. How about this one? And he played a song that had always proven to be a children’s favorite. She looked down and then started to cry. He stopped playing, at a loss as to what to do. At that moment he uttered a silent prayer, just three words, ‘God Help Me’. He was trying desperately to think of what song he should play when something remarkable happened.

   The mandolin began to play the most beautiful melody the young man had ever heard – all by itself! Sally heard the sweet music and lifted her eyes, only to stare, puzzled but full of wonder, completely caught up in this amazing thing that was happening. Here was a mandolin playing and no one was playing it –why it was almost like it was enchanted. As for the young man, he sat there, mouth agape, not knowing what to do. So he simply let the music play. In a few moments he began to notice that the sounds of the mandolin had started to draw a few people over to hear the music. Once they saw what was happening they stood there also staring in disbelief, mesmerized by this incredible vision. There were some who, after having seen this bizarre sight, promptly rushed off to tell their friends – and still the music played, on and on. Very soon the crowd began to grow.

    Eventually the music changed from a ballad into a jaunty, almost “hoe down” tune and before long people were dancing and clapping and chattering about how wonderful it all was. There truly was a spirit of celebration and for a time the sadness forgotten, the townsfolk having been caught up in the wonder of the event.

   Suddenly Sally burst forth with one of those ear shattering, high pitched squeals – as only little girls can. Everyone and everything stopped, including the mandolin. The crowd looked in the direction of where the little girl was looking. And they saw what she saw. It was her mother.

   Immediately both mother and daughter began running toward one another and cheers went up from the crowd. They embraced and as if on cue, the mandolin began to play again. There were tears of joy, great big smiles, thanksgivings, warm hugs and of course, questions -- Are you alright? Are you hurt? What happened? Where were you? Why couldn’t we find you?  

    Little by little the story began to unfold. She had remembered seeing a particular mountain daisy she wanted for this Christmas basket she wanted to make. It was perched high up on a stone ledge. No sooner had she climbed up and picked the flower when she discovered that the ground around the patch of flowers was soft, merely covering the entrance to old abandoned mine shaft . She lost her footing and fell into the pit, hit her head on something and was too dazed by the fall to move. She had been lying in a sort of bewildered state since yesterday afternoon, half awake and half asleep. She might be there still except for this dream she’d had – there was music playing, beautiful music. It was prettiest melody she’d ever heard. She had the strangest feeling that it was written especially for her. It was mandolin music. And then she woke up. And even wide awake she could still hear the music. Then she remembered what had happened and where she was and who she was. Slowly she stood up and surveyed her surroundings. Fortunately it wasn’t that difficult to climb back out of the mine shaft, there was a makeshift ladder from old timbers that readily brought her to the surface. Once she got back down from the ledge she headed for home, following in the direction of the music.

   All who heard the tale marveled at it. It was a miracle, no question about it. Didn’t they give her up for dead, didn’t they all hear the mandolin play all by itself and wasn’t that what the young mother heard? Yes, it was indeed an enchanted mandolin.

   As for that particular stringed instrument, after that remarkable episode it went back to being merely an old, worn, ordinary mandolin. Now and then the young man would wish that it would repeat that haunting melody and play itself but it never would and it never did. But he wasn’t bitter about it. He knew he had been privileged to be a witness to a Christmas miracle and he was glad that his mandolin was chosen for the task. After all how often does one have the opportunity to witness such a miracle— then again, maybe more often than we realize if we would only look with believing eyes.” 

   The Storyteller ended his tale and was preparing to leave when one of the children asked him if the story was true. He replied that of course it was, then chucked, saying that only facts had been changed for the sake of making it a better story. As he made his way across the room he could see the doubt in a few eyes. So he walked over to the corner where he kept his knapsack. Once there he picked it up, put it on the table, opened it up and pulled out an object wrapped in a small, cotton blanket, undid the cloth and showed it to the people there – it was a mandolin.

  So there you have it, a tale about a miracle which is only fitting for me because this is His time, a time of miracles and I for one still believe they’re possible. May the wonder and the possibility of the impossible fill your heart and help us all remember a miraculous birth in manger about 2000 years ago when God did the impossible – as is His custom.

Merry Christmas, 

George Gagliardi, 

December, 2011

It's Easter . . . Film at 11?

Friends, Happy Easter.

This year's contribution grew out of a passing comment from a minister about video proof of the resurrection. I trust you'll find it worth reading. 

Setting: Easter morning, shortly after sunrise, an empty tomb on the outskirts of Jerusalem. Two men are having a conversation, one has a video camera.

Tommy: (Obviously out of breath) Man, I can't believe I missed it. I overslept. Got here as fast I could. Did you get it? 

Pete: You better believe it. It was … I don't know how to describe it. Thank God, I don't have to. (patting his camera) It's all right here on tape on this little camera of mine. 

Tommy: Yeah, that's great. But, I mean, you saw him, right? He really came out of there. 

Pete: He is alive as you and me and that's a fact. 

Tommy: I'm telling you I can't wait to show this to those pious prudes and get right up in there face with it. What are they gonna say? Hm? How are they gonna justify what they did then? Those bastards will have to do some fast talking then, eh, Pete? 

Pete: You better believe it. (Pause) You know, Tommy … 

Tommy: Yeah? 

Pete: I'm thinkin' maybe we ought to show it to his guys first – you know, John, Matt – his followers. Can you imagine all the whooping and carrying on they'll do once they see he's alive again. I'm telling you it will be party time in old Jerusalem for sure. 

Tommy: Yeah, what was I thinkin'. We'll go and try and find some of them and invite them to the studio to see what you've got there. Of course it might be a bit tough – a lot of them went underground, trying to keep a low profile from "you-know-who". 

Pete: Can't say I blame them. But once they see this – well, it will be a different story, to be sure. 

Tommy: Yeah. (Long pause) You know, Pete, maybe we should watch it first before we show it to anybody else. Mind you, I'm not sayin' you didn't do your job but I think I'd feel better if we previewed it first just in case …

Pete: Just in case what … in case I didn't get it? 

Tommy: No, I didn't mean that exactly. It just that … 

Pete: Well what did you mean? 

Tommy: Look, Pete, someone doesn't come back from the dead everyday. This is 'way beyond anything we've ever dealt with before and maybe … maybe there might be more going on with this than we realize. 

Pete: Wait a moment. Do my ears deceive me? Are you talking about supernatural stuff? You, of all people. Mister "show me the proof" Tommy. You're going to start talking about – dare I say it, miracles 

Tommy: Okay, okay, it's not my usual way of dealing with things but … well, this feels different. I'm just saying, what's the harm in our looking at the footage first before we bring anyone else to see it – just to be safe. 

Pete: Man, I never would have believed it. Okay, we'll watch it first. To tell you the truth I'm anxious to see it and who knows how long it might be before we could find some of his guys. 

Tommy: Hey, I think I hear somebody running, let's skidaddle. See you back at the studio. 

(Back at the studio. The lights are off, the tape is rolling …) 

Pete: See, there's the stone, rolled away from the entrance. I mean, it just moved away by itself. When I saw that … wait a minute here it comes, see that bright light. Now it's … (Silence) 

Pete: What happened? Where is He? This is the moment I saw him come out. Where the hell is he? He supposed to be there. He was there, I saw him. I swear I saw him come out. I… 

Tommy: (Stands up, turns on the light) I don't doubt that you believe you saw him come out. Hell, for all I know, maybe he did. But there's no proof. It's not on the tape. You may have seen it but I didn't'. 

Pete: What are you implying? 

Tommy: I'm not implying anything. I'm stating a fact, pure and simple. We have no proof, other than your word, that you saw Jesus alive again. Now that might be good enough for me, but not for anyone else. As your pal, I'd believe you because I know you don't lie. But for you to claim that you saw a dead man alive again – well, it's just too preposterous for anyone else to believe. 

Pete: (Shakes his head) But I saw him. Dammit, I know I saw him walk out of that tomb. 

Tommy: I'm sorry, my friend. I don't what else to say. This could have been the biggest scoop since that water and wine thing down in Cana but … well, we can't make up the facts. 

Pete: So what do we do now? 

Tommy: Well, what can we do. Just chalk it up to … bad timing, I guess. 

Pete: (Long pause, the Pete stands up and heads for the door) 

Tommy: Where you goin'? 

Pete: You may call me a crazy man but as you say you didn't see what I saw. But I did see it. I'm going to go find some of this guys and tell 'em what I saw. 

Tommy: Do you really think it will do any good? 

Pete: A man who says he'll rise from the dead and then does it? Yeah, I definitely think it will do a world of good. 

Tommy: Well if you're determined to tell your tale then I best go along and try and keep you out of trouble. 

Pete: Me? Trouble? Just because I claim to have seen Jesus alive again, how could I get into trouble over that? (Laughs and they both exit) 

George Gagliardi, Easter 2011