HI-JACKING THE ORGAN RECITAL
by Jim Freund
© 2022
Walt and his wife Karen – a spry octogenarian couple – were dining out Thursday night at a neighborhood restaurant on Manhattan’s Upper East Side with another senior citizen duo.
They had recently met the other couple – Phil and Mary – at a large dinner party, where they’d been seated at the same table. They seemed to get along well, and when the evening concluded, Mary suggested a dinner date for the four of them at a restaurant of their mutual choice. Karen took Mary’s cell number and promised to get in touch with her.
In the taxi heading home that first night, Karen was in favor of the proposed get-together, but Walt seemed leery about the idea. “I wasn’t crazy about Phil. He was quite verbose, and I’m not anxious to have to endure more of the same.”
“You really think so?” Karen replied, in a tone that managed to subtly telegraph her disappointment at Walt’s negative reaction to the potential date.
After many years together, Walt’s marital antenna alerted him to the risk of his reluctance causing a dispute with his wife, which he didn’t relish. So, he mused, What the hell, it’s only one night – and who knows, I could be wrong about Phil . . . .
But he wasn’t wrong – his negative judgment now being proved in spades at their Thursday dinner date. The wife, Mary, was okay, but she deferred completely to her husband; and he, right from the moment they took their seats, proceeded to usurp the proceedings.
The topic that Phil chose for his monologue was one that usually generated input from everyone at any table of senior citizens – namely, revelations about their personal health issues. Time after time, the whole gang would join in revealing tidbits of intimate info. It had become such a recurrent theme of these restaurant gatherings that one wag dubbed it, “The Organ Recital”; and the colloquy often dominated the first sustained geezer dialogue of the evening.
Evidently, however, Phil didn’t see it that way. To him, the venerable organ recital wasn’t a community enterprise but rather a solo endeavor; and he grabbed the floor this evening even before the waiter served their drinks.
Phil’s subject of choice was a pesky personal ailment of his – chronic obstructive pulmonary disease, or COPD – that he considered endlessly interesting. Along the way, those at the table were coerced into hearing all about such matters as lung disease affecting the airways, and how the inability to exhale causes trouble breathing.
Walt’s wife Karen has high blood pressure and usually joins in these organ recitals with a brief discourse on the tribulations of her malady; but although giving it a passing try here, she couldn’t sneak in more than a few words. As for Phil’s wife Mary, evidently she had suffered through enough of his monologues to avoid efforts to break the flow.
As for Walt, although he sometimes joined in organ recitals with a few pithy cracks about his hernia, on this night he stayed on the health sidelines. He did attempt a few times to change the subject, but to no avail – Phil went right back to his lungs, and onward to emphysema, bronchitis and asthma.
At last the appetizers were served, and the talk moved on to other subjects. Here, too, Phil made an effort to dominate the conversation. But after a few such forays by the organ recital hijacker, Walt came to this sudden realization. As much as I dislike Phil’s COPD lectures, I have to admit they’re articulate – as well they might be, since it’s clearly his favorite subject and he’s had plenty of opportunity to fine-tune his delivery. But Phil isn’t nearly as well-spoken on other subjects that he pontificates on . . . . So even where the subject matter of the new topic was more interesting than COPD, its inferior handling by Phil made it equally intolerable to Walt.
When dinner ended and they were alone in the taxi going home, Walt told Karen what was on his mind. “Let me be frank with you. I really did not enjoy this evening, and I don’t want to get stuck with those two – actually, with Phil – again.” He then went on to provide details for his uncustomary ultimatum. Karen replied that she didn’t feel that strongly negative about Phil, and she did like Mary – to which Walt’s response was, “Well, then take her out to lunch without the guys – just respect my judgment about future dinners and any other all-hands contact.”
* * *
Three days later, the Sunday New York Times arrived at their apartment, and – consistent with what he did every Sunday morning for the past decade – Walt turned first to the obits. “Every octogenarian does it,” he was fond of saying – “even if they pretend not to. And notwithstanding that much overworked jest, it’s not simply to find out whether they themselves are still alive.”
After nevertheless confirming his own continuing existence, Walt proceeded to the multiple entries in search of whom he might have known among the recently deceased. And there it was – in definitive black & white – Phil’s obit.
Walt was shocked. The guy I just had dinner with a few nights ago, and who – in spite of his extended organ recital – seemed decidedly healthy, is no longer among the living.
Walt called Karen over and showed her the obit. “Oh,” she cried out, “what terrible news – and we just had dinner with them. It’s that goddamn COPD he discussed in such detail . . . . . I feel so bad for Mary . . . .”
Walt, however, when reflecting on the matter, was forced to confess – silently, of course – that the negative news did not make him feel so bad. In fact, his first thought was this: Now I’ll never again have to dine with Phil and listen to his COPD diatribe . . . . This was quickly followed by his second thought, also unexpressed: That’s a terrible reaction to have – is there something wrong with me? I should try to feel bad – at least to show due respect to his wife Mary, who seems like an okay person . . . .:”
At that point, Walt went back to the newspaper to read what Phil’s loved ones had said about him. Perhaps I’ll discover some positive things about the man that will cancel out my negativity. But despite his good intentions, Walt’s next unexpressed thought was even worse. Will they at least acknowledge that, although well-spoken, he was a terrific bore on his favorite subject – his own COPD that had finally managed to do him in?
But before Walt could wade into the stilted prose of Phil’s obit, he came across this unexpected revelation at the very top: “The cause of death was a heart attack.”
Walt couldn’t believe it. His first reaction showed some signs of humanity toward the deceased. After all his COPD shenanigans, here’s this bolt from the blue. Maybe now I’ll feel some appropriate sympathy for a life snuffed out prematurely by a disease Phil might not even have known he had. Poor guy – wasting all that energy on COPD, when his efforts might have been more worthwhile if directed to affairs of the heart.
As he read the balance of the obit, Walt tried – he genuinely tried hard – to generate some positive feelings for Phil, a man misled by the entire medical profession . . . . But in spite of his efforts, it just didn’t come to pass. He kept reverting in one form or another to his ungenerous critique of the man after just their second night together.
It was an uncomfortable dilemma for Walt to sustain. He was caught in between the equally unsatisfactory extremes of expressing sympathy that he didn’t feel or mouthing negative opinions of the deceased that sounded spiteful under the circumstances. He needed to find some way to resolve the conflict.
After sampling a few possibilities, he finally settled on an offbeat reaction, derived from one of his favorite jokes, which went like this:
“I’m really worried,” says a nervous hospital patient to his nurse. “Last week I read about a man who was in a hospital because of heart trouble and he died of malaria.”
“Relax,” replies the nurse. “This is a first-rate hospital. When we treat you for heart trouble, you die of heart trouble.”