“Black Shirt, White Pants”
Dick took an early retirement from Maytag somewhere in the Midwest and moved to the Carolina coast. He visited our church a few times, joined, and became a member of the choir. A tenor, he sat in front of me during rehearsals next to Cleve, Harry, and Fred. An amiable guy with a playful sense of humor, he made wisecracks about us back row baritones —Tim, Phil, Lee, Brad, Due, and me. A bachelor when he arrived on our doorstep, he met, fell in love with, and married Willa, a delightful Southern woman whose grace and winsomeness made a fine match for Dick.
The annual Christmas concert was a tradition at First Christian. Our adult choir numbered well over thirty. Most of the choir members could actually read music (not me), keep time (not me), and stay on pitch (again, not me), but I made a joyful noise and enjoyed Dick’s playful ribbing when it was more noisy than joyful. We prepared diligently for the concert, including weeks of rehearsals during which we practiced new arrangements of traditional classics, worked out harmonies for beloved carols, and prepared contemporary pieces. With the garland adorning the sanctuary, flickering candlelight, and a full house on hand, the Sunday evening concert was a highlight for all.
And a huge responsibility for my wife Jennie. Music Directors have their hands full at the holidays. Between selecting, arranging, and practicing the music and directing multiple choirs, the holidays are nerve-wracking. By the time the choir concluded our final rehearsal, Jennie was all business. Which Dick saw as a perfect opportunity for an innocent prank. At the end of the rehearsal, Jennie went into detail about the appropriate dress for the concert. I don’t remember the women’s instructions, but the men’s attire was to be as follows: “Black pants. Black shoes. White shirt. Dark tie.” She went through the list a couple times to make sure we were listening: “Black, black, white, dark.”
Dick raised his hand and asked with a straight face, “Could you repeat that?”
“Black pants, black shoes, white shirt, dark tie,” said Jennie. “Got it, Dick?”
“Got it, Jennie!”
When the day of the concert arrived, Jennie was a bundle of anxious energy. She made her list and checked it twice to make sure everything was ready. By that evening when the choir members arrived and filed into the choir room for a final warmup and run-through, Jennie was in the zone. She looked up from her conductor’s stand and surveyed her gathered troops when, looking toward the tenor section, she paused and did a double take. One empty chair stood out like a missing tooth in a smile.
“Where’s Dick?” she asked.
We shrugged our shoulders. Whereupon the door opened and in walked Dick wearing white pants, white bucks, a black shirt, and a white tie. Without breaking stride or a smile, he stepped up the riser to the tenor row and sat down. He then looked around, saw the disparity between his zoot suit and everybody else’s outfit, and blushed as if on cue. Jennie was speechless. Someone in the bass section guffawed, whereupon the rest of us broke up.
After the final run-through, Dick retreated to the men’s restroom where he changed into the correct color combination wardrobe that he had hung on the door of the stall before making his grand entrance. The concert went off without a hitch. Afterwards, we had a reception in Fellowship Hall during which time Dick brought his zoot suit out of the restroom for all to see.
He and Willa moved a hundred miles or so up the coast not long after that. We saw them a few times over the years, most recently at the 100th anniversary of First Christian back in 2007. Several years ago, I was reading the church’s newsletter and came across a paragraph addressed To Our Church Family:
Thank you so much for all the cards, calls and visits that we received during Richard’s sickness and death. We were so happy to have his funeral service at First Christian Church. Richard loved the church choir and never felt he left because of your unending love and care for us.
Thank you so much,
Willa Hughey
I didn’t officiate at Dick’s funeral. But if I had, I know what I would have done. Being the formal, serious occasions they are, I know what the appropriate attire for a funeral is. Bible in one hand, hymnal in the other, I would have walked down the aisle during the opening hymn of Dick’s service in…white pants, white shoes, a black shirt, a white tie, and the biggest darn grin you can imagine. In loving memory of Dick. In honor of Jesus Christ whose conquering of sin and death gives us license to laugh even as we grieve. In a tip of the hat to the Psalmist who wrote, “Those who sow in tears shall reap with shouts of joy.”
