Where’s Goofy?

During the Christmas season of 1988, my neighbor Chelton and I took our oldest sons to downtown Atlanta to a Children’s Theatre presentation of A Christmas Carol. At age three, this would be son Bill’s first live play. He was very excited to be going, since I had bought him and Lew the Disney cartoon version on VHS of Mickey’s Christmas Carol (released in 1983), which they had watched dozens of times, never seeming to get tired of it.

Our seats were in the center balcony with a great view of the stage. The acoustics in the theatre were amazing and you could clearly hear every word spoken on stage by the actors. The anticipation was great as the lights dimmed and the play started. I noticed Bill leaning forward intently watching and listening to every word. I remember thinking that he appeared to have a somewhat confused expression on his face, but since it was dark, I figured I could be mistaken as to his expression.

Those of you familiar with the story (who isn’t?), and those of you who have watched the Disney cartoon more than once (dozens of times for me), remember the early scene where Scrooge, having left work, walks to his home and prepares to enter through the front door, which has a large brass door knocker on it. It is here where Scrooge first encounters the ghost of his seven years dead partner, Marley, whose face takes the place of the knocker. In the cartoon, the ghost of Marley is played by Goofy. The sudden appearance of Marley’s face in place of the knocker is startling the first time you see it, especially so if you are three years old. Bill would squeal with delight every time Marley’s face would appear.

At the play, as the scene with Marley’s appearance was imminent, and greatly anticipated by Bill, who was waiting for it, he leaned even closer toward the stage, to make sure he did not miss one instant of it. As Scrooge started to open the door, the face of the actor playing Marley appeared in a hole cleverly designed to appear as if the face just materialized, illuminated by eerie lighting.

It was exactly at this pivotal dramatic moment that Bill clearly said in his loud little boy voice, heard throughout the theatre with clarity, “Where’s Goofy?” There was a moment of silence, during which Marley and Scrooge both looked up toward the balcony from whence the question came. Then the entire audience broke into hilarious laughter. Obviously everyone there had watched Mickey’s Christmas Carol, and knew that it was Goofy’s face that should have appeared.

It was a moment for the ages.

The Baseball

In the Summer of 1994, The Georgia Alumni Club of Sigma Pi sponsored a fraternity reunion party at brother Charles Siler’s horse farm in Cobb County on the Chattahoochee River just below Morgan Falls Dam. Since we were flying in a hundred pounds of crawfish from Louisiana, we called our party “Cajun on the Bayou.”

We decided that as a fund raiser to benefit our newly re-chartered Alpha-Phi Chapter at UGA, we would ask our alumni to donate items we could auction off and then donate the proceeds to the undergraduate chapter. There were over 200 alumni, undergrads, wives and dates there under the big circus tent set up in the riding rink. As Michelle and I often did, we had brought our sons, Bill and Lew with us.

After gorging ourselves on crawfish (sorry, I can’t suck crawfish head), we proceeded to the auction. I was the auctioneer. There were all sorts of great items donated, including dinner for two at a fine restaurant, a Sigma Pi blanket (mine from the 60’s), tickets to a football game, a massage at a fancy place on Buford Highway (the bidding got hot and heavy on that one) and numerous other neat stuff…we were bringing in hundreds of dollars for the chapter.

It was towards the end of the auction when David Wells handed me a baseball autographed by Atlanta Braves Manager Bobby Cox. David and Bobby were friends. This elicited a big cheer, as the Braves were very good right about this time. I was standing on a folding chair, without benefit of a microphone, basically yelling out to the crowd, slowly losing my voice. I held the baseball up in the air and asked, “What will you give me for this baseball autographed by Bobby?”

There came a small voice calling up to me from beside my chair saying, “$37.50.” I looked down to see my nine year old son, Bill, standing there with his hand stuck out grasping in his small fist ever cent he had to his name. Bill was a frugal child, and saved his allowance and money he made from odd jobs, only spending it when he determined it was really worthwhile. He was not inclined to be impetuous (like his dad) where money was concerned. The crowd was quiet as they watched me to see what I would do. I must tell you that I was conflicted. I knew exactly how important this must be to him, yet it was an auction.

I made a decision and announced to the crowd that my nine-year old son had just bid all the money he had, and asked if anyone was going to bid against him. I silently hoped that no one would bid and Bill would get the ball. And then one of the alumni bid $38.00. A groan went through the crowd and Bill’s face fell. I guess I could have bid on his behalf, but decided to let it play out. No more bids. “Sold for $38.00.”

I told Bill I would make it up to him, with full intention of going to a sports memorabilia store and buying him a Bobby Cox autographed baseball.

Fast forward a week. I received a telephone call from David Wells asking me to drop by his house. When I arrived, David handed me a baseball autographed by Bobby. David had gone to see him after our auction and told him what had happened, and Bobby pulled out a ball and autographed it for Bill. You should have seen his face when I handed it to him that evening. It was worth it. He got to experience a disappointment that life has to offer, and then experience an act of kindness. I wouldn’t have had it any other way. Besides, it makes a better story this way.

By the way, I told Bill he couldn’t play ball with the baseball, and it sat on his shelf in his room for years. When we moved some years later, I packed it up and put it away for safekeeping. Bill and I were having a conversation a few days ago about losing your voice, and I reminded him of when I was auctioneer all those years ago and lost mine. That prompted me to search for and find the baseball. Here it is. I’m giving it back to Bill.