A Graycliff Christmas Carol Transcript (030)
ANNA KAPLAN [bumper]: Hello! I'm Anna Kaplan, Executive Director of Graycliff, and you are at the Point of Learning with my friend Peter Horn. For those of you that are unaware, Graycliff is the Frank Lloyd Wright-designed summer home of Isabelle and Darwin Martin on Lake Erie in Derby, New York. I invited Pete to Graycliff to read selections from the version of Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol that his father, the late Reverend Gilbert J. Horn, adapted in the 1960s and read to congregations for over 30 years--including members of First Presbyterian Church in Buffalo. Peter began performing his dad's adaptation in 1996, and I am delighted to welcome you to a new version of this holiday classic, set in this amazing space, and punctuated beautifully by carols performed by members of Buffalo's own Vocalis Chamber Choir. Thanks to Full Circle Studios for shooting the footage of this special event. Full credits and details on how to make a donation to Graycliff, if you enjoyed the production, follow the show. For now, welcome to Graycliff, sit back, and enjoy!
[1:11] Carol: “O Come, All Ye Faithful”
[2:01] STAVE 1—SCROOGE
NARRATOR: Once upon a time—of all the good days in the year, on Christmas Eve—old Scrooge sat busy in his counting house. It was cold, bleak, biting weather: foggy withal.
NEPHEW: A Merry Christmas, Uncle! God save you!—
NARRATOR: —cried a cheerful voice. It was the voice of Scrooge’s nephew.
SCROOGE: Bah!
NARRATOR: —said Scrooge.
SCROOGE: Humbug!
NEPHEW: Christmas a humbug, Uncle? You don’t mean that, I’m sure!
SCROOGE: I do! Merry Christmas … What right have you to be merry? What reason have you to be merry? You’re poor enough!
NEPHEW: Come then, Uncle. What right have you to be dismal? What reason have you to be morose? You’re rich enough!
NARRATOR: Scrooge, having no better answer ready on the spur of the moment, said—
SCROOGE: Bah!
NARRATOR: —again, and followed it up with
SCROOGE: Humbug!
NEPHEW: Don’t be cross, Uncle!
SCROOGE: What else can I be, when I live in a world of fools as this? Merry Christmas … Out upon a merry Christmas! What’s Christmas to you but a time for paying bills without money, for finding yourself a year older but not an hour richer. If I could work my will, every idiot who goes about with “Merry Christmas” on his lips should be boiled with his own pudding, and buried with a stake of holly through his heart. He should!
NEPHEW: Uncle!
SCROOGE: Nephew, keep Christmas in your own way, and let me keep it in mine. Good afternoon!
NEPHEW: I want nothing from you; I ask nothing of you. Why cannot we be friends?
SCROOGE: Good afternoon.
NEPHEW: I am sorry, with all my heart, to find you so resolute. We have never had any quarrel to which I have been a party. But I have made the trial in homage to Christmas, and I’ll keep my Christmas humor to the last. So, a Merry Christmas, Uncle!
SCROOGE: Good afternoon!
NEPHEW: And a Happy New Year!
SCROOGE: GOOD AFTERNOON!!!
NARRATOR: His nephew left the room without an angry word, notwithstanding. He stopped at the outer door to bestow the greetings of the season on the clerk, who, cold as he was, was warmer than Scrooge; for he returned them cordially.
SCROOGE: There’s another fellow, my clerk, with fifteen shillings a week, and a wife, and a family, talking about a merry Christmas—I’ll retire to Bedlam!
NARRATOR: This lunatic, in letting Scrooge’s nephew out, had let two other people in. They were portly gentlemen, pleasant to behold, and now stood, with their hats off, in Scrooge’s office. They had books and papers in their hands, and bowed to him. Referring to his list, one of the gentlemen spoke.
SOLICITOR: Scrooge & Marley’s, I believe. Have I the pleasure of addressing Mr. Scrooge or Mr. Marley?
SCROOGE: Mr. Marley has been dead these seven years. He died seven years ago this very night.
SOLICITOR: We have no doubt his generosity is well represented by his surviving partner—
NARRATOR: —said the gentleman, presenting his credentials. It certainly was; for they had been two kindred spirits. At the ominous word generosity, Scrooge frowned, and shook his head, and handed the credentials back.
SOLICITOR: At this festive season of the year, Mr. Scrooge, it is more than usually desirable that we should make some slight provision for the poor and destitute, who suffer greatly at the present time. Many thousands are in want of common necessities; hundreds of thousands are in want of common comforts, sir.
SCROOGE: Are there no prisons?
SOLICITOR: Plenty of prisons …
SCROOGE: And the union workhouses? Are they still in operation?
SOLICITOR: They are. Still, I wish I could say they were not.
SCROOGE: Oh, I was afraid from what you said at first that something had occurred to stop them in their useful course. I’m very glad to hear it.
SOLICITOR: Under the impression that they scarcely furnish Christian cheer of mind or body to the multitude, a few of us are endeavoring to raise a fund to buy the Poor some meat and drink, and means of warmth. What shall I put you down for?
SCROOGE: Nothing!
SOLICITOR: You wish to be anonymous?
SCROOGE: I wish to be left alone! I help to support the establishments I have mentioned—they cost enough; and those who are badly off must go there.
SOLICITOR: Many can’t go there; and many would rather die!
SCROOGE: If they would rather die, they had better do it, and decrease the surplus population! It’s not my business. It’s enough for a man to understand his own business, and not to interfere with other people’s. Mine occupies me constantly. Good afternoon, gentlemen.
[8:12] Carol: Excerpt from “Angels, We Have Heard on High”
[8:41] STAVE 2—MARLEY
NARRATOR: After taking his his usual melancholy dinner at his usual melancholy tavern, Scrooge arrived at his old, gloomy house. With his key in the lock of the door, he was astonished to see in the knocker, without its undergoing any intermediate process of change, not a knocker—but Marley's face!
Marley's face. (It had a dismal light about it, like a bad lobster in a dark cellar.) It was not angry or ferocious, but looked at Scrooge as Marley used to look—with ghostly spectacles turned up on its ghostly forehead. But as Scrooge looked fixedly at this phenomenon, it was a knocker again. Scrooge turned his key sturdily, walked in, and lighted his candle.
SCROOGE: Humbug!—
NARRATOR: —said Scrooge. But scarcely had he sat down in his chair when a disused bell over his head began to chime loudly, as did every other bell in the house. The bells were succeeded by a clanking noise, deep down below, as if some person were dragging a heavy chain over the casks in the wine-merchant's cellar. The cellar door flew open with a booming sound, and then he heard the noise much louder, on the floors below, then coming up the stairs, then coming straight towards his door.
SCROOGE: It's humbug still! I won't believe it.
NARRATOR: His color changed though, when, without a pause, it came on through the heavy door and passed into the room before his eyes. Marley in his pigtail, usual waistcoat, tights, and boots. The chain he drew was clasped about the middle. It was long, and wound about him like a tail, and it was made (for Scrooge observed it closely) of cash-boxes, keys, padlocks, ledgers, deeds, and heavy purses made of steel. His body was transparent, so that Scrooge could see the two buttons on his waistcoat behind. He had often heard it said that Marley had no bowels, but he never believed it till now.
SCROOGE: How now! What do you want with me?
MARLEY: Much!
SCROOGE: Who are you?
MARLEY: In life, I was your partner, Jacob Marley.
SCROOGE: Can you—can you sit down?
MARLEY: I can.
SCROOGE: Do it, then.
MARLEY: You don't believe in me.
SCROOGE: I don't.
MARLEY: What evidence would you have of my reality beyond that of your senses?
SCROOGE: I don't know.
MARLEY: Why do you doubt your senses?
SCROOGE: Because a little thing upsets them. A slight disorder of the stomach makes them cheats. You may be an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of underdone potato. There's more of gravy than of grave about you, whoever you are!
NARRATOR: Scrooge was not much in the habit of cracking jokes, nor did he feel, in his heart, by any means waggish then. The truth is that he tried to be smart as a means of distracting his own attention and keeping down his terror.
SCROOGE: Humbug, I tell you. Humbug!
NARRATOR: At this the spirit raised such a frightful cry, and shook its chain with such a dismal and appalling noise, that Scrooge held on tight to his chair to save himself from fainting. But when the phantom took off the bandage around its head and its lower jaw dropped down upon its breast, Scrooge fell upon his knees and clasped his hands before his face.
SCROOGE: Mercy! Dreadful apparition, why do you trouble me?
MARLEY: I have been traveling thus these seven years—no rest, no peace—now knowing that no space of regret can make amends for one life's opportunity misused!
SCROOGE: But you were always a good man of business, Jacob.
MARLEY: Business! Humanity was my business. The common welfare was my business. Charity, mercy, forbearance, and benevolence were all my business. The dealings of my trade were but a drop of water in the comprehensive ocean of my business! I am here tonight to warn you that you have yet a chance and hope of escaping my fate.
SCROOGE: You were always a good friend to me. Thank 'e!
MARLEY: You will be haunted by three spirits.
SCROOGE: Is that the chance and hope you mentioned, Jacob?
MARLEY: It is.
SCROOGE: I—I think I'd rather not.
MARLEY: Expect the first tomorrow, when the bell tolls one.
SCROOGE: Couldn't I take 'em all at once and have it over, Jacob?
MARLEY: Expect the second on the next night at the same hour and the third upon the next; and for your own sake, remember what passed between us.
NARRATOR: Scrooge looked up, and the specter vanished into a night screaming with phantoms, many like it, many known to him. He tried to say—
SCROOGE: Humb—
NARRATOR: —but stopped at the first syllable. Being much in need of repose, he went straight to bed without undressing, and fell asleep upon the instant.
[15:13] Carol: “Carol of the Bells”
[16:34] STAVE 3—CHRISTMAS PAST
CLOCK: Ding dong!
SCROOGE: A quarter past--
NARRATOR: --said Scrooge, counting.
CLOCK: Ding dong!
SCROOGE: Half past.
CLOCK: Ding dong!
SCROOGE: A quarter to it.
CLOCK: Ding dong!
SCROOGE: The hour itself--and nothing else!
NARRATOR: Light flashed up in the room upon the instant, and the curtains of his bed were drawn, and Scrooge found himself face to face with the unearthly visitor who drew them.
SCROOGE: Are you the spirit, sir, whose coming was foretold to me?
GHOST: I am.
SCROOGE: Who, and what are you?
GHOST: I am the Ghost of Christmas Past.
SCROOGE: Long past?
GHOST: No. Your past. Rise, walk with me!
NARRATOR: The spirit made toward the window.
SCROOGE: I am a mortal, and liable to fall.
GHOST: Bear but a touch of my hand there, and you shall be upheld in more than this!
NARRATOR: They stopped at a certain warehouse door, and the ghost asked Scrooge if he knew it.
SCROOGE: Know it? I was apprenticed here!
NARRATOR: They went in. At the sight of an old gentleman in a Welsh wig, sitting behind such a high desk that, if had been two inches taller, he must have knocked his head against the ceiling, Scrooge cried in great excitement--
SCROOGE: Why it's old Fezziwig! Bless his heart, it's Fezziwig alive again!
NARRATOR: Old Fezziwig laid down his pen, and looked up at the clock, which pointed to the hour of seven, and called out in a comfortable, oily, rich, fat, jovial voice--
FEZZIWIG: Yo ho, there! Ebenezer! Dick!
NARRATOR: Scrooge's former self came briskly in, accompanied by his fellow apprentice.
SCROOGE: Dick Wilkins to be sure. Bless me, yes. There he is. He was very attached to me, was Dick. Poor Dick! Dear, dear.
FEZZIWIG: Yo ho, my boys! No more work tonight. Christmas Eve, Dick! Christmas, Ebenezer! Let's have the shutters up before a man can say "Jack Robinson"!
NARRATOR: Shutters up! There was no chore they wouldn't have undertaken with old Fezziwig looking on. The floor was swept and watered, the lamps trimmed, fuel heaped on the fire, and the warehouse was as snug and bright a ballroom as you would desire on a winter's night. When the clock struck eleven, Mr. and Mrs. Fezziwig took their stations, shaking hands with every person individually as he or she went out, and wishing every one a Merry Christmas. During the whole of this time, Scrooge acted like a man out of his wits. His heart and soul were in the scene, and with his former self. It was not until now, with the bright faces turned from them, that he remembered the ghost.
GHOST: A small matter--
NARRATOR: --said the ghost--
GHOST: --to make these silly folks so full of /gratitood/.
SCROOGE: Small!
NARRATOR: Scrooge was indignant.
GHOST: Why, is it not? He spent but a few pounds of your mortal money. Is that so much that he deserves praise?
SCROOGE: It isn't that, Spirit. He has the power to render us happy or unhappy, to make our service a pleasure or a toil. The happiness he gives is quite as great as if it cost a fortune.
GHOST: What's the matter?
NARRATOR: --asked the ghost.
SCROOGE: Nothing particular.
GHOST: Something, I think.
SCROOGE: No. I should like to be able to say a word or two to my clerk just now. That's all.
NARRATOR: Suddenly, Scrooge was not alone but sat by the side of a fair young girl, who spoke through her tears.
BELLE: It matters little to you, very little. Another idol has displaced me; and if it can cheer and comfort you in time to come, as I would have tried to do, I have no just cause to grieve.
YOUNG SCROOGE: What idol has displaced you?
BELLE: A golden one.
NARRATOR: Scrooge heard himself reply--
YOUNG SCROOGE: This is the even-handed dealing of the world! There is nothing on which it is so hard as poverty, and there is nothing it professes to condemn with such severity as the pursuit of wealth!
BELLE: You fear the world too much Ebenezer. I have seen your nobler aspirations fall off one by one, until the master-passion, Gain, engrosses you. May you be happy in the life you have chosen. Good-bye, Ebenezer.
SCROOGE: Spirit! Show me no more! Conduct me home. Why do you delight to torture me? Leave me. Take me back. Haunt me no longer!
NARRATOR: Scrooge was suddenly conscious of being exhausted and, furthermore, of being back in his own room, and barely had time to reel into bed before he sank into a heavy sleep.
[22:18] Carol: “Lo, How a Rose, E’er Blooming”
[23:58] STAVE 4—CHRISTMAS PRESENT
NARRATOR: Awaking in the middle of a prodigiously tough [snort] snore, Scrooge had no occasion to be told that the bell was again upon the stroke of one. Now, being prepared for almost anything, he was not by any means prepared for nothing. Five minutes, ten minutes, a quarter of an hour went by, yet nothing came. At last, however, he began to think how curious it was that, at the stroke of one, his bed had been bathed in a blaze of ruddy light, which came from the adjoining room. He got up softly and shuffled in his slippers to the door. The moment Scrooge's hand was upon the lock, a strange voice called him by name, and bade him enter.
GHOST: Come in! Come in, and know me better, man!
NARRATOR: Scrooge entered timidly, and hung his head before the spirit.
GHOST: I am the Ghost of Christmas Present. Look upon me! You have never seen the like of me before.
SCROOGE: Never.
NARRATOR: The Ghost of Christmas Present rose.
SCROOGE: Spirit, conduct me where you will. I went forth last night on compulsion, and I learnt a lesson which is working now. Tonight, if you have aught to teach me, let me profit by it.
GHOST: Touch my robe!
NARRATOR: Scrooge did as he was told, and held it fast. The spirit led him straight to Scrooge's clerk's, stopping to bless Bob Cratchit's dwelling with the sprinklings of his torch.
It was after dinner, and all the Cratchit family was drawing round the hearth to taste the festive drink which had simmered there all day. Bob served it out with beaming looks.
CRATCHIT: A Merry Christmas to us all, my dears. God bless us!
NARRATOR: --which all the family re-echoed.
TINY TIM: God bless us, every one!--
NARRATOR: --said Tiny Tim, the last of all. He sat very close to his father's side upon his little stool. Bob held his withered little hand in his, as if he loved the child and wished to keep him by his side, dreading that he might be taken from him.
SCROOGE: Spirit--
NARRATOR: --said Scrooge, with an interest he had never felt before--
SCROOGE: --tell me if Tiny Tim will live.
GHOST: I see a vacant seat in the poor chimney corner, and a crutch without an owner. If these shadows remain unaltered by the future, the child will die.
SCROOGE: No, no! Oh no, kind spirit, say he will be spared!
GHOST: If these shadows remain unaltered by the future, none other of my race will find him here. What then? "If he be like to die, he had better do it, and decrease the surplus population!"
NARRATOR: Scrooge hung his head to hear his own words quoted by the spirit, and was overcome with penitence and grief.
GHOST: Man--
NARRATOR: --said the Ghost--
GHOST: --if man you be in heart, forbear that wicked cant until you have discovered what the surplus is, and where it is. It may be that in the sight of Heaven you are more worthless and less fit to live than millions like this poor man's child.
NARRATOR: Scrooge bent before the ghost's rebuke, and trembling cast his eyes upon the ground. But he raised them speedily, on hearing his own name. It was Bob Cratchit's voice.
CRATCHIT: Mr. Scrooge! I'll give you Mr. Scrooge, the founder of the feast.
NARRATOR: His wife was livid.
MRS. CRATCHIT: The founder of the feast indeed! I wish I had him here. I'd give him a piece of my mind to feast upon, and I hope he'd have a good appetite for it!
CRATCHIT: My dear, Christmas Day.
MRS. CRATCHIT: I'll drink his health for your sake and the day's, not for his. Long life to him. A merry and very happy Christmas. He'll be very merry and happy, I have no doubt!
NARRATOR: It was a long night, if it were only a night, because the Christmas holidays appeared to be condensed into the space of the time Scrooge and his guide spent together. Turning to the ghost, Scrooge asked--
SCROOGE: Are spirits' lives so short?
GHOST: My life upon this globe is very brief. It ends tonight.
NARRATOR: Scrooge nodded, but still looked quizzically at the spectral form.
SCROOGE: Forgive me if I am not justified in what I ask, but I see something strange and not belonging to you protruding from your skirts.
NARRATOR: From the foldings of its robe, the ghost brought two children: wretched, abject, frightful, hideous, miserable. They knelt down at its feet and clung upon the outside of its garment.
GHOST: O man, look here! Look, look down here!
NARRATOR: They were a boy and a girl. Yellow, meager, ragged, scowling, wolfish; but prostrate, too, in their humility.
SCROOGE: Spirit, are they yours?
GHOST: They are humanity's! This boy is Ignorance. This girl is Want.
SCROOGE: Have they no refuge or resource?
GHOST: "Are there no prisons?"--
NARRATOR: --said the ghost, turning on Scrooge for the last time with his own words--
GHOST: "Are there no workhouses?"
NARRATOR: The bell struck twelve.
[30:33] Carol: “In the Bleak Midwinter”
[32:14] STAVE 5—CHRISTMAS YET TO COME & CHRISTMAS DAY
NARRATOR: Scrooge looked about him and beheld a solemn phantom, draped and hooded, coming like a mist along the ground towards him. It was shrouded in a deep, black garment, which left nothing of it visible save one outstretched hand.
SCROOGE: Am I in the presence of the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come?
NARRATOR: The spirit answered not, but pointed onward with its hand toward a little knot of business men. Scrooge advanced to listen to their talk.
FAT MAN: No--
NARRATOR: --said a great fat man with a monstrous chin--
FAT MAN: I don't know much it either way. I only know he's dead.
DEEP-THROAT: When did he die?--
NARRATOR: --inquired another.
FAT MAN: Last night, I believe.
SNUFF-HEAD: Why, what was the matter with him?--
NARRATOR: --asked a third, taking a vast quantity of snuff out of a very large box.
SNUFF-HEAD: I thought [sniff] he'd never die.
FAT MAN: [yawning] God knows--
NARRATOR: --said the first, with a yawn.
COCK-NOSE: What has he done with the money?--
NARRATOR: --asked a red-faced gentlemen with a pendulous excrescence on the end of his nose that shook like the gills of a turkey-cock.
FAT MAN: I haven't heard. Left it to his company perhaps. He hasn't left it to me, that's all I know.
NARRATOR: This pleasantry was received with a general laugh.
FAT MAN: It's likely to be a very cheap funeral, for upon my life I don't know of anybody to go to it. Suppose we make up a party and volunteer?
COCK-NOSE: I don't mind going if lunch is provided; but I must be fed if I make one!
NARRATOR: Another laugh. Speakers and listeners strolled away and mixed with other groups. Ill at ease, Scrooge turned from this scene to the ghost.
SCROOGE: Specter, tell me what man was that who died?
NARRATOR: The ghost pointed downward to the grave by which it stood. Scrooge crept towards it, trembling as he went; and following the finger, read upon the stone of the neglected grave, his own name, EBENEZER SCROOGE.
SCROOGE: No, Spirit! Oh no, no! Spirit, I am not the man I was. I will honor Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year. Oh, tell me I may sponge away the writing on this stone!
NARRATOR: In agony, Scrooge caught the ghostly hand, and tightly closed his eyes, only to find himself clutching his own bedpost. [Pause.] Yes! And the bedpost was his own. The bed was his own, the room was his own. Best and happiest of all, the time before him was his own, to make amends in!
SCROOGE: I don't know what to do! I'm as light as a feather! I'm as happy as an angel, as merry as a schoolboy, as giddy as a drunken man! A Merry Christmas to everybody! A Happy New Year to all the world!
NARRATOR: Running to the window, he opened it and put out his head. No fog, no mist--clear, bright, jovial, stirring cold, piping for the blood to dance to; golden sunlight, heavenly sky, sweet fresh air, merry bells. Oh, glorious. Glorious.
SCROOGE: What's today?--
NARRATOR: --cried Scrooge, calling downward to a boy in Sunday clothes.
YOUNG BUCK: Today? Why, it's Christmas Day!
SCROOGE: [Realizing] It's Christmas Day! I haven't missed it. The spirits have done it all in one night. Of course they have. They can do anything they like! [To Young Buck:] Hallo, my fine fellow! Do you know the poulterer's in the next street, at the corner?
YOUNG BUCK: I should hope I did!
SCROOGE: An intelligent boy! A remarkable boy! Do you know whether they've sold the prize turkey that was hanging up there? Not the little prize turkey--the big one.
YOUNG BUCK: What, the one as big as me?
SCROOGE: What a delightful boy! Yes, my buck!
YOUNG BUCK: It's hanging there now!
SCROOGE: It is? Go and buy it. Yes, go and buy it. Come back with him in less than five minutes and I'll give you half a crown!
NARRATOR: The boy was off like a shot.
SCROOGE: I'll send it to Bob Cratchit's! He shan't know who sent it. It's twice the size of Tiny Tim!
NARRATOR: It was a turkey! He could never have stood upon his legs, that bird! Scrooge dressed himself all in his best, and got out into the streets. But he was early at the office the next morning. If only he could be there first, and catch Bob Cratchit coming late! That was the very thing he had set his heart upon. The clock struck nine. No Bob. A quarter past. No Bob. He was fully 18 minutes and a half behind his time. Scrooge sat with his door wide open, that he might see him come in. Bob's hat was off before he opened the door; his comforter too. He was on the stool in a jiffy, driving away with his pen as if he were trying to overtake 9 o'clock.
SCROOGE: Hallo!--
NARRATOR: --growled Scrooge, in his accustomed voice, as near as he could feign it.
SCROOGE: What do you mean by coming here at this time of day?
CRATCHIT: I am very sorry sir. I am behind my time.
SCROOGE: Now, I'll tell you what, my friend. I am not going to stand this sort of thing any longer. And therefore--
NARRATOR: --he continued, leaping from his stool, and giving Bob such a dig in the waistcoat that he staggered back into the wall--
SCROOGE: --and therefore I am about to raise your salary!
NARRATOR: Bob trembled. He had a momentary idea of knocking Scrooge down, holding him, and calling for a straitjacket.
SCROOGE: A merry Christmas, Bob! A merrier Christmas, Bob, my good fellow, than I have given you in many a year! I'll raise your salary, and endeavor to assist your struggling family. Make up the fires, and buy another coal-scuttle before you dot another i, Bob Cratchit!
NARRATOR: Scrooge was better than his word. He did it all, and infinitely more. And to Tiny Tim, who did not die, he was a second father. He became as good a friend, as good a master, and as good a man, as the good old city knew, or any other good old city, town, or borough, in the good old world. And it was always said of him that he knew how to keep Christmas well, if any man possessed the knowledge. May that be truly said of us, and all of us. And so, as Tiny Tim observed, God bless us, Every One!
[39:43] Carol: “Joy to the World”
[40:36]
[VOICEOVER]: That's it for today's special holiday edition. My great thanks to Anna Kaplan for inviting me to read at the spectacular Graycliff Estate, and to members of Buffalo's own Vocalis Chamber Choir for appearing as our Graycliff Carolers. They were Mike Alessi, Claudia Brown, Maria Parker, and James Burritt. James is also the founder and director of Vocalis. I know I've urged audio listeners to check out the YouTube version of various shows before, but I'm absolutely insisting on it this time! Our friends at Full Circle Studios shot beautiful footage of the performances and the Frank Lloyd Wright home, which John Opera took into his video darkroom to lend a distinct visual design to each of the shots, as well as the overall production. John and I have been besties for 35 years at this point, but we have never collaborated artistically on this scale, and I'm so grateful for his eye and skill. The video version was produced as a benefit for Graycliff Conservancy, which you can learn more about, and support, by visiting experiencegraycliff.org. You haven't heard Shayfer James directly on this episode, but he's been haunting the audio like a ghost out of Dickens: Tom Makar's remix of Shayfer's Weight of the World appeared at the top of the show under Anna's bumper, and this right here is Michael Rosin's pipe organ treatment of the same tune. Can't sign off of a Dickens recording without thanking my dad, the late Gil Horn, whose reading of this story enchanted all the Decembers of my growing up. If you're interested in the fuller abridged version that he developed, check out podcast episode 008 from three years ago. A proud member of Lyceum, the curated consortium of educational podcasts, Point of Learning is mixed, edited, and produced by me in sunny Buffalo, New York. I'll be back at you soon with Dr. Sarah Bowman, a biologist who has spent most of the year studying the structure of SARS-CoV-2, the virus that causes COVID-19. Until then I wish you light in this dark season, and a far brighter 2021.
