Goodbye

The old man studied the picture that hung on the wall behind the receptionist desk after a moment he chuckled. “Carl painted that,” he laughed. “Back in 74 or 75.”

The receptionist looked behind her at the painting. It was a picture of Miranda Records founder Mile Olson behind one of his mixing board during a recording session. Beer in one hand, and a joint in his mouth with the smoke spiraling up into his squinted brown eyes. “That’s one of his granddaughter’s favorites,” the woman said, turning her attention back to the gentleman she asked. “And you are?”

Glancing at the name plate on the young lady’s desk he read it aloud. “Rebeca. Beautiful name.”

“Thank you. And you are?”

“Paul Hamilton.”

“And what can we do for you today, Mr. Hamilton?”

Placing an envelope on the desk he said. “I was friends with Ms. Olson’s grandfather I was wondering if you could give her this for me. I’ll wait.”

Picking up the letter she watched as the elderly man walked slowly over to one of the chairs in the lobby and sat down. “Is Ms. Olson expecting you?”

“No. But if you can give her that letter, I’d appreciate it.”

Rebeca kept her eyes on the man as she spun her chair to the side and stood up. “I’ll take this down to her right now.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it.”

Joyce answered the tap on her door with a solemn. “Come in.”

Rebeca placed the letter on Joyce’s desk in front of her computer’s key board. “A Mr. Hamilton asked me to bring that to you. He says he was a friend of your grandfather.”

“My Grandfather?”

“Yes mam.”

Joyce opened the letter and read it.

“Is it anything important?” Rebeca asked.

“It seems my grandfather promised Mr. Hamilton a record.”

Rebeca’s eye widen. “What does that mean exactly?”

Joyce shrugged. “Not sure.” Looking thoughtfully she added. “Show Mr. Hamilton in.”

“What about your luncheon?”

“Tell Anthony I’ll call him later.”

Rebeca ducked out of the room and returned shortly with the elderly gentleman in tow. Moving a seat from across the office she set it in front of Joyce’s desk then left to allow the two to talk in private.

“It’s just as I remember,” he said, settling into the chair. “The plaques and awards. Is that the same desk? It’s really held up well.”

Joyce touched the desk fondly.

“My name’s in the top draw you know. Pissed Miles off when he spotted it there. I wanted him to remember who had gotten him here.”

Joyce’s mind started to shift through many stories that her grandfather had told her. “Paul Hamilton, of course, it was you, James, Gordy, and Glen. You were in my grandfather’s first band. You were the one who talked him into going to Memphis.”

“He told you about us, huh?”

Joyce nodded as she opened the upper draw, written in pen in the right hand corner was the name Paul Hamilton. “You know I think I knew that was there, but I really never paid attention to it.”

The old man chuckled. “Miles use to curse every time he opened it to pull out a pen. Told me I ruined the damn thing, swore he was going to throw it out. But as you can see he never did.”

Joyce mused over what Paul said, she could see her grandfather doing exactly what he describe. Touching the letter she looked over at him. “Let’s talk about this,” she said, lifting it up to read it again. “I’m not sure why you brought this to me?”

Pulling a thin 4 by 4 box out of his coat pocket he placed it on the desk and shoved it over to her. “We recorded this a couple of years back. Well maybe…” he thought a moment then said. “I guess it’s been almost fifty years.”

Joyce opened the box and pulled out a vintage 3 1/2 inch metal reel with tape. Her eyes open wide. “Does this have music on it?”

“Yes, my music. We recorded it right here in studio 1, Peter Hahn, Tim Davidson, Stanly Cold, and I. We recorded it in 1963 just before the place opened.”

Joyce pick up the letter. Why didn’t you make a record out of it then?”

“We didn’t think it was good enough.”

“And know you do?”

“No. Not really. But it doesn’t matter anymore. I’m old and dying. I just want to make a record. It doesn’t have to be good no one’s going to hear it.”

“Then why make it?”

The old man sighed and wiped a tear away from his eye. “I always let other people like your grandfather push their dreams a head of mine. Now it’s time to make mine come true.”

Joyce looked over the contract that her grandfather had laid out in his own writing.

“Will you honor that letter?”

“One record?” she said, placing the paper in front of her. “If that’s all you want, then yes.”

“That’s all I want.”

“No copies, no distribution, no touring?”

“No, none of that, but it’s got to look like a record.”

“Like a record. You mean like a 45?”

The old man’s face lite up as he nodded. “Yes, like a 45!”

Joyce pressed the intercom and asked Rebeca to join them.

“Draw up a basic contract for Mr. Hamilton to sign, and attach this letter to it. Oh and which engineers do we have on today?”

“Taz and Marten.”

“Who’s Taz working with?”

“Tammy and the boys.”

“Labyrinth? Nice that they finally decided to show up. Who’s with Marten?”

“No one he’s in studio 2 working on some mixes for the twins.”

“Where are they?”

“Shane isn’t back from London yet. And Scott’s in Georgia.”

“Tell Marten I’d like to talk to him.”

Rebeca nodded then disappeared.

“Busy?”

“Not as much as we used to be,” Joyce said, settling back in her chair. “Had a couple of groups leave.”

“I’m guessing you know about Larson and all?” the old man said eyeing her cautiously. “I stayed on for a couple of years after he took over. Needed the work. Always felt like I let Miles down by doing so though. I’m sorry I never got to talk to him about it.”

The two sat quietly for a moment both reminisce about the past.

“How’s Michelle, she still around I take it?”

“Grandma is good. Feisty as ever.”

“Met her in Memphis when she first got there. Didn’t much care for me.”

“Don’t take it personally she didn’t like any of grandpa’s old band mates.”

A knock on the door brought Joyce’s attention back to the present. “Come in.”

“You sent for me?”

“Yes. Marten, this is Paul Hamilton we’re going to make him a record from this,” she said handing the reel to him.

“A vinyl copy,” Paul added. “A 45.”

The engineer studied the reel and tape. “Do we know if there’s music on here?”

“Good question why don’t you go check it out?”

“Where?”

Joyce looked a little annoyed by the question. “Studio 1 is still part of the tour correct?”

Marten agreed hesitantly not sure where she was going with this. “Yeah?”

“Isn’t it set up the same way it was back when Miranda first opened?”

You could see the light bulb go off over the young man’s head as he looked at the reel. “Yeah, there’s a reel to reel in there. But…” the smile drained from his face. “I’m not sure I know how to run it?”

“Honestly, Marten--” Joyce started raising from her seat.

“I can help,” Paul intervened. “If you have the same set up in there it’s probably Debbie or it could be Liz, but we had her in 2 when I was last here.” Looking from Joyce to the young engineer he added. “Mile’s named them. Debbie Reynolds and Elizabeth Taylor.”

Joyce nodded. “Got it.”

Marten who was only in his early twenties shook his head. “I don’t get it?”

“I’ll explain it to you on the way,” Paul said grabbing the young man’s arm as they weaved past Rebeca as she was coming in.

“What do you have for me, Becky?”

“A draft of the contract. And questions.”

Joyce glanced over the paper that was handed to her.

“Does he have a manager?”

“No Manager, no copies, no distribution, no touring. It’s easy. We’re making one vinyl copy of a song he and my grandfather recorded and sending him on his way. You can remove all this,” she said. Pointing to the bottom half of the contract.”

“Then why are we having him sign a contract?”

Joyce thought for a moment then said. “So we’ll have the rights to in case something happens to him.”

“That could be any day,” Becky crumbled. “The guy’s like a 100.”

“If he’s my grandfather’s age he closer to 90.”

“That’s still pretty old.”

“Yes, it is.” Joyce had just settled back down in her seat when the busser went of the intercom. “You should come down here.”

“Marten?”

“Yeah, you need to hear this.”

“Is it any good?”

“Good! It’s sweet.”

Joyce didn’t know much of the language that they used in the studio but she knew what sweet meant. “I’m coming down. Start it over.” She made her way down to the studio and stopped just inside the door. After listening to the song all the way through, she asked. “Can you clean it up?”

“I was thinking I would try to hook Debbie here to the board in 4 and see what I could do with it.”

“Debbie huh?”

“He said, Liz had silver knobs.”

Joyce chuckled then turned to Paul. “From what I heard I’d say you sold yourself short my friend. That’s a wonderful song. If we can clean it up a little I’d like your permission to produce and distribute it. We can start off with say a thousand then go from there.”

“A thousand?” Like a deer caught in a car’s head lights Mr. Hamilton stared at Joyce. “I only want one.”

“And you’ll get it, but I’d like to make some CD’s to sale. I think your song is ageless and I’m willing to bet that kids of today will find it exciting and fresh.”

“You give me my one, and you can do whatever you want with the song after that.”

“With the right marketing you stand to make a good deal of money from this.”

Paul shook his head. “I’m 93, don’t need any money.”

“It can go to your family--”

“No family. Never got married. Never had any kids. That I know of. Folks are long gone. Sister died twenty years ago.” He continued when he saw Joyce ready to speak. “She was nun. Never married, never had kids.”

Joyce looked deflated. “What about a charity?”

“Like I said once I get my one, you can do whatever you want with the song.”

“Who did the vocals on this?” Joyce asked. As they listen through the recording again.

Paul pointed to himself.

“I played guitar and sang, Miles mixed it, Pete was on base, Tim on drums, and Stanly on keys.”

“And you wrote this?”

“Put the words on papers over the years and the guys helped with the music.”

“It’s about death, why?”

“It was my way to say goodbye...”

“To…your friends, your parents, and Michelle?”

The old man chucked. “It’s not your grandmother if that has you concern, no, believe it or not I use to have a lady friend name Michelle too. Mine was when I was a senior in high school. Anyway, yes it was my way of saying goodbye. You see I was miss diagnosed with Lou Gehrig's disease when I was in my twenties, muscle cramps and twitching, I tried to ignore it, did so for a long time, all the way through that Memphis thing with your grandfather. Then it started slowing me down when I got out here. Everything I read about the disease was awful, once diagnosed most people died within 5 years, some lasted ten but not many. Thought for sure I was dying, that was until I got into my forties, finally went in and had them retest me. This time they said I had a mild form of Multiple Sclerosis. Still get fatigue with muscle weakness and twitching now and then, but I lucked out, it wasn’t a death sentence.”

Marten came back in after a couple of couple of hours and handed Paul the finished 45. “I found the stuff you were talking about in the basement. Got you a sleeve and I printed up a label…”

“Look at that,” Paul said pointing to the record. “It says Miranda Records. And it’s got my name. And the songs name “Goodbye”.

“Thanks for teaching my about Debbie,” Marten said shaking Paul’s hand. “And thanks for helping me do that,” he said pointing to the record. “It’ll look good on my resume.”

“Planning on going somewhere, Marten?” Joyce asked, with a raised brow.

“Just, back to work.” Marten waved again to Paul then disappeared back into the studio.

“The papers I need you to sign are at the front desk. I’ll walk you up.”

After the paper was signed Joyce walked Paul to the door. “You didn’t drive yourself here, did you?”

“Oh, no, I haven’t driven in years. No, I took a cab down here. If you could call me one that would be great, I’ll be outside getting a little vitamin D while I waiting.”

Joyce notice the old man sit down clutching the record to his chest. “It makes me feel really good that we could do that for him.”

“Should I call him a taxi?”

“No, have Brad bring the car around. This gentleman just made his first record. I bet he feels like a million bucks, let’s let him look like it to.”

Joyce opened the upper draw and ran her finger over the name written in the right hand corner. She wasn’t totally surprised when she had got the call that Brad had to make an emergency stop at the hospital and didn’t get Mr. Hamilton home. Sitting on her desk in front of her was the 45 that they had made for him earlier that day. The hospital had insisted that Brad held on to it for fear it would be lost in all the ciaos.

Joyce touched the record as she thought about her grandfather’s friend Mary and how her grandfather had made sure that Mary was returned to Oklahoma after she died and buried next to her husband. She got on the phone and contacted her legal team.

Joyce placed the 45 is Paul’s hands and signaled the attendants that they could close the coffin now. Moving out to the grave site she joined Rebecca and Marten by the side of the grave and watched as this gentle old man that they barely knew was laid to rest next to his sister.

“The record has gone platinum,” Rebecca whispered.

“And?”

“We sent in a donation in his name, and beside the renovations there is going to be a new section at the retirement home that he lived at named after him.”

“And?”

“Checks has been sent out in Mr. Hamilton’s name to both Multiple Sclerosis Foundation and the Lou Gehrig's disease Foundation, and the convent that his sister belong to.”

“Well done. Just keep sending the checks out as the money comes in.”

Joyce took a hand full of dirt and dropped it into the grave on top of the casket. “Be sure to show my granddad your record, and let him know it went platinum in less than a week. That's something even he never did.”