The story of the Red Marbles...
“I was at the corner grocery store buying some potatoes. I noticed a small boy, delicate of bone and feature, ragged but clean, hungrily appraising a basket of freshly picked green peas.
I paid for my potatoes, but was also drawn to the display of fresh green peas. I am a pushover for creamed peas and new potatoes. Pondering the peas, I couldn't help overhearing the conversation between Mr. Miller (the store owner) and the ragged boy next to me.
"Hello Barry, how are you today?"
"Hello, Mr. Miller. Fine, thank ya. Just admiring them peas. They sure look good."
"They are good, Barry. How's your Ma?"
"Fine. Gittin' stronger all the time."
"Good. Anything I can help you with?"
"No, Sir. Just admirin' them peas." ''Would you like to take some home?" asked Mr. Miller.
"No, Sir. Got nuthin' to pay for them with."
"Well, what have you to trade me for some of those peas?"
"All I got's my prize marble here."
"Is that right? Let me see it" said Miller.
"Here 'tis. She's a dandy."
"I can see that. Hmmmmm, only thing is, this one is blue and I sort of go for red. Do you have a red one like this at home?" the store owner asked.
"Not exactly but almost."
"Tell you what. Take this sack of peas home with you and next trip this way, let me look at that red marble", Mr. Miller told the boy.
"Sure will. Thanks Mr. Miller."
Mrs. Miller, who had been standing nearby, came over to help me. With a smile said, "There are two other boys like him in our community, all three are in very poor circumstances. Jim just loves to bargain with them for peas, apples, tomatoes, or whatever. When they come back with their red marbles, and they always do, he decides he doesn't like red after all and he sends them home with a bag of produce for a green marble or an orange one, when they come on their next trip to the store."
I left the store smiling to myself, impressed with this man.
A short time later I moved to Colorado , but I never forgot the story of this man, the boys, and their bartering for marbles.
Several years went by, each more rapid than the previous one. Just recently I had occasion to visit some old friends in that Idaho community and while I was there I learned that Mr. Miller had died. They were having his visitation that evening and knowing my friends wanted to go, I agreed to accompany them.
Upon arrival at the mortuary we fell into line to meet the relatives of the deceased and to offer whatever words of comfort we could.
Ahead of us in line were three young men. One was in an army uniform and the other two wore nice haircuts, dark suits and white shirts.
Several years went by, each more rapid than the previous one. Just recently I had occasion to visit some old friends in that Idaho community and while I was there I learned that Mr. Miller had died. They were having his visitation that evening and knowing my friends wanted to go, I agreed to accompany them.
Upon arrival at the mortuary we fell into line to meet the relatives of the deceased and to offer whatever words of comfort we could.
Ahead of us in line were three young men. One was in an army uniform and the other two wore nice haircuts, dark suits and white shirts... all very professional looking. They approached Mrs. Miller, standing composed and smiling by her husband's casket. Each of the young men hugged her, kissed her on the cheek, spoke briefly with her and moved on to the casket. Her misty light blue eyes followed them as, one by one, each young man stopped briefly and placed his own warm hand over the cold pale hand in the casket.
Our turn came to meet Mrs. Miller. I told her who I was and reminded her of the story from many years ago and what she had told me about her husband's bartering for marbles.
With her eyes glistening, she took my hand and led me to the casket."Those three young men who just left were the boys I told you about. They just told me how they appreciated the things Jim 'traded' them." "Now, at last, when Jim could not change his mind about color or size... they came to pay their debt." "We've never had a great deal of the wealth of this world," she confided, "but right now, Jim would consider himself the richest man in Idaho".
With loving gentleness she lifted the lifeless fingers of her deceased husband. Resting underneath were three exquisitely shiny red marbles.”
--W.E.Peterson
The Moral of this story: We will not be remembered by our words, but by our kind deeds.
I love this time of year. I love the music, the decorations, the atmosphere, and the gifts. Now, that last word seems selfish or greedy. However, it is not the receiving I am talking about, rather the giving of gifts. I love on Christmas morning when I get to watch my nieces and nephews open up that particular gift I looked long and hard for that I knew would be special to them. I enjoy seeing the smile on their faces and the sparkle in their eyes. But just as special are the gifts of ourselves. Thinking back to the story, Mr. Miller wasn’t remembered for the peas and potatoes. Rather, the special gift he gave those young boys. He treated them with compassion, but most of all gave them the opportunity to “pay” for the food where in their eyes they earned it. He gave them self-respect and the courage to overcome life's obstacles.
We do that all the time for our students. If all we have taught our students is about music, I think we miss the greater meaning. How often have we helped students to find the creativity in themselves, been that sympathetic ear, or the gentle voice offering advice and counsel? How many of you have long since graduated alumni stop by just to say ’hi’? They are stopping by to say thank you.
Thank you for your time, your knowledge, your impact, and thank you for you. So, in this holiday season, never forget the importance of you. I am thankful for all you bring to our profession, our students, our world. I wish many blessings find their way to you this season and thank you for the gift of you!
Merry Christmas & Happy Holidays!
Jeana M. Larson
IBA President
jeana.larson@bandmasters.org
