Here We Come A-Caroling

"All is bright."

. . . singing to the pigeons perched overhead,

"Round young Vir-ir-gil's mother and child"

. . . well, that sure wouldn't be very Christian of them.

"Holy instant, so tenderloin wild,"

That's all he had to say on the subject.

"Sleep in heavenly pe-eace".

The fact is nobody had objected to his singing to the pigeons. In the fifteen minutes since he'd sat himself down there in the middle of the sidewalk, no one had come along. In fact, until the flop-flop-flop of the loose sole on Wise Henry's good shoe announced his imminent arrival, Little Ernie and the pigeons had had the viaduct pretty much to themselves.

Wise Henry never scolded.

"Sle-ep in heavenly peace."

He never scolded Little Ernie, at least.

"Si-o-lent night."

And he never laughed at him, either . . .

"Ho-o-ly night."

. . . or threatened or bullied, not like the other bums on the boulevard.

"All is calm."

Folks could get real mean sometimes, even nice looking ladies . . .

"All is bright."

. . . even Tokay Red – even at Christmas.

"Round young . . ."

But Wise Henry was just one swell hell of a fellow. (He'd have to remember that, one swell hell of a fellow, and maybe Wise Henry could put it into a song for him sometime.) He rolled the phrase over again in his mind, one swell hell of a fellow.

Now he'd lost his place in the song; fortunately though, the pigeons hadn't noticed. But before he could start again, Wise Henry had got down on his haunches beside him and begun talking to him.

"It's Christmas Eve in the pigeon world too, I suppose" Wise Henry acknowledged.

Little Ernie nodded, but didn't say anything. He didn't like conversations, not the ones where he was expected to answer back, at least. But he liked his conversations with Wise Henry, because he didn't need to say anything. Wise Henry always knew what Ernie's answer would be – if ever he felt like answering – without his actually having to actually say it.

"Sidewalk must be pretty damned cold." Wise Henry took Little Ernie's elbow and began helping him to his feet, even though, until that moment, Little Ernie hadn't realized that he wanted to stand up. "Good way to get the bleeding piles, sitting on a cold sidewalk like that."

Little Ernie wasn't sure what bleeding piles were, but he could tell by the way Wise Henry pronounced the words that he could probably get along pretty well without them. And, now fully erect with Wise Henry's hand still on his elbow, he offered no resistance as Wise Henry began walking him slowly in the direction of Nicollet Avenue.

"Damn fine day!" Wise Henry looked around, as though surveying the warehouses and the rubble littered street, and he gestured broadly at all the lovely air overhead. "Yes sir, damn fine day for Christmas caroling."

"Deck the halls with balls of Holly,"

Little Ernie needed no coaxing when it came to drinking songs and Christmas carols.

"fa la la la la la la la la."

Other than setting the tempo with the flop-flop-flopping of the loose sole on his good shoe, Wise Henry left the musical portion of the journey to Little Ernie, while he steered their course up Washington Avenue toward Nicollet.

"'Tis the season to be jolly,"

Whenever Little Ernie sang, he became entirely oblivious to everything but the wine flavored melody that emanated from somewhere in his belly, got shaped by his tongue, vibrated his tonsils and uvula, and issued forth from his weeks-old-whiskers- shrouded mouth.

"fa la la la la la la la la."

People say – though we personally won't swear to the story – that he once fell off the Hennepin Avenue bridge into the Mississippi River, and that he continued to sing all the way down, and even under water until Wise Henry pulled him to the surface, and then he sang while he was dragged all the way back to shore. They also say that, afterwards, he couldn't remember how he'd happened to get all wet. We're only telling you what folks say you understand. We wouldn't testify to it in court.

"Don we now our grownup barrel"

During about the fourth or fifth rendition of The Fa La La Song, as they rounded the corner onto Nicollet, he became aware of a competing melody; someone a few blocks up the avenue was playing a violin, and with a dexterity that Bing Crosby or Cab Calloway might have envied, Little Ernie jumped in mid-phrase from "fa la la la la . . . "to " . . . and undo certain she-ep-herds," He didn't notice when Wise Henry slowed his pace and dropped behind, and by "How that in Bethlehem was born" he had forgotten all about his friend. By "O tidings of comfort and joy . . ." he could make out a young fellow in a jean jacket and a too big cowboy hat pulled low over his ears. The fellow had his violin case open on the sidewalk at his feet, but the rush of last minute shoppers hurried past with barely a glance in his direction.

" . . . comfort and joy. O-oh tidings of comfort and joy."