Transcript for the Piece Audio version of Jingle Bells

Jingle Bells or
How a gay Jew got into the Guiness Book of World Records

By Judah Leblang/2004
Medford Square
November 2004

I squeeze toward the entrance of a one-block square pen, between Papa Gino?s and Dunkin? Donuts in the center of the square, with three or four thousand of my neighbors (none of whom I know or recognize). Instead of the usual thrum of trucks rumbling over metal plates, of car horns and epithets, the square hums with Christmas music and amplified speeches, nary a moving car to be seen.
After filling out a green card, and providing my name, address and age, I squirm into the holding area. Moving to one side, I have a good view of the giant screen, provided by Comcast, on which the words for ?Jingle Bells,? ?Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer,? and a host of other songs will soon be projected.
The mayor, a silver-haired man in a long coat, who?s been in office for almost 20 years, warms up the crowd. The tension is palpable as he rallies the masses, assuring us that we?ve already set a record for the most Christmas carolers in one place, beating ?Ontario?s? record of 1500, as if the whole province were just one town.
But to beat New York City, we will have to sing for 30 minutes, and when the mayor is finished, the emcee reminds us that ?cameras will be watching? and that everyone must sing for half an hour without stopping?must sing and keep singing until the all clear is given. And it?s true?men with cameras strafe the crowd, and local TV is represented too, as I see trucks for FOX news, channel 4/CBS, and others.
We start with ?Jingle Bells??a song that was supposedly written a block from my condo, in the heart of Medford Square. Then it?s on to ?Santa Claus is coming to Town? and later, to more melancholy tunes, like ?I?ll be home for Christmas.? Many of us are musically-challenged, but guided by a zaftig blonde with a powerful voice that booms through the speakers, we lurch from one song to another in continuous rhythm.
Though my file of Christmas memories is limited, I flash on Bing Crosby and Bob Hope in some 1940?s movie, of Jimmy Stewart running through Pottersville in A Wonderful Life, of my parents? old 78 LPs and Nat King Cole?s smooth as silk version of ?The Christmas Song.?
I look around as I sing, checking out my neighbors?young fathers chanting with their tiny children, teenagers in packs, older Medford homeboys with baseball caps on backwards, senior citizens schmoozing on the edge of the crowd. I?m a single gay Jewish man in a mob full of families, of Christians. But I?ve got cause to celebrate, too---10 days off over Xmas break, and the minor holiday of Hanukkah that recently yielded a check from my mother and a new camera from my brother.
And so I wail until my voice rumbles, deeper even than its normal baritone, as we fa-la-la until the time is up and we?ve set the record and the crowd cheers and a huge snort of confetti blows out of a hose like an elephant?s snout and the square is bathed in colored snow, paper slips dancing in the bright night.
Then a huge 45x90 foot ?veteran?s flag? is unfurled over the heads of the faithful and a strong-jawed member of the Massachusetts State Police takes the stage. Blue/gray uniform tight in the chest, gun at his side, white gloved and buzz cut, his deep vibrato struts through standards, from ?I?m a Yankee Doodle Dandy? to ?God bless America,? along with a medley of the Navy, Air Force, Army and Marine and Coast Guard anthems. As patriotic fervor floats through the air, I search for a way out, sneaking out of the pen as the caissons go rolling along.
A short time later I?m two blocks down the street, in front of city hall. Fruit baskets are lined up on long tables, prizes in some kind of raffle. A girl approaches me, holding a white can clinking with coins, and I contribute some change to her cheerleading squad.

I?d headed over to scope out the Aldermen?s chambers, which according to the emcee, is full of Christmas trees decorated by the locals. How strange I feel?exhilarated by the music, the lights, the noise, my throat dry?and still a bit distant, disconnected.
Looking up, I notice a wooden platform set up in front of the building. A DJ is playing generic pop music; a Radio Disney banner hangs over his head. Behind him on the stage, for no reason I can discern, is a Hanukkah menorah, slim and metallic, its? bulbs without light, lost in the hubbub.
A Magen-David, the Jewish star, rises up from the center of the menorah. I feel a quiet kinship with that star, which stands invisible in the crowd, like me.