I wrote this short story in 2018 after visiting a silent movie theater with a friend. It's been there forever, and features an old-timey Wurlitzer organ, which is a musical instrument the size of a house that has every manner of drum, whistle, horn, and bell available to the player via a series of knobs and pedals. It's truly one of the most ridiculous things I've ever seen, and it goes without saying that not a lot of people know how to play one.
But even more striking than the Wurlitzer itself was the pair of men who ran the theater: an old man in a mobility scooter and an overweight college kid who acted as his apprentice. Both of these men were present during my visit, and both played the organ during different silent shorts that were being screened. I have seen them around town since - always in each other's company, never apart. It's an odd friendship between an old man and a young one, centered around this obscure Wurlitzer organ and the niche-interest of silent film.
This short story is my imagining of their relationship.
The Organists
Tom Harris spent five decades at the El Segundo Silent Film Theater. The first four were on the bench of its Wurlitzer organ, but the last was in his Rascal scooter, watching silent films he'd curated while his 25-year-old apprentice Bert played the accompaniment, a task Tom rarely did himself anymore. Day after day, half-interested customers - truants and retirees, mostly - would sit in the theater’s seats wondering if they could actually be entertained by the silent cinema of long ago.
Tom sat in the shadows. Bert was noodling his way through The Handyman’s Waltz, a comedic organ piece written a century ago to accompany that night’s silent film, Faucet Fox. It was a 1919 production about a horny old woman who intentionally damages her faucet so an attractive plumber will come and fix it. But the man who arrives is not attractive, he's silent film legend Gene Haskell, an oaf known for falling down stairs and dropping heavy objects on his head. Although the "Faucet Fox" intends to seduce him, Gene winds up destroying her floor, car, hair-do, and reputation. Gene also inflicts many injuries to himself along the way, including a brick fired into his genitals via a burst water pipe.
As this buffoonery played out on screen, Tom watched Bert glide and tap his way across the Wurlitzer. With every push or pull of a knob, a horn or tambourine played somewhere deep in the workings of the organ, adding comedic sound effects and musical accompaniment to the silent short. The audience was intrigued by Bert's mastery of this rare and complicated instrument, but Tom was simply proud. There weren't many places like The El Segundo Silent Film Theater left in the world, and Tom knew it. So, thankfully, did his dedicated pupil, Bert.
It was an odd friendship - a septuagenarian in a scooter and a portly community college graduate - but it worked. The whole town knew about them. Tom and Bert could be seen on any given day sitting at Denny’s, or loitering outside the silent theater, trying to lure customers in. It was a beautiful and unlikely relationship, there could be no question. Tom had lived through the Korean War and two divorces, only to wind up with nothing but gout and a silent theater to show for it. Bert lived at his aunt’s house and masturbated into a polyester dress sock before bed every night. He was also a preferred customer at Radio Shack.
The men sat at dinner one night, as they often did, but this time something different was in the air.
“You know, Bert, I’ve been thinking,” said Tom. “We both know I don’t have a nickel to my name, or a family to give it to even if I did.”
Bert forked at his potatoes-au-gratin and turned them over on his plate.
“Your interest in learning to play the Wurlitzer was something I never expected. But you're getting to be so goddamned good at it… that’s what really took me by surprise,” the old man grinned. He hadn't touched his club sandwich. “Anyway, I think you and I both know how much the theater means to me. And I think we both know how much it’s come to mean for you, too.”
Bert put his fork down and picked up his Sprite, sipping it through a straw. His thoughts were elsewhere.
“I guess what I want to say, kid, is that I’m on my way out in a few months. Doctor’s orders, unfortunately. Stage four, they say, and you know how that goes. I’ve known for a while, but I had some things to put in order before I told you. I wanted the moment to be right. I hope you understand.”
Bert held his breath. His throat tightened. He couldn’t face his friend, not now - this was the worst possible news.
“I want you to know that I’m leaving you the theater, Wurlitzer included. I don’t have anything else to give, pal, but I’d give you the world if I could. I don’t mean to be overly sentimental, I guess I just had to get that off my chest. Sorry, kid. It's just the way it is.”
Bert shut his eyes and nodded, trying to contain himself. Tom smiled.
“No need for you to get up out of your seat and jump for joy,” said the old man, picking up his sandwich. “Just take care of the place, okay? It’s been everything to me. A whole lifetime. It’s your duty to pass it on to the younger folk, just like I did with you. You know what I mean?”
Bert opened his eyes and looked at his friend. “I know, Tom.”
Bert was awake when his aunt came home that night. Nausea from his medication made it hard to sleep. “Sweetheart…” she said, noticing his tears. “Oh honey… you told Tom, didn’t you?”
Bert turned his head, the dark skin beneath his eyes wet with grief. He was looking worse by the day.
“Oh, Bert…” said his aunt, sitting down and placing a hand on her nephew's heaving back. “And you asked him to do it?”
Bert only sobbed harder, breathing in choked gasps.
“I’m sure he was upset by the news, honey. This kind of thing can’t be easy for an old man, learning such a young friend is so sick. And asking him to play the organ at your funeral - I can't even imagine how he felt. This isn't how it’s supposed to be. It’s never the way it’s supposed to be.”
The El Segundo Silent Film Theater closed its doors for the last time six months later. The building was put up for auction and purchased by a real-estate developer, who razed it to the ground. In its place a strip mall was built. The first tenant was a Radio Shack. I never found out what became of the Wurlitzer organ, but I guess it doesn’t matter. There’s no one left to play it anyway.
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