On 4/22 in 2001, that is on the octave of (Sunday after) Easter it's:Quasimodo!And I say unto you, my friends, I'm sure many of you will celebrateHappy Quasimodo!
Quasimodo (ie, "Low Sunday") today. I have learned from one of the more
erudite members of the Orlando Chapter of Friends of Florida Folk some of
the fascinating background of this historic day. I'll try to report her
wise and potent words as well as I can, given my own severe limitations.It seems that on this day, many years ago, a poor deformed babe was
abandoned on the steps of the Cathedral of Notre Dame. The good fathers
took him in and named him after the day, Low Sunday or as it's sometimes
known, Quasimodo. After a while he got into some trouble with a Gypsy girl
but another teller has told that tale. Our events take place some years later.In fact, Quas finally developed into a well-respected functionary of the
Church, fulfilling his chores as sexton and pastor to Gypsies quite well.
And after the Union intervened, he got regular wages, a pension plan, his
own hovel on the Cathedral grounds and all the usual benefits.In the fullness of time, the priest-administrator saw that Quas was getting
on and having great difficulty climbing all the way up to the bell tower and
performing his main and highly valued job. After due consultation, it was
decided to retire the good Quas on half-pay.The administrator explained that Quas would retire in dignity, remain a
consultant bell ringer and be able to keep his hovel as long as he lived.
Further, because of his expertise, Quas would personally approve his own
replacement and train him up as necessary.Ads for intake-level bell ringers were duly placed with the news criers,
employment agencies and the University bulletin board. There weren't many
applicants, but Quas was all set to do the interviewing. Set out
application forms, quills, a waiting room...the usual.Soon he heard a sort of a thud (nothing like a knock) on his hovel door. He
wasn't at all sure what to make of it but after a while he felt there must
be something there so he went to look. There was a person there after all.
Nice and neat young man with just the right alert-respectful smile. Quas
saw that he'd been knocking on the door with his head and Quas just barely
avoided getting butted. This seemed considerably strange and Quas pondered
long an deep and finally noticed the young man had no arms at all."Hmmm. Can I help you?"
"Yes. I've come about the bell-ringer job."
"Really?"
"Yes. Is it still open?"
"Well," said Quas, "generally, this job is rated as one for people with a
certain number of arms. With no disrespect, you seem to be a little
disadvantaged in that department...to the tune of...just about...two.""Please" said the very earnest young man, "just give me a chance."
"Well, I don't know. It's very hard work, you know."
"Please, good sir! I know I can do it if only I have a chance. Won't you
at least let me try?""Well, ok, said Quas, "I've been subject to some discrimination, myself, I
don't want to pre-judge. But I just don't see how you can do it."Up to the bell tower they climbed. Tallest structure in the city at the
time and there they were finally at the top platform where the bells were.
With a look of fierce determination, the man took a full running start and
hurled himself straight into the bell, hitting it with his forehead. He
fell back on the platform dazed - nearly unconscious - with a great gash in
his face. He spurted some blood and seemed already to be starting
considerable swelling. But the bell gave off the most beautiful peal, a
perfect note wafting out over Paris."How was that?", he finally said when he'd recovered enough to talk.
"Really very good," said Quas, "but you see, we need quite a few tones in a
row, and further, with the damage you've done to your face, I don't think
the insurance company will allow it. I don't think this can work out.""Please," said the young man, "let me try once more. I've got another idea
I'm sure will work. Just one more try?""Ok, one last try."
Now the young man backed up to the far rear of the walkway. Taking several
deep breaths, he hurled himself forward at top speed. Just as he arrived
at the edge to take a massive leap he stepped on a banana peel, flew into
space and plummeted to the ground 200 feet below.Quas tore down the stairs and when he got to the ground, there was the
quite dead unfortunate aspirant, already surrounded by police, a crowd of
citizens and the press.A police sergeant saw Quas and asked if he knew who the poor lad was.
"No," said Quas, "I don't know his name but his face sure rings a bell."
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Follow-up historical notes supplied by Christa Heuser:
There's more to this story. You see, the bell-ringer position _still_ had
to be filled, and the next day, another man came to apply for the position.
He, too had no arms. Quas said, "As you may know, there was a tragic
incident just yesterday involving a limb-disadvantaged bell-ringer. I
really don't think our insurance will allow us to hire another one."But the man insisted that he be given a try; he said "I was aware of that
incident; yesterday's unfortunate bell-ringer was my brother, and I feel it
is my duty to take his place. I am sure that I will be able to do the
job." So, reluctantly, Quas took him up to the bell-tower and gave him a
try. The no-armed man ran up to the bell, hit it with his head, and ducked
out of the way very quickly to avoid the back swing. It looked as though
he really would be able to do the job, so Quas hired him on the spot.Unfortunately, one day, the bell-ringer got stinking drunk before he had to
go up and ring the bell. He went up anyway, hit the bell but got clipped
by the back-swing and stumbled and fell out of the bell-tower to his death.Quasimodo rushed down, and saw that yet another no-armed man had died. A
policeman came by and asked if Quasimodo could identify the body. "No,"
Quas said, "I don't know his name, but he's a dead ringer for his brother."=================================================================