Welcome to Blue Manor Academy!

Chasing Bubbles
by
Malia Trammell

When I was four years old, I loved to chase bubbles. My mother blew them up for me, and I was delighted to watch them fly “up, up, up, and away!” I always wanted them to touch the sky. I never understood why they didn’t—why suddenly they turned and fell all the way down and popped. Thankfully, when a kid’s bubble bursts, he is only out a little soap, water, and a breath of his mother’s warm air.

Now that I’m older, I know about bigger bubbles that adults love to chase, but when those bubbles pop, they lose everything. There was one bubble that was so big adults still talk about the time when it popped. In fact, that bubble was so big and terrible when it broke, it earned a name for itself—Tulip Mania! “Tulip” was for the flower that caused the bubble, and “mania” was to describe how crazy it made the adults who chased it.

It all began in 1634 in the Netherlands, when a tulip sold for more than its worth. The flower was special because it had flames and two colors instead of one. This phenomenon was caused by a virus that made them die in just a couple of years, which made them extremely rare. A normal tulip sold for 2 florins, but this special one suddenly sold for 5! The new tulips came in all colors: red, yellow, orange, purple, and pink, but no one cared about these—it was the color gold that excited them.

The news spread—wonderful stories of poor men who desperately traded their last coins for tulip bulbs, and in a little time, the bulbs bloomed, and they were rich! A man could merely buy a bulb, and then quit his job and return home in a triumphal procession, with his children running to hug and kiss him, and his wife dancing and singing the praise of her hero and his financial genius! Feasts for your children, fine silk for your wife, and all you had to do was buy a tulip and wait a few days for the price to go up.

The taverns were flooded with tulip buyers! Men bought tulips—all the tulips they could afford, and what they could not afford, they bought on credit. The prices soared, higher and higher, until one day, a tulip sold for 2,500 florins—enough money to buy a mansion!

It was at these very heights that, suddenly, the bubble popped. The hero returned defeated—now a slave to the debt that he had raked in on himself from buying futures in the tulip market. His wife and children sobbed in his arms as he tried to explain the misfortune, all their dreams of being extravagantly rich thrown into the ditch. The children’s father returned to work the next day, and as he walked, he saw dead tulips trampled in the street, but he could not bear to look at them anymore.

Let this story be a lesson to all of you. Bubbles always pop. Perhaps in Heaven, bubbles will reach the sky and never pop, but here on Earth, they always do.

Precious Lord
by
Hollybeth Miller

“Dis… dis can’t be happenin’,” he thought, as the music stumbled to a stop. Thomas Dorsey looked up, smiling nervously. His eyes met President Calvin Coolidge, who was sitting in the front row. Sweat dripped from his brow onto the piano keys as he leaned forward, and with all his might, willed his fingers to play, but they only trembled.

“Tommy, you okay?” his bandmate whispered.

“My hands–they ain’t workin’!”

“You kiddin’?! Jes’ play like you always done.”

“I ain’t rememberin’ how!”

Eight months passed, and Thomas’ hands still couldn’t play. Was it stress, a lack of sleep, or did they suffer from over-exertion? Now, all his dreams of fame were ruined. As the silence surrounded him, memories of the past returned, along with the choices he made that brought him to this moment.

* * * * *

“Is dis here where I put my fingers, Mama?” Thomas asked.

Etta Dorsey smiled at her son, who was only five years old and already eager to learn the piano.

“Very good, baby, just put your pinky on the G.”

“Like this?”

“Yeah, just like dat. Now run along and let yo mama practice her playin’.”

Thomas hesitated. “Mama, someday I wanna play like you.”

“Aww, baby, I hope you do. I hope you’ll play even betta.”

Thomas’s smile widened, and he skipped off to play.

Living in Villa Rica, Georgia, wasn’t easy. Thomas’s father was a Baptist minister and earned very little income, and his mother was a piano teacher.

As the years went by, things took a turn for the worse financially. Thomas’s father decided to move the family to Atlanta in hopes of better economic opportunities. However, things did not improve, and eventually, they were evicted from their home. Things continued to deteriorate. Thomas’s father had to stop preaching to find work that kept food on the table. Finally, Thomas dropped out of school and got odd jobs at a cheap comedy theater to help earn money for his family.

Thomas was angry. Why would God let this happen?

* * * * *

12-year-old Thomas pushed through the crowd waiting to be seated. The smell of cigar smoke wafted through the air. Working at the comedy theater was way better than school: free drinks, shows, and food. He quickly stuffed another handful of peanuts into his mouth and sat down.

“Hey, boy! Where’s my hot dog?” a man shouted.

“People can’t wait for nuthin’,” Thomas thought as he started up, once again, to retrieve the food from a vendor outside.

“Back so soon?” the vendor asked.

“Yeah, another dog, please, with all the works,” Thomas replied.

A few minutes later, he handed the loaded hot dog to its owner and eagerly collected several cents. Another customer, satisfied. Thomas ducked into a storage room and quickly counted his earnings–35 cents. “That’s enough to buy a dozen eggs. Mama will be so pleased.” He rewrapped the coins in his handkerchief and stuck them back in his boot. He wouldn’t take the chance of losing any. Just as he tightened the laces, he heard, for the first time in his life, the slow ache of the piano blues tune drift in from the stage. Goosebumps crawled up Thomas’ dark arms as he listened. The keys were heavy and filled with sadness, but the rhythm flowed like it had a life of its own. Quickly, Thomas ran to the auditorium and burst through the doors. Several heads turned in his direction, and he heard a dozen “shhhhhhhh!” but he didn't care.

“Someday, I’m gonna play that there music better den anybody!”

“Would you shut up, kid?” someone yelled.

But Thomas didn’t hear; his thoughts were decades away, dreaming of the pianist he would become.

* * * * *

As the years passed, he spent every spare minute at the piano, learning new skills, writing music, and recording records. Playing for parties and clubs became a regular occurrence. At age 17, Thomas moved to Chicago, where new opportunities awaited him. As his popularity grew, he started to tour with top blues artists such as Ma Rainey. His life was full. But why did he feel so empty?

* * * * *

Thomas looked up at the tall arches and stained-glass windows. “Pilgrim Baptist Church,” a sign read. A deep voice drifted through the open doors, beckoning him inside. “If only I didn’t have this here gig tonight,” he thought. But he hesitated for several minutes, and then, shaking his head and stepping around the bikes parked on the curb, Thomas went up the stairs and through the church doors.

It was nearly full, but he found a seat in the back. The deep, resonant voice continued. As Thomas listened, memories of his childhood rushed to him: his father's preaching… losing the house… his anger at God. The service was ending, and he listened intently to the closing hymn:

I know a great Savior, I do; don’t you?
I live by His favor, I do; don’t you?...

The words were aimed right at him, and Thomas broke.

* * * * *

Kneeling beside his quilt bedspread, he prayed:

“Precious Lord, I do wanna live for you. But how can I when I love my music so much?” Tears streamed down his face. “Do I gotta choose between You or the blues?” Suddenly, an idea formed in his mind. “What if I combine blues with sacred music? Blues' energy and emotional expressiveness could stir listeners and inspire them. Yeah, and I will call it Gospel music!”

Thomas quit his party gigs and set to work turning his ideas into reality. Unfortunately, churches were not as enthusiastic about “Gospel music.” They thought it seemed too “worldly” and unsuitable for worship, fearing it would be irreverent and turn worship into entertainment.

Thomas worked hard to convince them, but to no avail. The composition sales were low, and the income he received wasn’t enough to live on. Finally, he set it aside and returned to his old job.

* * * * *

Thomas opened the restaurant door and walked in.

“Waiter, you gotta table?”

“I'm sorry we don’t have any clear. The only chair open is by that young lady sitting next to the window.”

“Thanks, I’ll take it,” Thomas said as he walked over.

“Pardon me, Ma’am, can I sit wid you? Ain’t no other tables open.”

Two beautiful brown eyes looked up at him. “Oh, uh, yeah, dat be fine.”

“Appreciate it. I’m Thomas Dorsey.”

“Nettie Harper,” she said as she tucked her short black hair behind her ear.

“You from around here?”

“I go to the same church you do, Mr. Dorsey.”

“What! How’s it I ain’t never seen you before?”

“I reckon you hadn’t been lookin’.”

“Well, now, I sure am– and look at you, just shinin’. You beautiful, you know dat?!”

“Well…I…Th-thank you…”

“You got me feelin’ like I already know the future, Nettie… and…. it’s me marryin’ you one day.”

“Gracious me, feeling bold today, are we!?”

* * * * *

“I now pronounce you Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Dorcey. Thomas, you may kiss your bride.” The crowd cheered as the happy couple walked down the aisle. Thomas had married his Nettie.

His fame grew as he continued touring with Ma Rainey, and Nettie became their new wardrobe mistress. Thomas’s life was thriving. But everything came crashing to a halt that fateful night, when his hands failed as he played for President Calvin Coolidge.

For the next two years, Thomas struggled with his disability and wondered why God seemed to be fighting against him. But, slowly and with much pain, Thomas regained his ability to play music. With his prayer answered, he decided to stop touring with Ma Rainey and begin composing his Gospel music again.

* * * * *

Thomas lifted the last suitcase into the trunk of his black Packard and slammed the hatch. “It’s only gon’ be a week, Nettie. You sure you won’t be comin’?”

“Oh, Thomas, I wish. But I feel ready to burst with dis baby.”

“Well, thought I’d ask one more time," Thomas chuckled. “You take good care of yourself, you hear.”

“I will be, Thomas Dorsey! Now go so you can come back to me!”

“Yes, ma’am!”

Starting the engine, Thomas crawled into the Packard and pulled away. “I love you, Nettie Dorsey,” Thomas yelled as he turned the corner and she disappeared from his sight.

Thomas looked at his pocket watch and sighed happily. He was on his way to the Ebenezer Conference, where he would finally perform his Gospel music! After all the rejection and criticism from the churches in Chicago, he was finally given a chance to prove himself. As evening came, Thomas neared his destination. One of the gospel songs he had written two years earlier burst through his lips.

I will trust in the Lord,
I will trust in the Lord,
I will trust in the Lord,
Until I die.

Pulling into the Conference center, Thomas prayed, “I will trust in you, Lord, for everything that may come my way.”

* * * * *

Nettie Dorcey squeezed the water out of the baby romper once more before hanging it on the clothesline beside a little cardigan. Thomas had been gone for five days, and she was missing him. Humming one of her husband’s songs, she stood back, surveying all the baby clothes washed and drying.

“Well, bout time this baby done come,” she said to herself. “Just a few more weeks and we gon’ be good.” As she picked up the laundry basket, sharp pain filled her abdomen, and she doubled over. “Is the baby comin’ now? Somethin’ doesn’t feel right!”

“Lord, help me…” she moaned.

* * * * *

Thomas quickly ran his hand over his forehead, wiping away beads of sweat. Tonight was the night.

A microphone squeaked loudly as a short, round man stepped up to speak. “I hope everyone is enjoying this week. I know I am. Tonight, we have a special guest for our worship time. Please welcome, Mr. Thomas Dorsey.”

As Thomas walked onto the stage, the room erupted with applause.

“Thank ya, thank ya. I’m obliged to be…” Thomas stopped abruptly as a hand tapped him urgently from behind. He turned to find a young telegraph messenger handing him a small folded piece of paper.

“Sorry to bother you, mister, but I was told to have you read this right away!” the messenger said as he bowed and left quickly.

Thomas muttered an apology to the crowd and stepped offstage.

Fingering the paper, Thomas quickly unfolded the telegram with shaking hands. “Who would send me a telegram unless it was an emergency?” There were only eight words written:

THOMAS HURRY HOME STOP NETTIE JUST DIED STOP

Thomas drove the eight hours home in grief and disbelief. Surely there must be some mistake.

But there was not. Thomas’s beloved Nettie had died in childbirth. There was no reasonable explanation. Then, not 24 hours later, Thomas’s newborn son also died without a diagnosis.

The funeral was held several days later at Pilgrim Baptist Church.

* * * * *

“Was the funeral hard for you, Tommy?” his friend asked.

A broken sigh escaped his lips, “I entered the church and looked down that long aisle which led to the altar where my wife and baby lay in the same casket. I started to walk the procession, and the aisle grew longer and longer before me. My legs got weak, my knees wouldn't work right, and my eyes became blind with a flood of tears. There, Nettie lay; Cold. Unmoving. Unspeaking! And I didn’t even get to say goodbye! Why? Why!” Thomas screamed. “Why did God do this to me?”

“Tommy, Tommy, God didn’t do this to you.”

“He abandoned me!”

“I don’t believe that. You are speaking of a precious Lord. He doesn't always keep us from harm, but he promised always to take our hand and lead us on.”

“Yea, Precious Lord, I can’t go on! Precious Lord, I don’t wanna live anymore!”

Sobbing, Thomas crumbled to the floor, his pain too much to bear.

“Come on, Thomas,” his friend said softly, “Get up. You’ve always expressed your feelings through your music. Why not try it now?”

“Where do I start?” Thomas cried. “There ain’t no songs to speak to the ache I feel.”

“Then sing from your heart.”

Thomas slowly walked to the piano and ran his fingers across the cold ivory keys. Then, in the stillness of the moment, he sang:

Precious Lord…” A sob caught in his throat, but he played through it.
“Take my hand. Lead me on, help me stand.” His voice quivered.
“I am tired, I am weak, I am worn;
Through the storm, through the night,
lead me on to the light,
Take my hand, Precious Lord,
and lead me home…”

Each key he pressed became a step towards peace.

“…When my way grows drear,
Precious Lord, linger near,
When my life is almost gone,
Hear my cry, hear my call,
Hold my hand lest I fall,
Take my hand, Precious Lord, lead me home.

When the darkness appears,
And the night draws near,
And the day is past and gone,
At the river I stand,
Guide my feet, hold my hand,
Take my hand, Precious Lord, lead me home.”

* * * * *

With God’s help, Thomas overcame his grief and in 1940, married Kathryn Mosely and fathered two more children. He went on to write over 200 gospel songs, but his most popular Hymn was, and still is, Precious Lord. Thomas Dorsey will forever be remembered as the Father of Gospel Music.

Baldwin
by
Audrey Latulippe

Oh, Baldwin, poor Baldwin, “Don’t you know, the good guys don’t always win?” Yet, with the faith of a child, you set out to conquer Saladin. Your generals tried to warn you, “3,000 is no match for 30,000,” but you said God was on your side.

Baldwin, only 16 years old and sick with leprosy, could not be dissuaded. The Holy City was under siege, and he believed he could save it. Gathering his small band of crusaders, he set out for Jerusalem.

On the way, Baldwin won a battle against a small detachment of Saladin's men. This increased his confidence. But the experienced soldiers knew that this was hardly a reason to hope. Even though the battle was small, they had already received heavy casualties which was sure to slow them down. Now it was near impossible to reach Jerusalem before Saladin and the Muslim army, but Baldwin wouldn’t listen and gave the order to press on.

The men were not pleased with this order, and who could blame them? Exhausted and wounded from the skirmish, the soldiers could not imagine the agonizing ride to Jerusalem, not to speak of the battle that awaited them there.

The only way to catch the Muslims was to ride at full speed, day and night. Some could not make the journey and were left behind. Now there were only 2,000 men. However, as their numbers decreased, their speed increased, and they made it to Ascalon (a city not far from Jerusalem).

When Saladin received word that Baldwin had reached Ascalon, he marched to meet him.

Inside the city, there were fewer men than Baldwin had hoped for, and even less weapons. But even so, Baldwin led his soldiers out of the city walls to face Saladin.

The battle lasted less than a few minutes. Hopelessly outnumbered, as his generals had warned him many times, Baldwin gave the order to retreat. Finally, a sensible order which was gladly received, and the men dashed back into the city.

Saladin looked on at the city. It wouldn’t be much trouble to take, but it could delay his attack on Jerusalem. So he decided it would be best to continue his march. Baldwin wouldn’t dare to follow him with so few men. But, undaunted by defeat, Baldwin did dare!

As soon as the Muslims were out of sight, Baldwin gathered up his forces. Baldwin had received word that the Knights Templar had left Gaza and were riding to their aid. Baldwin saw this as a sign.

Leaving Ascalon, they pursued the Muslims along the coast, where they joined up with the King Templar. To his surprise, the Templars only arrived with 100 knights and about 1000 foot soldiers. The Templars were also surprised—Baldwin had far fewer men than they’d anticipated.

Now they must turn back! Even combined, they were still outnumbered ten to one! But Baldwin would not give up. Instead, he ordered the “Relic of the True Cross” be raised in front of the troops, thinking this would make up for his lack of men. Then, helped down from his horse, the leper king kneeled before the piece of cross and prayed for victory. Then King Baldwin gave the order, and the Crusaders charged!

Saladin was taken by total surprise. Part of his force had been held up by supplies, while another part had broken off into raiding parties across the countryside. The horses were tired from the long march, and the cold had left them weak. The Muslims scrambled to make battle lines, but it was too late. Baldwin’s men easily cut through the panicked disarrayed line. The Muslims were killed by the thousands. Saladin managed to escape by mounting the fastest camel and abandoning his men.

Baldwin and his men held a glorious celebration!

Stories of how the young leper king defeated Sultan Saladin spread far and wide. Some called the king a military genius, some said it was just luck, but Baldwin knew it was God.