The Bell-ringer
It is customary for parents to want their progeny to follow in their footsteps. What athlete does not want his youngster to take a keen interest in sports? What painter does not want her child to develop a passion for art? It was perfectly natural then for Les Siebert—a man who, after some success as a studio musician at Capital Records, married his childhood sweetheart and became a music instructor at his former high school—to want his son and only child to learn to play an instrument. Young Casey Siebert, however, had a mind of his own. Even as early as the second grade, he liked telling jokes and making people laugh. In middle school, he considered his greatest accomplishment to be voted class clown three years running. Yet when he entered junior high and announced his intention of becoming a stand-up comic, his father tried to discourage him.
"It's all right to have in interest in comedy," Les said, "but you need to think about a career. You'll never make any money going to open-mike nights at the clubs."
"Do you think Jerry Seinfeld's parents gave him the same advice? Or maybe you don't think Robin Williams, Tim Allen or George Carlin made a good living."
"They're the exception to the rule. For every Andy Kaufman or Richard Pryor, there are countless comics who never reach their potential. What you need is a good education and a dependable job."
"You've seen my report cards, Dad," Casey argued. "I'm not exactly college material. With my grades, I'll be lucky to get a job as an associate at Walmart or flipping burgers at McDonald's."
"You could always train for a career in music, like me."
"Are you going to tell me being a musician will guarantee me a secure future?"
"Well, no," his father reluctantly admitted. "I'm not talking about becoming a rock star, though. I made a good living playing in the studio. I still have a few connections that will help you. Won't you give it a try? You're only thirteen; you've got plenty of time to change your mind."
"All right, but I can't make any promises."
Over the next three years—to please his father—Casey took lessons to play nearly every musical instrument in the school orchestra and marching band. Unlike most teenagers, he had no desire to learn the guitar, bass or drums. He found the piano and organ boring and had no interest in any other stringed, percussion or woodwind instruments. In desperation, his father even had him try playing the kettledrum, accordion, harp and harmonica.
"What's next, Dad? The bagpipes?"
"I thought you had a knack for the banjo."
"Look, I did what you asked. I tried. I'm just not a musician."
Ironically, it was when Les had given up all hope of his son following his lead that Casey finally found an instrument that appealed to him. It was one his father would never have expected.
The family was visiting Longwood Gardens, a public garden and performing arts venue thirty miles west of Philadelphia, and attended a concert featuring Longwood's sixty-two-bell, five-octave carillon. The high school senior was mesmerized by the tone and pitch of the instrument.
"That's the one, Dad."
"The one what?" Les asked with confusion.
"The instrument I want to play."
"You must be kidding!" his father laughed.
"No. You've been after me my whole life to take an interest in music. Now I have one. I want to play the bells."
* * *
Given the size of a carillon, it was impossible for Casey Siebert to own one, so he settled for learning to play handbells instead. Beginning with a two-octave set, he practiced for several hours each day, developing dexterity, speed and accuracy. He was convinced he had inherited his father's musical talent because he soon became proficient at playing and moved up to a three-octave set.
Although he dedicated a large portion of his time to mastering the bells, he did not give up his dream of becoming a stand-up comic. When he was not struggling with his schoolwork or practicing his music, he thought up jokes and wrote them down in a wire-bound notebook.
Les Siebert had mixed feelings about his son's interests. While he appreciated the dedication and hard work Casey exhibited, he felt the time would be better spent in preparing for a career. As far as he knew, there was not a big demand for bell-ringers in the music industry.
During his senior year in high school, Casey decided to enter the annual talent show.
"You might very well be the only bell-ringer to ever have appeared on the school stage," Les said.
"Definitely the only bell-ringing stand-up comic."
"You're going to tell jokes, too? Won't that disrupt your concentration?"
"No. I plan on starting with the bells, telling a few jokes and then finishing with the bells."
One of Les's responsibilities as head of the high school's music department was to oversee the talent show. Every year there were a number of rock 'n' roll bands, would-be singers who belted out Broadway show tunes, tap and ballet dancers and students who played musical instruments such as the violin, piano and clarinet. The most unusual acts, to date, were a magician, a unicycle rider and a ventriloquist.
"A bell-ringing comedian," he mumbled, shaking his head. "Leave it to my son to come up with an act like that!"
A good-looking and charismatic young man, when Casey Siebert stepped out onto the stage, he commanded every teenage girl's attention. His boyish charm had the same effect on his female audience that Elvis Presley had on the girls of the 1950s and the Beatles on those of the 1960s. They listened with rapt attention as he played an abridged version of Disney's "Let it Go" on his handbells. Meanwhile, the boys in the audience cast bored eyes at the clock, longing for Casey's time to be up. However, once he put down the bells and began telling jokes, he established an instant rapport with them.
After a second quick melody on the bells, his act came to an end. The audience rose in a standing ovation, and the applause was deafening.
They actually like him! Les thought with surprise.
His son's act was so successful that he easily won the competition. In fact, it was the only talent show win in Les's tenure as head of the music department that was unanimous.
* * *
It was when Casey Siebert's performance went viral on YouTube that an assistant producer of That's Talent! spotted the young performer. Always on the lookout for novelty acts to feature on the hit talent competition, he journeyed to Pennsylvania in search of the bell-ringing stand-up comic. Casey's parents were leery of allowing him to travel alone to Hollywood for the audition, so his mother agreed to take time off from work to accompany him.
"I hope he's not too disappointed when he doesn't make it through to the next round," Shirley Siebert said, believing her son had no chance of impressing the judges.
To the mother's delight and astonishment, however, all four judges gave the bell-ringer the thumbs up. Not only did he pass his audition, but three weeks later, he made the first cut, guaranteeing his participation in the competition.
"You're going to be on television!" Shirley exclaimed. "Isn't that exciting?"
"Yeah," Casey replied halfheartedly.
"You don't sound too enthused. What's wrong?"
"I'm scared, Mom. I have to do my act before millions of TV viewers who will then decide if I return the following week or go back to Pennsylvania."
"Cheer up, honey. After all, you've made it this far."
"This isn't the high school talent show. I'll be competing against people who know what they're doing. Most likely, I'll be the first one sent home."
"Even if you are, it won't be the end of the world. Look at the bright side. At least we got a free trip to Hollywood for your trouble."
Twelve contestants competed on the first episode of the season: three singers, two dancers, a troupe of acrobats, a celebrity impersonator, a dog trainer, an illusionist, a theremin player, a juggler and the bell-ringing stand-up comic.
Once again, Casey's good looks and charisma enhanced his performance. One by one, week after week, the competitors fell until the final three remained.
"I made it!" he cried when the illusionist became the ninth person to go home.
The other two finalists, the celebrity impersonator and one of the singers, had also built a strong following. It was anyone's guess who the winner would be.
"Wouldn't it be great if I won, Mom? A hundred thousand dollars and a new car!"
"The money will go a long way toward your college education," Shirley said optimistically.
Casey rolled his eyes and smiled, amused by his mother's faith in his nonexistent academic abilities. Given his lackluster grades, he would be lucky to get admitted into a community college.
On the night of the finale, Les Siebert was flown in from Pennsylvania to provide moral support to his son, the youngest of the three remaining competitors. Casey, wearing a tuxedo for the first time in his life, waited in the wings while the celebrity impersonator went through a routine that featured Jack Nicholson, Al Pacino, Morgan Freeman, Robert De Niro, Christopher Walken and Donald Trump. When his act came to an end, the live broadcast was paused in order for the network to show commercials for GEICO, Nexium, Coca-Cola and the Ford Motor Company.
Finally, with the show back on the air, the host took center stage and introduced the next act. Casey took a deep breath and walked toward his bells. The moment the spotlight shined down on him, the dazzling smile appeared. Although he outwardly seemed completely at ease, his stomach was tied up in knots. He said a silent prayer that he would not grab the wrong bell or stumble over his words as he told his jokes.
Here goes nothing, he thought, as he began ringing out "Ode to Joy" from Beethoven's Ninth Symphony.
After the flawless performance, the teenager was buoyed by self-confidence. He then delivered his monologue with the skill and poise of Jay Leno and David Letterman. Finally, he ended the act with "God Bless America," a tune sure to please many in the TV audience, who were the ones to pick the winner.
"You were wonderful!" Shirley cried, throwing her arms around her child.
"Well done, son," Les added, getting in a hug of his own.
"It's all over now, except for the wait," the teenager announced nervously.
In roughly twenty-four hours, a new champion would be announced.
* * *
After his win on That's Talent!, Casey Siebert made the round of talk shows, appearing as a guest on Good Morning America, The Tonight Show, Today, The View and Conan. His unique act was featured by Ellen DeGeneres, Kelly Ripa, Stephen Colbert and Jimmy Kimmel. As his popularity grew, he was even asked to host a segment of Saturday Night Live.
Eventually, the bell-ringing stand-up comic went the route of the Blue Man Group, Cirque du Soleil, Wayne Newton, Liberace and Siegfried & Roy.
"You once told me I'd never make any money doing stand-up," he reminded his father. "And now I'm headlining my own show in Las Vegas."
"And playing a musical instrument, as I suggested," Les laughed.
"You were right about that, Dad," Casey conceded as he pulled his Mercedes into the driveway of his new home.
"Who would have thought a bell-ringing comic could earn so much money!" the proud father exclaimed upon seeing her son's house for the first time.
"I don't do too badly for someone without a college education."
"And has there been a special girl in your life?" Shirley asked.
"Not yet."
There were plenty of women in Casey's life, but not one of them would please his mother. Most of them were showgirls, exotic dancers and the ever-present celebrity groupies.
"He's young yet," Les said. "Let him enjoy himself before you start nagging him about settling down."
"I'm not nagging him; I'm just curious."
Casey hopped out of the car, opened the trunk and carried his parents' luggage into the house. When he came downstairs, he found his mother in the family room, admiring his curio cabinet full of bells.
"This is some collection you have!" she observed. "Where did they all come from?"
"My fans. Some were given to me after my performances; others were sent to me through the mail."
The items on display varied from a cheap plastic Liberty Bell souvenir to an expensive Waterford crystal handbell. Among the porcelain and china bells manufactured by Wedgwood, Lenox, Royal Doulton and Spode were miniature bells made of pewter, silver, copper and brass.
"Some of these appear to be worth a lot of money," Shirley noted.
"That's good to know. If my career ever fizzles out, I can always sell them on eBay."
* * *
The following week, after taking his parents to the airport, Casey returned to his Las Vegas home and to the life of a carefree bachelor. With his mother and father on a plane back to Pennsylvania, he invited an attractive and shapely young woman to his house for dinner. He was opening a bottle of wine when the doorbell rang.
That was quick, he thought, assuming it was his date at the door.
"Package, Mr. Siebert," the FedEx deliveryman announced and handed him a cardboard box. "It's a heavy one, sir."
Assuming it was another bell from a fan, he signed for the delivery, put the box on the living room chair and returned to the kitchen. Ten minutes later, the young blonde arrived, and Casey's thoughts turned to her.
He woke the following morning to find a handwritten note on the bedside table, explaining that the blonde had to leave early to be to work by nine. Her absence was a blessing since the comedian always found the mornings after awkward.
After a quick shower, he went downstairs for a cup of coffee. Passing through the living room on his way to the kitchen, he spotted the box FedEx had delivered the day before. He took it with him into the kitchen; and while he was waiting for his coffeemaker to spew out his cappuccino, he sliced open the packing tape with a steak knife. Inside was a metal handbell that seemed to be of considerable age.
Looks like an antique, the thought.
He searched through the Styrofoam packing peanuts for an accompanying note but there was none. He looked on the outside of the box for the name of the sender, but all he found was a return address from London.
"I never realized my fame had spread across the Atlantic."
Although the newest acquisition to his collection would be destined to rest on the bottom shelf of his curio cabinet, he could not resist ringing the instrument just once. With a deft movement of his wrist, he set the bell to pealing.
"Not a bad sound," he concluded as he added it to his display in the living room.
Then, heading back into the kitchen for his cappuccino, Casey focused his attention on writing new material for his act.
* * *
The death of a parent is a time of great sadness; the death of both mother and father at the same time proved almost unbearable.
"I can't believe it! I was with them just two days ago," Casey told his friend, a chef at Mandalay Bay. "I drove them to the airport in the morning after they spent a week here in Vegas."
"That's the way life is, I'm afraid. You never know when your time is up."
The grieving son supposed he should be thankful that his parents' death had been quick, that they had not suffered some slow, painful end. It was also somewhat of a blessing that they had died together. Still, they were only in their fifties and ought to have lived a few more decades. Instead, after a freak accident in which a tree fell on their vehicle crushing them inside, they were now dead.
"I'm going to take a couple of days off and fly back to Pennsylvania for the funeral."
"Is there anything I can do for you while you're gone?"
"No. I won't ...."
The telephone conversation was interrupted by the front doorbell.
"Can I call you back? Someone's at the door."
Two men with short hair and dressed in conservative suits were standing on his stoop. Casey wondered if they were there to proselytize on behalf of their church or urge him to vote for the GOP candidate in the upcoming election. However, they were not Jehovah's Witnesses, Mormons or Republicans; they were FBI agents.
"What can I do for you?" the comic asked warily after inviting the two men inside.
"We're here on behalf of New Scotland Yard," Special Agent Martin Gibbs announced.
As if having the FBI appear on his doorstep was not weird enough, the mention of New Scotland Yard left the comedian utterly bewildered.
"They're investigating the theft of a valuable item, and they believe the thief sent it to you."
Given the tragic news of his parents' deaths, Casey temporarily forgot about the package he had received from England.
"To me!" he exclaimed. "I don't know anything about a theft, and I know even less about England. I've never been there, nor do I know anyone from there. I don't ...."
A mental bell rang in his head.
"Wait! FedEx dropped off something from London for me the other day, a gift from a fan. I get them all the time," he quickly explained.
"What was it?" Gibbs demanded to know.
"A bell. I'm a bell-ringer, you see—and a standup comic. That's my act."
"That bell was more than four hundred years old and one of historical significance."
"I don't know anything about that. I thought it was an ordinary bell. Look, I've got it right here."
The comic quickly went to his curio cabinet and retrieved the bell.
"That's the one," the special agent declared after comparing it with a photograph from New Scotland Yard that he saved on his cell phone.
"I don't suppose you kept the box it came in?"
"As a matter of fact, I think it's out back in my trashcan."
As the second agent went outside to retrieve the FedEx packaging, Casey asked his partner about the bell in question.
"Was it stolen out of a museum?"
"No, a church: St. Sepulchre's in London."
The second agent returned with the shipping box in an evidence bag and demanded, "Hand it over."
"Sure, take it," Casey readily agreed, giving him the bell. "I don't want it."
"We'll make sure this is returned to New Scotland Yard," Gibbs said. "I don't imagine any charges will be filed against you or that you'll be asked to give evidence in any legal proceedings. I'm sure the church will be happy enough just to get their bell back."
* * *
It was after eleven when Casey, unable to sleep despite having spent hours answering phone calls and emails from well-meaning friends offering their condolences, decided to take his mind off his bereavement by searching for information about the theft of the antique bell. When he googled St. Sepulcher, London, bell, he was stunned by what he found.
St. Sepulcher-without-Newgate, he learned, was built near the notorious Newgate Prison. The stolen bell that found its way from London to Las Vegas, which came to be known as the "executioner's bell," was first rung in 1605. For three hundred years, at the stroke of midnight on the eve of an execution, St. Sepulcher's sexton would walk from the church to the prison via a tunnel that ran beneath the street, stand outside the cell of each condemned prisoner, ring the handbell twelve times and recite a macabre rhyme warning the unfortunate souls of their impending deaths. This ritual of the death knell was repeated for three centuries in hope of convincing prisoners to repent before they were hauled off to the gallows at Tyburn.
Even more disturbing than the factual accounts of the executioner's bell Casey found on reputable historical sites were tales written about it on a website devoted to such conspiracy theories as the aliens of Roswell, New Mexico; the Bermuda Triangle; the faking of the moon landing; and the Loch Ness Monster. According to legend—the owners of the site claimed—when Newgate Prison was demolished at the beginning of the twentieth century and the sexton from St. Sepulcher no longer warned condemned prisoners of their imminent doom, there was no longer a use for the bell. A mentally disturbed priest from the church, who ended his days in an insane asylum, put a curse on the bell: whenever someone rang it, within twenty-four hours a friend, relative or acquaintance of the ringer would die. The curse came back to haunt the priest, for when he rang the bell himself, his widowed mother died the next day.
"Christ!" Casey exclaimed, turning away from his computer. "Sounds like something out of an Edgar Allan Poe story. A person would have to be an idiot to believe such nonsense."
Although still reeling from the tragic events of the day, he took two Melatonin tablets, lay down on his bed and waited to fall asleep. He had just dozed off when at midnight, in a dreamlike state in which he was neither fully asleep nor completely awake, he heard the pealing of a bell and a ghostly voice call to him through time.
"All you that in the condemned hole do lie,
Prepare you, for tomorrow you shall die."
He tossed in his sleep, troubled by images of his parents superimposed with that of the ringing executioner's bell and accompanied by a soundtrack of the sexton's verse.
"Watch all, and pray, the hour is drawing near,
That you before Almighty God will appear."
"Am I the reason you and Mom died?" Casey asked his father. "Did that old bell ring your death knell?"
"Examine well yourselves, in time repent,
That you not to eternal flames be sent,"
There was no answer from his parents, only a mournful look of sorrow as the bell continued to peal above the sexton's words of warning.
"And when St. Sepulcher's bell tomorrow tolls,
The Lord above have mercy on your souls."
The following morning, the bell-ringing stand-up comic and one-time winner of That's Talent! was found dead in his bed in his Las Vegas home. He had died peacefully in his sleep, unaware that on the previous day FBI Special Agent Martin Gibbs had not resisted the urge to ring St. Sepulchre's bell before handing it over to a representative from New Scotland Yard.
The executioner's bell in St. Sepulchre really exists and is on display inside the church. The sexton did ring it and recite the verse quoted in this story in front of the cells of the condemned before the night of an execution. However, the legend of death following the ringing of the now cursed bell is pure fiction.
This is not an executioner's bell; it is just Salem's dinner bell.
