Ingmar Norske is a scholar of Scandinavian descent with questionable degrees of competency including an AAS from Southwestern, a BS from Northwestern, a BLT from Western, and a Groupon good for half off on a PhD in moderate political science from Central.
He is also a Michigan Tech Huskies hockey fan and an accomplished tuba player — often serenading angry geese in Riverfront Park. It was during one of these serenade sessions that Ingmar met Officer Dwight Kniehtschtek, park patrolman extraordinaire.
“Excuse me, sir,” Officer Dwight politely attempted to interrupt Ingmar’s resounding bass clef brass solo. “Some of the park patrons…”
Oom paw paw, oom paw paw (deep breath), oom paw paw – Ingmar was just beginning to hit his stride as he charged along, belting out the bassline on his tuba, from the ballad portion of Queen’s “Bohemian Rhapsody” (he claims to have learned it from John Deacon, himself).
Ingmar was engrossed in blowing deep into the mouthpiece of his Conn-Selmer, 3-valve, King Tuba, creating bushel basket shaped tones blustering from its bell. Ingmar felt anyone could hit pear shaped tones — they are small, soft, and strictly for the Chuck Mangione crowd. Ingmar could belch out an entire basket of pear shaped tones in one forceful “oom paw.”
The geese were not amused.
“Excuse me, sir,” Office Dwight, again, tried to politely interrupt Ingmar’s performance at the point where the ballad builds to the guitar solo. Since Ingmar didn’t have a guitar, this seemed like a logical point to butt in — Ingmar’s need for several deep breaths due to impending hyperventilation, notwithstanding.
“Excuse me, sir,” Dwight said, again. “We are getting some complaints from several of the park’s patrons,” with this, Dwight made a wide, authoritative, sweeping hand gesture, across the park, towards no one at all. “Your music seems to be annoying some folks. I’m going to have to ask you to tone it down, sir.”
“Tone it…” gasped Ingmar, “…down?” Ingmar sat down on a park bench and tried to wheeze up enough air to clean out his spit-valves.
In between coughs, hacks, and other melodious sounds, Ingmar explained to Officer Dwight that he had been entertaining the geese with his own rendition of the Queen anthem “Bohemian Rhapsody” — at least, as much as he could get through without the need for an oxygen tank.
It was Ingmar’s hope that he could cajole the geese to join in — “Mama, (honk), just killed a man, (honk), put a gun against his head, (honk) pulled the trigger, (honk) now he’s dead (honk).”
“How’s that working out for you?” asked Dwight, doing his worst Doctor Phil imitation.
“Not too good,” lamented Ingmar, as he thought about standing (until the dizziness made him seriously think about remaining seated).
“Half the geese keep coming in midway through the intro, the second half keeps messing up the coda, and the third half just can’t keep count.”
The tuba playing Norwegian sat back on the bench, wiped the sweat from his brow, the drool from the corner of his mouth, and the goose droppings from the sole of his left shoe. “I should have started out with something easier. These geese just aren’t into rock opera.”
“What makes you think you can teach geese to sing?” Officer Dwight was curious about Ingmar Norske’s attempt to train geese to warble, on cue, to rock anthems.
“Oh, no…I’m not teaching them to do anything. Geese are naturally musically inclined,” explained the Norse bassist. “Geese will sing along, if you play the right music. They may not always be on key, but they are very serious about their tone and timbre. I just picked the wrong song to start them off. I need a song that geese can relate to – a rousing, inspiring, sacred anthem.”
“What song should you have played?”
“In Heaven There is No Beer.” (Go HUSKIES!)

Larry Wilson is a mostly lifelong resident of Niles. His optimistic “glass full to overflowing” view of life shapes his writing. His essays stem from experiences, compilations and recollections from friends and family. Wilson touts himself as “a dubiously licensed teller of tall tales, sworn to uphold the precept of ‘It’s my story; that’s the way I’m telling it.’” He can be reached at wflw@hotmail.com.