Carolina
Melody
Man
People on (heir way to work in
downtown Charlotte, that January
morning, smiled when they heard the
strains of Who Put the Overalls in Mrs.
Murphy's Chinnier? tinkling merrily
through the frosty air. When they saw
where the music was coming from, they
gasped.
High above traffic, smack in the
middle of Independence Square, was
their old friend Jerry Ball, playing his
piano on a platform suspended from
a crane by a thin steel cable. The plat¬
Jerry Ball, of Charlotte, is a living legend in his home
form pitched and rocked in the gusty
winter wind.
"That Jerry Ball — he'll do anything
for a buck." snorted a red-faced state
trooper, and then he slipped a dollar
bill into the tiny replica of an iron lung
attached to the microphone on the cor¬
ner. "Play.” he rasped into the micro¬
phone. "My Mother Says Stars Are the
Windows of Heaven. Where Angels
Peep Through."
Soon, on the four corners of the
Square, people began to cluster around
the microphones, put money into the
boxes, and ask for tunes. Blithely, the
pianist created a gay. flowing melody
out of them, never missing a beat as
the platform swayed back and forth
ninety feet in the air.
It was another of Jerry Ball's fan¬
tastic concerts, one of many that are
making him a living legend in North
Carolina. In recent years. Jerry has
played his piano to buy milk for chil¬
dren. a fire engine for a town, an organ
for a church and, through organized
charities, to help countless sick, im¬
poverished and crippled people.
Piano playing and fund raising, how¬
ever. are avocations with Jerry Ball.
Since 1930. he has been an employee
of the Esso Standard Oil Company's
North Carolina sales division in Char¬
lotte. Those who have worked with
him will tell you. in fact, that Jerry's
musical talent is only one facet of
the personality of a man singularly ab¬
sorbed in his community, its projects
and its people.
They'll tell you that he goes to pris¬
on cell, hospital ward and street cor¬
ner offering whatever help he can give
to those in need. They'll mention
his work with the mayor's commission
on alcoholism and the part he plays in
helping prisoners in local jails make a
new start. From the energy he spent
getting people to vote in the last elec¬
tion. they say you would have thought
he was running for president himself.
Jerry is a tall, mild-mannered man
with pale dreamer's eyes and a voice
that blends a midwestern twang with a
soft southern accent. When you ask
him how things arc going, he invari¬
ably replies. "Why. charmin.’ Just
charmin’." Recently, after scrawling a
series of notes to himself on a memo
pad. he leaned back and talked about
how he happened to be doing so many
extracurricular things.
"It really started with my job here
at Esso.” he said, cupping his hands
behind his head and staring briefly at
the ceiling.
"Part of my job is to show Esso
films — you know, the movies about
states. Some evenings I show them
at hospitals, the mental home and
places like that, where the patients
don't have much chance to sec movies.
One night about four years ago 1 went
to the poor home. After the movies
were over, it was still early. I saw a
piano in the corner, so I decided to
give a little concert. I used to be a
kind of professional pianist, but 1 hadn't
played much since I started to work
for Esso. 1 played Paper Doll and In¬
dian Love Call and Ah! Sweet Mystery
of Life. It took maybe half an hour.
This article originally appeared in
" The Lamp." published by The
Standard Oil Company of New Jersey,
and is reprinted by special permission
of that magazine.
THE STATE. June 20. 19S3
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