The music you’re hearing now is from a little sleeper movie from the ‘90s called "Little Man Tate." I was so drawn in by the jazz from this movie, I ordered the soundtrack. This piece is the opening one from the movie and sets the pace for the whole thing. It is an excellent film with an appearance of Harry Connick, Jr. later on. If you get a chance to rent this gem, do it! 

The music was written by Mark Isham, who also wrote soundtracks for "Never Cry Wolf," "Twisted," "Men of Honor," "Of Mice and Men," A River Runs Through It," "Rules of Engagement," "October Sky" and numerous other films as well. He was born in 1951 and studied classical music as a child, playing trumpet, piano and violin. But after moving from New York to San Francisco, he became interested in jazz, pop and rock. He played with several jazz artists like Pharoah Sanders, Charles Lloyd and pop artists like The Beach Boys and Van Morrison, finally forming a band called Group 87. In 1983, he scored his first film (Never Cry Wolf) with Disney and was off and running in the film scoring business. Now, after releasing his first non-movie album for Columbia in 1995, Blue Sun, he is content to stick with contemporary jazz.

What a uplifting and fun soundtrack this "Little Man Tate" album is! I’ll be keeping my ears peeled when viewing others he’s done, that’s for sure!

                   (Part Five)

Tears clouded her eyes as she stuffed the envelope into her pocket and slithering back through the tunnel, down the attic escape, the steep staircase, and the long curving one to the main floor. She found herself in the library, gasping and shaking. After gulping a tall glass of water and waiting for her heart to quit trying to leap out of her chest, she carefully opened the faded envelope and pulled out two pieces of paper. One was a handwritten letter from her Grandfather, who had never come home from the war, dated January 3, 1943.

My Darling,

I don’t think the war will ever end. The Japs seem stronger and stronger and we always seem to need more supplies than we get. I can’t wait to see you and little Jerry. I hope his heart is getting stronger. You really should take him to a doctor. If he becomes too weak to go to and from the little slave room, you must get outside help. You don’t have to tell anyone who he is. He’ll be our little secret. Please take care of him and give him a big hug.

Slave room? But of course! Her father had told her that this house was one of two in town that had been part of the underground railroad during the Civil War. That room would have been a perfect hiding place. But what could have been wrong with Jerry and why did they hide him? And who, exactly was he? She carefully smoothed the other slip of paper that had been in the envelope.

On it was scrawled, "Jeremy Baily, born this 21^st day of November, 1938, in the County of York, State of Ohio. Mother: Elizabeth Bailey; Father: unknown."

The "unknown" was crossed out and scrawled next to it was the name, "Billy Leggett." He was Grandmama’s little brother but instead of calling him Uncle Billy, her father had called him "Crazy Billy" because he had had a sharp temper and had stabbed a man to death. Her father said Crazy Billy liked to pet young children like they were animals. "I never let him touch me, I’ll tell you," declared my father. Elizabeth Bailey was Julie’s Aunt Liz, her father’s younger sister, who had died in some kind of accident before she was 20. Obviously Liz had not been able to avoid him. Nothing had never mentioned anything about any child. Being Southern Baptist, Grandmama must have felt Jerry had been "spawned by the devil," as she was so find of saying. It was just like Grandmama to hide the child, out of shame. But Julie couldn’t just leave Jerry’s remains up there. She couldn’t stand to even be in this house, knowing he was there.

Tears dripped from her cheeks as she stared at the birth certificate and the letter from Grandfather. Jerry would not be lost, she decided, fetching the bulky family Bible from its shelf in the library. On the inside cover was the family tree. She scrolled down the names until she came to her Aunt Liz’s, then crossed out the "none" in the "Children" slot beside Elizabeth’s name and wrote "Jeremy Bailey". Closing the cover, tears streaming down her face, she picked up the phone and dialed the police.

THE END

             (Part Four)

After spending a restless night in the big house, Julie dragged out of bed with the sun the next morning, anxious to find the room with the round window. As she sipped her coffee, she walked around outside the house, through the tall, dewy grass until she was directly under the round window, the blues and reds and greens dancing in the morning light. It appeared to be straight up from the library window, putting it on the east side of the ballroom, farthest from the chimney, and in the attic. There had to be a way to get in!

Back upstairs she went to the east wall. Knocking gently, a low, hollow thud answered. With the lantern, she searched the smooth wall, finding no hint of an opening. The entrance had to be there! She began moving boxes and small tables stacked in the corner away from wall. Two trunks situated on top of each other seemed too heavy to move. But Julie pushed and tugged at the top one until it began to slide. Then, with one big shove, it crashed to the floor. A huge cloud of dust billowed up around it. The bottom trunk stuck stubbornly to the floor. With the crowbar, she managed to pry it loose and push it away from the wall. Behind the cleaner wall where the trunk had been, a three-foot by three-foot outline of a door appeared. She took the screwdriver and pried the door out until she could get her fingers in the crack. With one foot braced against the wall, she tugged it open.

Light poured in with musty air. Julie brushed the cobwebs away and peered through the opening. It seemed to be part of a short, square tunnel, reminding her of an air duct, that ran the length of the wall. With her head and shoulders through the opening, Julie took a big breath, then closed her eyes and scrambled through the crawlspace of cobwebs and spiders. When it finally spilled into a room, she sprawled out onto the floor and exhaled, only to breath in a stench so strong, it made her gag. She covered her mouth, and tried not to inhale. Then she saw the round window with it’s red, blue and green stained glass, sparkled and glistened with rainbows of light. It was even more beautiful up close.

She gazed around the small room. Only a plain, dark chest of drawers and a small wooden-framed bed filled the space. At first she thought it was some kind of doll that lay on the bed, but when she looked closer, she realized it was a fully dressed skeleton with its arms folded across its chest. A tattered envelope was stuck between its finger bones, and its mouth was open as if it had been trying to say something.

Julie screamed and turned away from the grizzly sight towards the window, breathing heavily, struggling not to lose her breakfast. After a few minutes, she managed to slow her breathing went back to the tiny body. Carefully, with quaking hands, she pulled the envelope from the bony grasp. It was addressed to her Grandmother from her Grandfather.

              (Part Three)

Her footsteps echoed on the metal rungs as she went up the stairs. She paused and listened between each step. No sign of light appeared through the dense cobwebs. And everything was silent. She flicked on the flashlight, throwing its beam jerkily this way and that. The attic was smaller than she had thought, and although she searched every corner, there was no round window. In fact, there were no windows at all. This was not the room. But it was the attic.

Julie wished she had thought to bring a candle. As she searched the walls with the beam of the flashlight, she spotted an old glass oil lamp along with a box of kitchen matches. Amazingly there was still a good half-inch of oil in the bottom of the lamp. She lit it.

The room glowed to life. Two huge trunks loomed at one end, and at the other, an old, wooden school desk butted up against the wall beside two boxes. One was packed with books and the other with metal cars and small, green GI Joe soldiers. Julie was fascinated with the desk with its fancy metal braces on the sides, holding a wooden box and lid that looked dull but unscratched. She lifted the lid and peered inside. Two chewed pencils and a notebook and three small cars were neatly arranged. She carefully lifted out the notebook. The faded writing inside was too dim to make out, even with the flashlight. She would have to read it later. Julie’s growling stomach reminded her that she hadn’t eaten all day, so gathering her tools and the notebook, she returned to the main floor, glad she had thought to bring a sandwich along.

After devouring everything in the small paper bag and washing her hands, she stepped into the library. When she opened the notebook, it appeared to have been written by a young boy. He wrote that he wished he could visit Egypt, Africa, and England. He dreamed of knights in armor and crusaders fighting with swords. However, he also wished he could play with other children and see his mother and father. Julie was puzzled. Who was he? Why was his journal in this attic desk?

     (Part Two)

The steps creaked and groaned as Julie ascended to the second floor. Two large bedrooms and two smaller ones, along with a closet-converted-to-a-bathroom, occupied the second floor. Her father’s room had been the first one and his younger brother had claimed the second large one. In both rooms, the furniture and beds were draped with sheets.

The second staircase to the third floor was just past the bathroom at the end of the hall behind an imposing white, locked door. Julie tried six keys before finding the proper one. He held her breath as the door squealed open, revealing a narrow, steep flight of stairs. Upon reaching the third floor, she found a large open room with a low ceiling, no furniture at all and no windows. It looked like a ballroom with its modest cut-glass chandelier and vast, hardwood floor. A brick fireplace covered the entire far wall. The stones were beautifully laid in swirling patterns of black, gray, and white. Julie jumped as a small mouse dashed across the dusty floor. Only a mouse, she told herself, taking a deep breath, then sneezing loudly.

But since this room had no windows, where was the room with the round window? There must be stairs to an attic, she told herself. Her Grandmama had often told her this thing or that thing was "stored in the attic." But where was its access? This room appeared to be without doors, except for the one from which she’d come through. No where was there a stair entrance. Julie walked around the room, her shoes clunking with hollow thuds. As she neared the fireplace, Julie noticed a small square seam in the ceiling, about 7 feet high. She’d need some kind of ladder.

So, she made her way back downstairs to the main floor and out to the garage behind the house. A stepladder, screwdriver, crowbar, pliers, and flashlight were almost too much for her to carry, but she managed, by jamming the screwdriver, pliers, and flashlight in the belt of her jeans.

Julie huffed and puffed as she dragged the ladder and tools up the final steep staircase. She plopped down in the ballroom under the ceiling seam to catch her breath. It felt wonderful to lean back on the floor and gaze up. Her eyes followed a scrapping sound across it, ending in a thud. She froze. As she bit her lower lip, and cocked her head to listen, she heard a small, pleading voice which got stronger one minute, then faded away the next. "I need to get out. Please help me. Please let me go." Then the voice faded to nothing. Sweat ran down Julie’s face as she stripped off the sweater and flung it to the floor. With shaky hands, she set up the ladder under the square and climbed to the top rung, grabbing the ceiling to balance. Upon close inspection, the seam was tighter than she had thought. She pushed and pried with her screwdriver, but it didn’t budge. She threw down the crowbar in exasperation as it was useless with such a narrow crack. Julie climbed down and shook her head. How in the world could she get into that attic?