There are few calamities as destroying to a public speaker than for the speaker or the audience to be stricken with a case of the laughing fit. Herein is the report of an outbreak in Campbell County.
Recently this columnist was invited to be the speaker for the 200th anniversary of the Appomattox Baptist Association. It was the second of two evenings of ‘ssociation meetings and even the most insatiable meeting attendees must have grown weary. But a respectable number of the Appomattox faithful turned out at Falling River Church near Brookneal for routine business, celebration, remembrance, good music and refreshments.
To make matters even more taxing, the meeting was held on a Friday evening. I thought only synagogues were open on Friday evenings! It all goes to prove that either the Baptists of the Appomattox are the most religious Baptists on the planet or folks who live in the country have nothing else to do on a Friday night!
This columnist was invited to portray his favorite character, William E. Hatcher, the prominent Virginia Baptist preacher of yesteryear. The real Hatcher had been present for the 100th anniversary of the Appomattox.
As my character entered the auditorium, the Appomattox messengers sang We’ll Work Till Jesus Comes, an old-time hymn that actually was Hatcher’s favorite. My monologues are constructed to include some stories to set the character, some of Hatcher’s humorous material and finally the serious part of the message. I also was struggling against another calamity that can befall speakers: a tickle in the throat that can give rise to a coughing fit.
Sensing that the entire presentation may come crashing down with a sudden coughing fit, I decided to press hurriedly on into the serious message, a series of points on the legacy of the Appomattox. I had barely begun when I noticed the outbreak of laughing — first to my left and then, like some dread disease, it spread across the aisle to my right. The laughter was confined to those closest to the platform, leaving those in the distance, which most Baptists prefer, in a perplexed state.
While my tongue wagged on, my mind sorted through a thousand possibilities. Had some bird landed on my head? Had my theatrical beard come unglued? Had my makeup begun to run?
Later I learned the distress that the laughing fit had caused among its sufferers. One lady could not turn her head and look at the others for fear of joining the chorus. Another lady resorted to reading the book of Numbers in a pew Bible, hoping to turn her mind from the subject. The host pastor confessed that he bit his tongue to hold back from laughing.
The source of the laughter was the little black foam cover to the lapel microphone. It had snared into my beard; and as my head moved from side to side, so did the little black ball.
In retrospect, I should have stopped mid-sentence and told the story of Hatcher’s laughing fit. I have told it hundreds of times. It happened in the 1870s when Hatcher was speaking in Raleigh. Here’s the story in William Hatcher’s own words:
“The pastor, well rounded and big of soul, occupied a cane-bottomed chair on the platform. Having his chair slightly tilted and desiring to get a little nearer, he let his chair down as he supposed on its front legs. Unluckily the outside leg missed the floor. Hearing a noise behind me I unconsciously turned just in time to see the preacher and the chair roll down the steps and land in a hopeless jumble on the floor. My first impulse, a very innocent one, was to break into laughter. By hard struggle I held in, which was more than was done by the congregation. I was helped in restraining myself by the fact that a most venerable and distinguished old gentleman sat with his elbow on the bench in front of me, his face resting in his hands, which also contained his handkerchief. His solemn air and stately posture rebuked my impulse to laugh.
All the time, however, a laugh was strong in him and after awhile, with his handkerchief crammed tight in his mouth and his dignity in total wreck, he broke into one of the most uproarious, uncontrollable peals of laughter that one would hear in a lifetime. A real laugh may be imprisoned but it will be heard from. I closed the sermon. I called on the pastor to pray. The agony of that moment will not be forgotten. I shut my lips and pressed them into my hands and prayed that I might die or hold in. With the “Amen” of the pastor, I sprang to my feet and had hysterics for the first and only time in my life. I laughed straight through two hours; and during the night, I waked up with new convulsions.”
Laughter is akin to a sneeze. They both can be suppressed for only so long and will come forth eventually. Sometimes it might even do Baptists good to experience an old-fashioned case of the laughing fit. It relieves tension! “A merry heart maketh a cheerful countenance, but by sorrow of the heart the spirit is broken.” (Prov. 15:13)
Fred Anderson is executive director of the Virginia Baptist Historical Society and the Center for Baptist Heritage and Studies. He can be reached at P.O. Box 34, University of Richmond, VA 23173.