The Troy University Speech and Drama Department just completed a four-night run of the beloved musical The Music Man. Since our third-grade son Jack played the part of Winthrop, my wife and I saw all four performances.

(The play was fantastic and actually made me think there might be hope for our country’s younger generation after all. )

In addition to four live shows, I’ve also recently watched the 1962 movie version several times.

This means I might now qualify as an expert on The Music Man.

Indeed, after watching so many performances, I’ve come to believe this classic from the Golden Age of Broadway musicals explains just about every event that’s transpired in the Real World in the last five years…or 200 years.

Even people who’ve never seen the play or the movie are probably familiar with the musical’s signature line and musical number: “There’s Trouble in River City.”

The story’s plot involves a con man, a snake-oil traveling salesman, who goes from town to town convincing citizens they’ve got trouble (with a capital T) in their towns, trouble he can cure – by organizing a youth band.

The con/scam is this Music Man, Professor Harold Hill, doesn’t know how to play one note of music. He simply wants to sell band instruments, uniforms, and sheet music and get out of town once every parent has paid him (and before he’s tarred and feathered.)

I was struck by how quickly and easily Professor Hill came up with the “trouble” that he could cure (a “solution” that will make himself a great deal of money).

In one brief conversation, “Professor Hill” asks a former accomplice, who’s now living in 1912 River City, what’s new or different in this town.

The answer is the town billiard hall just got a new pool table. For Professor Hill, this development serves his purposes perfectly.

In one 3-minute musical number, this Master Peddler of Fear quickly convinces the good citizens of River City that their children are getting ready to be corrupted by hanging around pool halls, which is a slippery, felt slope to impending debauchery.

Sings Professor Hill: “You’ve got trouble, which starts with T, which rhymes with P which stands for…pool!”

In America, modern-day Professor Hill’s told the people of the Town Square, “We’ve got trouble, which starts with T, that rhymes with C…that stands for Covid!”

An important sub-theme of The Music Man is that many towns have been duped by disingenuous traveling salesmen, which makes life tougher for legitimate traveling salesmen trying to work their territories.

The traveling salesmen do not like con men like Professor Hill.

In The Music Man, even town leaders are somewhat suspicious of Professor Hill. Throughout the play, they keep asking him for his “credentials,” which Professor Hill always avoids providing.

The difference between the Covid Trouble and the Pool Hall Trouble is that no official ever asked for the credentials of the snake-oil salesmen who were selling fear of a respiratory virus because everyone knew the credentials of, say, Dr. Anthony Fauci and Dr. Deborah Birx…and the CDC and WHO…were impeccable.

Just like in the play, when the experts proclaimed, “We’ve got Trouble in River City,” everyone instantly agreed and responded with the intended question: What do we have to do to eliminate this trouble?

Professor Hill, of course, provided citizens with the solution: Listen to me, pay the piper, work this program and your children might survive.

In the play, we also learn Professor Hill had pulled off myriad scams, not all of which involved the creation of a boys’ band.

It’s Easy to Gin Up Trouble

Good art has an uncanny resemblance to the Real World.

Before Covid became the world’s Great Trouble, one of the country’s grave troubles was “Russia! Russia! Russia!”…Which starts with R that rhymes with jar, which can cause botulism and…corrupt democracy.

(My prospective musical needs a little work, but Russian trolls also start with a T – which stands for…Trouble! It also occurs to me that “Trump” starts with a T, which definitely stands for trouble with a Capital T.)

Now that I think about it, River City…and Ames…and Peoria…and Troy have always had trouble, which any enterprising salesman can cure.

Saddam Hussein and Muammar Gaddafi were trouble; Iran is now trouble; the changing climate is Existential Trouble.

Fortunately, the solution to all our troubles is provided by salesmen with excellent credentials. All the public has to do is pony up and pay the piper.

If we don’t know we have trouble, no trouble, the press will tell us all about our impending disasters and tell us all we need to do is listen to people like Professor Harold Hill.

As any good snake-oil salesman understands, the key to their business is convincing enough people they can solve their own troubles…by simply purchasing a product.

In River City, almost all the town’s citizens went all-in on Professor Hill’s program.

One key lesson, imparted to sales prospects by Professor Hillary Clinton, is it takes a village working together to solve such troubles.

With Covid, I remember a Public Service Announcement starring former Presidents Bill Clinton, Barack Obama, and George W. Bush.

These trusted snake-oil salesmen assured the public all we had to do was lock down society for a year or two and then get 300 million people to get two injections (then three…then six) and all our trouble would be gone.

“Everyone, do your part; let’s all pull together and defeat Trouble,”…said every current and former president.

Not only this, the solution might even be kind of fun and exciting. It’s not every generation that gets to pull together to defeat a spreading and deadly virus.

For many patriotic citizens, staying at home for an extended holiday was a cool COP (Change of Pace).

(And the Wells Fargo Wagon is a coming for me…and it could be…something special…just for me.)

Other ‘Music Man’ Lessons

However, in watching 151 local students stage this wonderful community event – one that participants will remember the rest of their lives – it occurred to me that for two years, no students could produce a play like The Music Man.

Professor Hill didn’t tell us, “Let’s start a boys’ band.” He actually told us, “No boys’ bands allowed.”

No auditions. No practice sessions. No performances. No standing ovations from entertained audience members…no lifelong memories.

My wife, a schoolteacher, shared an interesting story with me about a former student who also once played the role of Winthrop.

This student is now a freshman at Montevallo University where he recently played the lead part in a college production.

Per this student’s mother, playing the role of Winthrop 10 years ago was THE life-changing event in this young man’s life.

As an elementary school student, this young man nailed the part, loved the experience, and participated in drama productions the rest of his life. His self-confidence dramatically increased after he was a cast member in one play.

I can already tell Jack’s confidence has increased significantly, and he also wants to act in future plays. Countless intangible benefits, not to mention priceless memories, are the products that youth receive from participating in such team productions.

However, it occurs to me that for two years, such transformative experiences were not possible for any American child.

One Might Have Thought This Would Have Been a Harder Sell

It also occurs to me that Anthony Fauci and Deborah Birx played the role of Seinfeld’s Soup Nazi.

“No soup…or entertainment…for you!”

The bizarre part of this novel sales pitch is that it worked.

One has to use the “think system” to come up with an explanation for why this punitive sales approach resonated with so many customers.

What Fauci and every other “leader” in the world were selling was not shiny trumpets and snazzy band uniforms – tangible products – but a tonic to prevent the outcome we all fear most – death.

The “product” was…No death.

Or our leaders ended up selling a “return to normalcy”…which the salesmen told us was just around the corner…if we all simply pulled together and followed the guidance of the professors.

And, whatever we did, nobody was supposed to question the credentials of the salesmen.

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Of course, the snake-oil salesmen were selling a product all along. This product was a series of injections that made children cry (but made many mothers beam with pride).

The piper, Big Pharma, was paid – to the tune of hundreds of billions of dollars.

In fact, hundreds of millions of people and tens of thousands of organizations were also paid.

In the first scene of The Music Man, a dozen traveling salesmen talk/sing shop on a train.

In the Real World, in the Covid Trouble, millions of salesmen were getting paid…and still are.

Harold Hill didn’t have to go house-to-house to sell musical instruments and band uniforms. He just sold the members of the press, who eagerly bought the trouble he was selling, and then he sold all the prestigious medical organizations.

The politicians and CEOs agreed, “Yes, we have trouble right here in River City.”

I think at some point in our national history some snake-oil salesmen, once exposed, did actually get tarred and feathered.

Today, these salesmen get major book deals and receive prestigious humanitarian awards for saving “millions of lives.”

My Final Takeaway from The Music Man

Something tells me trouble is always going to exist in River City. Modern-day versions of Professor Harold Hill will continue to present themselves as the savior of communities, and town citizens will eagerly place orders to protect themselves from the Fear of the Moment.

If one follows the money, history tells us that snake-oil salesmen always get paid.

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(A product that, for some reason, is much harder to sell: “Everyone relax and chill out.”)

Republished from the author’s Substack