1947 in 2011.

I went to see my grandparents today. We went out for Chinese food, which I love doing with them. We order lots of food, Papa still asks for salt and Sweet & Low (I don't even know how to spell it let alone eat it), and we chuckle about our fortunes. And we talk--a lot.
Remembering my promise to myself and to you that I'd find out about the Lind arrangements, I asked away. It turns out I was pretty accurate. The whole family grew up singing together, so like most normal musical families, from childhood on, they would think of a song, break into parts, and go from there. (We did grow up normally, right?) So for many years, all arranging was their own. Only once they were under contract with WBBM radio was there so much material that two other men began to provide certain arrangements. Papa told us about one arranger named Ray Charles. Not that Ray Charles. He later went on to arrange for Perry Como.
Papa started talking about the need to be able to arrange quickly on their own. While on the road, they often found a sudden need for new material. One such instance was when they reached Minneapolis, which was heavily Swedish at the time. They opened the first night to a huge crowd--a crowd that expected the Jewish Lind brothers to be Swedish. Not wanting to disappoint, the brothers went out to a music store the next morning. They left with a song called "Ya Sure, Ya Betcha." They asked some of the dancers in one of the opening acts to teach them some Swedish moves to match the song, and by that night, the whole song was arranged and ready for the audience.
On to Duluth. Someone suggests the Lind Brothers learn a cowboy piece. While walking around town, they spot some workmen wearing cowboy hats. They buy the hats off them for a dollar a piece. They clean them up as best they can and finish throwing together their cowboy song, "We Can't Get Off Our Horses 'Cause Some Bum Put Glue On Our Saddles." They have this whole bit where they're doing the wide-kneed western walk, man-plieing up and down with the music. The song becomes a regular part of their act. One night, they're performing the song as usual, and the audience is laughing harder than ever. They begin to realize it's not just a particularly good audience--something more than their song is very funny...
Poor Uncle Murray's fly was open. Every time he bent his knees in cowboy fashion, his fly would open up. There he was, bobbing up and down, fly going 'open, close, open, close.' He found his next chance to turn his back to the audience to fix it. More laughter. Harder laughter. Everyone thought it was part of the act. Later, the head of the venue suggested they make it a permanent part of their routine. The brothers decided against that.
Back to the 1947 discussion. We all talked so much tonight that I am now unsure of who arranged Camptown, but I believe that the version was arranged by one of the WBBM guys. I remain amazed, though, that they had a song for every crowd. And except for a few memorable suggestions and collecting a few arrangements along the way, they were completely self-sufficient in finding and creating their unique material.
Back at their house after dinner, I showed my grandparents how I put the movie onto the computer. Watching my grandfather watch was really great. He says he remembers the shoot like it was yesterday. As we watched, he'd join in here and there to sing a few bars or with a, "Here come the solos." Like it was yesterday.
(We talked about my future, and) we visited a little more before I drove home, big band and tight harmonies running through my head all the way back to the big city.