By Augustina Pell, Music and Worship Correspondent

BRANNOCK FALLS — When Delbert Oakhurst showed up for choir tryouts at Thistle Creek Community Church last Thursday, he had warmed up for twenty minutes and printed his sheet music in a large font. Nobody asked him to sing.

Instead, choir director Maxine Larrabee, 68, handed him a maroon robe with gold trim, stood back, and squinted.

"Arms out," she said. "Now turn around. Now lift them like it's the last verse of a big Easter number."

The sleeves ended four inches above his wrists. Oakhurst was thanked for his time and invited to try again "if anything changes."

Thistle Creek's choir has worn the same 22 robes since the fall of 1971, when the church bought them from a catalog with money raised by a three-year pie auction. The robes have outlasted four pastors, two organs and a sanctuary carpet that members still describe only as "the orange one." They have never been replaced, mostly because nobody wants to be the person who suggests it.

"These robes are paid for," said trustee Harlan Beasley, 74. "And frankly, they're built better than half the cars in the parking lot."

Because the robes come in only three sizes, and the sizes were ordered for the specific choir members of 1971, the choir's makeup has slowly shaped itself around the fabric. The tenor section is currently made up entirely of men between 5-foot-9 and 5-foot-10. The altos have stayed exactly eight strong for decades, because there are exactly eight alto-length robes.

"People think we're picky," Larrabee said. "We're not picky. We're just tailored."

The church keeps a waitlist on an index card taped inside the robe closet. The wait for a medium is currently about four years. The wait for the one extra-large, which was last worn by a bass named Orville who retired to Myrtle Beach in 1996, is zero, but no one has fit it yet, and the robe has started to take on what members call "a legendary status."

"Every few months somebody tall walks in, and the whole choir holds its breath," said soprano Gwendolyn Fairbanks, 59. "Then the robe swallows him whole and we go back to rehearsal."

Repairs are handled by the Wednesday quilting group, which has replaced so many zippers that it now buys them in bulk. Two hems are currently held up with duct tape, which Larrabee insists cannot be seen "from the third pew back, if the lights are dim and you love us."

Not everyone is happy with the system. Several younger members have asked whether the choir might consider new robes, or no robes at all. A motion to explore the idea was referred to the worship committee in 2019, where it remains under "prayerful review."

Oakhurst, for his part, has not given up. He has started standing up very straight at the potluck table and has asked the quilting group whether a sleeve can be let out.

"They told me there's no extra fabric in the cuff," he said. "But they also told me Orville's robe is still open, so I've started eating a second helping."

At press time, the choir had sung its Sunday anthem slightly flat, which Larrabee blamed on "a tenor whose robe was pinching."