Kin of 'Silent Night' writer run Outer Banks bowling alley

NAGS HEAD, N.C.

It's league night at Nags Head Bowling, and the Outer Banks hangout is ready for the holidays.

A Toys for Tots box greets visitors at the door. Animated snow floats through the overhead score projectors. And the chorus of rolling balls and crashing pins is accompanied by a stream of piped-in Christmas music.

When Richard Mohr is listening, one carol might make him cry.

"I can't put my fingers on it," he says from a back office. "It's like how 'The Star-Spangled Banner' is for some people."

Mohr is talking about "Silent Night," a staple of midnight masses, candlelight ceremonies and carol compilations.

Many people know it was written by an Austrian priest in 1816 and performed for the first time in a small church on Christmas Eve. What they don't know is that the priest's relatives, through wars and Ellis Island and more than a half-dozen generations, have kept the composer's name alive for about 150 years. The priest was Josef Mohr.

Today, the latest Josef Mohr is working behind the counter in a brown hooded sweatshirt at Nags Head Bowling. He is an 18-year-old American and a senior at First Flight High School.

"Do you want a soda?" he asks.

What did you expect?

Did you think the family of the man who wrote "Silent Night" would work, in some form of divine intervention, as actors in live Nativity scenes? Or as doctors who cure insomnia by teaching patients how to "sleep in heavenly peace"?

If they were to work on the Outer Banks, surely it would be down the block at Christmas Mouse, where candy-cane striping is popular year-round.. Not at a bowling alley, right?

But family trees have a way of spreading in unexpected directions.

Josef Mohr, the Austrian priest, was born to Franz Josef Mohr in Salzburg in 1792. Richard Mohr, the owner of Nags Head Bowling, and his son Josef are also related to Franz Josef Mohr.

And this is a bit of a family secret, Richard Mohr says, but Josef Mohr, the priest, was born out of wedlock.

"I knew that," the teenage Josef Mohr chimes in.

"How did you know that?" his dad asks.

"I read it on Wikipedia."

That seems appropriate because, as great as "Silent Night" is, the lore behind its creation is even better.

The best version goes that Mohr, a young missionary, had written a poem he wanted to read at Christmas Eve mass and was hoping to set it to music. But the organ at the small Church of St. Nicholas was broken, perhaps from mice nibbling on the bellows. So Mohr asked his friend, a musician and schoolteacher named Franz Gruber, to write a simple melody that could be played on a guitar with just three chords.

The carol was called "Stille Nacht" and was performed with a choir.

The legend of the song grew so quickly, and it was received so wholeheartedly, that it often was assumed to be the work of Haydn or Beethoven.

Mohr died in 1848.

And the legend of the man, the Catholic priest who had taken a vow of celibacy, was left to his extended family.

It's a natural question: If one of your relatives were responsible for a ubiquitous Christmas carol, which version of the song would you listen to?

Hundreds, if not thousands, of artists have covered "Silent Night," and the verses have been translated into 44 languages. More than 200 versions are available on iTunes. (Andrea Bocelli's is the best-seller.)

Clicking through the options online, it's incredible how alike versions of "Silent Night" sound. The simple beauty of the song makes it hard to mess up, although Weezer comes close.

Richard Mohr's preference is for Frank Sinatra. That cover is soulful yet soothing, simple yet full-voiced. Sinatra stretches "sleep" into a three-syllable word.

Mohr's mother still plays "Stille Nacht" with the original German verses.

The Mohrs came to the United States in 1950 when Richard was 7 years old. After growing up largely in Maryland, he moved to North Carolina in 1983.

To go back deeper in his family roots is complicated.

On a napkin, he shows how his parents were divided by the changing boundaries of Austria-Hungary. They had spent years in refugee camps. His father was interned in Russia for five years.

After years of separation, they finally moved to the United States. When they arrived at Ellis Island, they were sprayed down with hoses to wash away lice. Shortly thereafter, they started a family farm on the Eastern Shore of Maryland.

Richard Mohr was told at a young age about his family's ties to "Silent Night." Josef Mohr was someone the family was always proud of, someone they could talk about when other relatives - SS officers, for example - were off-limits.

The teenage Josef Mohr does not remember exactly when he was told - he guesses he was about 5 years old. His family was driving to Virginia when "Silent Night" came on the radio and he learned that they shared ancestors with the man who wrote the song. He was named for the priest who wrote it.

But he was young. What do you say to that kind of news?

The second question everyone has about a song like "Silent Night" is a little more awkward.

With a family connection like that - well, you know, do they ever see any holiday cheer in the form of royalty checks tucked into their stockings?

In the Nick Hornby novel "About a Boy," 36-year-old Will Freeman has never worked a day in his life. His father wrote a popular Christmas carol, and each time it's played, he collected royalties. So...

Unfortunately, it doesn't work that way for "Silent Night." The Mohrs have checked.

But if it did?

Richard Mohr looks at his son Josef and they both smile and shake their heads in disbelief.

When Richard Mohr says that listening to "Silent Night" is like listening to "The Star-Spangled Banner," it's not exactly a fair comparison. He means it has personal significance, but he's selling the relationship short.

More accurately, it would be like listening to "The Star-Spangled Banner" if you were related to its composer, Francis Scott Key.

The connection here is deeper. Richard Mohr counts at least five relatives with the name Josef and three who share the name "Josef Mohr" - a grandfather, a brother and a son. When "Silent Night" plays at Nags Head Bowling or on the radio or at a friend's house, he can get emotional.

"It's heartfelt. You know that it's family," he said. "I've seen my brother cry during it. "

As he talks, league bowlers are celebrating the holidays just outside the office. They are wearing Santa hats and candy canes on their T-shirts. Josef Mohr is hoping to roll a 600 in his games later that night.

This year, the recession has rattled the Mohrs, just as it's shaken everyone. Instead of driving to Maryland for the holidays, the family will stay in North Carolina. Their tree is 4 feet tall and scaled back. They will rest after a long year.

And, as it does every year, just for two nights - Christmas Eve and Christmas Day - Nags Head Bowling will go silent.

Mike Gruss, (757) 446-2277, mike.gruss@pilotonline.com