Dance, tell your stories while you can

The recent deaths of Michael Jackson and Farrah Fawcett have made a big dent on the world. Farrah, known best for her tossing mane in the original Charlie’s Angels series and her (in)famous poster, was a weekly fixture on my 1970’s TV screen. Michael Jackson is within months of my own age so I was there for his rise – and spectacular falls. While these two entertainers only lived for me through my television, I can’t help but feel an odd twinge at their passing. The deaths of entertainers not of my generation are sad to me if I was old enough to have enjoyed the latter part of their years (Bob Hope, Jimmy Stewart, etc), but the deaths of those closer to my age, those I grew up with, are even more dismaying because they are more a part of my history. Then I start to understand how our parents feel when so many of their friends begin passing away. Soon it will be my turn to be in the twilight generation.

As it happens, death results in stories as we remember those who passed on. The news and social networking sites are overflowing with stories about the history and the personal moments of Farrah and Michael. The living rejoice in and reflect on the life stories of those no longer with them as a way to celebrate those lives.

While we are alive we can rejoice in and reflect on our own life stories. Don’t wait for the funeral when we can’t participate! We can tell our own stories, laugh at ourselves, teach lessons, inspire, give advice. Here’s an inspirational poem from Michael Jackson:

HOW I MAKE MUSIC
People ask me how I make music.
I tell them I just step into it.
It’s like stepping into a river and joining the flow.
Every moment in the river has its song.
So I stay in the moment and listen.

What I hear is never the same.
A walk through the woods brings a light, crackling song:
Leaves rustle in the wind, birds chatter and squirrels scold, twigs crunch underfoot,
and the beat of my heart holds it all together.
When you join the flow, the music is inside and outside, and both are the same.
As long as I can listen to the moment, I’ll always have music.
© 1992 Michael Joseph Jackson – Dancing The Dream

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Slave Narratives through Project Gutenberg

Lately I’ve been reading interviews of ex-slaves and other “negroes” who remembered the Civil War and the freedom afterwards. Lisa Yannucci of Mama Lisa’s World, a site devoted to cultures and languages of the world, tipped me off to a section of the Project Gutenberg e-book site which contains Slave Narratives – A Folk History of Slavery in the United States, a government project of the 1930’s. Quite a number of these narratives are available to read online and are well worth the time. Lisa was most interested in the songs. Although spirituals were common, she found a couple fun ones including a celebration of freedom, so check out Mama Lisa’s World Blog post.

There’s nothing like learning history from those who lived it. Since there are so many interviews, below I’ve listed just a few of the particularly interesting ones – note I’ve only skimmed through the Arkansas narratives, part 1 of 7! You can download this particular section free in your choice of format at Project Gutenberg Work Projects Administration or choose another section.

– Uncle William Baltimore, Age 103, was a colorful character who, though blind in old age, could still thread a needle like nobody’s business and patch his own clothes.

– Henry Banner, born in 1849, states, “The last time I was sold, I sold for $2,300 – more than I’m worth now.” He explains the difference between police and “pateroles” and the saleability factors of slaves.

– Lizzie Barnette, approx age 100, wanted everyone to know she was from Tennessee, not Arkansas where she lived then. She had horror stories of the Yellow Fever plague in Memphis and saw many “ha’nts” (ghosts) on the streets and in houses.

– Boston Blackwell, age 98, escaped a beating by running away to a Yankee camp, worked for the government and was still waiting for his pension. He was so surprised someone wanted to hear his stories – “I ain’t never been axed about myself in my whole life!”

– Miss Adeline Blakely, age 87, was treated like a pet by her white owners and said she was spoiled rotten as a child. Her town was right in the middle of the Civil War and she has stories of southerner and northerner neighbors working together to keep their homes from being burned.

– Rev. Frank T. Boone, age 80, was born in the Free Colonies of Virginia to a white/Indian father and a black mother raised by Quakers. His is a detailed story that reminds us that the everyday aspects of life will someday be fascinating.

To me these interviews are as valuable as gold. Those I’ve read so far tell of being well treated by most of the masters during slavery, although they for sure worked hard and had to be wary of “pateroles,” jayhawkers, and Ku Klux (precursor to the Klan). Many slaves were happy to stay on with their masters after freedom or worked sharecropping nearby. Indeed, some thought times were harder after freedom when their living was less secure. Henry Banner claims, “Before the war you belonged to somebody. After the war you weren’t nothin’ but a nigger.” So far, I’m reading stories of the relatively lucky. Tales of beatings if a man didn’t pick 300 pounds of cotton a day, slaves being “sold at the block” and separated from families, and the hard work of all are told as a matter of fact – that’s just the way it was. Surprisingly the men felt quite free to vote after freedom and only later, after Jim Crow, were they intimidated and threatened. Funny thing, almost all of the interviewees felt the younger generation was “on the road to ruin,” … “God only knows what some of these young folks is comin’ to.” Now that’s a familiar line all through history!

In the news: The Senate passed a resolution Thursday calling for the U.S. to officially apologize for slavery and segregation. The Congressional Black Caucus, however, is up in arms about a disclaimer attached which basically states the apology has no connection with any claims of reparation. The CBC is hoping the U.S. will eventually provide some type of reparation to descendants of slaves and believes the disclaimer is an attempt to “stave off claims.” Reading the Gutenberg interviews, you will note that slaves heard they would get 40 acres and a mule, but very few received anything from the government. Most lived their last years at the mercy of family and white friends and neighbors. Whether modern descendants deserve reparations for their great great grandparents’ slavery is arguable and shall be left to political blogs.

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Childhood lullabies and singsongs

A few weeks ago my oldest daughter, still away at college, was recalling some of the songs I used to sing to her at bedtime, sending me a Facebook message wanting to know the name of the one about pretty horses. All the pretty little horses. I remember hearing William Warfield sing that in his deep, rich “Old Man River” voice to an intimate audience at the University of Illinois in the early ‘80’s. Surprising that he sang a lullaby, and it made quite an impression that a simple lullaby could be so beautiful. Another song my girls love is “My Funny Valentine,” an unlikely lullaby unless you heard Judith from Cheers sing it, explaining how she took voice lessons so she could feel good about singing lullabies when her baby was born. Frasier pooh poohed, but the friends at Cheers were touched, and so was I. There is the Disney classic “When You Wish Upon a Star” which should be sung to every child so their dreams will come true. I also sang the old “Mockingbird” (Daddy’s gonna buy you…) and even “Jesus Loves Me.” There was a fun ditty about the sandman: There was a Mr. Sandman, he wore a big brown hat. And on his back he carried a bag with Samantha Pussycat.

Wasn’t it sweet that my big college girl was thinking of her momma singing to her when she was little? I treasure that in my heart. Her question made me realize that those songs we sing to our babies and those funny singsong rhymes we tell them will one day be important to them. When our babies grow up and have their own babies, they will want to remember the songs and rhymes their own mothers taught them. Those gifts of love will pass to the next generation.

I do think that many parents may have neglected to repeat to their children the songs and rhymes they grew up with. My own parents were guilty of being non-singers so I had some learning to do. I suspect part of the reason for our reticence to sing is that we believe unless we have voices like canaries someone overhearing will laugh or ridicule. Well, let’s not take ourselves too seriously. Practice helps, but more important I like to remember the words to a poster my daughter’s elementary school music teacher had: If only the bird with the most beautiful voice sang, the forest would be very quiet.

Hush you bye, don’t you cry, go to sleepy little baby.
When you wake, you shall have all the pretty little horses.
Blacks and bays, dapples and grays, all the pretty little horses.

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