Deke's Note: All this idle while, I haven't truly abandoned you. I've just been trying to find the soul of Deke again. He went into hiding when it seemed he couldn't write something which wasn't a rerun of topics long since covered. I didn't want to bore you with more of the same. Although there are topics on my mind which are fresh takes on old themes, I just needed time to reboot. Time to allow life to refresh this writer's soul. Moments with family good and bad to seed those writer ticks, tocks, the clocks of my mind to find what's right to tell you.
The past year has been hard on me in many ways, yet I've found ways to celebrate the joys as they come. Tonight, I regale you with a tribute to a couple of folks who shaped my psyche in many ways, as did those whose music touched this soul.
* * * * *
Roberta Flack died this week. Damn hard on me. Seeing her sing in concert was Top 5 on my Bucket List. I missed my last chance when she played at the Schnitz a few years ago. It hurt bad, because I knew her presence would not again avail itself in my lifetime.
I'm a white guy with a deep love for black people. Your souls reach out to me in ways I cannot accurately describe. Is it "white guilt"? Hell, I dunno. Y'all have had it so much worse than me, it's bloody likely. The first song I remember on the radio is Louis Armstrong's "Hello Dolly" from the Broadway play of the same name. His velvety, scratchy/sassy cat style instantly struck me at four years of age. I instantly fell in love with Satchmo. Later I would learn Mom's mama was a Vaudeville dancer who often shared the stage with the likes of Ella Fitzgerald, Sarah Vaughan, Mr. Bojangles (the real deal), Count Basie (who I met as a college newspaper reporter and failed miserably at interviewing), and other jazz greats. Mom's love of Black music made a deep impression on me.
As a child in the 1970s, I was treated to a plethora of incredible Black musicians. Stevie Wonder. Aretha Franklin. Sam Cooke. Al Green. Marvin Gaye. Dionne Warwick. The list marches on within my musical soul and never reaches an end. I didn't try to be black, like the white boys who followed the trend of rap in the late 80s onward. I just grooved to the tunes presented. Dad taught me early to listen for talent in voice and style, and my musical tastes gravitated to those who felt the music more than simply performed it.
Very early on, Roberta Flack touched me. Deeply. I was single-digits-old when she released "First Take", upon which the world first heard her incredible version of "The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face". Its significance in my personal growth changed as the years ticked. The first two years I just loved the song, not realizing my feelings for its lofty soulfulness would evolve as the years took me further into a deeper understanding of music and its lyrical majesty. Each verse would lead me through the loves of a perilously spiritual youth.
Then, Killing Me Softly rocked my world in 1973, a month before my Beloved was born. The next year, my dear Miss Pat was yanked from us all in a car crash that damn near killed me too. I could very well had been in that Datsun pickup with her and little Justin if Dad hadn't been transferred closer to the family home in Florence just prior to my eighth-grade. Although I spent but one school year loving this dear lady, her laughter and love made a deep impression upon my puppy loving self. I had never been so close to someone who lost life. She was but 25 years old, I was 13. To say I was crushed is as intense an understatement as I've ever known. Although I've lived more than twice as long as she did, Miss Pat remains my first young love, the sister I never had, one who knew me and touch my child's soul just contemplating a solitary snowflake.
Roberta's music on this album seemed to describe my loss, and the song Jesse at the time made me think of her widower Rod, left with their injured child and the weight of her memory lingering in every corner of that ranch we shared as a wonderful home. I grieved her memory for decades, even marrying someone who reminded me of her, only to lose that love as well.
The music of Roberta Flack has been so deeply soulful to me, losing her this week reminded me this life is flying by at the speed of love. To my great delight, I just spent a few days in Tucson and Florence. Rod's sweet love Nina met me for lunch. She caught his wounded soul a few years after Miss Pat left him.
I met her at the Ranch and immediately felt his soul was mending. Nina was instantly kind to me, obviously in love with a man I adored who was devastated just a few years earlier, an attribute I found instantly endearing. Ever since, this dear lass has navigated the psychologically wounded path of this lovestruck puppy who feared keeping in touch with her husband in fear I would just remind him of Miss Pat. The last thing I wanted was to interfere with his new life. I grieved for Miss Pat privately; kept my rejoicing for his new love private.
Nina and I had a wonderful lunch last week. Given my off-putting behavior over the past decades as the child who hadn't recovered from the death of Rod's first marriage, she could have understandably denied my request to meet. It's true I've been manic at worse, strange at least. Yet, as she always has, Nina came through. She not only accepted my invitation but graciously shared a photographic remembrance of Rod's life. I willed the tears away out of embarrassment, yet they fell freely after we parted. Rod died in her arms four years ago, and the pain of her loss shone in her ever-kind soul. Her sweet gestures will remain one of my life's most moving moments.
* * * * *
When Rod died, I lost the last witness of my dirty trick which embarrassed an adult I loved and lost along with Miss Pat. Doc and His Amazing Chickens (I changed Rod's name to protect his privacy) at first was funny, but I waited too long to confess. Doc never had the chance to get payback. If Miss Pat had lived, perhaps he would. But then I wouldn't have had the opportunity to meet Nina and experience the wonder that exists within her incredible soul.
Thank you, Nina. I didn't know until recently that you had shared the stage early in your life with Roberta Flack as one of her dancers. Our paths have not only been paradoxically personal, but also spiritually aligned. Your political force, journalistic excellence, and depth of understanding transcends human excellence through your spiritual decency. Instead of watching your family grow from a social media distance, I could possibly have been part of your family. I hope you know my love from here remains respectful, just and true.
* * * * *
It's interesting how we all exist within a mere six degrees of separation. I've come to know the love an amazing person who has met presidents, congresspeople, and people I've loved deeply.
RIP, dear Roberta. Thank you for the music which remains so dear to me. Rod, nobody who knew you will ever forget your dry wit and deep love for your dear ones.
In the years I have remaining, I hope you all who read these humble pecks realize how much I love you. These words are how I best describe what happens within this mind, a soul that has seen more than I have time to describe.
Thanks for indulging my meandering down this weathered trail. Hope we meet, and set a spell together.
 |
| Time with my adorable daughter is always a priceless gift! |
Comments
Post a Comment