Stand Up Straight and Sing! (37 page)

It was truly exceptional that these Treasures had chosen to come backstage at all, we were advised. When they came with such kindness and genuine pleasure in their expressions of their appreciation of the performances, we were beside ourselves with joy.

Whereas the physical act of bowing is not at all a part of the culture of our country, would that we could attain such a level of celebration and consideration of experience and wisdom that can come from living: listening, learning, being, and how “living treasures” could inform and help to structure and direct our own lives.

One must not allow the foolishness of present-day habits and preferences to dictate our understanding of life itself. With every passing day, we can learn a little more about ourselves and our relationship to others. The answer to “Why are we here?” can become clearer with each interaction, with each setting of the sun, with each new day awaiting our curiosity and gratitude.

Postlude

I relish the opportunity to speak in public. When I do so, my audiences are often surprised that I do not restrict my remarks to singing. I prefer to speak about all of the arts, and of citizenship, and of the responsibility that we all have to look beyond ourselves. Lending a helping hand should be a natural part of our lives, as natural as a violinist picking up the violin for a day’s rehearsal. Participating in the sociopolitical struggles of our day should not be something that we “get around to one of these days.” We must make certain that we join the ranks of our fellow citizens, now. This I believe to my core. I take these words of Simone de Beauvoir as a succinct expression of a philosophy embracing
all
of life:

One’s life has value so long as one attributes value to the life of others, by means of love, friendship, indignation, and compassion.

Surely, we need to find ways of loving our neighbors better. We need to offer friendship with more ease. We need to find compassion in our hearts and in our spirits for those whose lives reveal the despair that we, perhaps, have been spared, but whose experiences could be our own, there but for the grace of our Creator. We need, too, a sufficient amount of indignation to insist on decent housing, a living wage, and nourishing food for all our brothers and sisters, all our elders, all our children. The words of George Bernard Shaw come to mind:

I am of the opinion that my life belongs to the community. And as long as I live, it is my privilege to do for it whatever I can. I want to be thoroughly used up when I die, for the harder I work, the more I live. Life is no brief candle to me; it is a sort of splendid torch, which I have got hold of for a short moment, and I want to make it burn as brightly as possible before handing it on to the future generations.

I applaud these words, this sentiment, this full awareness of the reason for being. I applaud it, too, as my ancestors had their own way of saying precisely the same thing:

This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine!

Indeed, I preach the sermons I have heard all my life:

The Sermon of Getting On with It.
Life is bound to present obstacles that may well have you questioning your own worth, your choices in life, even your faith. But we would do well to adopt the idea that life, truly, is a series of lessons, and we should try as hard as we can to confront our challenges with the same tenacity with which we pursue our pleasures.

The Sermon of Gratitude.
Let us not be too busy to say thank you, to offer congratulations, to give a deeply felt handshake, an embrace. We should offer gratitude for the simple things that are packed with meaning for ourselves, yes, but even more so for others. This includes, too, that quiet, still time when we offer the universe thanks for that performance that somehow “took off” from the moment everyone was in place.

The Sermon of Respect.
Let us decide to abandon the belief that work with our bodies is somehow less important than work with our minds, or that work accomplished through the magic of our minds is somehow more important than that accomplished purely through our hearts.

The Sermon of Humility.
Can we please allow someone else to offer positive commentary on things that have to do with us? Our marvelous family. Our work. That new dress that flatters every part of us. May we come to the understanding that the gifts that we possess are not offered to us out of some magnificent personal accomplishment, but rather are an expression of Divinely ordered coincidence. The operative word here is
gifts
.

The Sermon of Self-Awareness.
Those of us who live and breathe our days through the arts are placed uniquely to help treat the malaise of our world. The self-awareness that comes from participation in the arts at any level opens the self to one’s own humanity in its fullness. This knowledge of ourselves can lead to wisdom and wisdom to the understanding of others. This understanding, this acknowledgment that every human being has worth, must surely lead to tolerance.

ART MAKES EACH
of us whole by insisting that we use all of our senses, our heads, and our hearts—that we express with our bodies, our voices, our hands, as well as with our minds. In Arthur O’Shaughnessy’s poem “Ode,” he wrote in praise of artists everywhere:

We are the music-makers,

And we are the dreamers of dreams,

Wandering by lone sea-breakers

And sitting by desolate streams;

World-losers and world-forsakers,

On whom the pale moon gleams:

Yet we are the movers and shakers

Of the world for ever, it seems.

What a thought. Creative spirits, the movers and shakers of the world. Where could this all lead? We might come across the idea that an awakened spirit, this ability to express ourselves through the inspiration of the arts in our lives, could well be the real meaning of life. That the exploration of our own imagination might just be our real life’s work.

We each express ourselves in our own ways, with our own gifts and talents. Let us not be afraid to stand up and be an example of the change we wish to see in our world by doing something strong and useful in offering to others the teachings of our hearts and minds. The fullness of ourselves.

And imagine, if you will, the harmony that this could bring to our world.

Coda

I sat going through my mail one February day in 2013, not really paying close attention to what I was doing until I came across a stylish-looking envelope with a logo I had known all my life: the NAACP. Thinking it to be an announcement or an invitation to an event in the New York area, I opened the letter, hoping that my schedule would allow me to attend. I was so taken with its contents that I had to read it twice to be absolutely certain I had not misunderstood it. The letter informed me that I had been chosen to receive the highest award given by this oldest, most storied and revered of American civil rights organizations: the Spingarn Medal.

I thought of those days in the church’s annex and meetings of the Augusta Youth Chapter of the NAACP, and of the determination and strength of those who guided our actions and reactions to the laws and habits of the day. I thought of the mass meetings at Tabernacle Baptist in the 1960s, and of how the work of the NAACP is needed now more than ever.

There were a few teardrops on the letter by the time I contacted my siblings and a few pals with the news later that day.

Orlando, Florida, July 17, 2013, is a day that will remain in every detail in my memory. My heroes, Congressman John Lewis and my big brother Silas Jr., presented the Spingarn Medal to me. Both spoke with such depth of feeling that I was not certain I would be able to compose myself in order to offer my own remarks of thanks on acceptance of the award. I was very happy that I had written out beforehand what I wished to say.

The ballroom of the hotel that had housed the many events of the NAACP convention was filled with everyone in their best suits and dresses, full of the goodness of fellowship. The civil rights icon Julian Bond sat across from me at the dinner table.

Was I dreaming?

We took a hundred photographs and I was more grateful than ever for the strong, unyielding shoulders on which it is my greatest honor to stand. The pioneers, the trailblazers, the pathfinders, all those whose names we know as well as our own, along with all those unknown heroes of strength, courage, and faith. My gratitude knows no bounds.

Then, because life just keeps on giving, I had the thrill just two weeks later of being in Statuary Hall of the United States Capitol Building, for the congressional commemoration of the fiftieth anniversary of the March on Washington. My seat faced squarely the newly dedicated statue of Rosa Parks, she for whom I had been given the honor to sing when she was awarded the Congressional Gold Medal by President Bill Clinton some sixteen years earlier. Coincidence? My wonderful aunt Louise, in one of her magnificent hats and looking altogether beautiful, sat next to me.

The representatives of both houses of Congress offered remarks appropriate to the day’s celebration. All thanks and honor were offered to our living, breathing, “no thought of letting up now” honoree of the day: Congressman Lewis!

His speech will be a part of the history books. The blessing of singing for him and to him—a man who, with so many others, dedicates himself to helping us all find the “better angels of our nature”—will abide in my spirit forever.

Zueignung
 • R
ICHARD
S
TRAUSS
 • Devotion

***

Acknowledgments

ALL TEACHERS
in the public schools of Augusta who it was my privilege to have as guides, at C. T. Walker Elementary School, A. R. Johnson Junior High School, and Lucy C. Laney High School.

Those generous parts of the community there that supported the young lives of all of us.

Howard University, for giving me a place to grow into adulthood with my heritage, and responsibility to that heritage, in sharp, vivid relief.

Denene Millner, for her assistance in combining related material for this book into understandable portions that speak to similar thoughts, expressions, and experiences.

Carol Friedman, for the most flattering of photographs always, including the one on the jacket cover of this book.

James Levine, for providing the introduction to these recollections, thoughts, hopes, and dreams; this book.

The many: my musical colleagues, icons, and other inspiring persons who encourage dedication and devotion toward one’s chosen profession and active participation in the larger community, the world in which we live.

And after this, as I have stated often, to everyone, everywhere who has ever said, and those who continue to say: “Let’s ask Jessye to sing.”

Oh, I’m going to sing,

Going to sing,

Going to sing all along the way,

We’ll shout o’er all our sorrows

And sing forever more,

With Christ and all His army

On that celestial shore!

Index

Aaron, Hank,
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acting

concert and opera performances,
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–
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desire to perform Racine’s
Phèdre
,
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when singing, physical limits,
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–
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and singing effectively,
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adults

sense of responsibility toward,
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,
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–
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supportive, importance of,
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–
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,
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,
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