Orbic
It’s been years since our last talk. I can safely say that it hasn’t been since we ran into each other at Ray’s bar, about two years ago, that we had our last talk. Not sure what you’ve been up to (which is the main reason for me writing you at this moment); however, it has been recently that I have began to remember things.
I was playing a gig tonight at Joppy’s (I’ve been doing blues singing and song playin’), and someone from the audience shouted out to me: “SING SOME OF THAT OLD RAILROAD-COTTON-PICKIN’-BLUES YOU ALL LOVE TALKIN’ ABOUT SO MUCH!”
And I got to thinking about the last conversation we had। The conversation about blues we had over cheap whiskey and Otis Redding. Me and you got to talking about our Daddy’s; how they were both blues players, much like ourselves (thought last time we talked you talked of givin’ it up; is that still the case?). We got to talkin’ about how we didn’t have a choice, as black men in poverty; we had to sing the blues to keep a sanity to our existence. We talked of our arrival here, through the Middle Passage, and when our forefathers were put in the fields, it was calls to God and verses of blues that kept them up; the same things that kept us up (thought our freedom was limited by our own state of mind by our chosen mentalities of victim-hood). We talked about going from slavery to segregation; how our fathers sang the blues to keep from goin’ crazy. How they held their heads down in the presence of the white man.
Not blamin’ the white man (damn near praisin’ him for evil, as much as they was tryin’ to earn his respect). How our fathers looked up to Lead Belly for writin’ his blues song about the Governor while he was doin’ his time in prison for manslaughter…turns out the Governor liked what Belly had to say, because he let Belly out on “good behavior” (or as we remembered it “A—kissin’ without shame!”). Belly didn’t mean what he wrote about the Governor; all that he said about how the Governor is a good Governor; and how he honors the Governor for how good he’s been to colored folks. Oh no, Belly didn’t mean none of it. But our Daddy’s admired him because of it; and since our Daddy’s admired it, so did we. We talked about how neither one of our Daddy’s showed any real support of the Civil Rights Movement through action; but chose to support the Movement through playin’ the blues. We said how they both were uneducated men (much like ourselves) and felt they could not participate because of “All dem fancy words.” Ooooh, how we understood it; how we laughed and toasted that cheap wine till we found ourselves stumblin’ home and confronted by the police. “Public Drunkenness” they called it. But you called it “Walkin’ While Black”, which I have never forgotten; and I’ll tell you Orbic, that night put us in the shoes of our Daddy’s. For a moment we lived in the fear they lived in by walking the streets during the wrong part of the night. How our Daddy’s told us that when they’d woke up to burning crosses outside their windows so many times they began to think it meant Jesus was testin’ a new kind of contradiction. They said: “We saw it so many times, when they’d show up, we’d roll over and go back to sleep.”
Our Daddys’ stood as heroes how they sang about Martin Luther King; how they sang about Malcolm X; and how my Daddy got arrested for singing a song in support of Assata Shakur during church service outside the Jewish temple (how can a person forget that one?).
There was nothin’ our Daddy’s couldn’t do in our eyes; and I needed to write you to remind you that we have the same obligation. No more can we just sing the blues if there ain’t no blues goin’ through us. No more can we pretend we feelin’ a sorrow that we ain’t really feelin’. So I am writin’ you to tell you that I have recently been sent to prison for manslaughter…now I truly have somethin’ to sing the blues about. I tried writin’ a song for the Governor, but that didn’t work yet; so my next step is to try the Warden. I have yet to experience the bliss our Daddy’s might have; but I am patiently waitin’ for that day.
But I needed you to know that I have finally found a source. A source close to home, like our forefathers. A source of modern segregation to remind me of what it must have been like. All that damn integration on the outside took away from the pain…so now I’m here. Here for a long time. And I am grateful for every moment.
Write back soon. I would love to know how you’re doing. Take care. And say hello to the wife for me, if you’re still married. Until next time:
“Step on a pin
that pin will bend
this was the letter
now it’s the end.”
Best,
Chic
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