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Blues For Mr. C, on Father's Day

by Wattree 6/17/2012 - 5:48 pm

Beneath The Spin*Eric L. Wattree

 
This is the eulogy that I wrote and delivered for my father’s funeral. We had the sounds of Jackie McLean playing softly in the background. I remember the Reverend being not at all happy with the sound of jazz wafting through his sanctuary on that somber occasion. But I pointed out to him that if there was no Jazz in Heaven, for my father, the Pearly Gates would represent the entrance to Hell.
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Happy Father's Day, C.
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Blues For Mr. C
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For those of you who don't know me, my name is Eric, and I'm proud to say that I am the second son of this man who lies here before you. Some of you knew him as C.L., others as Mac, but I'm sure you'll agree that no matter what you called him, or under whatever circumstances you knew him, life with this brother was an adventure - so you can only imagine what it was like to be his son.
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I had occasion to discuss this moment with C not too many months ago. I remember asking him what he wanted me to say on this occasion. His answer was cut and dried - and consistent with his philosophy of life. He said, "Tell 'em I'm dead."
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Well, ladies and gentlemen, C.L. is dead. But I think much more needs to be said, not only about who he was, but about what he represents. You see, ladies and gentlemen, what we have here is not just the remains of a human being. What we have lying here before us represents the end of an era.
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Today we live in an era of Hip hop, joggin' suits, and tennis shoes. But this man represents another era. He represents the era of Bebop, Brooks Brother's suits and Florsheim's. Jesse Jackson didn't have to tell him man that "I'm Black and I'm proud” - all you had to do is see him enter a room and you knew this was a proud Black man. No one had to tell him "I am somebody" - just to here him speak was to recognize that this was a man with a strong sense of self - and he had every right to be proud, because he's the product of a generation of Black people that has had a profound effect on the entire world.
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Whenever you hear a discussion on Black pride, someone always brings up the issue of Egypt, and whether or not Cleopatra was Black. All that's academic. We don't have to go back to antiquity to find a source of Black pride, all we have to do is study the life and times of our parents, our grandparents, and that generation of Black people born between the turn of the century and WWII to find pride in who we are as a people.
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In less than 50 years these people went from being the defenseless, and nameless victims of public lynchings, to becoming people like Colin Powell, who was responsible for the defense of the entire western world. In less than 50 years, the people of this generation went from housekeepers and flunkies, to the boardrooms of multinational corporations. In less than 50 years, they went from playing washboards and tin cans on the side of the road, to becoming the greatest musicians the world has ever known. That's the era that C.L. represents.
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To be sure, he wasn't a doctor, a lawyer, or an artist of any kind, but he, like the vast majority of his generation, helped to set the tone - and the sense of style - that defines who we are as a people, a people who captured the imagination of the entire world. You see, C.L. personified the Jazz age - an age of style, true pride, and dignity. He didn't just like Bird, he was Bird - he was the living, breathing, personification of every note that Bird related so eloquently on his horn. And he didn't just listen to Miles, as he brooded through the changes of "Round Midnight," he was portrayed by Miles - just as surely as the Mona Lisa was portrayed by Di Vinci. And for that reason, this generation - his generation of Black people, defied all scholarly analysis.

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According to sociologists, every minority group must, and will, become acculturated into the larger society. That is, their culture will be molded to fit that of the majority. But this generation, through necessity, not only defied that theory, but turned it on its head. As a direct result of the character and the style of this generation, a young White kid today has more in common with the Black culture in terms of speech, dress, musical tastes, and attitudes, than he has with his own grandfather. And to just turn on a TV set or radio any place in the Western world and beyond, is to pay homage to Dizzy, Bird, Miles and all the rest of this great, and progressive generation.
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But the one thing that made this generation stand out most - and I think it's what C.L. most clearly personified - was its independence. C.L. never asked the government for a thing - in fact, he spent most of his life trying to make it in spite of the government. He and his generation of black people taught us the wisdom of Ralph Waldo Emerson's words written over 150 years ago in his essay on self-reliance. He said, "It is easy in the world to live after the world's opinion; it is easy in solitude to live after one's own; but the great is the man who, in the midst of the crowd, keeps with perfect sweetness, the independence of solitude." Measured by that yard stick, C.L. was a great man. He achieved the "American dream" of home and family without compromising any of his values. To paraphrase Frank Sinatra, he did it his way. To put it in C.L.'s words, "I didn't budge a inch."
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So when we look back on what this man represents - Langston Hughes, Martin Luther King, Malcolm X, Medger Evers, Adam Clayton Powell, our parents, and our grandparents - it becomes clear that they all, in their own way, represent the greatness that lie dormant within us. And if we're smart, we'll explore that resource, because within every life there resides of knowledge, and every death is a source of knowledge forever lost.
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So what we mourn here today is not just the passing of a man, but a lost opportunity, and the dying gasp of a magnificent era.
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C, these words spew forth with the love, pride, and deep respect of a loving son. So sleep well, my man--and carry my pride in your being, throughout eternity.
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Your son,
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E
Related Post
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Eric L. Wattree
http://wattree.blogspot.com/
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Religious bigotry: It's not that I hate everyone who doesn't look, think, and act like me - it's just that God does.
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Thanks for sharing this. My father had the same spirit.

Happy Father's Day.

Also I read your previous post on Jackie McLean. I borrowed some of his albums from my brother-in-law and downloaded others from iTunes, thanks for introducing me to his music.

by rmrd0000 6/17/2012 - 8:31 pm

Thank you, Rm.

I'm glad to have been of service. I hope you enjoy as many happy hours with Jackie's music as I have.

Enjoy.

Jackie's Bag

When Jackie McLean first appeared on the scene he swung it like nobody else;
He stood all alone, with that bittersweet tone, owing nobody, only himself.
With his furious attack he could take you back to the beauty of Yardbird’s song,
but that solemn moan made it all his own, as burning passion flowed
lush from his horn. Hearing “Love and Hate” made Jazz my fate, joyous anguish
dripped blue from his song. He both smiled and cried and dug deep-down inside,
until the innocence of my childhood was gone.
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He took me to a place that had no face, I was so young when I heard his sweet call,
but he parted the fog and in no time at all, a child of bebop sprung fully enthralled.
As I heard this new sound, and embraced the profound, childish eyes now saw as a man; I stood totally perplexed, but I couldn’t step back, from the hunger of my mind to expand.
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I saw Charlie and Lester, and a smiling young Dexter, as I peered into Jackie’s sweet horn; it was a place that I knew, though I’d never been to, but a place that I now call my home.
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Rest well, Jackie

Eric L. Wattree

 

by Wattree 6/18/2012 - 3:16 am (re: rmrd0000)

Nice tribute. The thing with these jazz musicians is they had to learn their instruments, mate with them over time - not just open their mouths & sing or rap. And no matter how tripped out on dope they were, they could find that spark, that connection once they picked up the instrument - kind of like a lighthouse guiding them safely into port.

His giving you that sax was giving you a lifeline, great thing.

Don't know if you like John Handy, a had a couple recordings from his mid 60's days (Tears of Ole Miss/Anatomy of a Riot, Naima), but there's an album he did late 50's with Mingus, will have to find one day...

by PeraclesPlease 6/17/2012 - 10:20 pm

That's Right, Peracles.

 

Learning to read, write, and play music teaches you discipline.  A good jazz musician is just as learned in his field as a brain surgeon. To many people jazz sounds like noise, but that's only because their minds can't keep up with the speed in which the chord progressions are passing by. Many pop tunes may have  six chords in the entire tune. In jazz you can have more chords than that in the first eight beats - and the musician has to be able to play every note in the chords that the piano player is playing, one note at a time, and at breakneck speed. 

 

After learning music as a child, learning to write was, literally, child's play.

by Wattree 6/18/2012 - 3:33 am (re: PeraclesPlease)

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