June 13, 2004
Ray Charles and Ronald Reagan
Ray Charles died this week on June 10, 2004 the day before the official day of Mourning for the 40th president of the United States. I remember being a kid in D.C. growing up listening to Ray Charles and Nancy Wilson, Johnny Mathis, Nat King Cole, Ella Fitzgerald, Frank Sinatra all the crooners. My folks, especially my mother loved listening to the smooth dusky music of these legends. In fact even now they prefer the music of that era to contemporary jazz, and R&B.
Sunday nights in our house, were dedicated to watching Wild Kingdom, Walt Disney, and the Ed Sullivan Show. The Sullivan show was great cause you got to see everyone that you’d heard of on the radio, but would probably never see in person. His mix included all kinds of musical sounds, unlike today where everyone is off in their own segregated song worlds. I saw Johnny Cash, James Taylor, Carol King, The Beach Boys, Willie Nelson, Bob Dylan, Glen Campbell, the Carpenters, The Momma’s and the Papa’s, and of course the Beatles, along with The Who, Jose’ Feliciano, The Jackson 5, Ray Charles, Johnny Mathis, Nancy Wilson, “little” Stevie Wonder and many others. I found all the music to be interesting, though the blind musicians especially Ray taught me something that I wouldn’t really get until I was much older. Blind folks were smart, not victims, and had productive intensely creative lives too.
Ray Charles was so amazing to me then, rocking back and forth on his piano bench, singing his memorable “Georgia, Georgia - the whole day through”. I was always afraid that he’d rock himself off to the floor one time, but he never did. He was the first blind person that I’d ever seen and contrary to what we knew about blind folks back then, he seemed absolutely radiant. He always had that huge smile on his face when he sang. He’d tilt his head back and off to the side a little, as if he was feeling the rays of heaven showering down on him and send his songs directly to the audience and what I imagined were his angels.
I was ten when I saw him sing live at the Carter Barren Amphitheatre in D.C. Of course to a little kid going to a place like the Carter Barren was like something out of a fairy tale. In order to get to the amphitheatre you had to go down this long paved path that went into the middle of the woods in Rock Creek Park. The path was lit by artificial light, but was more dark then bright. It wasn’t scary though, just wondrous and naturally beautiful. The trees towered like regal sentinels along the way and flowering azaleas and honeysuckle and other plants hunkered down forming a labyrinth into the park for squirrels, chipmunks, deer, raccoon and other wild things. When it was humid, the air was full of the honeysuckle scent. Hundreds of other families and couples walked along with us, and the atmosphere always seemed to feel like a big old Sunday picnic.
I learned early that I loved live music, and going to these concerts made me feel something that I never felt at school or at most other gatherings even mass. I didn’t know then, that this was part of what happened when you grew up in a country and learned the country’s rituals. Going to those concerts in the Carter Barren made feel like I was part of the free America. All I knew as a kid was that there in that crowd of folks, I saw folks like me, and I watched Ray Charles and the Rayletts, I felt like I belonged.
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On the evening before the 40th president’s burial and the “National Day of Mourning” I was channel surfing to see what news of the day was. Live coverage of folks moving through the viewing line of the Rotunda droned on non-stop on Cspan. The BBC broadcasters spoke about the thousands of American’s who were coming to pay tribute to Reagan at the Capital. Interviews from folks who had come from cross country to stand in the line for hours to walk passed the draped casket oozed affection and gratitude for the life of this one departed American. A so-called scare sent viewers scrambling out of the Rotunda on policemen’s orders of “run get out of here now”. I watched one woman scurry about in absolute panic like Chicken Little, while newscasters said everything went very well. I wondered why they didn’t just tell the people that it was only a drill.
One of the big three networks showed a montage of concerts featuring Ray Charles singing America. It was truly moving to see Ray, in each venue singing with that fervor of his, "Oh beautiful, for spacious skies”…It wasn’t really all about remembering Ray’s life though. Footage of Ronald Reagan whispering something in his ear at one concert, and the 41st and Reagan glad handing him were in another clip.
Later on that evening I watched another montage supposedly dedicated to Charles. They played him singing the anthem in the background, juxtaposed with scenes from above Reagan’s casket in the Rotunda of the Capital, a stealth bomber in a clouded sky and eventually concerts of Ray‘ with both 40th and 41st president in the background. There were, no compelling retrospectives of Ray‘s life, interviews with close friends, talks of memorial plans or weeklong dedications to his life though. Two days later, when I went to search the news of the mainstream media’s front pages and sadly even in the entertainment sections, Ray Charles was old news.
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On July 11, 2004 I watched the televised funeral services for the 40th president of the United States. The video from the Capital to the National Cathedral to Andrews Air Force Base was stunning. The control and precision of the military color guards, poll bearers, and bands was reminiscent of a more controlled and orderly time. One newscaster said that it was good that other countries could see this part of America; it would give them the impression that we could put on a good ritual.
Indeed I marveled at the fact that those men and women could stand motionless in the rain, or extreme heat for what seemed to be endless hours and not falter. Yes, the majesty of this state funeral planned before “elevated” terror levels was astounding. With so many important people all in the same place, there was the constant nagging fear that something awful could happen.
Three thousand people filled the National cathedral, all dressed in black. Clergy from different denominations were represented, though the Imam who was present only walked in the procession. In that sea of funeral black, the absence of people of color was glaring and remarkable for someone - we are told as American’s was so loved. The later west coast funeral on the hillside in Simi Valley was no less spectacular or troubling. The sunset backlight created a heavenly golden hue over the mourners. More relaxed then the formal dignitary filled Cathedral service, I finally saw some genuine affection and comfort passed between Nancy and her children.
As I watched I kept wondering how much this state funeral cost, and who was paying for it. I wondered if the people who attended either ceremony felt a little peculiar, did they wonder were the people of color were?
Current 20 or even 30 something’s have no real idea about the Iran Contra scandal, and Reagan's disinterest in the anti apartheid struggle in South Africa. Sadly, they also don’t know of Reagan’s inability to really deal with the integrated society that America was becoming. Watching both funerals and noticing that the majority of the people of color present were worker bees, or diplomats, doesn’t bode well for the furthering the idea that the 40th president was the “peoples” president or a “great communicator” .
The old boy network has buried their "Great American Hero" though, and the bells from coast to coast have tolled. In the back of my mind I can hear Ray's melodic imploring " America - America, God shed his grace on Thee..." and I see him there swaying and singing on that bench in front a baby grand in the bye and bye.
I wonder if he's invited Reagan to his afterlife party?
Linda Joy Burke All rights reserved by author.
