Speaking on Our Thoughts...

Death.

Dying.

End.

Passing.

Quietus.

the last several weeks have left any and all of we who call ourselves scribes falling over our thoughts to compose fitting epitaphs for giants among us. oh, how we have suffered losses of late. from broken hearts to strange twists of fate. all along, our songs of lamentation have arisen throughout the nation, from the hills of Tennessee to those of Cali. Shall we meditate--or shall i--on the meaning in this madness; this morphing mechanism most meted: mortality.

i don't know Michael Jackson, but i loved his music. i only met Steve McNair twice in life, but i loved his gamesmanship. i did know Jenise Smith though, and that is precisely why i loved her. and so, i pen some thoughts to help me understand what i may never know: the elusive "Secret of Life" my auto-didactic father so pursued with long gazes across vast waterfronts and wooded hills whenever he could steal a break from a life of hard labor. He made it to 78.

none of the above did.

Michael Jackson

poor MJ, gifted with talent beyond his years that would both bless and haunt him before and up to the grave; i gather, based on hearing the pundits speak of him now that the haunting will continue--fittingly--even after the grave, although in this case, turnabout is far from fair play.

lines have been drawn and criticism leveled--at MJ's life, his lifestyle, his upbringing. debates will continue for hundreds of years over whether he was a product of Nature or Nurture; whether the man we know as "Joseph" was a cruel and greedy taskmaster who used his childrens' gifts to create a family fortune, or a visionary who recognized that talent alone would serve no one well without discipline, focus, and family values. that debate won't be resolved here, in these few words, so i shall stick close to the things that are, in my own small mind, not debatable.

Michael Jackson was one of the greatest creative visionaries in the history of humankind.

take a breath. i know you're reeling, because you were expecting to state the obvious: that he was the "King of Pop," or the "greatest performer of the modern era." that would suffice most who would not look deeper and ask the profound questions of the lasting impact of his legacy:

-The highest grossing album(s) in the history of recorded music. This feat may never be topped.

-Hit songs in virtually EVERY genre of music known to man. Pop, Rock, Soul, Dance, R&B, Inspirational

-Multi-generation impact. MJ songs have been sung by grandparents down to their grandchildren. each new generation that is exposed to music dating back to his childhood falls in love and connects to it.

-Multi-Cultural impact. The Beatles were popular in Europe, then America, a few places abroad as a curiosity; Elvis had his Southern foundation and found interest and appeal with diehard fans and impersonators. Michael Jackson had hundreds of thousands of people in every corner of the known world, of every race and ethnicity adoring his music.

we have witnessed greatness in our lifetime here, especially when one takes into account that he wrote and/or produced most of his body of work and owned his master recordings. MJ was a slave to no man creatively, and that is why, perhaps he appeared "odd" to us. he heard things that were not yet born into this world, and it was his task to give them voice.

because of that, he left us a magic we may not ever witness again. we may all find ourselves telling our grandkids, if we are blessed to live to see them, that we actually SAW Michael Jackson perform while living--a fact that will indeed mystify them and give us our own mystique.

Steve "Air" McNair

the field general and general heart of the Tennessee Titans, a man who singlehandedly put Alcorn State University on the national map by proving that a man with a gunner's arm and killer instinct for victory could rule the NFL after pitching his tent at an Historically Black University. that is significant in itself because prior to Integration, there was no measured tradition with majority universities. true, there were rituals, rocks to rub, tunnels to run through, Gippers to win one for and the like, but when you roll back the footage of history, one must admit that perhaps my 14 year old daughter could have excelled on most major college football fields against that exclusionary competition that feared and refused to play the HBCU or black players.

enter: Integration.

enter: Dis-integration of HBCU traditions.

gone were the stories of Big John Merritts and Eddie Robinsons, Claude Humphries and Too Tall Jones', replaced with Bear Bryants and Joe Patermos and whoever else could pull all the talent away from those small schools in small towns with giant talent. one person stayed behind.

his name was Steve.

Steve brought the intangible to the football field that most of these pundits miss when judging talent. speak to anyone who has played on that level and they will tell you that it is not the greatest arm, the best form, the most polished technique that makes a champion. it's the heart.

and by heart, i don't mean what Steve showed us: the sacrifice of his body on a regular basis to show our fickle Tennessee fans that he really deserved to wear that number 9. by heart i mean that thing that lives in the eyes of a leader, that makes them be able to walk into a huddle (battleground, battallion, flank, ranks) look every man in the eye and convince them--through insurmountable odds--that they will do everything except fail.

that cannot be taught. you either have it or not, and Steve had it.

his death was tragic, and to us, very premature. we're still sorting through all the details, many of which we'll never know. the "righteous" among us continue to point at the splinter in the eye of McNair's sense of fidelity while ignoring the plank of judgment in their own small visions. i choose not to cast a judgment one way or the other on his personal life. i wasn't there to live it, and it's between him and God now.

Jenise Smith

who? you mean, you didn't know Jenise "Niecy" Smith? a phenomenal songstress and seamstress who was one of the most creative and loving souls to ever walk the earth in Nashville, Tennessee?

well let me tell you about her.

first, she also died too soon for us all. as a worker of cloth, she made the majority of the costumes that put Amun Ra Theatre on the map of cultural history as one of the leaders of the modern black theater movement nation-wide. with little or no money or time, she pressed her will into her fingers and produced jaw-dropping creations that earned her a living working in stage, television, film, and the music industry.

many of the stars of gospel music begged for her creations; organizations like Fisk University, Tennessee State, and Salama Ministries kept her on speed dial for her magic.

and her voice?

a soaring Soprano with range from classical opera to modern gospel, she rocked stages ranging from the Ryman to the Schermerhorn, with bands and backups and symphony orchestra. a former Miss Pearl High ('80), she had the best of beauty and brains.

and she had cancer.

and she fought it.

and she won.

and it returned.

and she transitioned.

and we mourned because of all she was to us. and because of all she is. you see, it is because of Jenise, we have something to look forward to.

as a matter of fact, it is because of Michael, Steve, and Jenise, we all have something to look forward to:

our own lives.

we all now stand at a crossroads, asking the question: what legacy will i leave behind? will men and women debate our greatness or will we not even be a footnote in history? will there be two didactical sides to choose from because we left behind works that were so layered they were almost incomprehensible in scope and impact? or will we be as important to the world and those around us as a wrapper from a drinking straw discarded over the course of a holiday weekend?

i know, inside, that we all cannot do what these individuals do. as a Doctor of Divinty, a Teacher of sorts (more often a student), a coach and "motivational speaker," i'm supposed to say we all are capable of these highest heights. the truth is: although we all may be capable, many of us will not seize the opportunity and embrace the tools needed to shape and mold that greatness from our common raw potential.

so as we weep and mourn and reflect and refract on our shared heroes, let us also turn within and seek that elusive knowledge we may never be able to embrace until the second past our last earthly breath, a fact that should not deter us in the quest for the knowledge itself. let us find our light within us.

and let it shine.

Labels: Jenise Smith, Michael Jackson, Steve McNair