Trying to Remember
Try to remember the kind of September
When life was slow and oh, so mellow …
As the obituaries kept rolling in Tuesday night reminding us what a remarkable human being Harry Belafonte was and what an incredible life had ended at age 96, I remembered the morning he gave me a call.
People of a certain age – a rapidly diminishing demographic – grew up with pictures of Harry in our suburban living rooms. His spectacularly handsome face above a shirt unbuttoned to the center of his Herculean chest adorned record covers, their cardboard corners worn from frequent use.
He was an early star in the new industry of high fidelity, or hifi, recording. The vinyl grooves held his unique voice, smooth as silk, strong as steel.
The tributes refer to him as “the King of Calypso,” as well as an Academy Award-winning actor, humanitarian and activist who marched with his good friend, Dr. Martin Luther King, counseled John and Robert Kennedy and corresponded with the incarcerated Nelson Mandela in more than a half-century of fearlessly and tirelessly crusading to right wrongs at home and around the planet.
But to our 10-year-old ears, he was the guy who sang “Day-o.” The song was actually titled “The Banana Boat Song.”
Day-o, day-o
Daylight come and we want go home
Day, is a day, is a day, is a day, is a day, is a day-o
Daylight come and we want go home…
What did the words mean? My 10-year-old ears didn't know, beyond thinking it probably made more sense in the singer's Jamaican homeland. But the rhythm was irresistible and infectious, and everyone could sing along.
Fast forward to 1994, when the MACC – known then as the Maui Community Arts & Cultural Center – opened its gates. Belafonte was one of the first, and still one of the mightiest artists to take the Castle Theater stage.
Backed by terrific African-inflected singers and musicians, he covered all his greatest hits, weaving the songs together with tales and recollections. He was, simultaneously, an internationally acclaimed superstar and a village griot – or storyteller. He had that charisma only known by the greatest vocal soloists, the fearlessness to stand alone centerstage, the alchemy to hold every member of the audience in the same breath.
Calypso may have been his trademark but the songs spanned history from spots around the planet. It would be years before someone popularized the concept of world music, but that's what Harry Belafonte did.
A personal high point was the song “Try to Remember” from the '60s off-Broadway hit “The Fantasticks.”
Try to remember when life was so tender
That no one wept except the willow
Try to remember the kind of September
When love was an ember about to billow
Try to remember and if you remember
Then follow, follow
He introduced the song saying it was a favorite of a dear friend he had worked with trying to save starving children in Africa. Her name was Audrey Hepburn.
As chills ran up my spine, the figure on stage morphed into a spirit larger than life. I suddenly beheld someone who spent decades with a target on his back painted not just by Southern redneck bigots, but by legions of American men insecure in their sexuality. He embodied what President John F. Kennedy had called a Profile in Courage. He had carried all that weight with honor and grace.
When I reviewed the show, I concluded, “It can't have been easy being Harry Belafonte for all these decades. He just makes it look that way.”
The morning after the review ran, I was at my desk at The Maui News when the phone rang.
“Do you always write things like that?” said the voice on the line.
The voice sounded raspy, derelict, borderline belligerent. Keep in mind that my quotation marks are approximate here. The conversation is 30 years old, after all, and memories fade. But you get the gist.
My job, not to mention my malihini – or newcomer – status in the islands still made me a little paranoid about critics of the critic, folks who might not see things the way I did.
“You must think you're something special,” the voice went on. “How do you do it?”
For the second time in two days, the hairs stood up on the back of my neck. He did not have to identify himself. I knew who it was.
For the next several minutes he went on and on thanking me. I had never had a call back from an artist before, much less a demigod. It hasn't happened since.
When I mentioned to him how moved I had been, not just by the song list but by the way the songs fit together, he explained that for him a concert was a theatrical performance, its shifting moods carefully orchestrated to evoke just the right emotion as it went on.
He concluded by giving me his number, if I ever got to New York.
So add one more tribute to the pile of them, honoring this man whose generosity of spirit was as monumental as his talent, who took time one morning to share some gratitude and dispense some awe to a stranger he had never met.
What an experience! Glad to see you in action at the beginning of your career at the Noside Times!
ReplyDeleteWonderful article! Made my eyes leak.