I was eating dinner, doing a crossword, listening to Evening Concert on HPR. Judy was on the mainland, visiting her brother. I meant the music to be background, filling, in a small way, the emptiness of the house.
The familiar strains of Les Miserables began. In was an orchestral version, the various songs organized in a way that made sense to the arranger. There was no mistaking the melodies, though; the sounds of hard labor in “Look Down;” or “Castles in the Clouds;” and “Empty Chairs at Empty Tables;” and so on.
The arrangement culminated with “Bring Him Home/God on High” leading into the triumphant finale reveling in the surety that “Tomorrow Comes.”
I sang along even though there were no vocals. Les Miz is more than musical theater for me. It represents many things, all good. The music caused my eyes to cloud over, blessed with hopes and memories. My puzzle got a little damp.
I first saw Les Miz by luck. I had a day to spend by myself in London, and I went to the theater where it was playing to see if I could score a half price ticket. I did. In the stalls. Twelfth row. I was so enthralled that, for the first time in my life, I bought the CD in the lobby on the way out.
What’s not to like about a story pitting the law versus justice and mercy, set to evocative music ranging from the aching lament of Eponeme, ”On My own,” to the prayer of Jean Valjean to “Let Him Live,” to the hopeful promise that “Tomorrow Comes?”
So I sat at the kitchen table, filling in the words for each song; I had played the CD that much. In doing so, I was transported to a lucky day in London and inspired again by the triumph of right and goodness.
People of a Certain Age, what are your transports to happy memories and ennobling thoughts?
As often happens, my dinnertime pleasure came in close timing with a similar experience that morning. Story Corps on NPR featured a mom and her son, talking about the mom’s dad. He was an African-American who worked in a factory located on the other side of a white neighborhood through which he had to walk to get home. He got tired of being stopped by police as he went through the neighborhood, so he quit his job and became a cop, vowing one day to buy a house in that neighborhood.
He did.
He doted on his grandson and provided the boy with an upright model of dignity and virtuous living. He died when the boy was 18.
Mom capped the interview by saying “the legacy that you leave is the one that honors him.”
Ernest H. Braem and Daniel D. White entered my mind’s eye just then. I am among the fortunate to have know all four of my grandparents, and I can conjure pictures of each easily. There is Poppa Braem, the pillar of the community and the Methodist Church; Dr. Braem, the dentist dressed in all white who, at age sixteen in his basketball uniform looked just like I did at sixteen in my uniform (scrawny, too). There is Poppa White, the first Dan White in the family, high-pitched voice, going blind from glaucoma, a shopkeeper respected as the most upright guy in town.
I daydreamed a while. Most of my time with them occurred more than 50 years ago. Details have blurred, naturally, but, the Story Corps mom’s reminder about how one honors one’s grandfather brought them into sharp focus.
Nowadays, I have to fill in the blanks of my memories of my grandfathers with hints from my siblings, old photos, or similar prompts. When I do, I am rewarded by mind pictures of two men who lived good lives, striving always to do what was right.
As the years go by, People of a Certain Age, we might be less able to sing all the words or recall every detail. Therein lies a blessing of long-time friends and families, pictures, diaries, and so on. They help us to fill in the blanks to produce rich treasures of memories from the past but powerful for us in the present as well.
With luck, the structure remains even when the details are fuzzy. The Les Miz music is stirring even without the words. My grandfathers are men to emulate in their goodness even though I can’t remember all of the details.
It is a gift to recall times a play or piece of music or love from another person has inspired us or given us hope. It is a special gift for those of us who have put in lots of time on this planet to be able to collect more treasures.
One day, tomorrow will not come. Until then, I hope to know how to fill in the blanks that appear in the unfolding story of my life.
Daniel E. White
April 3, 2017