Death and Life on Lawler Street July 4th 2006
Picture of Marion Pickett and July 4, 2006
http://jorgevismara.net/appex/2006/20060704
Death and Life on Lawler Street Human beings are like planets – we live in our own world, inhabit our own ecosystem, all the while not realizing that our lives are orbiting other lives and influencing them. Perhaps these planets never seem to align and only in the distant reaches of the galaxy can a relationship be charted and a merge point in elliptical orbits be determined. Other times the planets align perfectly, spiritually if even for a few brief moments. It is in those moments that one realizes that every planet, every ecosystem, and every inner and outer motion is intimately connected to a power far beyond our ability to define. Each ecosystem is part of one larger, infinite, and healthy system.
On July 4, 2006, I was invited to participate in a block party on Lawler Street in Los Angeles. The invitation came by way of Judy Mitoma, Director of CIP – Center for Intercultural Performance – the group I was with was to meet at her home and then join her neighbors in their annual custom of celebrating our nation's independence in the most community-oriented of ways – dining together in potluck fashion and enjoying each other's company. I was in Los Angeles as a fellow in the APPEX program, a program that brought together 18 of the finest dancers, musicians, and choreographers from Indonesia, the Philippines, Malaysia, India, Thailand, and the United States to live, collaborate, and perform with each other. The 4th of July block party was one of our first times spent together.
As we enjoyed the food and the company on Lawler Street, Judy Mitoma asked me if I would play guitar for two neighborhood teens who were jamming in their garage. To be honest, it wasn't my idea of a good time – I was enjoying spending time with the APPEX fellows and neighbors but sure enough a few minutes later I felt a tap on my shoulder and there was Judy standing with my guitar case. So, I went to the garage and hung out with the fledgling musicians and actually it was pretty cool – they didn't know what jazz and improvisation was and I showed them. I also remember having the drummer play with his hands so he could really feel the drums and pulse rather than just bang away mindlessly with sticks. We also played very quietly, introducing him to the concept of dynamics.
When I came back out to Lawler Street, I had the feeling that we should be jamming, and sure enough as soon as I cut into some rhythmic riffs, Somnath, a percussion master from India, joined in and then it spiraled into a full-fledge jam with all the musicians joining in most notably, Greg Acker on flute and percussion, and Olivier, a friend of our program from Burkina Faso took wave after wave of solo while fellow APPEX participants danced in the streets to the delight of the neighbors. Judy Mitoma later told us that nothing like that – an openly festive and raucous life celebration – had ever occurred on that street. That was a defining life experience for me – once I started jamming with my guitar, my sound was completely swallowed up by the percussion but I could have cared less. I was able to help light a fire by being a creative spark and then just sit back and enjoy the moment. Often in our lives, we hear "live in the present moment" and this was truly an example for all of APPEX. Through sound and motion we were all present in our bodies and released our spirits in sharing and giving – moment after moment of perfect moments.
After the big jam, the party was rapidly winding down and I noticed that most of the neighbors were packing up and heading inside. I, too, began to pack up my guitar and percussion instruments when out of the corner of my eye I saw an elderly woman sitting with two friends enjoying the evening. For some reason, I guess the high of feeling joy and connected to what had just happened, I walked up to the woman, Marion Pickett, and asked her, "How would you like a private concert?" She said, "Sure, I'd love one" and I proceeded to sit down and play several jazz classics very quietly – All the Things You Are, The Days of Wine and Roses, and a blues. After I finished playing, Marion and I started talking and lo and behold, she herself was a long-time guitar player, knew a few of the chords I was playing, and even recommended the local guitar store, McCabe's.
The evening was perfect – beautiful fellowship and community followed by connecting with one of Judy's neighbors through music. As I packed up my guitar and walked away, I turned one more time and looked at Marian and her friends, and said to myself, "this moment will never be here again. This is a moment I will cherish forever."
My memory is hazy now, but several days later, while meeting in the parking lot of Hitch suites, the APPEX dorm, for a scheduled trip to see Indian dance at Cal State-Northridge, Judy Mitoma approached me in the parking lot. She said, "Rob, the woman you played guitar for, Marion Pickett, has passed away. She had been ill for some time and she passed the day after the 4th of July party. I was dumbstruck – to me it seemed that Marion, while elderly, was healthy, happy, and radiant! I could not contain my sadness and thank God that Emiko, Judy's daughter, and Judy were there, as I felt very alone.
I can barely remember, but apparently Jorge, our official APPEX photographer, had taken photos of me playing music for Marion, and the profound expression of joy and appreciation on her face was staggering! In that moment in the parking lot, I knew that even if nothing else came from my APPEX experience, that the simple and honest sharing of my gifts with a stranger was the mission. To assist this wonderful human being in transitioning from one plane to the next through the gift of music galvanized what I had always known about myself – that despite some of the outer turbulence and conflict that sometimes is in my life, that the core of my being, that the core of all of our beings is calm, radiant with life, and deep compassion. No matter what happens on the surface, we have the ability to share that gift and move beyond personality to the deeply personal.
On our way to Northridge, I was crying, and perhaps other could see that. I felt so alone yet one with Marion and God. I knew that God put Marion into my life for a reason and I knew that she was in my life for the same reason. For 15 minutes, a complete stranger became a teacher and eternal friend. As I listened to some music in headphones on the trip, I switched to a song that I had copied from the CIP office music library – it was a beautiful vocal version of St. Francis of Assisi's "Lord, make me an instrument of Thy Peace." Tears streamed down my face.
Later in the week, I talked with Judy about playing music for Marian's memorial service. It was decided that I would perform "The Days of Wine and Roses" as I had the previous week at the 4th of July event. I had never looked at the lyrics to the Henry Mancini tune but a hunch told me I should. They lyrics are as follows:
"The days of wine and roses laugh and run away like a child at play
Through a meadow land toward a closing door
A door marked "nevermore" that wasn't there before."
"The lonely night discloses just a passing breeze filled with memories
Of the golden smile that introduced me to
The days of wine and roses and you."
"The lonely night discloses just a passing breeze filled with memories
Of the golden smile that introduced me to
The days of wine and roses and you-oo-oo."
Judy Mitoma had the lyrics printed in the program.
The day of the service, I felt anxious. However, when I arrived two things gave me clarity of purpose. The first was that the photos that Jorge had taken of Marian were now displayed prominently on the memorial table of the church. Seeing her radiant face again reminded me of why I was there. The second reason was that while preparing for the service I could see and sense that one of Marian's sons was agitated and in fact, was sitting alone. I remember him struggling to set up the slides that showed Marion's life and the many wonderful things that happened on Lawler Street. I remember taking a risk and walking up to him, putting my arm on his shoulder, and saying, "Hey don't worry about this! This is your mother's day and your family's day and everything is going to be OK." It seemed to work because he was able to get the slide projector working and settle down a bit. Once the service started I played the song and spoke briefly about how I met Marion. I also had the opportunity to accompany Emiko on a song which calmed me down, too. Viewing Jorge's pictures and helping Marion's son gave me strength and clarity of purpose. After the service, Daniel, my cousin, was waiting on the parking lot, and it was over. The family invited me back to the house but I was clear – it was time for this brief yet incredible chapter of my life to close so that another one would open. I am grateful to Marion for giving me the gift of connecting with her spiritually, to Judy Mitoma for gently prodding me and basically insisting on playing the guitar on the 4th of July, to Jorge for his amazing aura-revealing pictures, and most especially to Greg Acker, a fellow traveler on the journey, who noticed I was playing for Marian and had Jorge shoot the pictures. I'll always remember July 4th 2006 as defining Independence Day.
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