Deep In My Heart

When we were transferred to The Salvation Army in the Hough neighborhood of Cleveland in 1990, our son Dan was one, and we enrolled him in the day care at our center. Each year the staff planned a grand celebration for Black History month, and I was curious as to how the teachers might engage Dan’s class in the festivities. That first year, they lined up all sixteen babies in high chairs, gave them each a spoon, and popped a tape in the VCR. As family and friends proudly looked on, Hap Palmer sang “sittin’ in a high chair . . . bang my spoon,” the on-screen chimp wore a banana peel on his head as he messily ate his lunch, and our precious babies banged their spoons in joyous response. Brilliant!

By his third year in the center, Dan progressed from banging his spoon to being cast as Martin Luther King, Jr. in his class skit. He took his part seriously, especially the singing. I got a sneak preview at the fast food counter as he sang for all to hear, “We shall obercome some day!” 

Adapted from a gospel hymn by Rev. Charles Albert Tindley called “I’ll Overcome Some Day,” the song was first used in labor strikes in the late 40s, and would later be led by folk singers Pete Seeger and Joan Baez, familiar names from my adolescence. A theme song of sorts in the civil rights movement in the 60s, by the 90s it was being taught to our three-year-olds (including my young blonde son) to explain and explore the heritage of their people. 

Over the centuries, music has been at the forefront of history and change. In the nineteenth century, protest songs addressed war, abolition of slavery, and women’s suffrage (for and against). By the 1900s, the focus shifted to labor, the Great Depression, the Civil Rights Movement and Vietnam. One example:  Bruce Springsteen’s “Born in the USA” may be a patriotic song for fireworks shows today, but it was also a bitter commentary on the return of soldiers from Vietnam. 

As a teen in the late 60s and early 70s, I passionately sang Pete Seeger’s “Where Have All the Flowers Gone?” and “Turn, Turn, Turn,” and Peter, Paul and Mary’s cover of Seeger’s “If I Had a Hammer.” I looked desperately for the answers that Bob Dylan promised were “Blowin’ in the Wind.” How fervently we believed, “The Times, They Are A-Changin.’” And change they did.  

One silly favorite is “Charlie on the M.T.A,” or “The Metropolitan Transit Authority Protest Song.” It’s a narrative account of “a man named Charlie,” who got on the subway “on that tragic and fateful day” and couldn’t get off because the exit fare was raised while he rode the train. Written for a mayoral candidate who couldn’t afford other advertising, the Kingston Trio recorded the song, and Charlie’s plight traveled around the world. “Did he ever return? No, he never returned . . .” 

As I was revisiting many of these songs, I stumbled upon a treasure of a book, “Songs of America: Patriotism, Protest, and the Music that Made a Nation,” by Jon Meacham and Tim McGraw. The flyleaf explains: “Through all the years of strife and triumph, America has been shaped not just by our elected leaders and our formal politics, but also by our music – by the lyrics, performers, and instrumentals that have helped to carry us through the dark days and to celebrate the bright ones.”

A stroll down Memory Lane is great for reminiscing, but what of the music of this century? Will music breathe life into protest, might it become a source of healing and hope? Meacham and McGraw echo my question: “Given the current state of the nation, can music play any role in smoothing out the sharp edges of our disagreements and easing the tensions of tribalism?” They poetically conclude: “The song of America is not finished; the last notes have not yet been played. In that spirit, in that cause, now and always, let us lift every voice and sing.” Because deep in my heart, I do believe . . .