SATURDAY THOUGHTS : PIANOMAN

He’d been a fascinating fixture, a source of pride, significant contributor to DC music history, and a favorite in my music appreciation orbit, since I was in elementary school. This photo is my childhood memory of him— the tall, skinny, light-skinned guy with the big Afro, who could make the rickety old piano in the Maggie Brown Auditorium, at (Bethlehem Baptist) the church my family attended in Anacostia, sound like a symphony, every time he came and played it, during Union Temple’s baptismal services.

In 31 years of being a part of his ministry, I never saw arrogance. I never heard him disrespect anyone. He was always gracious—quick witted, decisive, and knowledgeable, but gracious. He was never grand, no matter what custom attire he wore. He loved the Lord, and just wanted to lift him up. That was the objective.

The example he set, and the way he treated me and others, helped me prioritize and cement my participation, especially at a time when I wasn’t exactly enamored with the business of Music. 

He even gave me a song, titled “All My Help”, traveled to Morningstar Studios for the session, and played piano on my first project. 

I felt covered. He wasn’t mean, or a bully. He was a brilliant choirmaster. He was an encouraging, supportive friend, mentor, teacher, coach, and even pastor of sorts. He trusted the singers and musicians he gathered, with what God gave him, and we were honored by his confidence in us, to deliver and retain it.

I felt safe putting all of my eggs in one basket. And what a basket it was. It often required a passport.

He took his time with his compositions. He waited for inspiration; unfazed by imposed deadlines or demands. He was all about musical excellence, but there was never any browbeating or shoe throwing. When a very famous composer, in a moment of frustration, DID think he could speak to us, in a less than respectful way, he soundly handled it, and we got a prompt apology.

In 31 years, we laughed ALOT, but we only had four disagreements:

1. He caught me pouring orange juice and hunks of ice into the wine we were served with dinner, while in Spain. 

“Van! Whatchu doin’???!!! 

I thought I was making it more palatable. He said I was “messing it up”. 

He asked the waiter to bring me a Fanta orange soda, or water “with gas”. (I love San Pelligrino to this day.)

2. I didn’t hit a higher note at the end of “Lord You Reign”. 

“I thought you were gonna take it up! You’re just LAZY!” 

At the first rehearsal for our first project, “Adoration”, I positioned myself in the alto section, hoping that he wouldn’t notice and move me. 

“Vanessa! What are you doing over there? You ain’t no alto!”

After a little protest…well… begging, I counted the sopranos. “See, Richard? There’s seven of them! If I move, the altos will be short!” 

“Oh. Okay”, he conceded. “You can stay.” 

He’d have me sing soprano on studio overdubs, but from 1995 until 2014, for live performances, I was a happy alto.

At the first rehearsal for our final project, “Anthology”, he said, “Van, get over there and sit with Debbie an’em. I can’t BELIEVE I let you sing alto this long!” 

I told him he waited until I got an AARP card, to move me. He’d heard my stacked, SAT vocals on pianist Kim Jordan’s cover of “O Happy Day”, and I was busted. 

“Wait…so…who’s that singing soprano?”, he asked. 

I had to confess. “That’s me, too.”

(Was it MY fault that the alto parts he composed—for EVERY song—were THE best parts to sing?)

It was then that he began hinting about my “new assignment”.

3. I tried to quit the group, once. I didn’t feel confident. “I can’t play anything, or read music”, I cried. I felt he needed someone better; stronger; someone trained, who could not only sing, but be able to hold those technical musical conversations, with musicians, about chord structures, and the like. It was the first time I heard him cuss. “Van. Don’t make me come over there and kick your ass. I will fight you”. We both burst out laughing. “Look. If everybody waited until they had it all together, or thought they were perfect, nobody would be doing anything for the Lord”. 

I heard different iterations of that peppy quote of his, over the years.

He convinced me to stay, and assured me that he had my back—and that what I had was enough. “If you WANT to learn more, Baby, it’s never too late.”

4. I hated, hated, HATED that papery-itchy-crinkled-Easter basket-bag-of-skittles-leprechaun-looking-drawstring-having-big-black-button-nonsense-shiny-lime-green-freezing-in-February frock (we only wore twice). I didn’t own ANYTHING remotely akin to that god-forsaken color. I didnt even use it in my art! 

I told him I felt like a clown in it. There was no way to feel comfortable. I was praying that we wouldn’t get green-screened by some mischievous Internet meanie.

He sighed, and told me to try to “just look at it as a uniform”. I didn’t want it on any part of me. 

“Van, I know if you had your way, we would, but we can’t wear black ALL the time”.

I was the last to get my makeup done that day. I ducked and hid from the cameras as much as I could, and skipped out on the interviews. As soon as the recording was over, I rushed to the bathroom to get out of that monstrosity, but I got ambushed in the hallway by my Vision sisters, in a sea of blinding green. “Let’s take a picture!” 

I managed a smile, but I wasn’t happy that there would be proof that I’d actually worn that unfortunate, circus garment. I admired those who figured out how to pull it off, but I was miserable. I felt badly for burdening him with it.

I suppose, now that he can’t tease or laugh with me, anymore about it, it’s safe to say that, I hope whoever rescued the green nightmare from the Goodwill, is rocking it better than I did.

*sigh*

So many things are making me smile and laugh, and for that, I’m grateful. He was a brilliant virtuoso— the genius maestro—for sure, but he, also, was just an ordinary, Howard University-repping, peach cobbler, and key lime pie-loving, red Mountain Dew-drinking, “I Love Lucy”-watching, shoe shopping, God-fearing, music-making, Bible-studying, preacher guy, who had a wonderful sense of humor, and no interest in the fame, awards, or accolades he deserved, but couldn’t help avoid. His reach was global.

I’m so grateful for his life, and all that he so unselfishly sowed into mine.

Perhaps I’m biased, but his autobiography is a really good read. 

History matters.

Good memories help.

Total Praise

#memories 

#RIPRichardSmallwood