Category: From the Soul

As a child growing up in Tucson I would sometimes, on a comfortable April day, ride my beat up blue Schwinn out to the foothills – and just soak in the beauty of the Sonoran Desert’s flowers of spring as they danced in the warm breezes, showing off their brilliant yellow and purple and orange and red and blue petals that cling to their striking green stems like lovers on a honeymoon.

Such moments soothed my young soul, making all the world feel like a lilting melody sung in perfect harmony. And to stay with this idea of music as a metaphor for “good feelings,” the world’s music, at the time, did make everything seem “copacetic” as the devotees of jazz and swing used to say in their cool ness.

Getting in my car to drive to OB to protest The Black’s “Don’t Feed our Bums” mentality, my mind said to me: “Hey, nobody will as much as give us remnants of picketers from another day the time of day.”

But when I walked down Bacon and hit the corner where it intersects with Newport Avenue and saw all the people and picket signs …

Recently, while channel surfing on TV, I happened on a little repartee on the war in Afghanistan and I couldn’t help but notice in all the wit and pontification that Pakistan was barely mentioned since we’re there, too, chasing down al-Qaeda and the Taliban. With robots: Predator Drones.

This bothers me deeply because, with me, it’s all about the children …

Sitting around trying to clear my mind of all that’s going on in a troubled world I found a picture of me almost as gray of hair and beard as one can be. Green leaves of spring adorned the trees that stood behind me and in my glasses I could see the indiscernible reflections of the children who sat listening so appreciatively to my poetry.

These were students at Einstein Academy, a school literally vibrating with positive energy and I view this picture and the gathering as an expression of how the world should be, older generations, the gray, sharing the wisdom of their age with children, the green, who in their innocence, represent what hope there really is on the planet.

by Ernie McCray

Is there anything in the world as cool as just “cooling it,” you know, kicking back in your comfy jeans, and that nice fitting tee-shirt you found in Borrego Springs, some broken in running shoes, acting and feeling like you just know you’re cool.

Talking about a little respite from rising everyday and entering into Twilight Zone like scenes wherein wee-minded anti-this and anti-that beings scurry about frightened to death of life, all caught up in their “America Love it or Leave It” proclivities and philosophies.

Back in 1951 my classmates and I at John Spring Jr. High, in Tucson, in our pure innocence, made desegregation work in our part of town.

It was all about love and without it, in heavy doses, many of us black kids wouldn’t have been able to bear the pain and awkwardness that came with the new era. See, there we were on the very first day singing “Hail to John Spring Jr. High” just a summer away from having, for years, sung our “hail to’s” to Paul Laurence Dunbar. At Dunbar Jr. High. Overnight Dunbar’s name was exited from our lives like a word being erased at the blackboard – as though there was no realization that this great poet with pen in hand had captured in his imagery the very essence of our struggles as a people, in black dialect, no less. This man was tied to our very psyche, our sense of self. We couldn’t understand why his name had to go.

Now, I’m not a big fan of “State of” kinds of speeches. Most times they leave me with a feeling of “Now, that was some BS I could have spared myself.” But it was a joy the other night listening to Richard Barrera, the President of the San Diego City Schools Board of Education, share his thoughts on schools being community based in a refreshing non-preachy conversational tone as opposed to the usual empty tome that politicians usually read verbatim at such occasions in coma inducing tones.

His rap resonated with me because as an educator I can say, from having been “part of” creating some fairly dynamic learning environments in my time, that it can’t be done with out tons of input from the “hood.” I mean what is the purpose of education if not to empower communities, the stakeholders?

by Ernie McCray

A little while ago I was asked if I would be willing to co-emcee a celebration of Helen Chavez’s life and it was one of those requests that make you go “Who, me? Cesar’s sweet Helen? You kiddin’ me? Well, uh, hey, by golly gee. Yessiree.” Talking about being honored. Whoo! Whee!

I mean, how could I not leap upon the opportunity to share a stage with a woman who took care of a man I loved, enabling him to stretch his wings as he heeded Gandhi and Martin’s call, understanding innately at deep soulful levels the “Why” of it all – as she, too, could not resist the call to change a world.

by Ernie McCray

Nothing has helped me get back into the swing of things more, after losing my sweetheart, than getting up on stage and giving life to a delightful old goofy character named Wilmer in a play called “Funny Little Thing.”

Wilmer, like I have been in real life, is crazy about his wife, Paula, and she feels the same about him as my Nancy loved me – in spite of the little “things” that come along in a marriage, the irrelevant minutia that Wilmer and Paula, like Nancy and I did, zip by with healthy “Don’t sweat the small stuff” attitudes.

What a fun role and it was just what I needed to discover if I could ever, again, focus my attention, for any reasonable length of time, on something other than the nagging emotional pain that for so long was caught up in my heart and soul like a cat entangled in a sack full of yarn.

My wife, Nancy, and I, have lived in Golden Hill since the early 70’s, drawn by it’s mixture of people who were of all the human colors and who were rich and poor and gay and straight and artistic and politically and civically activistic, if you will – a community of people contributing, in so many ways, to the making of a better world.

Then along came the Big Kitchen with open arms and we were inspired by how, under proprietor Judy-the-Beauty-On-Duty’s leadership and guidance, this now iconic cafe immediately blended in with our neighborhoods’ vibrant hopeful energy – making it, for us, and many others, from the very start, a place more of the heart and soul than a business enterprise. It was love at first sight.

By Ernie McCray

I was in Tucson, my hometown, not too long ago to celebrate scoring a whole lot of points (46) in a basketball game 50 years ago.

And what you might need to know is that after putting on such a show I didn’t celebrate with my teammates later at a popular eatery because old Jim Crow couldn’t care less about the athletic exploits of a half-naked tall skinny Negro.

But such days are long gone back in the Old Pueblo. While in town I was shown around by a dear friend and former student of mine, Debbie Sisco Rich, the CEO of the girl scouts there.

There is a belief in some cultures that we choose our parents before we are born and maybe that’s true.

All I can say is I’m glad I ended up with the mother I got. In my way of reminiscing, it seems I can remember our very first moments together with me in her womb all kicked back and relaxed, as I had been for nine months, when unexpectedly, on April 18th, 1938, something gripped me like a cook squeezing chorizo from its hull. And the next thing I knew this woman who had soothed me throughout all those months of the good and cozy life, this woman who had hummed and sung lullabies and spirituals that oozed such gentle soul – this woman was now screaming as though her hair was being snatched from her scalp.