the clear air

One of my high school classmates asked me to recommend some things for his son, a budding writer. I often read the posts he writes about his son. They are all positive. This young man does well in school and is active in sports. He seems to be a really good kid. So, I jumped at the opportunity to sow into his success. I sought recommendations from book lists, an artist who is also probably the resident expert on James Baldwin, etc. I sent him my favorite book as a teenager, “Catcher in the Rye” by J.D. Salinger.

It was when I was about this lad’s age that I decided to become a writer. I was in sixth grade. I vividly recall sharing that information with my dad. I said, “Dad, when I grow up I am going to be an artist and reporter.” He said, “There is no money in that.” However, I had been keeping a diary as early as third grade. I would write letters to places where I had interests such as Disney to join the Mickey Mouse Club, the American Gymnastics Federation to try out for the Olympics and so on. I would get a response too. By the time I was in high school I was studying Vogue magazine monthly. Then my interest was becoming a fashion writer. I did get “Best Dressed” my senior year in high school though. Eventually, I studied journalism at Texas Southern. After graduation, I started a newsprint tabloid called, “The Cultivator: Dedicated to the Cultivation of Young Minds.” Some of my college friends served as writers. It maybe was not the best editorially but the mission, I believe, was far advanced.

However, the thing that inspired me the most was the way others sowed into my life and the life of my brothers. Therefore, we have a responsibility to pay it forward.

Pay It Forward by Rose Y. Adams

The year was 1983 or 1984 when we first saw him on the Grammy Awards. He had that look we all (us college girls liked back then): PREPPY. He had the gold horn-rimmed Peabody glasses and spoke with such an eloquent Louisiana accent. We didn’t know anything about him or his music; however, after his Grammy acceptance speech I was certainly interested in finding out more about him. I thought he had a great image for young black men, offering a mature sophistication. His name was Wynton Marsalis. He was receiving much acclaim for his work as both a classical and jazz trumpeter.

By the time he rolled into Houston a couple of years later, my youngest brother was in middle school and playing the trumpet as did our brother when he was in high school. My mother got tickets for me to take the younger one to see Wynton at Rockefellers on Washington Avenue. We were there for the first set. My brother dressed up with a blazer and I wore a long blue Espirit shirt with a V in the back and long skirt. The set was phenomenal and intense. After it was over, the MC announced that if we wanted to stay for the second set we could. We enjoyed the show so much we wanted to stay. We went into the lobby to the pay phone and called my mom. I said, “Hey mom, we can stay for the second set. So, we will be home a little later.” She said, “OK, I want your brother to meet Wynton.” I said, “Well, how am I supposed to do that?” She said, “Where is the bouncer?” I was quickly able to identify the bouncer. He was a light-skinned bald-headed black man in an all white suit. He was standing nearby. I told my mother that and she said, “Well, put him on the phone.” I looked at the guy and told him, “telephone.” He took it. He kept saying, “Yes, ma’am. Yes, ma’am.” He then hung up the phone and said to me and my brother, “Ok, let’s go.” We followed him all the way backstage to a room. My brother walked through the door first without hesitation. Wynton thanked the guy. In it were all of the musicians: Wynton, Jeff “Tain” Watts (drummer), Robert Hurst (bass), Marcus Roberts (piano). One or two were paired up with women. Wynton was standing over a piano (I believe) eating a plate of rice and smothered chicken (I think). He immediately started talking to my brother, asking him about school and if he played the trumpet. He gave him some advice and I don’t remember what. I do remember him saying, “Man, there are some books I want you to read and music I want you to listen to. This man will tell you what they are.” The man was his road manager, based in Houston. He motioned to a guy to give me his telephone number. He said a few more words to my brother and we left. Months later, I called the guy for the recommendations. My brother’s birthday was coming up and we wanted to get those things for them. He ran off a list of everything. They were seriously intellectual stuff like books and or writings by Stanley Crouch, Albert Murray, Amiri Baraka (aka Leroi Jones), and Ralph Ellison. The music included the works of John Coltrane, Freddie Hubbard, Ahmad Jamal and so on. Then he invited us, along with our mother to see the Navy band at HSPVA.

I have always appreciated and looked up to those guys for that. They sowed into my brother and didn’t even know him or think twice about it. Thus, my reason for “Paying it Forward” through my classmate’s son.

P.S. I ended up hanging out with Wynton’s road manager one night in New Orleans. It was one of the most unforgettable nights of my life. However, that’s another story.