For Ossie and Ruby Dee
The photos I took of you never came out.
What happened was this.
It was the Black and Puerto Rican Caucus,
1983, ’84, or maybe even ’85, I don’t remember,
I’ll have to check the scrapbook, but you were
The Keynote speaker that year and I was just
So nervous that you were going to be there
And I was going to be able to be in the same
Room with you, maybe meet you, shake your
Hand, get your autograph, and take some
Pictures of you.
I had some 35mm camera that I had loaded
On the bus, the school bus now that I recall,
So I was still in college(that was important
To you, that black people, black men, be in
College), so that was still early 80’s, and
I loaded that camera with film on the bus
And off I went to see you and Mario Cuomo,
Another dynamic speaker, at our Caucus.
I was nervous throughout, this young green
Legislative intern/aide to a freshman Assemlyman,
Clarence Norman, Jr. from Brooklyn, in a room
Full of dignitaries, but none more dignified than
You. I could only hope that my own dad was
As dignified, but I knew that he wasn’t, not if
He knew about me but still chose to leave.
When you went to the podium to give your
Moving speech to that crowd, I noticed that
The dance floor area was empty, that no one
Else was down there taking your picture, no
One black anyway, some whites from local
Papers, Senate and Assembly photographers,
Maybe your own publicity people, so I took
My chance to go down there and get in close
Enough to snap some shots, but also listen to
What you had to say, what you were saying,
Speaking in that deep pseudo-baritone voice,
That voice of television and radio and film,
Such a royal, dignified, distinct voice, and
I got all choked up inside…, hoping that
My dad could be someone like you, you
Know…, dignified….
There were other speeches, dinner, a band
And dancing. Funny thing about when
Black people go dancing, their every movement
Seems to scream, it’s alright what you do to us,
We still here laughing, singing, and dancing,
And I picture you and Miss Ruby somewhere
Dancing together, holding onto one another,
Gently, she looking up at you, you smiling
Down at her, the two of you swaying to some
Light jazz piece or something with African
Rhythms.
When I went to unload that camera, I discovered
That it had not been loaded correctly, so the photos
I took of you never came out.
The last picture I see of you is on the television
As they announce you, In Memoriam, and, somehow
I just feel so sorry.