49

I have travelled quite a bit around the United States, both as a traveler and a workshop teacher. But there were two states I had never been in. Until now. Arkansas is now my 49^th state and this summer there's a chance I may do a short workshop in Mississippi to complete the tour. 

 

I’m writing from Little Rock after a varied day. It began teaching a group of 4^th graders, then going to see Central High School and visit their little museum. Two of the Little Rock Nine had come to speak at my school—Melba Beals Patillo and Minnie Jean Brown -Trickey, so I felt connected to that iconic story of school integration in 1957. Two of the chapters in my Jazz, Joy & Justice book refer to it— one with Louis Armstrong speaking out against Eisenhower’s initial passivity and one with Charles Mingus writing his protest song “The Fables of Faubus.” And suddenly, there I was, in front of the school itself. Combined with the fact that my wonderful host, Ms. IJ Routen, actually was living in Little Rock at the time and knew some of those students! I was feeling some moisture in my eyes as I walked through the museum recalling that time of such intense hatred and horror. 

 

We drove through various neighborhoods with unique houses with impressive architectural styles, many of them “heritage homes” in which the owners had to get permission to replace even a doorknob to make sure it aligned with its heritage. IJ had stories about each and every street, peopled in her imagination from her time growing up and enthusiastically shared with me. 

We then had lunch at The Roots Café, where black and white folks were working together, dining together, enjoying superb and lovingly cooked healthy food together and it would have been so easy to take a sigh of relief and think, “What was the problem with those people? Look how much happier it is now, with us all sitting down to break bread together. Thank goodness those days are gone.”

But of course, they’re not. Not even close. It is maddening that the MAGA movement is purposefully bringing us back to the toxic stories and practices that made it happen and is now about to put the poison back into the soup of American diversity. And yet, not all people and not everywhere, as the lunch scene confirmed. 

 

I taught a second 4^th grade class at another school and then off to gather instruments to prepare the space for tomorrow’s workshop for teachers. That unbroken practice of the teacher moving the instruments and getting everything ready. No union workers or road crew or support group doing it all and there’s something good about that. Like the Zen master who insisted that he work side-by-side in the garden with his students. When they protested that he should just be the exalted teacher, he said “No work, no eat” and went on a little hunger strike until they relented. 

 

As for the teaching, my grandson’s Malik’s faith in my super-powers proved justified. Though I’m pretty darn good at organizing lesson plans and meeting any curricular goal you can throw my way and choosing quality material to arrange, my real super-power in teaching kids is so simple. I just love their way of thinking and doing and playing and they can tell that I do within the first two minutes of the class. Not a moment demanding their disciplined attention, because we all understood that it so damn fun to just play together. So we had a rollicking good time with five different children’s games and again, kids going out of their way to shake my hand goodbye, thank me, ask when I’m coming back. 

 

That’s my “first day in Arkansas” report. We’ll see what tomorrow brings.