Music in My Heart: My Journey with Melody

Four women come on stage. One steps up to the microphone, and silence falls over the audience. The piano player begins, and the woman sings in a deep, soulful voice: “Why should I feel discouraged? No, no, no… Why should the shadows come?” People in the audience start to clap. Melody and I turn to face each other. We know this song, the one Grammy taught me, and my fingers tap out the notes on my lap as the refrain begins.

The other women sing backup, and the crowd sways in time to the music. When we first got here, I worried that hearing this kind of music without Grammy would make me sad. Instead, it feels like she’s right beside me.

When the song ends, Big Momma and Miss Dorothy stand and applaud, so Melody and I jump up too. I whisper to Melody that it was beautiful. The lead singer laughs, bows her head, and nods at the guitar player. They begin again.

Each song is more incredible than the last. I don’t know them all, but I want to.

After five or six songs, a man steps onstage and the crowd cheers. Miss Dorothy whispers that it’s Al, Josephine’s husband and the hall’s owner. He quiets the crowd, thanks us for coming, and says this is the last performance here. On Monday, the city starts turning this building into a paved parking lot.

Melody whirls to face me, but Big Momma and Miss Dorothy don’t seem surprised. They must already know.

During the next break, Big Momma explains it’s part of Detroit’s “urban renewal” project. The city’s leaders decide to build a freeway or a parking lot, then tear down the old businesses and homes in the way. Al and Josephine live in the apartment upstairs. Urban renewal seems to hit Colored folks’ homes and businesses the hardest.

Melody sighs and says they talked about urban renewal at the last Junior Block club meeting, how tearing down homes sometimes ruins beautiful gardens too. Big Momma pats Melody’s hand and says what matters to us isn’t always what matters to others, like music. She reminds Melody about Paradise Valley, a part of Detroit where some of the finest musicians performed until the city bulldozed it for a freeway. Miss Dorothy remembers seeing Ella Fitzgerald at the Forest Club, back when Colored-owned clubs, restaurants, and hotels made it feel like a city within a city.

A knot forms in my stomach, the same one from when Mom said we wouldn’t have guitars for music class. Why doesn’t anyone care about music, or gardens, or people’s businesses? I want to holler. I wish I could do something.

Josephine pulls up a chair and asks why we look so sad, whether we’re worrying about them. Big Momma forces a smile. Al and Josephine will land on their feet, even though they’re losing their home. Josephine says they’re moving in with their daughter for a while, spending time with their grandbabies. Then a shadow crosses her face. She thinks Al will miss the old piano most of all.

I ask if they’ll take it with them, it’s hard to imagine leaving a piano behind. Josephine says it’s not worth the money to move, the keys are sticky anyway. Still, it’s the first time they’ll be without a piano until they can afford a new one. She shakes her head. They’ll start over. They always do.

I can tell Josephine’s heart hurts, and I wish I could talk to Dad, a politician whose decisions affect my hometown and whom people listen to. He could help Al and Josephine save the performance hall. But I’m in Detroit, 1964, and Dad isn’t here. Is there something else I can do?

Back at Big Momma’s house, she makes me a bed on the couch and one on the rug for Melody, our Saturday night sleepover. But as Big Momma turns out the lights, Melody seems sad and far away. She whispers that she wishes we could help Auntie Josephine and Uncle Al save the performance hall. She loves music as much as I do.

That night, I dream I’m performing onstage at the hall with my new guitar, not even nervous, until the front door opens and cars come zooming through the room like a freeway runs right through it. When the last car passes, I look down and my guitar is gone.

When I wake up, Melody is awake too. Neither of us slept much. We’re too worried about the performance. Melody says we should talk to Yvonne. She’ll know what to do.

Just then, Big Momma bursts through the kitchen door with a towel over her shoulder and says we should eat breakfast before church. Melody yawns, and Big Momma feels her forehead, so Melody admits we didn’t sleep well, worrying about Uncle Al and Auntie Josephine.

Big Momma says she’s worried too, but has an idea that might cheer us up. After church, Melody’s cousin Val and her parents are driving to Windsor for the Emancipation Celebration, and we can go too.

I ask what emancipation means. Big Momma says it means freedom, of the slaves in our country and elsewhere, and the celebration honors that. Melody says it’s in Canada, just across the Detroit River, where the Underground Railroad ended and slaves from the South found freedom. There’s a giant parade, a pet show, a beauty contest, and lots of music, four choirs, Big Momma adds.

Melody says it’d be great if I could meet Val, but the spark fades from her eyes, if we go, we won’t have time to figure out how to help Uncle Al and Auntie Josephine. I know, I whisper sadly.