THAT MEMORIAL

      It is overwhelming in a most positive manner. It is a link between all three times - past, present and future. It reminds us so powerfully of our potential for greatness along with our awful tendency to grasp at the baser elements within us. It is the memorial with a great, yet humble man, who watches, ever brooding, ever worried, a man who loved his country. The Lincoln Memorial and its steps are a shrine to both our greatness and our lowest moments.

So why now? Because last night I finally had the time to watch a most magnificent PBS documentary on Marion Anderson. That voice. It could reach the highest notes, still strong and rich and could overwhelm one and all with that rare contralto depth, whose tones carried within it the deep miseries of life that had gone on far too long. It pierced the soul, cracked any shell around the hardest heart. And yet here we are, three quarters o a century latter, and listening closely, eyes closed, one can see the tears rolling down the anguished face of Lincoln, and hear the heart rending, G-d given voice of Marion Anderson.

"My country 'tis of thee" - so she sang as she opened her voice, her soul, her storage of centuries of pain, taking a powerful step into a hopeful future as she closed her eyes, took a deep breath and the world heard. Slavery. Red Summer with so much blood in the name and service of the Devil and hatred. The "strange fruit" on the trees.. Hopeful faces of the young growing visibly less so as they aged.

The overwhelming irony as thousands protested the growing fascism in Germany and its ever grasping tentacles. The very visible, yet somehow too invisible to too many, persecution of the Jews. Middle Ages redux with a vengeance. Yet at one and the same time, here in America, the supposed symbolic organization of American achievement, the DAR, refused to allow Anderson to sing at Constitution Hall. It makes no sense. Not then and not now. But then again, since when does the vitriol of hatred ever make any sense?

History continued to present itself on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial. The man continued to wonder, grief evident in his eyes, as hatred persisted in his beloved country. He and Marion, so desperately wanting to sing full throated, a paean to "my country" and yet, the time was not yet ripe. The Rev. King spoke, laying bare his soul, his dreams. Now roll forward in time and hear the anguished cry. "I can't breathe".

The marches continue even as does the hate. The hatred spread, swastikas, vandalism, threats, violence and death. And as that man watched in anguished horror, there on the other side of the National Mall, he saw the attempt to divide the nation again. He watched, along with a horrified and terrified nation, as hate, prejudice, the most base elements of mankind, all rose to the top, overwhelming us. Drowning us. Even as the powerful echoes of the voice of Marion Anderson faded just a bit more, even as the notes of sorrow deepened within that rich voice.

"My country, tis of thee, sweet land of liberty."

When?