IN SILENCE WITH MAYA ANGELOU

Like sitting in silence with God

I knew Maya Angelou. Not well, but we were friendly acquaintances. Once in 1998 we had a drink together in Detroit, and she told me a story. I thought it was powerful then, but with her gone I realize even more its historical significance.

On the day of Martin Luther King, Jr.'s assassination, he was scheduled to fly from Memphis to New York City. And there was to be a party in New York for him. Maya was there. She told me about the people gathered, about the news breaking of his death, of how they shared their agony and grief. She described to me how she had felt that night. We talked about hope and hopelessness.

How I wish I had a recording of her words.

Hearing Maya speak to you was somehow more than just someone speaking to you. It was more like a transmission. And as she described the party, it’s as though it came alive in some three-dimensional way. The very sound of her voice held worlds.

We’re so lucky to have all the audio and video that we have of Maya’s voice. And Martin’s too, for that matter. We don’t have Lincoln’s voice to listen to, or Jefferson’s. Ah, just think of what it be like if we could hear the voices of such great figures in history. But their words do live forever.

So do they, if we allow them to.

We need our past heroes now, to inspire us and nudge us along. I always get melancholy on April 4th, the day MLK died. And on November 22, when JFK died. And on June 6, when Bobby Kennedy Sr. died. With most people, every year after their passing gets easier. But with those men, every year that goes by gets harder - because everything we feared would happen when they died, has happened.

I shared that thought with Maya as we sat together that night on the couch at the Ritz Carlton bar in Dearborn. We looked at each other and shared a few seconds of silence. Sitting in silence with Maya was like sitting in silence with God.

I remembered that story today, as I read Maya’s quote below. It felt like a message from her when I read it, a bit of a nudge, a bit of a “Buck up.” Even in her silence she shared such power. And even in death she still does.

“If you must look back, do so forgivingly.

If you will look forward, do so prayerfully.

But the wisest course would be to be in the present in the present gratefully.”

The last time I saw her, she asked me for a prayer. Today she answered mine.