These Simple Gifts

Shall we dance?

My experience at the Dave Matthews band concert a few evenings ago has inspired this post. The band has a logo of a nymph dancing. It could be an angel. As is everything, it is up to our interpretation. It could be reflection on one of his compositions....maybe a Dancing Nancy?


I am a big fan of  Aaron Copeland, an American classical composer. (See post: "American Treasure" 10/15). His ballet "Appalachian Spring" brought Joseph Brackett's 1848 Shaker spiritual "Simple Gifts" to mainstream American culture in 1944, a time of World War angst.  Then in 1963 Sydney Carter used the Shaker tune to write a popular Christian Hymn known in choir lofts and Church pews worldwide as "Lord of the Dance".

“Simple Gifts” by Joseph Brackett

'Tis the gift to be simple, 'tis the gift to be free
'Tis the gift to come down where we ought to be,
And when we find ourselves in the place just right,
'Twill be in the valley of love and delight.
When true simplicity is gained,
To bow and to bend we shan't be ashamed,
To turn, turn will be our delight,
Till by turning, turning we come 'round right.[5



On his "Lord of the Dance" inspiration Mr. Carter wrote:

"I see Christ as the incarnation of the piper who is calling us. He dances that shape and pattern which is at the heart of our reality. By Christ I mean not only Jesus; in other times and places, other planets, there may be other Lords of the Dance. But Jesus is the one I know of first and best. I sing of the dancing pattern in the life and words of Jesus.
Whether Jesus ever leaped in Galilee to the rhythm of a pipe or drum I do not know. We are told that David danced (and as an act of worship too), so it is not impossible. The fact that many Christians have regarded dancing as a bit ungodly (in a church, at any rate) does not mean that Jesus did.
The Shakers didn't. This sect flourished in the United States in the nineteenth century, but the first Shakers came from Manchester in England, where they were sometimes called the "Shaking Quakers". They hived off to America in 1774, under the leadership of Mother Anne. They established celibate communities - men at one end, women at the other; though they met for work and worship. Dancing, for them, was a spiritual activity. They also made furniture of a functional, lyrical simplicity. Even the cloaks and bonnets that the women wore were distinctly stylish, in a sober and forbidding way.
Their hymns were odd, but sometimes of great beauty: from one of these (Simple Gifts) I adapted this melody. I could have written another for the words of 'Lord of the Dance' (some people have), but this was so appropriate that it seemed a waste of time to do so. Also, I wanted to salute the Shakers.
Sometimes, for a change I sing the whole song in the present tense. 'I dance in the morning when the world is begun...'. It's worth a try."[4]

Here is one rendition:



I know a lady, a dear friend who I love deeply. She has told me that she would like "Lord of the Dance" played and performed at her wake. May we all will be dancing the tune as we enter the eternal gates of heaven.

Amen Sister

Bradford Bosworth
Memorial Day 2016

How about an encore from Copeland's Appalachian Spring?



Of Fire and Ice

Rocket or Flickering Flame?



There is no question that one of the earliest important literary influences on me was Jack London. His turn of the century depictions of the wild uncharted icy cold Klondike in "White Fang" and "Call of the Wild" were this young boy's calming distractions from the fearful realities of  nuclear blockade stand-offs and presidential assassinations.



Back in the early eighties when I was still dabbling in motor racing my business partner and I went to California to meet with an upcoming young African American driver named Willy T. Ribbs. We were going to see about representing him for sponsorship. When our meetings concluded we took a short tour of the Sonoma wine country.  There in a shop I saw and bought a  poster of the famous writer. I bought the poster more because of the quote scripted on it:

"I would rather be a  superb meteor, every atom of me in magnificent glow than a sleepy permanent planet. The proper function of man is to live, not to exist. I shall not waste my days in trying to prolong them. I shall use my time." - Jack London

Upon returning to Atlanta I had the poster framed. It has hung on a wall where I live for over thirty five years reminding me often to take courage. Twenty years ago shortly after the Challenger explosion one of my favorite Sports Journalists wrote a column about the disaster. It is one of the best pieces of journalism I have ever witnessed. Reprinted with permission from the AJC.Enjoy
****


Why seek the fire when fire kills?
BYLINE: KINDRED, DAVE  STAFF  
DATE: January 30, 1986 
PUBLICATION: The Atlanta Journal and The Atlanta Constitution 
EDITION: The Atlanta Constitution 
SECTION: SPORTS 
PAGE: E/1 


The seven dead astronauts held the risk in the palm of their hands, and they found it to be light. They went to the top of a rocket to ride the fire into the sky. So many others had flown away from Earth and come back that their acts of courage became routine, not worthy of our full attention. Is this the 8:50 a.m. express shuttle to Mars or what?
But now we have seen the consuming fire. And now we weigh the risk in our hands, and it is heavy with death. And we ask why. Why ride a rocket into the sky?
We want to understand what reward can be worth the risk of death delivered by a computer glitch or by an icicle falling against a square of tile. If we civilians came to think of rocketry as routine, the astronauts knew better. They knew cataclysm was a heartbeat away. Yet they walked to the firestick happy.
We have seen the videotape a dozen times. The five men and two women walked out of a building, dandy in their hero suits of blue cloth with belts, zippered pockets and insignia patches. Their walk was jaunty, even cocky. The laughing teacher strode in lockstep with the fliers, the seven of them electric with joy, and they climbed into a van for the ride to the rocket. We never saw them again.
We saw the fire lift them. The teacher's students in New Hampshire wore party hats as they cheered the rocket's ascent. President Reagan later would tell the nation's school children, "The future belongs not to the faint-hearted. It belongs to the brave." We know that. But still. Why does a teacher/wife/mother seek fire when fire kills?
`To be on the wire is life'
"The Man put us here - and He'll take us," the great race car driver A.J. Foyt once said. "That's a square deal if I ever heard of one. When your time's up, it's up - not before, not after." So Foyt races at age 50. He has been burned and broken. He has seen death and wondered why.
"In '57, I had a good friend killed. And he just laid on the track while we went by. The thought went through my mind whether I wanted to go on. I had to know in my mind if I wanted to do it. I went on. You just have to accept life the way it is."
And now, at 50, Foyt says he races for one reason. "It's fun."
Even at 70, Karl Wallenda went back up on the high wire after a fall killed two members of his family and left another paralyzed.
"To be on the wire is life," Wallenda said. "The rest is waiting." And he, too, died falling from the wire.
We search our experience for understanding. If we would know why a man rides a rocket, we should look at men who pursue risk. We should look at race car drivers. To speak of the seven dead astronauts on the sports pages is not to diminish them as scientists and explorers of ineffable courage, pioneers as trusting/wary of the rocket as Columbus was of his ship. Theirs was a grand work, not a game, and yet they share with racers a spirit vital to man.
They are using the gift of life
They pursue risk, they face it, they even need risk to define themselves as people using the gift of life. America's love of the underdog is emotional commitment to the idea that putting ourselves at risk is a fine thing, maybe even noble if we do it well.
To be on the wire is life. The rest is waiting.
"Why does A.J. Foyt race?" said a Tennessean named Gary Baker, a lawyer who races cheap stock cars. As drivers, there is no comparing Baker with Foyt. But as men, they share an instinct common to the best of us, common to the seven dead astronauts.
"Foyt races for the same reason we all do. It's a challenge. To go fast, that's the challenge. It's just in some people. It's like climbing mountains. Some people think that's silly. But to a man who lives to climb, it's not silly."
Jonathan Swift wrote, "May you live all the days of your life." To do that living, test pilots "push the sides of the envelope," those unknown borders of their work where man and machine are at risk. Race drivers "run on the ragged edg e," their machines teetering on a balance of friction and power that once lost may never be found. Wire-walkers and jet jockeys, race drivers and astronauts share with sculptors and composers and ballerinas the dream that lifts them up, the dream that a man, by reaching, can touch the stars.

In a chunk of marble, a sculptor sees beauty. A ballerina floats in dance born of physical agony. So did the seven dead astronauts live all the days of their lives. 
****




Is it our's or God's will that should propel us to acts as these astronauts? Are our efforts for our own edification and fame or to extend the magnificence of our Creator. Surely they become notable when the purpose becomes divinely one, unified in the purpose of mankind's awakening. Don't we all contain the flickering flame of a divine pilot light waiting for ignition bringing the shining light of Truth into the world.

Post Note: I was so moved by Mr. Kindred's column that I wrote him a letter of appreciation and sent along with the Jack London quote. And he graciously wrote me back a note I keep and cherish to this day.

Amen Mr. Kindred

Bradford Bosworth
May 2016

Peers and Parents

No Pop Outs


Memories of the move of our family from land-locked Akron, Ohio to ocean-front Miami, Florida in 1955 are vaguely remote to nonexistent. The reason for the move though is still as plain as a salt life south Florida day.  My father, Harold Bosworth,  had been promoted to overseeing the opening of a new Allied Department Store property named Jordan Marsh.  It was located on Biscayne Boulevard at the junction of the 36th street Causeway. The cutting edge retail location included a swimming pool and a marina. The fact that  "The Miami Herald" was catacorner a block away was not insignificant either.


One of the great benefits of having a father who was head of a big department store was that the personnel always recognized you when you came into the building.  They treated us like royalty and the graciousness was genuine.  I always knew my dad was revered by the folks who worked for him.

There were drawbacks however because of this relationship. As a young boy becomes a young man, peer pressure mounts and the desire to conform and be accepted is never more important than in fashion.  I wanted to be cool!  There were definitely symbols of "cool" and in particular fashion statements.

Mom was adamant about us buying our clothing at the store.  We had a great discount program because of dad. The peer pressure demanded that we wear Bass Weejun penny loafers, Canterbury
belts and bleeding madras shirts with button down collars. The parent pressure demanded that we buy from dad's store.  When the brand item could not be found at such store, many a household battle ensued.

A young boy who lives in the Atlantic Ocean off South Beach in all his spare time dreams of having his own surf board. Surfboard chic was and will always be hand-formed.  I was elated when my dad told me his store would begin carrying surf boards! I remember the first time seeing the boards in Sporting Goods my excitement drained away as I ran my fingers down the thin edges only to feel the seam that screamed "pop-out", the moniker for a non hand-formed board.  Of course the store would buy the factory mass produced versions as they were conducive to better profit.



And guess what! I lost the ensuing battle at the homestead. I ended up with that pop-out surfboard and have had few greater possessions in my lifetime! Do you know that my peers never liked me any less and a few of them asked if they could ride it!

Surf's up at the South Beach Pier! 
Amen Brother

Bradford Bosworth
May 2016

Called Back to Balance.

Where's the balance? 


When I was a boy growing up in Miami, Florida the world was filled with drama.  It was the drama of fear, a horror film of Hitchkockesque proportions. A young boy's years from ages 9 to 12 on their own are tumultuous; innocence and fantasy fade morphing with the changing body chemistry into
manhood; that unforgiving place of false premise and uncertainty.  Add to this volatile combination a mad world and a life trending can go way off balance.

My insulated child's life was not totally buffered from the ordinary events of the day.  In south Florida what maybe were ordinary events to the rest of the U.S. were extraordinary for our families; the first example being the failed Bay of Pigs. I do not remember much about this event but I know now that it was the beginning of a different sort of atmosphere in our neighborhood.  Where my memory starts to get clearer is when I remember finding myself routinely under my desk at Morningside Elementary school with an obnoxious siren wailing in the background. I believe at the age of nine we have natural built in buffers and modulators against stress that makes it easier to absorb the insanity of the world. Perhaps it is because we know we can go back home to Mom and Dad? Though I cannot imagine what mom and dad were going through!


These Civil Defense air raid drills were the result of the Cold War being waged between the world's two superpowers, the USA and the USSR, which finally moved to the back porch of Miami with the advent of the Cuban Missile Crisis.  History says that the two leaders Kennedy and Khrushchev had the exact right personalities to find enough balance to save the world from nuclear annihilation. I would call this divine balance.


I am not sure if Harold and Jeanne, our parents, considered that they were providing respite for my brothers Marty, Hal and I by sending us to Camp Rockmont for boys (blog post:East of Lake Eden, March 2015)  in Black Mountain, N.C.   I always believed it was because they needed a break from us.  Nevertheless, the camp years (1959-1964)  for me at least, gave me a different taste of faith in God from what I was used to from our Trinity Episcopal Church in Miami. These summers provided a balance to the world of close proximity to Cuba.



In our summer camp world in the scenic mountains of western North Carolina, there was a presence that permeated all of our activities.  It was no coincidence that a stones throw from our Black Mountain location was and is a small hamlet known as Montreat. This village gave humanity Billy Graham. All I can say is that whatever the effects on me of the anxious world of south Florida, the summer influence of Rev. Billy Graham provided a calming balance.



I am sure it is this influence that kept me from wandering off the path to a point of no return. I recently stumbled upon a Charlotte Observer press clipping from November, 1978. (Copy posted below this post). After about a decade and a half  I found myself face to face with Rev. Graham. It was at a point where I had turned my back on my Creator. I was fully invested in the world as a budding Public Relations executive at Charlotte Motor Speedway.  My job this day was coordinator for a Press Conference for a 60th Birthday Gala for Dr. Graham. This event is another example of God calling me back to balance. It was not the effect of any Graham spoken word but the presence of the man I remember. Peace and balance, that is all there is.


So grateful to have been here during the same age as this divine messenger.

Amen Brother

Bradford Bosworth
May, 2016

*****
Copy from 1978 Press Clipping, The Charlotte Observer

Graham fete
to leave him
dry, not high

      The Rev. Billy Graham will cele-
brate his 60th birthday in fine but
 dry style this evening among near-
   ly 600 male well-wishers at Meyers
                                                       Park Country Club.
  "There were supposedly only
                                                       400 engraved invitations," said
   Brad Bosworth, who handled press
    arrangements for the 7:30 p.m. din-
ner party. "But somehow it bal-
                                                       looned to almost 600.
      The only women invited to the
                                                        black-tie event were Graham's
wife, his mother and a radio sta-
                                                        tion reporter.
    Following a "cocktail party
without cocktails," Bosworth said,
will be a four course dinner includ-
ing prime rib of beef. Fifteen local
and national business and clerical
leaders are scheduled to speak be-
tween courses, and Bosworth pre-
dicted they would finish by 10 pm
        Among the out-of-town speakers
will be Dr. Jimmy Allen of San
Antonio, Texas, president of the
   Southern Baptist Convention: Don-
ald M. Kendall of Purchase, N.Y.,
                                                       president of PepsiCo;  Carl  H.
 Lindner of Cincinnati, president
and chairman of American Finan-
cial Corporation, and Dr. Harold
Lindsell of Wheaton, Ill., editor
emeritus of "Christianity Today."
******
    


Fill 'er Up

Leave No Room

Recently I went on a walk in the woods with a friend.  Not a leisurely walk in the park, this was a hike. I am not an avid nor experienced hiker at least not in recent years.  This excursion was the first time on this particular trail so there was some unfamiliarity as part of the baggage. To top it off I added about five pounds of back pack weight with essentials like snacks, water and rain accessories.

The trek was between six and seven miles in a heavily wooded canyon with scenic bluffs and  majestic waterfalls.  As the day got longer on the trip home fatigue set in.  My friend Donna and I began to get tired.  The forces of gravity began to take a toll physically and most dangerously mentally.

At one point we started to think of the people close to us who are suffering unique and complex challenges.  And we prayed for them out loud, each of us.  This act took us out of our own tendencies to feel sorry for our present condition.  It put things in proper perspective for our situation.

I believe we have deep spiritual reservoirs and those places can be filled with the self pity of  material  hungry, angry, lonesome, tired (H.A.L.T.s) or we can fill them with the spiritual of thankfulness. 



When we fill ourselves up with gratitude there is no room for self pity!

My Gratitude List
Just for Today

hot coffee, ripe bananas
clean underwear, cool morning
lingering moon, rumbling Harley
Holy Spirit,
the dog with tail  up
snug boots, grocery list
healthy daughters, God's Love
a friend named Donna
amazing saving Grace
teachable minds ,servant hearts
butter pecan & golden oreos
holding a little hand

Amen Children of God

Bradford Bosworth
May,2016


Banana Bread Birthday Ministry

Soul Food from the Heart

My sixtyfourth birthday was this past weekend.  It was a watershed moment for me,  a date I had been thinking about for a long time. When I was 12 years old my father Harold B. Bosworth died of heart failure just prior to his sixty fourth birthday.  He died suddenly a long way from home. 



I am writing about it because the experience from a child's eyes laid a footing for the foundation of my life. My stand out memories from this seminal event flow in vivid recollection.

- Standing on Miami Shores Community Center's practice field with my pee-wee football team watching the train pass by that was carrying my mom and dad to New York for a business conference.

-Answering the upstairs phone in my brother Marty's room simultaneously with my Aunt Betty(see "Majestic Messengers" post on this blog) and hearing dad's boss Bill Ruben say, "Betty things are not so good up here, Harold passed away this morning." I heard the phone drop and Aunt Betty wail.

-Riding in the back seat of the funeral procession limo and looking out the window seeing my friends with their families.

- Our Trinity Episcopal Church filled like I have never seen it before just beyond the parking lot of the Jordan Marsh that my Dad ran.

I am not sure for how long it has been important for me to reach 64, probably since I got sober and stopped trying to kill myself.  Maybe it came from looking back on some of my youthful behavior and realizing what great odds I had beaten just to become a mature adult.

I was angry at my father for along time.  I blamed him for conceiving me at such an age that it would deprive me of his influence and council in later years.  I missed being able to take advantage of his great wisdom and business sense.

By outliving my father I broke a cycle as his father had also died when Harold was a young man.  By braking this cycle I have started a new one where I can share my wisdom with my wonderful daughters.  I can be an example to them as they grow and God willing for my grandchildren some day.


It was not just the age milestone that made this birthday special it was all the people in my life now and all the people God has placed as guides along the way.  We all have these guides some whose names we know and some we know not yet.

One who is a guide to many inside of our Smyrna First UMC and outside in the community is David.
And his banana bread is out of this world.

Amen Brother

Bradford Bosworth
May 2016




A Carnivore's Paradise

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